I've been struggling to finish a couple of songs (singer-songwriter stuff in the folk-pop/Americana tradition). I mentioned this to a friend, and he
smiled knowingly saying, "ah,
Resistance".
He went on to talk about artistic resistance and how to get beyond it. Just so happens he's reading a book called
The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles, by Steven Pressfield. He has some cred as an artist and has worked at it for decades. Pressfield wrote, amongst other things,
The Legend of Baggar Vance.
I read self-help literature with healthy skepticism, particularly in the area of the arts. I've known lots of people who've gone through
The Artist's Way, and
Writing from the Bones, etc... Like a diet, the initial excitement from starting something promising and new is that eventually you settle back into LIFE and, well, someone else's formula doesn't really fit, or stick. But, I was intrigued with some of the things my friend said, so I thought I'd give it a read.
At the center of
The War of Art is the concept/metaphor of 'Resistance' with a capital 'R'.
Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance.
All creative people have a continuous relationship (war) with the ever-present force of Resistance. You don't cure yourself of it, it doesn't ever go away. Like Sisyphus, you are doomed to battle Resistance every morning as you get out of bed.
Furthermore, Resistance is slippery and Machiavellian. It introduces reasonable doubt and rationalizations that you can use to not create: 'maybe it's selfish to do this instead of helping my family'. I'll take the job that pays more (but leaves you no time to do art). 'Maybe I have no talent'. Or, more prosaic: get instant gratification now -- watch TV, have sex, drink, shop, anything but do the work....
Pressfield doesn't really bother getting too much into just what 'Resistance' is. It's not a scientific concept -- this book is more poetic.
Resistance cannot be seen, touched, heard, or smelled. But it can be felt. We experience it as an energy field radiating from a work-in-potential. It's a repelling force. It's negative. It's aim is to shove us away, distract us, prevent us from doing our work.
There are some speculations in the book as to its origin but they are just briefly touched on: Is it a psychological phenomenon? Or is it hard-wired into us? Is it more like a divine kind of power that humans are forced to deal with? For the purposes of the book, it doesn't really matter. As long as you can agree that Resistance is real, regardless of origin, then that's enough.
It comes down to two things: 1.) recognizing Resistance when it is
preventing you from doing what you want to do, and 2.) building working
habits and attitudes that allow you to stay one step ahead of it.
He defines two types of people. The people who do the daily battle with Resistance are called "pros' and the people who get fooled by Resistance are 'amateurs'.
Someone once asked Somerset Maugham if he wrote on a schedule or only when struck by inspiration. “I write only when inspiration strikes,” he replied. “Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.”
Much of the second half of the book is about being 'a pro'. It's confusing terminology because most of the readership is probably making their living doing something else -- and are nowhere near making a living from their art (if they ever could). But, the insights into habits that make for success seem good in spite of the poor terminology.
But the terminology of 'pro' does have one advantage. Being a 'pro' creates emotional distance from the material. Resistance loves it when you're personally invested in your art because it's easy to manipulate you and make you scared to do stuff. Emphasizing craft, patience and trust (that inspiration will strike eventually) is the best way to proceed. And, regardless of where you get money to pay the rent, that's what makes you a 'pro'.
Pressfield has a traditional romantic's view of the artist. People find their 'true selves', and life's purpose, by pursuing their creativity and individuality. He sees the artist as the next stage in evolution, living the 'modern era' -- a time when the individual can create their own destiny. It fits perfectly with the self-help ethos. It's very much a DIY thing.
We come into this world with a specific, personal destiny. We have a job to do, a calling to enact, a self to become. We are who we are from the cradle, and we’re stuck with it.
Our job in this lifetime is not to shape ourselves into some ideal we imagine we ought to be, but to find out who we already are and become it.
I suppose this is to be expected from a book like this. Almost all self-help lit has to place you at the center of your own redemption. Regardless, it is a thought-provoking and worthwhile read if you are feeling blocked with your creativity. The only caveat I would say is that the program of being a 'pro' sounds awfully dull and lonely the way he describes it.
I can easily imagine other ways to be creative that involve a lot more fun, and not some epic battle with Resistance. 'Play' doesn't really enter into his schema. And, for many things, like music, 'playing' is just what the doctor ordered.
But, that comes down to personal style, how one creates. I don't doubt for a second that Pressfield has to do Battle to get the job done, and that many people are in the same boat. When I write my book on creativity, I'd maybe add more beer and laughs.
