Invictus

I dream of a capacious light-filled space with high ceilings and bright white walls primed for an ever-changing canvas, storage space cleverly designed to display its treasures for a constant stream of creative inspiration. A large table sits in the center of the room with plenty of surface to spread out and stools to pull in close, inviting into my atelier a muse, a loved one, or any tender-hearted soul with a cup of coffee and time for compelling conversation.  There’s music when the spirit moves me and silence when I’m still.  A comfortable chaise sits in the corner begging me to stretch out and read under the light of a lamp dripping in sparkling crystals.

Twenty years ago, I started a slow fade away from commercial design toward project management. It was a safer place for me, hiring all the experts who would design and build a space rather than being responsible for designing it myself. I haven’t spent much time thinking about why this happened.  I’ve always chalked it up to being a “bad” designer. Maybe I haven’t given myself enough credit.  The notion that I really can’t stand having my creativity questioned and judged is probably closer to the truth.

 

I placed the “bad” designer label on myself when I was challenged by colleagues who didn’t agree with what I was doing, didn’t like my ideas or style. These professionals did this work for far longer than I did, they must know more, know better. Contemplating the experience now, I conclude I’m far more willing to back down stewing in resentment than to stand up and build a compelling argument for my case.  Which is so interesting to me because I can defend my position with the quiet and methodical logic of a seasoned barrister almost anywhere else in my life.  But when it comes to my creativity I am rendered mute. It’s a crippling fear that I now realize limits me.  I’m sure it’s what keeps me from hiring an editor and finally publishing a book.

Selling is a skill I’ve never fully developed.  I would much rather be back stage, comfortable in the role of influencer. Sales is front and center, under the spotlight; a whole other realm.  But one you need to enter if you want to take on the naysayers, defend the relevance of your own work and see the vision in your mind’s eye brought to life.  It’s almost sad how our strengths can unwittingly be stifled, even sacrificed by our own incestuous determination to conceal and protect our weaknesses at all costs.  What kind of designer could I be if I was willing to stand strong in the face of judgement and just sell my heart out?

Creative ideas are born in my mind and killed off multiple times a day. There is no requiem; no flowers at the gravesite.  I move on, in fact, I probably forget more great ideas than I actually execute. Yet these days when an idea dies on the table I find myself compelled to induce CPR with a ferocity I don’t recognize, and I’m the only one who can pull myself off the body and call time of death.

It’s easy to be generous in the face of abundance, to surrender when there is so little at stake.  But when every idea is challenged, when nothing is guaranteed to be a sure thing, I begin to wonder if somewhere in the steady drip of acquiescence or compromise I will wake up one day to discover I’ve lost myself.

And this is the beauty and promise of my dream studio, that one place where my creativity lives out loud, untempered, unapologetic and requires no explanation, no defense.  It’s the threshold that beckons, and when crossed by those who know me well, reveals a haven recognized as unmistakably mine.

I know in my heart that creativity cleaves, that I wear it on my sleeve and it always finds a way.  I know I could no sooner stop its flow if I wanted to.  But I long for abandon somewhere.  It is my saving grace.