Honoring Your Inner Creative Process

This morning I watched a thoughtful interview by Canadian radio host George Stroumboulopoulos (The Strombo Show) with Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee of the definitive rock band RUSH. Their relaxed, warm conversation touched briefly on how Alex and Geddy have worked through, and how they continue to navigate, their grief after Neil Peart's death (RUSH: Full Interview). In particular, Geddy described the projects he's worked on (not music) during these last two years since Neil's January 2020 passing from a long-term illness.

What struck me were the stories that Alex and Geddy shared about how they and Neil have many times used making things, creating as a means of coping with loss and disappointment. I downloaded the video and stored it away for safekeeping because I know someday in the future I will need to hear the wisdom of their words again when facing the inevitable losses life has waiting for me.

I am in awe of their 50-year relationships, their prolific careers in music, and the longevity of their creative partnership in RUSH. After five decades, they still love music and performing and creating. Now Alex and Geddy say they are waiting to see what feels right to do next in Neil's absence. They are in no hurry. They respect that such an inner process has a timetable of its own.

After listening to the interview, several hours later I found myself reflecting on my haphazard approach to life, which has been one experiment after another. After 53 years, I've gained a breadth of experience but developed little depth around any particular area (or at least anything that is externally apparent to others). And those thoughts led me to consider the role of temperament, inclinations, and industriousness in the creation of any art form beyond the thrill of inspiration and the early honing of artistry. Musicians who continue to grow in their craft over a lifetime are also most essentially artisans.

Dicitonary.com defines an artisan as, "a worker in a skilled trade, especially one that involves making things by hand." Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines an artisan as,“one that produces something (as cheese or wine) in limited quantities often using traditional methods.” A musician on the other hand is defined as, "a person who composes, conducts, or performs music." And an artist defined in Wikipedia is someone who "engages in an activity related to creating art, practicing the arts, or demonstrating an art."

Whether one is a fine visual artist, a professional pianist as my mother has been for 60 years, a potter at the wheel making 20 vases a week, or a musician who records albums and plays live tours, preserving the longevity of the creative endeavor demands a deep, nuanced interest in the work to sustain long-term growth. When I listen to Alex and Geddy talk about their art, or Neil in his 2012 interview with George talk enjoying the challenge of playing RUSH's early progressive pieces, it's clear they continued to learn, grow, and find new things in the music they played for decades. That suggests artisanship, a subtle and continuous refinement of not just technique but of relationship to their art form, and to their musicianship.

The Daily Beast back in 2015 pronounced that, "The real artisan movement is happening in the music world." Aspiring artists have only to look back at the established artisans from the 1960s and 1970s, some famous, some not, for inspiration. A blog post by Dr. Jeff Cornwall, "The Musician as Artisan" quotes musician James Lee Stanley on why after a 30-year career that brought neither fame nor fortune, he still makes music, still performs on the road.

What I know is that following your bliss is more rewarding than making a bunch of money at something you absolutely hate doing. I don’t feel that I’ve wasted my life or that I could have been more successful at something else. I love what I do and I love trying to get better at it and I love it that at my stage of life I still have so much passion for what I do and I love how vibrant and alive it keeps me.

Can we conclude that every band from the 70s, 80s, and 90s still on tour today falls into the category of artisan? I don't know. But the ideas I'm talking about here relate to creating as a means of coping, of expression, of artistry, and the consistency of effort, not just to get good but to explore the subtleties and mysteries of one's art, while also honoring the rhythms of life and how they impact creativity--all of these are most certainly components of RUSH's successful 45-year creative partnership. Somehow amongst the demands of fame, contractual obligations, family responsibilities, and the rigors of creative production and live performance, Alex, Geddy, and Neil found a way to preserve their motivation to create music for its own sake. They somehow managed to protect their inner well of creativity.

You get a sense of how they have fostered this protection through their willingness to honor the esoteric nature of inner process, not just in grief but in making difficult life choices, and in their adaptation to a music industry radically different from that of the 1970s when they first began. Each of them maintained an inner-orientation rather than an external one. And that internal relationship with self functioned for them as a compass. Basically, they prioritized the relationship they had with themselves as individuals, and with each other, and acquiesced to the sacrifices required to maintain creative integrity. It has been my experience that such an internal "north star" keeps one on a path that nourishes the spirit and fosters continued interest in creativity.

I imagine that creative integrity is not just about selling out or caving into the demands driving the profit motives of record labels and tour companies. It's about preserving a sense of autonomy, competence, and belonging to a community you built and regularly contribute to, that respects you and that you respect in return. If you cannot create the art (and community) you imagine because you're making expedient compromises, it becomes really hard to maintain your intrinsic motivation. One can compromise in the short-term for a record deal or whatever but with too much compromise you eventually lose touch with the inner self and the reason for creating in the first place.

All this contemplation brought me to reflect on my inner process. I am inclined to spend hours in quiet, unproductive time in preparation for creative work, or as a means of recharging. And while I admire prolific artists and makers, I understand that I am a maker of another sort, one whose creative work product is not readily visible to others. I am very good at doing nothing. Not the kind of nothing that involves a smart phone, TV, computer or other device. Not the kind of nothing that requires anything else but a park bench and time. I've spent years refining my ability to sit and listen to my inner world or to the outer world. Long silences are inviting to me rather than intimidating. Long periods of time alone feel safe and nurturing rather than uncomfortable or threatening. I know that my "do nothing" skill differs from the "do nothing" of those around me who manage theirs usually with a remote control in hand.

Yet despite knowing this and appreciating this about myself, I still feel frustration at not getting things done faster. My productivity is also complicated by life-long health issues that require me to rest in order to live harmoniously with them. But those feelings of frustration give way to the satisfaction of having completed a project when I do not fight the need to meditate, take long naps, journal, or basically sit and do what I do best...nothing. Hacking one's inner creative process and recognizing and valuing what you're really good at takes courage. But the result is that others can see the relaxed confidence that comes with accepting yourself and your creative quirks.

When Alex and Geddy talk about the need to wait out the process, they are talking about trust they have developed after a lifetime of experience. They've been through grief before. They've been through creative transitions and changes before. They've grown as people, and they've left open creative possibilities so their relationship to their music can grow with them as the time and tides of life require. This is the essence of honoring inner creative process. It requires getting to know yourself, accepting yourself, respecting yourself, and letting the creative process take its course. One has to show up and do the work but be open about what that looks like and how quickly you make progress. Eventually, you learn to trust the process and work with the doubts and frustrations that surface without taking them too seriously, then the joy of creative work can be more easily found, even in the darkest of times.