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The other day I had an interesting conversation with a couple of creative practitioner friends and we were talking about all the ideas that we have that will never become actual things. And we lamented that in many instances it’s actually the ideas that we love about our work, rather than the doing/acting on them, and wouldn’t it be lovely to be paid to just have the ideas.

All my museum jobs hinged on me having ideas – a regular supply of new ways to approach the collections for adults, school children and families. And that was one of my favourite parts of the work. Of course, we had to make those ideas come to life, as well, which I enjoyed less but still found rewarding because we were working as a team. Now that I’m self-employed all these things come down to me: I am the idea generator, the person who ok’s the plan and then the worker who executes it. And this is part of what’s so sticky for me. The doing part is easier for me with others involved; I prefer it that way. It’s little wonder then that so many of my ‘work’ ideas don’t get beyond that point. If I’m not feeling 100% energised by it then I probably won’t do it, there’s no one else to lean on for support or to tap into their passion for the work to help me get through the difficult bits.

But what I’ve noticed about this is that instead of observing it, and saying ‘well maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, then, for not translating every idea into a thing. It’s ok if some ideas are just that…’ what I find myself doing is being incredibly hard on myself for all the things that go un-done. I carry this ever-increasing list of ideas and creative impulses along in my head and remind myself of it whenever I feel a bit rubbish. It’s more evidence of how I can’t quite do it properly, how other people do it better etc etc. I recall all those times I’ve said I’ll write a blog post a day for a month and only end up doing 5 or 6, or I’ll plan 3 months’ worth of resources/courses to create and find myself carrying them over from season to season. The other day I joked that the great thing about procrastination is that eventually you can cross things off your list because they’re just not relevant any more and there’s other stuff to be done. The new list replaces the old and so on.

What’s difficult about all of this, for me at least, is not really all the stuff that goes unwritten, unmade, it’s the guilt and the shame I put myself through for not doing it, the way that I’ve seen having lots of ideas as some kind of problem or issue, when it really shouldn’t be. What would the preferable alternative be – no ideas at all? Or just a few ideas that I have to eek out and work on forever? I don’t like the sound of those, either.

But, despite the joy of having the ideas, there is an inherent sadness in the end-of-possibility that un-done ideas represent. I can imagine a world where all these things happen, and I grieve slightly that some of them will never emerge. What I love about ideas is that they come out of curiosity, about asking ‘what if?’. They represent a new direction on the path you’re taking. It’s incredibly exciting to live in a space of ideas, where anything is an option. It feels hopeful and expansive.

So, I’ve been thinking about how to reframe this issue. How can I turn my inherent love for having ideas, and yet not being the person to act on most of them, into a positive thing rather than another stick to beat myself with? How can I release some of the guilt and become more accepting of this part of myself? How could I transform some of the ‘wasted’ ideas into something that has life in the world?

Not sure I have all the answers but I’ve found some things that feel like a good start:

1. Recognise the ideas and celebrate them in and of themselves

Most of my ideas lie scattered throughout notebooks. When I finish a notebook, unless there’s still-relevant stuff in it that I need to refer to, I’ll usually just pop it on my bookshelf and not return to it. So, now I’m thinking that I might create a small ritual around this. Before I place it on the shelf, I’ll go through the book and highlight the ideas that I want to acknowledge. Then, I’ll transfer them (all/some – still not sure) into a working document on my laptop. I’ll probably have a few lists by theme (like blog post ideas, research ideas, exhibition ideas, general questions etc) and just chuck them in there. Then, I’ll stand back and admire my handiwork. Well done me. What a lot of stuff in my brain. (No judgements, just noticing).

2. Notice recurring themes

This is a biggie. When I talk to makers about having a regular reflection/review practice, to acknowledge all you’ve been doing, before you launch into planning and looking ahead, this is the reason why: regular checking-in with your practice, how you feel within that, means you can see the patterns more easily, you connect things about how your creativity works, what conditions it needs, so that you can make small adjustments as you go, rather than having to do the big overhaul in one go (like at New Year).
So, I’m thinking that looking through my list of ideas could be a good way to notice what I’m thinking about, the things that I keep coming back to. This could point the way to the work that I most need to do. It’s probably something I care deeply about or a little itch that needs to be scratched. If I’ve been returning to the same things, but in different forms, in different costumes, perhaps that should be what goes on my next plan or to-do list, rather than the brand new shiny idea I just had that day?

3. Share

This one’s tricky and I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about it. There’s lots of people out there who recommend not sharing ideas, for many reasons, but if I’m thinking about this logically, why wouldn’t I? If I have ideas that aren’t going to happen under my watch, what if someone else could make it happen, or could transform it into something better? What if, in the same way that we might swap materials or tools, we could swap ideas? I’m still figuring this one out (as someone who is notoriously bad at taking other people’s suggestions) wondering if other people would actually want/like this approach. But it feels intuitively like a way to alleviate some of the ‘black hole of ideas’ anxiety I have.

And so, to wrap up this rather meta post, here are some ideas for blog posts I’ve had in the last few years which I’m unlikely to write [and the reasons why]. It’s nice to think they’ll live here now, in the virtual world, instead of just in my private notebook world.

Amateur thoughts – reclaiming the word and its place within creativity [I think this related to a book I was reading?]

The warm-up for the non-Manifesto Manifesto [this snippet was floating alone, no context, so who knows what I was thinking?!]

Approaching galleries [other people have brilliant resources on this]

What have I learnt in the last 5 years [I just didn’t have the energy]

Lessons learnt in lockdown [again, just no]

The myth of consistency – what does it cost us? Who does it benefit? [honestly this one still feels valid I’m just not sure what I have to say about it]

Small acts – don’t underestimate the sustained impact of doing little but often [this one was literally written underneath the consistency one. I have no sense of irony]

Acceptance, Stoicism & Quakerism – my shifting thoughts around a personal philosophy [note dated autumn 2020. Wow, how did I think this was going to happen?]

Solitude vs Retreat in creativity [still figuring this one out, probably won’t ever resolve the tension here]

One Response

  1. This was so interesting to read. My thought was that perhaps these ‘ideas un-done’ are just the questions you live with. Some unfinished thinking is what we carry along with us I guess, destined to inform our philosophy rather than become a list of actions. I identify with the way in which our capacity to create and perform projects cannot keep pace with our ability to generate ideas. It can feel exhausting!