A Vision Quest
"When you're in the weeds, remember your vision." Sharing this post written by Gwenda Bond about one of our adventures this weekend and a few lessons on creativity .
I just wanted to share this post written by my friend Gwenda Bond. It details our mini Cooper Italian job jaunt through downtown this last weekend and a few lessons on creativity. I think this is one of the first times anyone has ever commented on or noticed that a certain level of manic energy down to the wire is part of my creative process. It kind of embarrasses me to show that side to people as it is intense and work focused. I will drag a table from anywhere to pivot and do right down to the last second. And part of me must feed off that energy. I remember feeling sheepish at the fact that Gwenda was seeing that side of me, but I just had to keep going. It is intense, however. I would not necessarily think of half the things I do if I was not down to a flow state. She is right though . I take time to pause and focus on one small thing at a time until something starts to come together. I think i’m used to doing this with the sketches of the cakes, using them as blueprints, pausing to choose one thing to add at a time and am used to high pressure. I work in something highly breakable and, usually, quite expensive. So, you have to be able to center yourself or you’d lose your mind. You take solace in the fact that you’ve done it before and you will do it again. It is part of my process, but it is true that weddings have timelines. Events have start times. But I am piecing things together right up until the last and wouldn’t think of it the night before. You could call it a flaw, but I get it done and it’s something that someone else can’t do. I have been at weddings working down to the wire and felt ashamed for doing so when finally one of my bigger clients said, “No, this is part of the process to see the art being made.” And another friend said, “Artists can look however they want.” In reference to the oversized William and Mary decades old wind breaker when people are being seated for dinner. So, you can say it's unprofessional, but I really never feel too bad in the end because the finished work is not something you can get anywhere else. Maybe you get it down to the wire a bit. But that’s how I work and I mainly can’t help it. My friend Giselle keeps a hold on me for her events 😂. But they’re also very controlled designs… I would argue when you let go and work this way that you come up with things even in the last five, ten, and fifteen minutes that you would not have planned prior.
For example, this weekend Lissa said to move the desserts out into the hallway on the fly, because I was working and you can’t have an elephant creature stomping around ruining the vibe at a yoga event. ( So, I did it in bare feet with Gwenda’s help 😂) . The hallway decision was the best as when people came out, it was this other peaceful space with candles lit. Trust the gut decisions that are made in the moment and just go with it. This is why I was always on such a high after my weddings. Your brain goes to a different place.
Sometimes I am trying to put together a sugar flower arrangement on a blank cake with people around talking or in some situations trying to throw you on purpose. A man once got right behind me and said “Does it bother you that I’m here?” or some such. No, we will ask you to leave and i’ll keep working 😂. You can’t ever quit. I am working right up to the last minute to keep my eye on what the vision was supposed to be rather than playing it safe and stopping thinking, “we are down to the wire let’s do the bare minimum and get out of here.” Ok! I’ve talked enough. Also, muppet energy forever. More on that in a moment. Here is Gwenda:
Vision Quest
A Creative Lesson I Learned This Week
NOV 21, 2023
I’m learning to stop trying to find the equilibrium point when I can comfortably start writing and just Get Back To It, because emotional maelstroms are still going to be the order of the day here from time to time… But I think I’ve belabored those enough recently, so how about a post about the creative process instead?
Since I’m thinking a lot about that too. I’ve committed to get my editor a book draft early in the New Year, and then have another one to finish for my other editor, plus lots of projects I want to get to. So, time to do the thing and lean on the process.
Process is always evolving. I learn new things or unlock new facets of mine with every book, sometimes with every day. Because, of course, how we do writing or any other art isn’t separate from how we live life—creating the spaces around us, the room and ways in which we do our work.
I’ve only mentioned my brilliant friend
here about a dozen times, but she figures in directly in this one. And, in fact, Alex and I and our friend Lissa Sims (and some rotating others) find ourselves frequently bouncing around ideas and helping each other creatively and talking out ideas, despite the fact we all do different things. Lissa is the best yoga teacher I’ve ever known, and is that rarest and most magical of beings: someone who is wise but doesn’t take themselves too seriously. Alex is, as I mentioned, brilliant, and taught herself to be probablythe best sugar flower artist working today, and her talents extend beyond that, of course, in a way that’s directly relevant here (she’s also drafted an incredible book): she can literally craft an experience and a transcendent tableau, whether it’s for a party, or a wedding, or, in this case, for serving amazing desserts and teas after the first event in Lissa’s new yoga space, a yoga nidra session with sound healing. (Side note: We are all SO excited about this space, because a) it’s perfect and b) the Shala yoga space WAS to be in the building that used to house the Lexington Writer’s Room but burned down so…full circle.)
Anyway, I encountered this quote last week and shared it with Lissa and Alex. I also shared it on bluesky where it resonated with a lot of people (and also made some people very defensive on the part of the muppets who ARE quite good at things, thank you very much, which I found delightfully old-school internet).
Brett Goldstein is, of course, Roy Kent from Ted Lasso, which I would say has Big Muppet Energy and it is, in fact, better to hear this delivered in Roy Kent fashion in your head.
The important part of this isn’t whether you’re good at something or not, it’s the joy part. That’s the profound part. This is not actually the lesson I’m posting about here, but it leads into it, because the three of us immediately seized on our own muppet energy. We are pulling things off on the fly, bouncing things around, and hanging onto the joy of making it happen. We are messing up and laughing about it.
So the muppet energy was foremost in our minds. The thing about Alex’s specific form of artistic genius is that she is never going to settle, not when she’s crafting something for other people. She is a risk taker. That’s part of what makes her an artist. She will be working right up to the end, no matter what it is, to make it better, and I do think this tends to make people more uncomfortable when it’s a woman. A guy, it’s like, “Stand back, watch him work, it’s amazing.”
Anyway! I had never gotten to watch Alex work in this way before. It’s been a wildly busy time for all of us, and so she was pulling together forty China teacups she’s collected and making the world’s best cookies and two separate delicious cakes (recipes at her substack), all the dishes and serving things, all the tea and tea making supplies. Alex drives an older yellow minicooper. I, as of this fall, drive my blue shiny newer minicooper. I’d just returned from going to my sister Tuesday’s wedding dress shopping excursion and we had mumble mumble minutes before we needed to be at the space for yoga and Alex sent me a text that she didn’t have enough room in her car.
Be right there, I said. We loaded everything up and then proceeded to pellmell caravan through downtown in our minis, basically reenacting The Italian Job.
We got there and with some broken teacups and gasps and moments of horror and a hand from other friends got everything in and up to the third floor hallway. I stayed out to help Alex set up during the yoga itself.
And that’s when I learned the lesson.
We were wild and frenetic. Dishes were flying. Lissa said set up in the hallway, an excellent pivot, and invoked muppet energy. And then, there was this beat of calm. And Alex went to work.
She scouted a table that had a better aesthetic on a different floor and we carried it upstairs. Another white plastic table wasn’t right either. Down to the first floor we went to carry up another.
(The building was empty other than this for the weekend, luckily. Also, tell me this isn’t a unicorn?)
I started to place dishes and she was just like, “no, do this instead” (nicely). And I watched her create a spread that looked like a fucking painting on the fly. What was crucial about it though, was that she did not do what many of us do when we can feel a project could slide off the rails, when disaster is hovering, when it feels best to play it safe, when maybe you might just want to give up. Or use the white plastic table even if it’s hideous. Focus on the scene you’re writing and keep trying to make it work even though it isn’t. Here is what I learned:
When you’re in the weeds, remember your vision.
Because she stopped and she went back to her larger vision for this event and then she set about making it happen, big pieces first, then the tiny details. Right down to running in to steal a lit candle inside the event and light the tapers on the table before people came out.
(Photos taken by Tim Obeck.)
And you know what? People loved it. We ended up giddy. We came home and made French 75s and then I collapsed on the couch (Alex went on to her next adventure.) We really did put on a show. And learn lessons for next time, of course. Next time, we’ll also do yoga.
But the big one for me is: stop tinkering with the tiny shit when all is about to be or feels or even just seems lost. Take a step back, breathe, find the vision, and work from there. Find the joy. Put on a show.
Going to do that right now. This is also, side note, why AI is not going to be making good art (art is about sharing and creating from a personal vision that fosters connection, and I’ll go to my grave believing that). But that’s a rant for another time.
Happy Thanksgiving! I’m grateful for all of you.
p.s. I really love this poem from Ali Trotta.
Gwenda’s post also found here.