Category: Art

We can break down motivation into two types: intrinsic and extrinsic. Intrinsic is basically what motivates us from within, and extrinsic is motivation that stems from external rewards, such as wealth, adulation, acquiring things, etc. To me, creating art is mainly driven by intrinsic motivation. Stories and songs are written because of the inner flame of the soul and imagination. And writing stories or songs doesn’t necessarily equate to a material reward.

Often times we might write just to get ideas down–as a way of thinking–just as someone might compose music to express their emotions. When we write stories, it satiates the need to express the fountain of our ideas and thoughts, much like how exercise or getting fresh air is necessary to our physical health. It’s not asking for anything in return except to do, to be active.

Although extrinsic motivation is necessary for acquiring the things we need on a daily basis, that’s not what art is about. It’s not a utility, but a form of expression.

Even though writing a story is a conscious process, the values and ideas within a story come from the unconscious. The characters, landscapes, ideas, and scenes can come from dreams, sudden insights, random thoughts, visions, or be inspired through a movie or book or song. No matter how much we deliberate on the particular of a story, shaping them into a linear three part act, their content rests within the imagination, which sprouts from the deepest recesses of the mind.

When a novel or a work of art is finished, people only see the final product. They don’t see the work that went into it, such as the drafts, revisions, edits, and countless hours that went into each and every detail. It’s just the final product they see, and their perception of it can last a few seconds, or even be a glance.

But to the writer and artist, it’s not merely a final product, but a cumulation of a vast array of ideas and experiences that have been harmonized as one. It’s a reflection of who they are, and what their imagination wishes to share. It embodies not only the skill and labor they put into it, but the careful selection of ideas, images, and sounds, meticulously brought together to form a vision of something new.

There’s a clear incentive when it comes to things that are practical or job-related. For example, earning an income, or having tools to build something, or software to complete a task. But when it comes to the arts, the incentive comes from within. It comes from an internal drive, an incentive that is motivated by the thoughts and ideas themselves.

The characters in the story aren’t aware out of the outside world, how much profit is made from their story, since they’re contained within the prism of the story. They exist within the realm of an imaginative world, representing notions about humanity that transcend monetary value, since its value lies in the impact of the ideas within the story, whether the reader bought the novel from a bookstore or checked it out from the library. And with regard to paintings, sculptures, and music, they’re made not with respect to their utility, but with regard to the emotions that the artist conveys or evokes through them.

Therefore, the incentive for works of art is deeper than whatever monetary value that is assigned to them, or however many copies are sold. It’s not like a piece of furniture, or a tool that has a specific purpose for fixing or building something. The value comes from what the artist or writer has to say, what they want to convey. The incentive is something that’s communicated–the voice of the artist, the author.

It can be hard to focus on one discipline when so many appeal to us. It’s like an artist trying to specialize in two or three mediums of art and realizing that there isn’t enough time to become an expert in all of them. Each one requires time and dedication, mastery and practice. It’s not enough to try it for a month or two or take on a project on the weekend. It takes years of continuous work to really develop the skills for it, to understand the principles, to become good at it.

When we limit ourselves to one discipline, however, it can be monotonous after awhile. We need variation, new challenges and ideas to explore. Each discipline and field offers that, but the hard part is in selecting which one to focus on, which one to put most (or all) of our time in. We don’t want to be in a position where we look back ten or twenty years later and wonder why we didn’t try something else, why we didn’t pursue plan B instead. Besides, our choices are limited by time, and whatever we choose will set us on a path that is marked by twists and turns and unexpected surprises.

In this post, I will focus on artistic goals. If you want to read my last post on personal and monetary goals, click here.

Artistic goals can be about exploring topics and ideas, using different kinds of materials (i.e. collages), or creating certain types of works. In the latter case, that can be broken down into works in a particular medium (i.e. photography, painting, etc.) or works that explore certain themes and subjects.

In creating any work, we explore different facets of it through various renditions and perspectives. If we’re painting a certain kind of landscape, we might experiment with different styles, colors, and compositions to convey a particular mood or emotion about it. We don’t really know what’s going to hit a home run, but we do know that by trying out different things, we’ll begin to understand what works and what doesn’t (i.e. what techniques, colors, and compositions have the greatest effect).

In the process of creating art, we’re honing our craft and increasing our knowledge of techniques, as well as fine-tuning our intuition and abilities. But the thing about creating art is that it takes continuous practice and resilent dedication. Mastering our artistic abilities is a never-ending process, since there are always new ideas to explore, and our knowledge and techniques can always be improved.

When we create art, it’s a testament to our creative impulse, a testament to the fact that there are different modes of seeing the world and of imagining what lies beyond it. But that creative impulse can only be manifested through a medium, which must have a subject, which conveys a theme by the way we stylize and compose the work.

Thus, our artistic goals are really about us mastering how to illustrate our ideas using all the techniques and knowledge we have at our disposal. But to get to that point, we must understand what we’re capable of, and what medium best suits us, and what styles, themes, and subjects speak to us in a kind of natural and inspirational way.

Being creative is kind of like having an impulse to make something that doesn’t have any rhyme or reason to it, although it will when it’s finished. It’s like a distinct voice in our minds is telling us to create as if everything else at the moment is irrelevant, and we need to strike while the iron is hot or else we’ll lose the momentum and not create at all.

Once a work is finished, we might know the reasons why we created it through self reflection: to address some issue we’ve thinking about, to convey emotions we’ve been bottling up, to manifest a world that we’ve envisioned, or to share something that we’ve seen in our dreams. Regardless of the reason, the creative impulse is always telling us to create, telling us that there is a world beyond our own–a world of imagination that is calling to be brought into this world.

But the hardest thing about the creative impulse is to act on it when we’re so inundated with the everyday duties and obligations of life. We only have so much time in the day, so much energy and resources that we could put to use in creating something that requires hours, days . . . even years to finish. Not only that, but it takes time to sift through the flux of ideas that will appear in our minds when we can only focus on a few at a time. On top of that, new ideas will begin to emerge during the process of creation, calling for our attention–building up a backlog of ideas on our to-do list. And as we work on our current project(s) while postponing others, we begin to feel overwhelmed by everything, even saddened by the fact that we can’t get to them all.

In our lifetime, only so many creative works can be created out of the countless number of ideas we’ll have. We end up picking the ones that are the most important to us–the ones that reflect our values and vision the most. But if we ignore the creative impulse, refuse to capitalize on the powers of our imagination, we’ll slowly settle in to the everyday world, and all the wondrous and limitless ideas that we’ve collected during our creative journey will soon start to fade away.

When writing a story or making a work of art, spontaneity can bring excitement to the creative process. When we’re spontaneous, it’s like taking a sudden turn on a familiar path, which invites a host of new ideas and possibilities. It’s as if we’ve gotten access to a new set of creative resources–ones that we wouldn’t have considered if we hadn’t been spontaneous.

But being spontaneous has its drawbacks. If we decided to be spontaneous on something we’ve already planned out and designed, that spontaneous decision can ruin it if it doesn’t work out. It’s like applying a new layer of paint over an old painting–hoping that it’ll improve it. But if we mess up, well, there goes our painting.

Spontaneity is a double-edged sword. When it works, it works really well–elevating our work to a higher plane of creativity. When it fails, it can pull our work down–or ruin it–as mentioned before. We can be spontaneous when we’re trying out new ideas for the first time, since we can always start over if it falls flat. But when it comes to applying it to something we’ve already planned out, such as a story, a painting, or any project for that matter, we can only guess how it’ll pan out.

When trying to come up with new ideas for a story, we have to be aware of what ideas we’ve already used. It can be hard to come up with new ideas when we’re used to using the same themes, characters, and storyline. We have to break away from old habits, think of ideas outside the box.

We often have to experiment with different ideas, ones that seem strange or offbeat. But that’s the only way we can grow. In the process, we’ll discover something new about ourselves, see a new side of ourselves that will take us by surprise.

In the process, ideas that we hadn’t considered before now seem possible. By taking on new storylines, themes, and characters, it’s as if we’ve become a new writer.

New ideas can provoke a new understanding of our past work, and they can stimulate us to think deeply about long held notions about what’s good and not good in art. Instead of using the same themes and formulas again and again, we have to see what else we can come up with, and if we’re willing to try them.

Whether we write, paint, sculpt, draw, or compose music, it’s hard to detach ourselves from the reward we hope to earn from our work. When the result isn’t what we hoped for, it can be discouraging, and it can give the impression that maybe our work isn’t as great as we thought it was.

But was that the main goal? For me, the most important thing about creating is to create regardless of the outcome. It’s similar to playing a sport or a board game regardless of who won or loss. If we put in our all, the result will reflect that. The point was the enjoyment of the game, not the result (although, I dare say, it’s nice to win).

But when we focus on the result, it can bear a tremendous load on us. If it’s a positive one, it will put pressure on us to keep succeeding without fail. If it’s negative, we can be discouraged by it, and we might end up quitting altogether.

If we create just to create, there’s a satisfying feeling of having emptied our soul and imagination into our work–of seeing it come to life. Even if very few will appreciate it, at least we expressed what we believed was important. Who knows . . . many years down the line, it might inspire someone else.