That sneaky little devil called Procastination, and some musings on art

I have a dream.

Actually, I have a few. I want to play music for other people to enjoy in public venues (other than just at open mic nights). I want the songs I write to captivate and inspire. I want to finish writing the novel I'm working on. Trust me, you don't want to miss this one. It has mermen who look like Scandinavian gods, unicorns, tree-spirits, romance, adventure... and did I mention mermen, who look like Scandinavian gods? It's been living in my head for years now and is slowly and painfully working its way out onto paper, sometimes a paragraph at a time.

And then there's my newly-discovered love of painting. I dream of painting some really fantastic artwork and displaying it at an exhibition, and selling it on for others to enjoy.

I think these three dreams can be summed up in one simple way: I long for my art (music, writing and painting) to be that instrument through which somebody, somewhere taps into the beauty of life that already surrounds us. I want to put a smile on somebody's face. I want to give back into the universe using the gifts I have been given. It's a need, something that drives me, something that I enjoy and something that makes me happy.

Then there's my sub-dreams, if you will. I want to have a beautiful house with my love. It doesn't have to be big, only decorated with lots of beautiful, perhaps homemade bits and bobs. In my dreamiest of dreams it's a pretty little cottage with flowers around the door, a white garden swing for two, chickens and perhaps a Shetland pony in the perfectly manicured garden, and two little curly, red-haired children running around and laughing whilst throwing petals up into the air. Oh, and my wardrobe is full of pretty dresses like the ones you see in 'Call the Midwife', I have a perfect figure and I always wear an apron when Max comes home from work. (My apron has frills).

I understand that not all dreams are realistic. But heck, if they were realistic, they wouldn't be dreams, right? I do however believe that everything works out in the end. We might not get the house of our dreams, but something in just the right location at just the right time. I might not have red-headed children because it might not be in my (or Max's) genetic make-up. I might not sell any paintings, I might never sing out of Folkestone. But as long as it's in my power (which determination, practice, discipline and commitment are), I can push towards the dreams which seem more likely to materialise.

Which brings me to the subject of this blog article; procrastination. It's such a harsh, ugly word in my opinion. When he comes knocking, he's all dressed up to the nines, and boy is he charming! He promises to stay for only fifteen minutes, but ultimately he invites himself to dinner, drains you of every last drop of your most expensive wine, and when he finally does leave he steals away a very little part of your dreams, and consequently, a very little part of your soul.

Both hands high in the air; I am a terrible procrastinator. Sometimes I have such a bad case of the procrastinations that I would literally rather do anything than what I feel would be beneficial to the advancement of my creative pursuits. I'll clean the toilet, clean the oven; heck I'll even hoover! I'll mindlessly scroll up and down my Facebook feed, clicking on every video that looks remotely interesting. I'll send those e-mails and WhatsApp messages I've been meaning to send. Then there's Netflix and the next episode of my series to catch up on. I mean, how else can I possibly relax? Cramming my brain with a million images a second (well not quite, but you know what I mean!), having my ears molested by continuous noise and trying to do something else at the same time (knit, Facebook-scroll, eat, or run through the events of the day in my mind; to name but a few of the activities I am capable of taking part in whilst watch TV) is the only way I can wash away the dust of the daily grind. Making beautiful art, which nourishes my soul and keeps me dreamward-bound, is far too taxing. I mean, who could possibly sit down for even just half an hour after work, and thoughtfully apply colour to a canvas, either in perfect silence, or to a background of classical (or mindful) music? Who could even think of losing themselves in a gripping story, turning the images created by their mind into words and sentences and beauty, or of picking up their guitar and playing songs which lift their spirit and calm their mind?

It's funny how backwards our concept of rest has become. I think we need to look honestly at ourselves and decide what really refreshes and renews us. Binge-watching Netflix, or a walk in the park, listening to the birds? Facebook-scrolling or doing that activity that makes you feel like you've come home when you do it. Maybe for you it's baking or cooking, or having tea with a friend, or working-out, or maybe it's some kind of art. I'm not saying we shouldn't watch TV or disconnect ourselves completely from all social media. I just think we need to be better at prioritising.

Sometimes we procrastinate because we feel downright lazy. We can procrastinate because it feels like it's going to be too much of an effort to do what we know, deep down, we should be doing. But when it comes down to it, the 'effort' we put into the things we are really passionate about will be rewarded with our success. Even if we don't get success through fame, fortune or praise from others, the reward will be the knowledge that we have done our bit and tried our very best.

I recently read something somewhere that suggested that doing something for ten minutes a day is far better than never doing it at all. I thoroughly agree, and this is what I shall be trying to stick to from now on. Ten minutes a day of some creative activity. So easy, and yet in practice, it's really not!

Having done a bit of soul-searching as to why I often procrastinate, I have come up with a theory. I think much of our procrastination stems from fear. Fear of failing or fear of not being good enough.

Art is a personal thing. It makes you vulnerable. You are sharing from a part of yourself that is raw and genuine. If someone judges or criticises your art, it can feel like you, yourself, are being criticised. It's hard. But it's all part of the learning process.

I think we're scared to fail because we live in a black-and-white culture of good and bad. We try so hard to fit in to boxes that are often far too small for us. Maybe your parents had expectations for you that were too high. You didn't meet them, so now you feel like a failure. Maybe, like me, you grew up in a strict, religious environment that tried to control you and brainwash you in to believing that you were fundamentally evil. Your 'good' was never good enough. If you were 'bad', you would go straight to hell. You can understand how this might create a fear of failure as an adult, and a leaning towards perfectionism.

It is our performance that results in certain outcomes. Good grades at high school means entrance into certain universities and courses. Good grades at university means good jobs and a good salary. In the same way, picking the 'right' subjects at GSCE level, and further along the line, will result in you getting onto the 'right' career path.

Then, if you look exactly like society dictates you should, wearing all the 'right' clothes and having the 'perfect' body, you will be accepted by the in-crowd, get all the right attention, and, apparently, be happy.

It is wrong to carry all of these expectations and standards and transfer them into the world of art. Art is ever-changing and always being perceived differently by the beholder, the audience, or the reader. Success in these areas should not be measured by how many paintings you sell, how many record deals you land, or how many bestsellers you write. Rather, it should be based on how true you have been to yourself. Have you done the very best with what you have been given? In the end of the day, I believe that the only thing that matters here is art for art's sake. If twelve people see your painting and feel some joy in looking at it, even for a brief second, you have done your work. If a small crowd in a bar hear your song being played, listen to the words and echo its sentiment, then your job is done. Even if you never get that story published, I guarantee that writing it will have been so much fun. You'll never know if you don't try.

Just follow your heart, and don't procrastinate about it. At least not every time.