The Artist's Way

As artists, we drop down the well into the stream. We hear
what’s down there and we act on it—more like taking
dictation than anything fancy having to do with art.
A friend of mine is a superb film director who is known
for his meticulous planning. And yet he often shoots most
brilliantly from the seat of his pants, quickly grabbing a shot
that comes to him as he works.
These moments of clear inspiration require that we move
into them on faith. We can practice these small leaps of faith
daily in our pages and on our artist dates. We can learn not
only to listen but also to hear with increasing accuracy that
inspired, intuitive voice that says, “Do this, try this, say
this....”
Most writers have had the experience of catching a poem
or a paragraph or two of formed writing. We consider these
finds to be small miracles. What we fail to realize is that they
are, in fact, the norm. We are the instrument more than the
author of our work.
Michelangelo is said to have remarked that he released
David from the marble block he found him in. “The painting
has a life of its own. I try to let it come through,” said
Jackson Pollock. When I teach screenwriting, I remind my
students that their movie already exists in its entirety. Their
job is to listen for it, watch it with their mind’s eye, and
write it down.
The same may be said of all art. If painting and sculptures
wait for us, then sonatas wait for us; books, plays, and
poems wait for us, too. Our job is simply to get them down.