TOOL TWO: THE ARTIST’S DATE
THERE   IS  A   SECOND  TOOL    that    is  essential   to  a   creative    awakening.  That
tool    is  a   weekly  artist’s    date,   a   festive solo    undertaking to  explore something
that    excites or  interests   us. Unlike  the morning pages,  which   are work,   the
artist’s    date    is  play—and    that    makes   it  much    harder  for people  to  do.
Ours    is  a   Calvinist   society.    We  have    a   work    ethic   and we  understand  the
idea     of  “working”   on  our     creativity.     We  speak   of,     but     do  not     really
understand, the notion  of  “the    play    of  ideas.” That    word    “play”  is  pivotal.
Creativity  comes   forward by  being   coaxed, not bludgeoned.
When    I   am  teaching    a   twelve-week class,  it  takes   only    a   little  time    before
most    of  the class   are writing their   morning pages   seven   days    out of  seven.
What    is  much    more    difficult   is  for me  to  cajole  or  convince    the class   that
there   can really  be  a   benefit in  the weekly  artist’s    date.   How can “play”  help
them    work,   they    want    to  know.
Here    is  how.    With    the morning pages,  we  are sending.    We  are notifying   the
Universe    of  our likes   and dislikes.   We  are,    if  you will,   telegraphing.   With    the
artist’s    date,   we  set our dial    to  receive.    We  are receptive   to  inflow, no  longer
concerned   with    outflow.    To  execute an  artist’s    date,   we  must    be  open-minded,
and that    open    mind    is  available   to  inspiration.
It  works   like    this.   It  is  a   bright, sunny   Sunday  afternoon   and I   have    roused
myself  from    my  apartment’s cozy    comfort to  take    my  artist’s    date.   I   leave   the
Upper   West    Side    and travel  to  Murray  Hill.   My  destination is  a   bookstore,
The Complete    Traveller.  The store   is  a   treasure    trove   of  explorer’s  lore.   Some
books    are     new     and     crisp.  Others  are     old     and     musty,  long    out     of  print.
Scanning    the shelves,    I   find    myself  drawn   to  the section on  ocean   voyages.    A
battered    book    on  Magellan    comes   to  hand.   Without thinking    about   it, I   buy
the book    on  impulse.    I   dawdle  a   little  longer, looking at  maps    of  the Isle    of
Wight,  another interest.   Leaving the store,  I   do  not think   anything    much    has
happened.   I   do  not realize that    I   am  carrying    out with    me  the entryway    to  a