Kirsty Hall  |  Artist & purveyor of mad obsessive projects

In my early twenties I was terrified of my art. Absolutely terrified. I was afraid to look at it sideways in case it ran away.

Kirsty Hall: Sad mask in Edinburgh, Feb 2010

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t make much work. It’s hard to make art when you’re scared that your inspiration will jump up and leave at any moment: muses don’t like clinginess.

In my thirties I went back to college after a break to care for my son. While at art college, I became obsessed with understanding my own process. I wrote about it endlessly, trying to understand the mystery. I mined my memories of childhood to find out where my art came from. I analysed what worked for me and what didn’t. I was searching for patterns.

To my surprise, instead of causing the mystery to evaporate, shining a light on my creativity made it even more magical.

Like a mature relationship, a more intimate familiarity with my own creative process bred endless joy. I had been afraid that understanding my process would kill it. Would take the spark away. Would result in my work becoming boring and mundane. Instead, it made me fall more deeply in love. My process became more accessible, understandable and controllable, yet ever more rich and fascinating to me.

And I learnt to trust it. I learnt to trust that the ‘post-exhibition blues’ would only last a few days. I began to recognise that research phases were different from ‘not working’. I started to understand the need for putting work aside to give time for my editor head to emerge.

The power of metaphors

If you’ve just started to explore your own creative process, here’s a simple technique that I found helpful: come up with metaphors for it. Although metaphors are not literally true, they are a powerful way to understand a process.

Here are three of the metaphors that I have for my own creative process:

Composting

Kirsty Hall: compost bin with slug trail drawings, Dec 2008

The composting metaphor speaks fondly to the deeply organic nature of my process. It also refers to the rather random nature of my ADD brain, which has a habit of tossing up the indigestible things to the top of the pile every now and then – like about once every five minutes!

As any gardener knows, composting doesn’t happen instantly. Similarly, I need to digest ideas: I cannot go from initial idea to finished product in a few weeks. The idea has to steep first, it has to rot down, it has to be invisibly worked on by all the little idea microbes in my head. Looking back over my sketchbooks, I invariably discover that what I think is a ‘new’ idea, will be lightly referred to years before – there will be a throwaway sentence that says something like, ‘there’s something compelling about aprons’ and three years later I’m sewing sequins on a apron.

Perhaps other artists can work on a fast time-scale but my process is glacially slow: by using the composting metaphor, I began to acknowledge and honour that.

Knitting

photo credit: elitatt

For years I beat myself up for picking up ideas and abandoning them before they were completely finished. That’s not to say that I didn’t make finished work: I did. However, I didn’t make finished series of work – at least not in a linear and timely fashion.

Because working in series is very important to me, I felt this to be a wrongness within me. Then one day it occurred to me that perhaps my work was like a very complicated jumper and I just hadn’t done enough to be able to see the whole pattern yet. Maybe if I looked back at it, I would be able to see where the different threads had woven in and out, sometimes blue; sometimes complicated stitches of white on white; sometimes little flashes of red. Sometimes sequins; sometimes matches; sometimes pins.

I came to see that there was a method to the way my jittery brain worked. Certainly I’m easily distracted but perhaps I can find a strength in that if I trust to my obscured pattern. I began to accept that I was working in entirely the right way for me.

Now when I’m ready to return to an older series, I think about picking up stitches. Right now the pins are on a stitch marker while I complete the sequin apron but I know that I will return to pins. They are resting and when they are ready to return to my greater pattern, they will.

The Cooking Pot

photo credit: avlxyz

Similar to the compost metaphor but a little more edible. Imagine a big gumbo: you throw in everything you’ve got, add lots of garlic and then you leave it to cook down. Mmm, delicious!

Time is the connecting thread in all three of my metaphors. Time changes our raw ingredients into something more mysterious than we could possibly have imagined. Time ensures that the whole can be greater than the sum of parts. Time is vitally important to any artistic process but particularly to mine, which is all about slow art so it’s unsurprising that my metaphors revolve around it. By employing metaphors I was able to articulate that relationship.

Process

I’ve written before about the need to love your process. It needs to be something that you enjoy doing or you simply won’t do it: end of story. But of course, it’s not always that easy, otherwise we would all create perfectly day-in day-out and clearly we don’t.

However, having a metaphor that resonates with you can help strengthen your creative resolve. And when you’re stuck, you can console yourself that you’re just composting.

Resources

Normally I link to other blog posts but today, I’m going to recommend books. There are a ton of books about the creative process, these are my three favourites:

The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharp
Art & Fear by David Bayles & Ted Orland
Everyday Sacred by Sue Bender

Please Comment

What metaphors do you use for your own creativity process? Let me know in the comments…

In my early twenties I was terrified of my art. Absolutely terrified. I was afraid to look at it sideways in case it ran away. Kirsty Hall: Sad mask in...

photo credit: me and the sysop

Oftentimes we get hung up on a perceived need for fancy tools when simpler solutions would work just fine.

Consider the nappy disposal unit I bought before my son was born.

Was it a complete waste of money? Why yes, yes it was.

Turns out that storing loads of used nappies together smells far worse than you just throwing them straight in the bin and no amount of expensive, deodorising bags will help. At the end of the day, all I had was a larger bag of smelly nappies to get rid of. That I’d paid extra to acquire (those deodorising nappy bags aren’t cheap, you know!)

So why did I buy such a ridiculous thing?

Simple. I was 24, living in a shelter for homeless pregnant women and desperately trying to prove to myself that I knew what I was doing.

For some strange reason, a nappy disposal unit seemed like the perfect answer to all my problems.

It wasn’t.

Here I am, pregnant and terrified.

Kirsty Hall: Pregnant, 1992

Several months later: note the ‘holy shit, what just happened?’ look.

Me with a very fresh Kidlet, 1992

Yeah, I don’t think a nappy disposal unit is going to cut it, babe!

………………………………………

Fast forward 18 years. Nappies are no longer an issue; instead I have a teeny tiny business to tend.

I find being in business a challenging proposition. Definitely not as tough as being alone, pregnant, on benefits and homeless but still pretty tough.

I’m chronically ill, which makes it hard for me to sustain the energy and momentum needed to run a business. But more importantly, the language of business either bores me rigid or terrifies me. If you start talking about ‘target markets’ and ROI, I go into ‘hiding under the desk’ mode. Plus my Starving Artist Self comes out to play and it’s not long before I’m hissing things like ‘shun the unbeliever’ and looking around for some garlic and a stake.

And then bad things happen. Mostly involving tears and chocolate.

Because businessy stuff scares the bejeezus out of me, I often find myself fixating on unimportant details or falling into the trap of thinking that I can spend myself out of stress.

So I’ll start believing that if I can just find the ‘perfect’ software system, then my disorganisation will miraculously be fixed. Or I’ll convince myself that I’ve bought the ‘wrong’ accounts book with the incorrect number of columns, so I should waste £17 on the ‘right’ one or the Inland Revenue will descend upon me and beat me with sticks.

In both these cases, I’m looking for fixes for the wrong problem.

The problem is not the accounts book: the problem is that I have a lot of anxiety around numbers, filling in forms and money. And no amount of software is going to magically fix my ADD tendencies.

It’s magic pill thinking.

What do you need to have a business?

Something to sell, somewhere to sell it and people to sell it to.

Er, that’s it.

Sure, there are plenty of twiddles you can add – you can systematise and optimize out the wazoo – but those are the three basics.

It’s true that some systems and tools are smart investments that will make things easier, cheaper or more efficient. Unfortunately when you’re a beginner, you don’t know what those things are. A lot of solutions are going to be over-engineered for where you are right now. And a lot of the things you think are solutions are actually your anxieties playing silly buggers with you.

Ignorance, anxiety or excuse?

We all find ourselves suckered into purchases that we end up not using. Sometimes it’s ignorance. Sometimes it’s a response to anxiety. Sometimes it’s an excuse.

We all know the person who has all the latest, greatest equipment for a hobby but doesn’t seem to spend much time doing it. Perhaps they have a mental image of themselves as someone who plays a musical instrument but they’re not committed enough to put in the hours of practice needed. So they buy yet another tuning device or the latest how-to book. And then never use it. They’ve confused buying with doing.

If you find yourself saying “I can’t make art until…” then stop & ask yourself if that’s really true? Maybe you do need a certain amount of funding or a studio space or a particular piece of equipment. Or maybe it’s resistance or fear talking.

If you find yourself stalling on starting your business because you’re writing a 40 page business plan or because you think you need new office furniture, you’re getting overly hung up on the details. You don’t need to wait for small lemon-soaked paper napkins before taking off.

Do you need a studio in order to paint? No, unless you’re working on a large scale, you do not. You might work better in a dedicated studio. However, if a studio is impossible right now, work out some other solution. But don’t use lack of a studio as an excuse not to paint.

What do you need to paint? Paint, brushes, something to paint on and the time and energy with which to paint. Does space help? Yes, it does. But not having space doesn’t completely rule out painting. Work smaller. Work in quick drying paint. Is it ideal? Obviously not and I sympathise if you’re stuck in a difficult situation where you can’t make the work you long to make. However, finding a compromise is better than not making art.

Do you need a ton of expensive equipment? Depends on what you’re making but often the answer is no. If you do, then owning it is not the only solution. Perhaps you can hire that specialist equipment, especially if you don’t need it every day.

If I wanted to make prints, I wouldn’t go & buy a printing press, I’d join the local print co-operative and use theirs. Or I’d use hand-printing techniques. But if I knew I wanted to make prints every day and I had the technical knowledge to properly maintain it, then I might consider buying and setting up my own printing press.

Do you need a £2,000 website? Almost certainly not.

Do you need expensive software? Maybe. But maybe you’re just looking for that magic pill. I recently tested out specialist content management software but decided that my existing spreadsheet programme would work just fine.

Stop. Rethink. Do you really need that thing or are your naughty ducks giving you grief again?

Spend smarter: 5 questions to ask yourself when you’re considering a new purchase

1) Why do I think I need this?

2) What tools do others in my field recommend?

3) What will this cost me in time, energy & money?

4) Is this an investment or a liability?

5) How could I achieve my aims without this thing?

Conclusion

Start small and work up. Don’t burden yourself with debts you don’t need. Don’t put artificial barriers in your way. Quit sabotaging yourself.

In short, watch out for nappy disposal units.

Resources
This post was inspired by Adam King’s post about why he became a minimalist woodworker piece. You should read it, it’s good.

Please leave a comment
Have you ever bought something through ignorance, fear or anxiety? Conversely, which tools have been great investments for your business? Got any other tips for avoiding magic pill thinking? Let me know below…

photo credit: me and the sysop Oftentimes we get hung up on a perceived need for fancy tools when simpler solutions would work just fine. Consider the nappy disposal unit...

Blue and gold knight by Debbi Long

I’m a big advocate of being a gentle online champion. Not slaying dragons and wielding swords but following a code of chivalrous behaviour.

Why should I champion others?

There are two major reasons.

Firstly, it’s the generous and right thing to do.

You can find incredible content on the web. And I mean incredible.

Stuff that makes the mainstream media look shabby, clichéd and badly done. These days I often read articles in newspapers and think, “hmmm, so-and-so’s blog did this topic so much better.”

And people are out there giving away this great content for free.

If you read, listen to or watch something that resonates with you, the very least you can do is thank the person who made it. And then retweet it for them. Pay them with eyeballs. OK, not actual eyeballs because that would be weird. And probably illegal.

Secondly, being a champion is the smart, strategic thing to do.

If you’ve spent time showing up at someone’s site, commenting, engaging and being an advocate for them, they are far more likely to give you a bit of hawt internet loving in return.

I read somewhere that only one in ten reader leave a blog comment and my own numbers back that up. So if you comment on someone’s stuff, you’ve just made yourself stand out. If you consistently leave insightful, considered comments, then you’ve just lit yourself up like a delightful sparkly Christmas tree.

For example, if you email me cold, I will be polite and I will try to respond to you. But if you’re asking me for a favour that doesn’t benefit me and I don’t have a clue who you are, then you’d better hope it’s an interesting one!

if you regularly comment here or talk to me on Twitter, I’m far more likely to go that extra mile for you simply because you’re already on my radar. I won’t be rude if I don’t know you but it’s far easier to grab my attention if you’ve made the effort to get to know me first.

This is just human nature. It’s the old ‘who you know’.

So how do I do this champion thing?

Find the people you admire online and love on them hard. Tweet their stuff, link to them, from your blog, comment on their posts, podcasts and videos. If you use their photos or art, link to them.

See. That was easy, wasn’t it.

Of course, like many things in life, there’s the wholesome-apple-pie way to do this and the ‘please don’t call me again or I shall contact the police’ way.

The right way to be a champion

Good
Give your loyalty to those who deserve it – the talented, the wonderful, the people who brighten your day. It doesn’t matter if they’re already internet famous. Go on merit.

Bad
Sucking up to people just because they could help your career. Don’t do it. It’s sleazy and people pick up on it.

If you’re only being nice to me because you think I could help you, you’re going to make me deeply uncomfortable and embarrassed. And I’m British, so if you embarrass me, I’ll pretend you don’t exist. Politely.

Also, are you kidding? I’m nobody – I’m famous to about 5 people in Arkansas!

Good
Focus on your audience, not theirs.

Instead of trying to get your stuff in front of the other person’s audience (by leaving spammy comments, for example), focus on bringing their good stuff to your lovely people.

Bad
Don’t be needy.

Needy often manifests as nagging. I’ve had people do this to me and nothing put me off quicker.

If it seems like the person is ignoring you, don’t push it, just carry on being an advocate. Maybe they’ll get to liking you, maybe they won’t. It doesn’t matter because you’re not doing it to be liked, you’re doing it because you like them. Getting on their radar is a wonderful by-product but if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t make either of you a bad or worthless person. Leave your ego at the door.

Useful Resources

In weird coincidence land, Mars Dorian covered this technique the exact same night that I wrote this.

Elizabeth Potts Weinstein from Live Your Truth explains why seduction is the best way to pitch to her in this video post.

This article on Facebook faux pas makes a lot of good points.

Get more help
If you’d like more information about building your online presence, check out the free resources section.

I am also available for online consulting if you need one-on-one help.

Leave A Comment

How have you been a champion? Has it brought you success and useful connections? Got any tips? Tell all in the comments…

Blue and gold knight by Debbi Long I’m a big advocate of being a gentle online champion. Not slaying dragons and wielding swords but following a code of chivalrous behaviour....

When I was about 15, I went to a school fancy dress party as Cleopatra. In a long halterneck dress that tied at the back of the neck.

And I wore it without a bra because I wasn’t very well-endowed at the time and besides, I didn’t own a backless bra.

And I did that thing that you should never do when you are wearing a halterneck dress without a bra and are slow-dancing with teenage boys. I tied it in a bow, instead of a ninja death knot with 15 safety pins.

Aaaaannnnddddd I think you can see where this story is going, yes?

I danced for several minutes before I realised that everyone was pointing and laughing hysterically. And I wondered why. And then I looked down.

People, I am here to tell you that you cannot, in fact, die of embarrassment. You can certainly WISH that you could die of embarrassment but you will not die just because everyone laughs at you.

……………………………………

Which is why you’ll find me immortalised on the sweet and funny ‘Fearless Karaoke’ video that Natalie Peluso made to launch her new site, Sing Your Truth. I’m the one making flirty eyes at the camera.

Yep, I jumped in and videoed myself singing. Even though I was just getting over a sore throat. Even though my honey forgot to tell me that the headphones he lent me were noise-cancelling ones, so I couldn’t hear my own voice and it turns out that’s Not A Good Thing when you’re singing (many thanks to Natalie for using some of my more tuneful bits in the video). Even though singing in public is nerve-racking.

But I did it anyway because let’s face it, once you’ve accidentally flashed your entire school as a teenager*, everything else kind of pales into insignificance, even singing badly on the internet.

Kudos to my fellow fearless karaoke-ers and huge big congratulations to Natalie – I know the site is going to be just fantastic. If you don’t already know Natalie’s previous writing on The Tiny Soprano, you should go over and check out her archives, there’s lots of great stuff about motivation, money and fearlessness.

……………………………………

*This isn’t even the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me, although it is pretty high up the list.**

**You know what makes this story even more embarrassing? It was only when I was typing this out that it occurred to me that my dress probably hadn’t fallen down by accident. Sigh. I am slow sometimes.

OK, lovelies, dare you share? Let’s have your thoughts on the scary power of embarrassment in the comments. Or you can compliment me on my fine singing voice – I am entirely open to flattery, even if you’re lying.

When I was about 15, I went to a school fancy dress party as Cleopatra. In a long halterneck dress that tied at the back of the neck. And I...

A three minute video I made about the importance of bravery.

Inspired by Natalie, The Tiny Soprano and her soon-to-launch site, Sing Your Truth.

A three minute video I made about the importance of bravery. Inspired by Natalie, The Tiny Soprano and her soon-to-launch site, Sing Your Truth. If you love it, share it!...

Sadly the lovely people at Make & Meaning have decided to call it a day, so I’m going to be reprinting the two guest articles I wrote for them. Here’s the first one:

The Wisdom Of Mistakes

Image by Orin Zebest, via Flickr

An artist who is afraid to make mistakes is an artist who is stuck.

I used to volunteer to teach art at a local primary school. Sadly, by the age of 10, the majority of children had already slipped so far into perfectionism that their ability to make art was suffering. They had a very clear peeking order of who was good at art and who wasn’t and their definition of what constituted ‘being good at art’ seemed to revolve around not making mistakes.

So I devised a little exercise.

I asked them to paint a quick, colourful picture and while it was drying, I led a class discussion. I asked them whether they thought artists made mistakes? They universally agreed that if you were an artist that meant you didn’t make many mistakes and the better you were, the fewer mistakes you would make. I explained that, in fact, the very opposite was true and that someone who wasn’t willing to make mistakes wouldn’t be a very good artist. I explained that ALL artists constantly made mistakes but that they simply saw mistakes as potential opportunities.

Then, I asked them to tear up their paintings.

Image by milomingo, via Flickr

They stared at me in horror and disbelief. ‘Rip them up’, I urged, ‘rip them up!’ Clearly still believing they would get into trouble, a few of the braver ones made tentative little rips. ‘That’s brilliant, do more’, I encouraged. Suddenly most of the class understood that they really did have permission to destroy their work and things dissolved into gleeful giggles and wild tearing. After several minutes of creative mayhem, I asked them to stop, take a few minutes to calm down and then to re-examine their pile of torn paper with a view to transforming it into a collage. The collages weren’t anything to write home about but it’s still the art lesson of which I’m proudest and in an age of constant exams and teaching to the test, I hope it stuck with at least a few of them.

“Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.”  ~Scott Adams

Imperfection can be the pathfinder that leads us to new places IF we are willing to let go of our ego and put our trust in the wisdom of the work.

New techniques, new directions, new ideas; mistakes open up so many possibilities.

Image by pygment_shots, via Flickr

That tricky yarn that just refuses to work with any knitting pattern – what is it trying to teach you? Patience? Not to buy that colour combination again? Or is it challenging you to come up with a new stitch pattern that will make the most of its variegated repeats?

Is the ceramic glaze that bubbles in the kiln and ‘spoils’ the pot really a disaster? Or can you repeat and refine the process until you no longer have ‘a mistake’ but a unique signature style? What sort of surface are you left with if you sand back the bubbled glaze? Or if you crack the bubbles lightly with a hammer, add another layer of glaze and refire? Can you think of ten different things to try with your ‘ruined’ pot?

The painting that went wrong might lead you to a whole new series of work if you listen to what its telling you.

Ruined pieces often lead to new directions because there’s nothing left to lose. You’ve already used the materials and many of them can’t be reclaimed: the ink won’t go back into the bottle, the paper will never be pristine again. So why not let loose with some wild experimentation – rip it up, overdye it, splash bleach on, paint over it in gesso, turn it inside out and sew beads on it! Baring freakishly bizarre crafting accidents, what’s the worst that can happen? You were going to throw it out anyway.

Image by LittleLexxis, via Flickr

Of course, all artists and craftspeople have their irredeemable failures that are fit only for the bin. The idea that seemed so great inside your head but wasn’t; the new technique that drove you up the wall; the brave attempt that was too far beyond your current skill level: our studios are stuffed with them!

But even these poor ugly objects have value. They were steps along your journey and they may have taught you far more than the pieces that went well.

Perhaps their only message is, ‘hmm, I don’t think woodworking is my thing’. But that is a very valuable lesson: now you have one less craft to master while you search for your ‘right thing’.

Or the lesson might be, “I am bad at this now but I enjoyed the process so much that I’m willing to invest the time, money and energy needed to become better.” And the second lesson might be, “so I shall keep this failed thing and in a year I’ll be able to see how far I’ve come.”

Image by carpocrates, via Flickr

“Creative people make a mess, clean it up and make another mess. There are no mistakes in art only happy little accidents.”  ~Timothy Leonard

So drag out one of your failures (come on, I know you’ve got at least one lurking!) and challenge yourself to see it with fresh enquiring eyes.

Even if it can’t be reworked, experimented with or recycled, hold it in your hands and ask it what it can teach you. Ask yourself why it didn’t work. Try to find some tiny part of it that did work, even if the whole thing is a failure. A particular piece may be beyond saving but it could still hold the answers to your current creative dilemmas.

Don’t listen to your inner critic, listen to the work. What subtle whispers have you ignored because your ego got in the way, loudly declared, ‘that’s rubbish’ and tossed the thing in the corner in disgust?

An artist humble enough to learn from their mistakes is an artist who is moving forwards.

What have you learnt from mistakes and failures? Tell me in the comments…

Sadly the lovely people at Make & Meaning have decided to call it a day, so I’m going to be reprinting the two guest articles I wrote for them. Here’s...

Kirsty Hall: Decaying Boats, Polbain Beach, June 2010

While I was on holiday, I made a point of heading over to Polbain Beach to take some photos. We used to beach-comb here as kids and it’s still a lovely spot. I ate my ice-lolly looking out over the Summer Isles while nearby a man sat on a deckchair outside his camper-van and played his fiddle. It was an absolutely iconic West Highland moment.

Kirsty Hall: Decaying Boats, Polbain Beach, June 2010

The wonderful decaying boats reminded me of this poem by Norman MacCaig.

So Many Summers

Beside one loch, a hind’s neat skeleton
Beside another, a boat pulled high and dry:
Two neat geometries drawn in the weather:
Two things already dead and still to die.

I passed them every summer, rod in hand,
Skirting the bright blue or the spitting gray,
And, every summer, saw how the bleached timbers
Gaped wider and the neat ribs fell away.

Time adds one malice to another one -
Now you’d look very close before you knew
If it’s the boat that ran, the hind went sailing.
So many summers, and I have lived them too.

Norman MacCaig

Kirsty Hall: Decaying Boats, Polbain Beach, June 2010

Talking about it afterwards, I was amazed to discover that my mum had taught in the same school as Norman MacCaig when she was starting out in her teaching career. A canny reminder that many successful creative people have day jobs their entire life.

Kirsty Hall: Decaying Boats, Polbain Beach, June 2010

I knew I had been longing for the West Highlands for years but it was only when I was sitting on this beach, that I felt how much my soul needs this very special place.

Do you need to fill up your creative well? Do you have somewhere special that eases your soul? Tell me about it in comments.

Kirsty Hall: Decaying Boats, Polbain Beach, June 2010 While I was on holiday, I made a point of heading over to Polbain Beach to take some photos. We used to...

Photo of Achnahaird Bay by Graham Lewis, used under a Creative Commons license

Right everyone, talk amongst yourselves, I’m off on holiday for a week.

My son and I are heading off to the west coast of Scotland. Here’s where we’re going. It belongs to my cousin, Calum and it’s only a few miles from the beach where we used to holiday every year as kids. I’ve not been to Achnahaird for about 20 years and I shall probably bawl my eyes out when I see it again because it’s always been a bit of a lodestone in my life, somewhere I’ve mentally aligned myself towards.

We’re going to be there with my mum & dad, two family friends, my three brothers and their families. Including us, that’s 12 adults and two babies. Oh, and then my aunt & my cousin, his wife and their three kids are turning up on the last weekend. So for a couple of days, there will be 15 adults & 5 little kids – actually, possibly 16 adults if my cousin, Lindsey turns up. Did I ever mention that I have a large family?

It will be utter madness!

Fortunately I’m hiring a car, so I’ll be able to take off for some peace and quiet when it all gets too much – which it will, because I’m fairly introverted. Planning to take a trip to Inverewe Gardens and maybe this wonderful but very remote bookshop.

I’m very excited to finally meet my little niece, Siobhan. My brother Ewan lives in Australia and this is the first time they’ve been back to the UK since Siobhan was born last year. My mum & dad have met her because they went out to Oz last autumn but the rest of us haven’t. My delightful nephew, Elliot will also be there. I plan to spend the entire week snorgling babies.

Now, if I was an organised person, I would have written a blog post and scheduled it in advance but I am not, so there probably won’t be a blog post next week unless some sort of magic occurs. I’ve no idea if there’s even any phone reception there but if there is, I’ll be checking in on Twitter.

Photo of Achnahaird Bay by Graham Lewis, used under a Creative Commons license Right everyone, talk amongst yourselves, I’m off on holiday for a week. My son and I are...

Hi, are you a MagpieGirl looking for your special deal? You need to go here. Sorry about this, Rachelle and I did the interview ages ago and I’ve only just realised that she didn’t have the new sales page details.

Come up to the lab and seeeeeee what’s on the slab.

So. With my usual inimitable flair I appear to have accidentally launched another new service mere days before I disappear off into the wilds of Scotland for a week. If you’ve read my Resources page but you’re still floundering and you’d like some individual one-on-one help, you can now buy 30 minutes of my undivided attention. Also, there are biscuits.

Behold, my beautiful creature…

Internet Hand-holding

Now, this isn’t quite as daft as it sounds (OK, the ‘just before a holiday’ part is pretty stupid). I’ve always been drawn to the idea of consulting and coaching and I’d been making tentative plans in this direction for several months after a very thought-provoking Awesomeness Check-up session with the lovely Catherine Caine.

So when John T. Unger asked for willing volunteers to test out Bixbe on WordPress, I did the ‘closing my eyes and jumping’ thing again.

As a way of launching this and also celebrating the 3 year anniversary of this blog, I’m offering 15 free sessions. If you’re interested, please comment below before Wednesday 7th July (the blog’s official birthday, we shall have cake). If I get masses of people, I’ll pick names out of a hat to make it fairer because I know that not everyone is online at the same time. Please note, the free sessions won’t be happening until at least the second week of July because of the whole holiday thing.

Oh and while I’m shamelessly self promoting, I updated my shop, which is now called Drawings And Delights. I added an ‘about me’ page, some shop policies and more drawings. If I get time later today, I may add a few ACEO’s that I’ve drawn recently.

Hi, are you a MagpieGirl looking for your special deal? You need to go here. Sorry about this, Rachelle and I did the interview ages ago and I’ve only just...

Gossiping Ducks by foxypar4

Sometimes I have to slide sideways into things. Or trick myself into starting by making projects smaller than they truly are.

I am cursed with perfectionism, so often the only way forward is to just close my eyes and jump.

Which is how I found myself opening an online shop for my art. Without branding. Without a big launch. Without having all my drawings scanned and ready to go. Without enough mounts or packaging materials. With all my ducks decidedly not in anything even vaguely resembling a row. In fact, I’m not entirely sure where my pond is and it’s quite likely that all my ducks have flown off in a huff.

But I started anyway.

There’s not much in my shop yet (see aforementioned lack of ducks) but I’m adding things as I go along. It’s also possible that my pricing is entirely wrong but I decided that fear of pricing was a lousy reason not to start something.

And I have no idea if this is going to work.

I’ve already sold two envelopes (yay!) but maybe no one else will ever buy anything. You’d think that this would be a source of stress, that I would be filled with the fear of rejection. But weirdly, it doesn’t seem to matter and that’s because I just jumped. Without too much preparation or angst or investment of time, energy, money or emotion.

Sure, it would be fabulous if I make a gazillion pounds selling art online – don’t get me wrong, I absolutely want this to succeed – but I’m also very clear that it’s a test piece, a maquette, an experiment.

See, that’s the great thing about the internet – the cost of entry is low. I don’t have to spend lots of money ‘setting up a business’, I can just say, ‘hey, let’s throw a few quid at an online store for six months and see if it works?’ If it doesn’t, well, no harm, no foul and I’ll have learnt some useful stuff. I’m hugely interested in trying new things online. At the moment it still feels as though there’s a lot of freedom on the web; that maybe I can do things in my own strange, messed up way and still make a go of it. That maybe all those ducks aren’t quite as important as people tell you.

Our local synchronized swimming team by Eric Bégin

Because I think I can do this, but not if I have to get my ducks in order first. My ducks are recalcitrant, they fly away when they’re told to line up, they quack in a rebellious manner, they flaunt their sassy little ducktails like 50’s rockers. And when I wring my hands about business-type things, they make rude and unhelpful Donald Duck noises. My ducks have ATTITUDE.

In the Swim by StarrGazr

Now I’m not saying that you should make a half-arsed job of things. If you’re the sort of person who can easily organise your ducks, that’s absolutely great – you’ve got a huge advantage and you should use it to the full. What I am saying is that for perfectionists, the perceived need to get all our ducks in a row before we start anything can be a very effective stalling technique. It can be an excuse. And sometimes you have to be braver than that.

So I’ve learnt to pointedly ignore my ducks and then quietly organise them into rows when they’re not looking.

How do you deal with your ducks? Let me know in the comments…

Gossiping Ducks by foxypar4 Sometimes I have to slide sideways into things. Or trick myself into starting by making projects smaller than they truly are. I am cursed with perfectionism,...