When one hears the word practice, they may initially think of the concept in terms of sports. Going to baseball or soccer practice. Swim practice. Or perhaps in terms of a musical instrument. When I was young, my daily routine started with piano practice as soon as I woke up. Playing scales over and over. Playing and replaying certain pieces I was learning. As such, the word practice connotes an idea of conscious intentionality. A clear plan in place, set by an instructor, coach, or oneself. The plan likely involves performing a task over and over again to a determined end or goal. And that goal is typically the improvement of particular skills that may improve one's overall performance in the sport or instrument.
When I think of my art practice, though, very little of this applies. I’ve come to know my practice as fundamentally intuitive and improvisational. A conversation of actions and reactions. Most often, no action could be predicted or planned except maybe the very first one. Each following reaction is a response to the one before.
But what if practice is intentionally subconscious rather than conscious? Can practice happen from the hours of 2am to 4am when my mind wakes racing with ideas? Can practice be completely unplanned? Completely out of my conscious control? In my work, I’m convinced this openness can be more productive than a specific regiment of disciplined drills.
But there is still plenty of intentionality in my practice of making art, the act of practice being the regularity with which I show up to my studio with intentional mindsets. A commitment to growth and experimentation. A resistance to complacency manifesting itself in creating the same type of work over and over again because it “sells well” or is palatable. A commitment to protecting open space in my mind. A landing pad for ideas when they’re ready to arrive. A permissive stance, allowing my mind and my hand to wander where and when they want. A determined resistance to control. To over planning.
I think it’s interesting to think of “professional” in the context of art making. The dictionary definition qualifies an activity or occupation as professional only if it produces an income one can live on. A main source of income. I do make money through my artwork, but currently not enough to be my main source of income. If I wanted to predictably make plenty of money, I would likely choose a different “profession”. This idea brings up interesting questions about choice. Whether one chooses to be an artist or whether artists are chosen by the work. And there may be little control over the work’s monetary value. Where does that value come from and who decides whether a work is valuable or not? Especially in this moment of history that entrenches creative work in social media, people who choose to be an artist may make more money than those I would identify as professional artists. And that is often true because these makers are “mass producing” objects that are “pretty” and palatable for a majority of consumers.
If I must use the word professional to describe artists or an artistic practice, then I might say professional artists are those who are chosen BY the profession rather than choosing the profession. Marylin Minter said, “Only be an artist if you have no choice!” Professional artists have no choice. They’re driven to create, not by those who would consume it, not by the money they will make, but by the work that is embedded inside them and must be released.