There are few more unwieldy concepts to an artist than practice.
It’s something we artists do in the privacy of our studios, corner desks, and ultimately deep within ourselves. We meet our true selves in practice. It shows us who we are and who we aren’t, and facing the latter head-on can make us the artists we were meant to be.
In conversations with artists about their practice, I found that practice does not make perfect, but rather, it makes the art. Every artist practices. And perhaps it can equally be said that most artists have practiced practicing.
I certainly have a hefty amount of practice baggage.
When I was a music student, practice meant logging endless hours, thoughtlessly looping single bars of music. This way of practicing became the breeding ground for tendonitis, crippling self-doubt, depression and a questionable relationship with drugs and alcohol.
I can’t help but regret the way I practiced, but I can’t blame the practice itself.
Eventually, I found my way to a therapist’s chair twice a week to face my relationship to practice, and through careful guidance and self-reflection, I deliberately enacted a complete about-face.
I slowed down, I focused, and I stayed present within my body for each moment I was practicing. It changed everything; not only my music but the way I live my life.
Practice is the Bridge
For jazz drummer and educator Jon McCaslin, practice is the ritual of connecting to his instrument and developing his craft so that his creativity flows effortlessly and uninterrupted.
“Practicing allows me to deepen the bond I have with my instrument,” says McCaslin, “developing the connection between the technical and functional aspects of being a drummer.”
In this way, practice acts as a bridge between inspiration and the creative process.
Visual artist Verna Vogel agrees and emphasizes that her practice is one of quietening the mind. “The most important aspect of practice for me,” says Vogel, “is to turn off my conscious mind in order to get into a flow state.”
This flow state was a missing piece for me.
Witnessing the effortlessness you do something you enjoy, the flow state is a practice itself. Be it through a paintbrush stroke or beautifully executed drum fill, many artists have discovered embodiment is the path to flow. McCaslin calls it, “being very conscious of not only what I’m playing but how I’m playing it.”
Disembodiment Through Time
Nothing kills a vibe like the tyranny of the clock.
Our perception of time changes as our emotional state responds and so by segmenting practice by time, we set ourselves up to be disconnected from the experience, unable to receive information from our bodies with our eyes on the clock.
While Vogel shares this belief about time, embodiment goes beyond her studio work for her — art comes out of living life.
“If I want to achieve mastery in my studio, I must ground it in my life,” she says. “I find ways to live and work within the rhythms of my body and the seasons rather than clock time, as much as possible.”
Practice is Personal
Cree multi-disciplinary artist Virginia Jessica Sparvier-Wells spent much of her early years stalking the hallowed music halls of multiple institutions. She battled with time, too, but through her own research and experimentation, she developed a practice focusing on her unique needs.
This kind of “deliberate practice” was first coined in 1993 by psychologist Anders Ericsson and his Florida State University colleagues where they conducted research on the innateness of expert skill. They discovered it had less to do with talent and more to do with specific and focused engagement of the skill itself; be it mastering an instrument or the canvas.
“I had to learn how to practice myself,” says Sparvier-Wells. “Teachers mostly tell you how much time should be spent [practicing], but not necessarily on the how. I had to figure out for myself how to link my unique brain as a student to the practice of the instrument. It wasn’t just a matter of time because I had this ambition to be excellent, but I knew I couldn’t practice six hours a day.”
This led Sparvier-Wells to a practice that combined mindful and spontaneous movement, improvisation, breathwork and quietening the mind so she could hear her body could speak. This led to an incredible career as a composer, musician, choreographer, director and inspiring mentor.
It’s proof that practice not only makes the art but makes the artist.
Kenna Burima is a Calgary-based songwriter, musician, mother and teacher.
