Hi, it's Chai!
Every now and then, I hit a slump in my clay practice, a creative block. I feel stagnant, like my skills have stopped improving. My motivation or inspiration wanes, and is replaced by self-doubt and a lack of sense of direction.
The first time this happened was when I had finished two pottery classes, and was "on my own" for the first time as a member at a community studio. I did not have an instructor to tell me what to do or how, or give me feedback on what I was doing right or wrong, and I did not quite have skills to evaluate my own work yet, beyond the even-ness of the walls or weight of the piece. I was also exploring a whole new set of glazes and clay bodies in a new studio, which meant I agonized over color choices and application methods, only to have pieces come out "50 shades of brown".
This was a large contrast to the first few months of pottery, when goals were simple and clear (e.g. center, open up, pull up those walls), and goal attainment was rapid and tangible (e.g. throwing different forms, increasing the amount of clay). You're infatuated with this new hobby, proud of your progress, and can't wait to share it with everybody. In my case, it was by gifting friends thick or heavy pots that I later wanted to do a"product recall" on. In other cases, it's throwing out reels on social media faster than you can throw pots on the wheel.
As much as that naive pride makes me cringe, I also miss it when I hit those slumps, because thinking "this is awesome, I'm awesome, I want do this all the time!"does feel much better than thinking "have I run out of inspiration and motivation? Is this as good as I'll ever be at pottery?"
These slumps don't just happen once either. The most recent time I hit a slump was just a few months ago, when I went to the studio after a long week at work, had wrapped up a larger commission that had taken up all of my time, and asked myself "what next?", and drew a blank. I've gotten over that slump now (more on how that happened later), but I also know that there will be another one, and another one, and another one after that.
Being a psychologist as well as an aspiring ceramicist, I wanted to delve deeper into the relationships among skills acquisition, motivation, performance and progress, as well as the perception learners have of their own performance and progress.
Im-potter's Syndrome and the Dunning-Kruger Effect
One of the first things I learned in psychology was, humans are not objective, especially when it comes to evaluating themselves. In grad school, I attended a seminar by Dr. Valerie Young, author of The Secret Thoughts of Successful Women: Why Capable People Suffer from Impostor Syndrome and How to Thrive in Spite of It. Her research revealed how common it was for highly capable women to doubt themselves and feel undeserving of their accomplishments, despite ample evidence of their competence. It is often accompanied by signs of anxiety and depression, as well as a sense of not belonging or "being a fraud" among the ranks of the "truly" competent people.
I was no stranger to imposter syndrome the first few years as an early career school psychologist. School psychologists are often seen as "experts" and expected to have an answer to the difficulties that students, families and educators have struggled with for a long time. As for my ceramics practice, though I always feel at home in my studio, I do experience a milder version of "wait, am I really good enough to do this?" each time I take another step to present my art to the world - my first time posting my art publicly on social media, first time donating pieces for a fundraiser, first time setting up a website, or selling at a craft fair. The pieces get bid on/sold, potter friends recognize the skill in my work, and yet, I continue to be dissatisfied with them. I suffer from Imposter Syndrome, or in this case "Im-potter Syndrome",
If Imposter/Im-potter Syndrome involves experts underestimating their competence, the flip side is the Dunning-Kruger effect, where amateurs are overconfident in their own skills. As Pennycook and colleagues write in this article, this is because "the very knowledge and skills necessary to be good at a task are the same qualities that a person needs to recognize that they are not good at that task. So if a person lacks those abilities, they remain not only bad at that task but ignorant of their inability.".
In the original study by Kruger and Dunning (1999), participants in experiments self-evaluated their sense of humor, logical reasoning or knowledge grammar, and compared their perceived competence to their objective performance. Results indicated that people with poorer objective performance tended to overestimate their ability, and vice versa. That said, there has been skepticism about how much practical significance Dunning-Kruger effect has in real life, and research on it continues to more recent years.
I am much closer to novice than expert in my ceramics practice, but the little experience I've accumulated has already caused me to be more stringent when self-evaluating. Before I started, I understood teapots to be any vessel with a handle, spout, and lid. The more time I've spent learning pottery, my definition of a teapot has become much more complex- Does it hold multiple cups of tea? How does its weight compare with its capacity/volume? Does the spout dribble? Does it have a generous pour? Is the angle at which you need to tilt the pot to pour ergonomic? Does the handle and the spot fit with the pot aesthetically? Does the lid sit stably without falling off when you pour? etc. A teapot is functional sculpture and the ultimate litmus test for crafts-person-ship and artistry. As the saying goes, the more you know, the more you know you don't know. Experience begets more insight and higher standards, leading to harsher self-evaluations and stronger self-doubt. This can be a double edged sword, on the one hand pushing me to hone my skills further, on the other making me hesitant to price my work at their value, take on a commission, or promote my work actively, due to the mistaken belief that "I'm just not good enough yet". When I shy away from these challenges, I lose out on opportunities to learn.
Scary as this may sound, it's reassuring to hear from Ira Glass that this is a shared experience among all creatives, and one that can be overcome:
Im-potter No More
So how do I get over those slumps, and cope with Im-potter Syndrome when it hits me? Although I can't say I have overcome it for good, here are a few things I've tried and found somewhat helpful
Know your biases and blindspots.
While we are not always able to control our thinking, we can think about our thinking, or use metacognition. While I am not immune to Im-potter's Syndrome, awareness of it allows me to recalibrate my self-evaluations, or at least take them with a pinch of salt.
Ask for feedback
Knowing that our own judgement be skewed, asking for honest feedback from credible sources, such as mentors and more experienced potters, is a way to gain more objectivity. Being in a community studio with very supportive members, I often get a lot of encouragement. However, what I appreciate the most is when I ask experienced ceramicists to critique my work, or specifically about something I do not like about it, they are generous with specific, constructive criticism and possible solutions. Having a concrete plan for improving feels much better than a vague sense that one is not "good enough".
Remember that learning is not linear
Acknowledging that learning often happens in fits and starts, rather than at an even pace can be extremely helpful. What feels like periods of stagnation could actually turn out to be periods of incubation before inspiration strikes, but you only see that in retrospect if you are able to push through the days when you feel stuck. Lu, Maghetis and Yang (2022) provide a very helpful visual illustrating that as one gains mastery over on task, the rate of improvement declines and eventually plateaus (i.e. stagnates).
However, switching to a new, more challenging task causes the learning curve to steepen once more. That is, going from no skill to some skill may just take a short time, but going from some skill to very skilled takes more. Then, when you switch to a different technique, the steep learning curve begins again. Applied to pottery, going from centering to pulling a cylinder may take a week or two, but refining the cylinder into a more fluid shape with even walls and a lip that is comfortable to drink out of might take months or even years of practice.
Cultivate a Growth Mindset
Most educators and school psychologists know about Carol Dweck's work on growth vs. fixed mindsets. These are different beliefs that people have about their intelligence and neuroplasticity (or the capacity for our brains to develop new connections). People that endorse a growth mindset believe that their abilities are malleable with effort and practice. In contrast, people endorsing a fixed mindset believe their abilities are innate traits that cannot be changed.
Extending that to pottery, a potter with a growth mindset looks at a teapot that embodies both functionality and aesthetics and says "I can't do that YET", sees setbacks as opportunities to learn, and persistently improves their skills until a teapot is within their skill set. On the other hand, a potter with a fixed mindset looks at that same teapot and says "I can't do that", and are disheartened by the setbacks that come their way. A potter with a.growth mindset sees the same teapot and thinks "I can't do that YET", but takes steps to work their way up to a teapot, with full expectations to fail (and learn) many times along the way.
The good news is, even mindsets about learning and ability are malleable, and many studies have shown that when students are taught to adopt a growth mindset, they put more effort into skills they are trying to develop, leading to actual improvements in their performance in math and reading. I await the day when these results are replicated in the field of ceramic art ;).
Set SMART Goals
Previously, I wrote about finding the right metrics to measure growth or progress in pottery, one of which is to set goals and targets for each make. Borrowing again from school psychology and my work with students, good goals are SMART ones - specific, measurable, attainable, relevant and timely. VeryWellMind once again provides a pretty digestible deep dive into SMART goals and how they apply to various aspects of life, but I've come up with a pottery version here:
Seek Inspiration
While I also plan to write more extensively about the psychology of inspiration and ceramics in a future blog post, here I will just say that keeping a list or vision board of sources of inspiration can be a great way to refuel your motivation during those creative slumps. Everybody has different ways of doing this, such as:
Keeping a Pinterest board or saving Instagram posts of techniques you want to master, or formsyou want to make
Having a Youtube playlist or a favorite list of online workshops/demo videos on resources like Ceramic Arts Network
Attending actual artist talks and demos, so that even if you don't feel like getting muddy yourself, you are at least watching other people do it
Keeping a list of books, movies or songs that you like, that you can draw from for inspiration
Take breakts from creating, and get a dose of awe from nature, art exhibitions or other experiences to give you a fresh perspective and snap you out of your creative funk
Self- Compassion for Creative Blocks
I feel that the most important tool you have for creative slumps in any creative practice of any kind might be this - self-compassion, non-judgement, and accepting that creative or motivational slumps will be a visitor at parts of your journey. When I go back to the thoughts and feelings that arise during these slumps, I realize that the biggest barrier between me and the studio on those days is not the lack of motivation/inspiration itself, but my reactions to or interpretations of it.
In psychology we distinguish between these two as primary and secondary emotions. Primary emotions are more "basic" emotions we experience as an immediate reaction to a situation. Then, as we process the situation and our initial, primary emotion, secondary emotions arise, as a "reaction to our own reaction". For example, when you are hiking, seeing a long, curvy thing in the grass may evoke the primary emotion of fear, perhaps accompanied by a yelp or a jump. Then, as you realize that object is in fact a tree root shaped uncannily like a snake, you might feel the secondary emotion of embarrassment. Drawing from my personal experiences of creative slumps in the pottery studio, the primary feeling is actually boredom, or demotivation or reluctance - "It's such a nice day out, maybe I'll go to the park instead?" "Ugh I don't know what I want to make, I'm out of ideas" "This is my 3rd flopped pot today, i'm kind of over it". While these are not pleasant feelings, they are in fact on the mild side. The negative emotions that carry more force and are draining to handle are the secondary emotions of shame and self-doubt, evoked by self-judgement about those primary emotions - "I'm so undisciplined" or "Have I lost my creative streak?". If you are interesting in understanding more about primary. vs secondary emotions, they are part of the psychoeducation within Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.
Fortunately, another difference between the primary and secondary emotions is this - whereas the primary emotions are reactive and thus difficult to suppress or control, secondary emotions triggered by primary ones can be altered over time, with practice. To be clear, I am not advocating that when our inner critic pipes up at the arrival of boredom, disappointment or demotivation in creating, that we drown that out with an inner cheerleader - "Don't give up, I believe in you!" "Think of all the cool things you could make!" - as that can be equally forceful and unhelpful. I am not advocating that we "respond to" or counter/fight those primary emotions in anyway at all. I am not suggesting that we identify with them - feeling one way or another does not make us a better or worse person, and experiencing a creative block does not make us a "bad artist".
Rather, what I've tried to do is just acknowledge their arrival, be aware that they will eventually fade, and co-exist with them peacefully while they last. A metaphor that I use with the children I work with is that of standing on the side of a street and observing the traffic - you aren't trying to direct the traffic, you are not chasing down cars or waving them along, you are simply watching the cars come and go. In the context of a creative block in my ceramics practice, it might sound like "Oh, I'm frustrated that I've done and redone this sgraffito design for a full hour and still haven't come up with something that feel's right. I'm having a hard time". While I name my frustration and allow myself to feel it, I suspend judgement of it and myself. This creative block is not good, or bad, it just is, but it will not be eventually. It just is, and it does not have to be tied to my work ethic or my talent in ceramic art. Rumi captures this compassion and curiosity towards all emotions, however uncomfortable, in his poem The Guest House:
The Guest House
Jalaluddin Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks (The Essential Rumi)
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
I want to acknowledge here that I do not make a living from ceramics, so I do not have the pressure of having to produce constantly, and have the privilege of being able to create whatever I want (or nothing at all) without repercussion. Even then, I'm a ways from "meet them at the door laughing and invite them in" whenever the ennui of a creative block hits. A more accurate (and less poetic) description is, I have progressed from trying to block their way into the house to begrudgingly letting them in ("oh, it's you again"). However, I do draw comfort of my past experiences of hitting these creative blocks and, in time, moving past them. And when I do not carry the weight of secondary emotions like anxiety, insecurity and self-criticism during a creative block, I have more strength left to wedge, throw, trim, sculpt and glaze, even on days when I'm just "not feeling it".
Actually, as I finish up this post, I'm reading up some research on creative inspiration, and look forward to sharing that. Until then, keep Chai-ing:)
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