I’m trying my hand and getting more creative these days. Julia Cameron’s Book “It’s Never Too Late to Start Again”, has really been a big part of encouraging me to venture out again on the road to creativity. In the book she talks about the power of our “inner Censor,” that negative voice inside us that is always doubting. Here’s how she describes it:
During our work lives, we customarily received criticism from our bosses and sometimes our colleagues. Many of us endured yearly or quarterly reviews, and we took in their frequent negativity as part of our job. Retired, we find ourselves continuing to receive negative feedback, but instead of coming from our employer, it is the product of our own inner Censor—that internal voice that tells us we are not doing well and that we could do better. Our Censor attacks us from out of the blue and its voice has a damning certainty. We could have, and should have, done better, states the Censor, and we often then repeat this criticism to ourselves. In dealing with the Censor, it helps to know that its negative voice is not the voice of reason. Rather, it is a caricature villain who will always be on the attack until we stand up to it and say, “Oh—that’s just my Censor.” Cameron, Julia. It's Never Too Late to Begin Again: Discovering Creativity and Meaning at Midlife and Beyond (Artist's Way) (pp. 10-11). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
One of the techniques she uses to “sit this Inner Censor down” is by asking us to make a caricature of our “inner Censor.” As I was thinking about where my inner censor comes from, two images crossed my mind. The first is me coming inside after playing basketball and who knows what else for 2 or 3 hours and my mother taking one look at me and saying, “O my word! Look at your face. Come over here young man.” And then she would take a Kleenex tissue, lick it, and clean my face. Yuck! Outside, for me, was all that creative play. Inside was that awful Kleenex tissue.
The second was when I was in college. I had, on a whim, decided to take a course in pottery. This was new for me. It wasn’t in my area of expertise. I was a musician. I sang. I played my French horn. I acted. But, creating something with my hands was just a huge undertaking. I was not good at art! I was color blind! I couldn’t draw. But when I saw that pottery wheel on the page of the art course descriptions, something in my creative heart said, “Brook, you can do this!”
And so, I signed up! And when I got to the pottery class, I realized that there really wasn’t a teacher. Professor Kudlacek, the only art professor we had, was not into pottery. He loved painting. And so, when I went up to him and said that I had signed up for pottery this semester, he took me to the pottery room where there were two wheels and said, “Good luck! And don’t come to me for advice...ask some of the students. This is a self-directive class; I was dead against offering!” Wow! What an introduction. But I grabbed some clay and went to it. I threw a piece of clay on the wheel and watched that lopsided glob turn round and round and finally fly off onto the wall. Finally, someone came over and showed me how to center the clay. Patiently taught me how to mold and shape the clay. Worked with me and showed me how to center and then gently open up the centered clay into a pot. I was hooked!
In fact, I was so hooked (and please don’t tell anyone about this because I’m pretty sure I’d be in trouble) that I used to put a stick in the sliding door that went out into the “firing area” (outside) so that in the middle of the night I could sneak into the pottery room and go to work! 2 or 3 times a week, I’d head over to the pottery room at 11 pm and turn away. To be honest, there were times I’d actually skip a party or a date, just to create something out of clay!
Finally, the semester ended. At the end of the semester, Prof. Kudlacek asked us all to place our creations on a table and he would walk around and evaluate our progress. I still remember him to this day. His long, scraggly beard, his big black rimmed glasses, and his long ostentatious pipe (he always had that thing). Round and round he walked all the time looking down on us “amateurs.” Looking down at all of us who were “pretenders.” We seemed insulting to him in some way! He finally landed on my table. I held my breath as he examined each piece of pottery I had co-created with God. And then he looked over to me and said in an Eastern European accent, “Primitive, McBride, primitive!”
I should have said, “well that was exactly what I was going for!” But instead, I shrank to the size of a pea and quietly rolled out of class saying to myself, “Don’t you ever try that again!”
Cameron teaches us that we can overcome that “inner Censor.” One way she suggests that we do that is that we draw a caricature of the image we have of that person or experience. Overdue the face or the size of the Kleenex tissue. Make that pipe 3 times bigger! Once we accept that that “inner Censor” is there and is present in all creative minds, we can talk to that “inner Censor” and stare it down.
Tomorrow on my day off, I’m going to ask Emerson to help me make Professor Kudla check into a cartoon caricature. And before I preach, I’ll stair him down and hopefully be empowered to preach the gospel without fear. Who knows maybe I’ll even take up pottery again!
Your friend and pastor, still yearning to be free to create with our Creator, Brook