Make More Than You Keep

Not everything you make has to become something worth keeping.

I think we sometimes put too much responsibility on a piece of paper.

We sit down to make something and immediately hope it will be good.

Good enough to finish.

Good enough to keep.

Maybe even good enough to show someone.

That’s a lot of pressure for something that hasn’t even begun yet.

What if some of what we make is simply allowed to be practice?

A place to try a color.

Make an awkward mark.

Tear up some paper.

See what happens.

And then move on.

I have papers and pieces in my studio that never became anything.

Some have paint on them.

Some have marks I don’t particularly like.

Some were the beginning of an idea that went nowhere.

And some I’ve cut apart and used in other work.

I used to think of these as unsuccessful pieces.

Now I think of them differently.

They’re evidence that I was making.

And making a lot of things gives us something that thinking about making never can.

It gives us information.

We discover that we like one color next to another.

That we prefer a rough torn edge to a neat cut one.

That a certain mark keeps showing up in our work.

That we love layers.

Or simplicity.

Or tiny details.

Or big shapes.

We learn by seeing what happens when our ideas meet actual materials.

And sometimes the thing that doesn’t work teaches us exactly what we needed to know.

Maybe the colors feel dull.

Maybe there’s too much going on.

Maybe the composition feels stiff.

Maybe we simply don’t like it.

That’s useful, too.

You don’t have to rescue every piece.

You don’t have to turn every experiment into finished art.

And you certainly don’t have to keep everything you make.

Sometimes you can tear it up.

Paint over it.

Cut out the part you like.

Put it in a drawer.

Or throw it away.

Then make something else.

The more you make, the less any single piece has to prove.

One piece doesn’t have to show whether you’re creative.

It doesn’t have to be good.

It doesn’t even have to work.

It can simply be one thing you made on the way to the next thing.

And every once in a while, among all those experiments, something surprises you.

Something feels different.

You want to keep looking at it.

You want to know what happens next.

That’s when you keep going.

An Invitation

Make three small things today.

Keep them tiny—a few inches across is enough.

Give yourself about five minutes for each one.

Use scraps of paper, paint, pencil, markers, or whatever is nearby.

Try something different in each.

Don’t try to make three finished pieces of art.

Experiment.

When you’re finished, put them next to one another and look.

Ask yourself:

What do I like?

What surprised me?

What would I like to try again?

You don’t have to keep any of them.

The point is to make enough that every piece doesn’t have to matter.