The photos from this post are part of a large collection that can be found here.
My attempt to train myself to live in the anxiety that comes with creating art has been to let my dishes pile up.
I get a lot of ideas when I am cleaning dishes. Often, I am running from the sink, wet hands, panicking to use the finger ID on my Mac or trying to tap my code into my iPhone: both of which never work.
I do not put any music on anymore.
Podcasts as well.
The TV is off.
My watch notifications are silenced.
Just me, rubber gloved up, soap sudded down, cleaning dishes.
I have really tried to allow the thoughts to reach full maturity as of late before trying to freeze them in writing. I still am not sure how you create art, but in the frantic running back and forth, I think we can stunt the growth of an idea in an attempt to catch them too soon.
So, as the ideas float in like an arrant bubble, I let them simmer in my mind as I inspect for the minute iota that will surely unsettle me once hardened. I allow the bubble to pop, never to be seen again if inspiration has it, as I focus on washing both sides of the dish.
But I am not perfect: I frequently can only hold myself for so long before I nervously rush to write something down in fear I will lose the idea. I still do not know how to exist in the energy pushes you to move to something else while you are working on something already.
My attempt to train myself to live in this anxiety has been to let my dishes pile up.
I purposefully let my dishes pile up to manufacture a dedicated, relatively long period, where I can come into contact with intricacies of life that plague us all, lingering just above our perception, teasing our senses.
With chores, we regularly tune out of the moment and miss the chance to tune into the magic and wonder presented in the moment. We relegate time spent on chores to a laborious must-do as it is taking away from things we want to do. Any joy or inspiration that could come from this relatively mundane task is lost.
I have blasted music or turned on soccer to dissociate from the soggy remnants of egg brushing against my fingers: I have since purchased gloves. All yokes aside, when I choose to remove myself from the moment, I am also removing myself from the ether of inspiration: I'll go as far as divine intervention.
We are continually inundated with sights and sounds that deafen us to our inner monologue: did you know 50% of people do not even have an inner monologue?
For those of us who do have the inner monologue, not near enough are adequately preserving a space to save our inner voice. This is nothing new in idea: it is why I think you should stop taking direct flights.
Instead of tapping into the one voice that matters, we become detached from our conscious thought process as we think in Reels, TikToks, catchy commercials, and, unfortunately, whatever song we have had on repeat.
Music is a beautiful way to engage with the lived reality of those around us, yet it still possesses a quality, like many things, that can disturb the inner peace upon which we need in order to exist. When I made Scary Hours Gots Me Petrified, the entire Thanksgiving break was a near hell for writing because my mind kept screaming “You broke my heart”, “big as the wha”, or “lean into me”.
The unfortunate reality is that no one of us ever fully exist.
No one, all the time, is standing firm, in control, with deep awareness, of their thoughts. Our minds are marked with the fingerprints of various forms of media. Our thoughts are not left free from the influence of external stimuli. This is not all bad, as we do need external influences in order to create or re present, but left unchecked, unknowingly we lose all free thinking.
Both David Goggins and St. Ignatius tell us we need to take the time to quiet the mind each night, yet we rarely do. We rarely take the time to stop processing what is external and focus on processing what is internal.
This is why I let my dishes pile up.
There is a beauty in the work needed to clean a dish well.
Start with no plan and you find yourself with nowhere to dry freshly cleaned dishes, rendering this venture useless.
Start with the wrong dishes, and you will ruin your water, having to drain, and restart.
Clean only the visible issues and you will find yourself grabbing a greased plate or a bowl with rock salt-esque leftovers at your next meal.
A sink full of dishes provides the space to stop and be fully present to something that has no real value aside from helping our future selves.
There is nothing to interpret.
There is no sound to be filtered out and made sense of.
No lights, pictures, products, or ideas to deal with.
When you are washing dishes, all that you have is yourself, your thoughts, and your actions: you are the reason the dishes are here.
I have found when I wash my dishes, these are the moments of deep reflection. As I focus on washing both side of every dish, not just the front of the plate, tracing my hand to find any leftovers the gloss of water has hidden, there is not much for my mind to do. There is not much for my mind to process. It is a simple task.
Yet, in this simple task is where I find inspiration comes.
With nothing to process externally, my sink full of dishes becomes the space where I can silently deal with what my mind has been attempting to filter. I can catalog my recent experiences, recall moments that have been silenced by the sounds of work, ponder questions I have left unanswered.
There is a magic in the mundane.
With such basic tasks, our mind finds a space to rest. It is here we can capture the thoughts of art: our minds attempt to re present the intricacies of life that plague us all, lingering just above our perception, teasing our senses.
With a silent mind, we can check on the baby, not startle the dog, and gaze upon the deer.
With a silent mind, we can warmly welcome the ideas that evade our grasp when we try to capture them too soon.
With a silent mind, we can begin the process of re presenting through our lens, what our mind has seen, what our ear has heard.
There is an inherent beauty to the basic work we do to sustain ourselves: the time and effort we invest in assuring we are taken care of. This beauty is waiting to be experienced.
Maybe don't let your dishes pile up to the same degree, or perhaps rinse them before letting them sit, either way, let some of them pile up so you can tap into what's been going on in your head.
Hi!
I am not sure if you are here from an email, my Instagram, Medium, LinkedIn, or something else entirely, but I am appreciative of the fact you made it to the end.
If you found something worthwhile, don't be stingy, share the wealth! If you are not getting emailed each time I publish a new post, be sure to click the Mailing List button: I do not post everything to other outlets.
Thanks again!
-JBJ
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