Prompt 295. Drawing in the Margins
& the artist Anne Francey on eluding the “I can’t” voice
Hi friend,
Last week I wrote about the benefits of creative cross-training, and the range of responses in the comments section was fascinating. Some of you were inspired and immediately signed up for a class—hand-thrown pottery, drawing, and the tango all made an appearance. Others expressed resistance to the idea of taking on a new creative endeavor, saying they didn’t have the talent, or there was already too much on their plate, or they simply weren’t a joiner—all of which I totally understand.
One of my favorite comments was from a community member named Michael. “This feels challenging,” he wrote. “I like to feel ‘good enough’ at what I do, lead with my strengths. I remember working with clay pottery in seventh-grade art, and the teacher wanting me to see the beauty in the figure I sculpted. I thought it was ugly. She stubbornly persisted—until suddenly I saw it. I glimpsed beauty, in broken creation! I am still thankful. Maybe I can continue the process in a new medium.”
I loved this response so much—the grappling with the ego, the memory of that wonderful teacher, the idea of seeing beauty “in broken creation.” It made me think of a set of bowls I made in a ceramics class a few years ago. I signed up for it with my realtor-turned-friend Barbara—not because I thought I could become a great ceramicist, and not because I had ample time. In fact, at that moment, I was totally wrapped up in the cult of productivity. Each day I tried with all my might to get to the bottom of my to-do list, which was filled with work deadlines and household chores and other responsibilities, only to find myself with a longer list of to-dos. It got to the point that things that weren’t even to-dos, like dinner with friends, started to feel like another thing I had to cross off the list. I was completely overwhelmed and utterly exhausted.
But I said yes to this ceramics class—because I wanted to get out of my head and back into my body, to do something tactile, to put my hands in literal earth. I also just wanted to have fun. (Barbara signed up for the same reason, evident by the fact that she kept asking the teacher if she could bring wine. The teacher’s answer was a fervent “no.”) It was an eight-week class; they took place every Monday night. We started by making pinch pots, and mine were misshapen and I would even say ugly, but I didn’t care. I loved the sense of play and the communal feeling of embarking on a new endeavor together.
I wasn’t able to finish the course. Halfway through, I learned of my leukemia relapse (which explained the utter exhaustion), and I had to immediately relocate to start treatment. But the wonderful women in the class finished the last bowl I'd been working on, and they all wrote their names on it and gave it to me. I have far more “beautiful” bowls in my kitchen, perfectly shaped and glazed, but I love eating my oatmeal out of my handmade ones. They always make me smile, especially when I eat from the bowl with everyone’s name on it. That one feels like a hug.
I say all this to emphasize that the value of creative cross-training is not in mastering some new discipline. It’s an exercise in unburdening yourself from ego, of liberating yourself from perfectionism. It’s about getting back in touch with the sense of play that we have so innately as children. It’s a way to ignite your imagination and your sense of wonder, to reconnect with an old part of yourself, and maybe connect with others too.
My greatest teacher in this forever lesson is my maman, Anne Francey, who has such a sense of wonder, who never fails to prioritize play—which is why April Fool’s is her favorite holiday. She still has that sense of mischief and fun that gets beaten out of many of us, especially when we are piling our plates so full that everything feels like another thing on the to-do list. So today I’m resharing her essay “Drawing in the Margins,” this time with a new prompt. I hope it helps silence the voice that tells you, “You can’t,” and gives you permission to embark on a new endeavor, whatever shape that takes.
Sending love,
Suleika
P.S. The last few months, as I’ve been working more seriously on my paintings, I’ve been yearning for a sidepiece creative project with lower stakes. I recently decided that I’m going to plant a garden with herbs and tomatoes and peppers (for homemade hot sauce purposes). Another endeavor I’m excited about: getting a hive of bees. Any beekeepers out there? Send me all your tips!
Some items of note—
Mark your calendar! We’ve scheduled our next meeting of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour for paid subscribers, on Sunday, May 19th from 1-2 pm ET. Writer and Isolation Journals community manager , will be hosting this time, meditating on lessons learned (and relearned, and relearned again). Hope you can join us!
If you missed this week’s small joy (our weekly chat where we celebrate one small joy we want to hold onto), you may need to update your Substack app! This week I wrote an ode to happenstance and people who feel like home. Click below to add your voice to the chorus!
Prompt 295. Drawing in the Margins by Anne Francey
(First published on July 5, 2020)
Part of my practice as an artist is organizing community murals in schools, where everyone from the students to the principal takes part. Over the decades I’ve done this, I’ve become fascinated by how people relate to creativity and some of the patterns I’ve observed.
With teachers and school staff, about ninety-nine percent of the time, they have hardly passed through the door when they declare: “I can’t draw. Only stick figures.” With principals, often it’s worse. One even asked if she could make her image by tracing a logo. I’m always amazed at how resistant people can be. I always think, Of course you can draw. You were just never shown how, or never encouraged to believe you could.
With the kids, the delight in the process usually gets them going, but not always. Some start freely, but soon lose confidence. After glancing at their neighbors’ work, they end up replicating what they see, resorting to what’s most generic—and oh, the contagion of rainbows and smileys! Others will make one small mark, look at it, ask for an eraser, and get very upset before they’ve even tried. The ones who artistically thrive are those who accept whatever is happening on their small canvas, letting the paint talk to them and guide their imagination towards something they hadn’t even planned. They simply trust that they can.
When it comes to my studio practice, I constantly experiment with new ways to get into a creative flow. I have a whole arsenal of tactics. It might be switching to a new routine. It might be using chance. It might be setting simple rules and limitations. It might be observing miniscule events unfolding inside my studio—the sun hitting a painting just so, an insect landing on the window sill. It might be having no routine.
More often than not, I find that the real stuff happens in the margins—meaning a free-flowing zone where the stakes are lower and I’m somehow able to tap into the essential. That often occurs in the morning, warming up with a small sketch, or at dusk, relaxing into a more playful mode because the work day is behind me.
Varying my approach helps relieve the pressure and muffles the “I can’t” voice. Drawing in the margins frees me from my ego and unlocks that flowing creative mode where I just do.
Your prompt for the week:
Using whatever tools you’d like—pen, pencil, crayons, markers, watercolors—begin making marks in the margins of your journal. Let it be intuitive and expressive. Accept whatever is happening; resist the urge to judge. Let the marks spread and guide your imagination toward something you hadn’t even planned. For ten minutes, simply trust that you can.
If you’d like, you can post your response to today’s prompt in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals. As a reminder, we love seeing your work inspired by the Isolation Journals, but to preserve this as a community space, we request no promotion of outside projects.
Today’s Contributor—
Anne Francey’s studio practice includes painting, drawing and ceramic, and she has exhibited in the United States, Switzerland, and Tunisia. She is the recipient of several grants from the New York State Council of the Arts for creating community murals in schools and public spaces. She was named a Fulbright Scholar for 2021 in Tunisia. She currently lives in Tunis, where she is leading a participatory art project called 1,001 Briques.
For more paid subscriber benefits, see—
Love in the Time of Cancer, a special installment of my Dear Susu column where I sit down with my mom, Anne Francey, and talk about her experience as a caregiver—the selfishness and surrender, the wisdom gained from experience, and how we endure.
A video replay of my workshop with Susan Cain, where we talk about accepting life’s sorrows, how they deepen the joys, and how, if we’re open and curious, we can find a creative practice that helps us marry the two.
On Creative Sanctuary, notes from the Hatch about defending your inner life and imagining a creative sanctuary within.
Our Isolation Journal No. 1 and Surrender Tote
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I took pottery in my 30s because I thought I should be able to use my hands for more than just writing or feeding myself. It turns out I loved handbuilding pots, especially pinch pots. My pots were always covered in little cracks because I cuddled the clay. I came up against that little voice that told me how terrible my pots were, how incompetent I was, how imperfect. My instructor called my work charmingly uneven. I realized that I am charmingly uneven. I learned to embrace this character in myself and my work. I am not smooth or symmetrical or even or perfect. I am charmingly uneven. To celebrate my 48th birthday i made 48 pinch pots and gave them away to friends, asking them to donate to food banks. Friends cherish these little uneven pots to this day. I am 60 now and eczema prevents me from doing pottery but I have pots and plates I made with my own hands. My husband doesn't want to eat off any other plates. His favourite bowl is a thick tiger eye glazed bowl that is heavy and sturdy.
I loved this beautiful osting about creative crossing training – I’m a cookbook author but have been a tango dancer for 27 years as well. Movement to music is the perfect tonic for being in a test kitchen all day or typing up recipes but tango has also allowed me, as a follower (versus a lead) to relax and let go. I can get out of the driver’s seat at tango. And yet? I wrote a whole memoir about tango and at that point, I guess my writing moved into the tango realm and a new ‘dance’ was born. More than cross creative training, tango, like writing, feeds my soul.