The Surrender Effect

Just when you want to hold tighter is exactly when you need to let go.

Photo by Katelyn G on Unsplash

I’ve been thinking a lot about the pressures to create involved in being a professional artist. Am I creating something that will please my audience? That’s original? Lucrative? Popular? ‘Perfect’? You get the idea. The thing is, none of these goals actually drive creativity and, if you’re like me, tend to paralyze my progress. It’s analysis paralysis. Overthinking kills the muse. And nothing truly original ever comes from trying to mind read what will be popular some time down the road. So what’s an artist to do? Well, this might sound a bit crazy, but the truth is, you’ve got to forget about all of it. You have to trust. Or, in other words, surrender.

Even outside my own busy brain, I’ve seen this in action in others. For example, I knew a writer many years ago who would produce these magical, beautiful, stories, and then spend literal years editing so much that what was left was something closer to a dry newspaper article. All that magic got edited out, all because this person couldn’t surrender. I think many writers struggle with when to know it’s time to put down that red pen and just let something be, but what drives that struggle? Is it fear of getting it wrong? Fear of disapproval? Fear of not being perfect?

In truth, nothing is ever perfect, and in some ways perfection is the opposite of art. Perfection is like mathematical equations that operate in black and white. Art, on the other hand, is messy, experimental, creative, interpretive, and lives in that debatable grey area of life. Sure, there are rules about structuring a novel, or composing a song, but in general, all art is made to evoke emotion and spark conversation in its consumer. This, by its very being, means some people will love what you make and some won’t. So, how exactly is it ever possible to ever make perfect, universally-loved, art?

It’s not. And it’s easy to look back at plenty of legendary artists and see that they, too, received their share of criticism. Just recently I watched the new Billy Joel documentary, which is excellent, by the way. In it, Billy Joel, a man who has received lifetime achievement awards and is arguably a part of the American songbook, discusses how many of his bestselling albums were panned by critics. It was speculated that his style didn’t match that of the critical darlings at the time, so critics disliked him. In other words, because he wasn’t David Byrne and putting out stuff that sounded like The Talking Heads, he wasn’t very good. And now, from a different perspective, that sounds ludicrous! Don’t get me wrong, I love both Talking Heads and Billy Joel, but they are very different artists offering very different things to the world. Who can say that one is better than the other?

So once again this is where the surrender comes in. Billy Joel couldn’t be David Byrne, and vice versa. That isn’t who they are as artists. By today’s standards, both are legendary musicians. Both sold a lot of records. And I don’t know about you, but I can sing all the lyrics to songs from both of them. So why is there so much angst around criticism. Billy Joel, himself, said that when he was younger he’d take copies of his bad reviews on stage and rip them up, all while playing to sold out stadiums around the world, winning Grammy Awards, and topping the charts. It seems a bit silly to have spent so much energy on critics’ opinions while his art was flourishing in the world.

Likewise, Billy Joel discussed how, in his early years, before breaking into the mainstream, he lived in California and tried to emulate that 1970s California sound, despite not being connected to the music community there. It didn’t work out, and only after he moved back to New York and embraced that part of him, did he really hit it out of the park. Only then did more of his music connect and resonate with others. There is a sort of surrendering to yourself, and who you truly are, that’s required for authentic creation. It’s that original, human element of art that others feel, and that only comes from its creator.

That famous Oscar Wilde quote comes to mind about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery, but that isn’t the entire quote. It’s actually: "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” In other words, you’re not really going to be great unless you stop trying to like someone else and surrender to your own true self.

And that takes a lot of trust.

Another part of the Billy Joel doc that stood out was when he discussed writing his song, River of Dreams. He said part of it came to him in a dream, but because it was a bit different that his other stuff he resisted writing the rest. However, the song wouldn’t leave him alone. It came to him in the shower, stuck like an earworm in his brain. It’s like his muses wouldn’t let him be until he wrote and recorded it. And it was a big hit.

For artists, there is so much resistance, excuses, fear, whatever, that we throw up as a barrier to our creativity. If we just let go and embrace our muses, our flow, our talent, or whatever you want to call it, I know that channel to new ideas becomes wide and clear and sometimes very, very loud.

The ideas are there. We are the recepticals to bring them into form. But sometimes, we’re also the ones preventing ourselves from doing just that. Sometimes creation is not about doing more research, or more editing, or more education, or seeking more opinions. Sometimes it’s about clearing mental space, taking a load off, letting go of all expectations and demands, and just allowing. Throw those creative blocks out of the way. Put the critical mind on silent mode for a while. Let creativity come through without judgement. Just let it be. Let it become. Surrender.