Chasing a flow

Just me over here prioritizing creative work

You’ve turned off the phone, closed the door, lit your lucky Vonnegut candle (or whatever you’re over there lighting, I see you), and readied your desk. Next thing you know, the clock shows four hours later and you’re experiencing not a sense of post-capitalist accomplishment, but something more in the neighborhood of fullness or satiety. Welcome back from a creative flow state, where time doesn’t work the same, your intuition rules, and the work is whatever you need it to be.

Creativity is essential for well-being—I’m talking all of us, not just weirdo writers. This is the pleasureful work compelled by the heart more than the head—maybe you quilt, or crochet, or paint, or weave poems snatched from rivers into the air. When you focus on this work for an extended period of time—“I lost track of time”—that’s creative flow. Getting into creative flow reduces anxiety, increases clarity about your identity, improves cognitive function, and by leaps and bounds improves your quality of life. It’s science.

Over here, writing my way into a flow state isn’t easy. If I’m pressed for time, if my brain feels crowded, or if I’m not happy with what I’m working on, I’m just plodding on paper. But when the going’s good—whether I’m writing a lesson plan or a story or working on a research project—I float off into the ether as my imagination navigates the airwaves.

I’ve been chasing the feeling for long enough to know my optimal conditions to make it happen:

• A quiet house (I can hear the parents out there laughing)

• A cone of incense

• My pink ceramic light

• Feeling slightly bored

Experiences can also propel me to the nearest notebook for a flow-on-the-go—looking at art that expands the ribcage, or a great live show, for example.

Flow is a sensual feeling and I’ll sacrifice a lot to catch a good stretch of it. It’s a mystery to me why I throw so many obstacles in its way. But after asking the tarot cards what I should do about a project I’d been stuck on, I was invited to a fantastic three-week residency at Vermont Studio Center in Johnson, VT, (if you treat it right, flow can seek you out, too). There, I was provided a simple room, a small studio, and good local food. For that brief window of time, I did no one’s laundry or dishes, and there were (sadly?) no dogs to stare at me all day, waiting for walkies. So I had enough mental space to start something new. For up to eight hours each day, I held that flow.

Gorgeous palettes in progress by Adrienne Simmons at the Vermont Studio Center residency. They remind me of character sketches.

The world can get pretty busy with all labors paid and unpaid. And I don’t know about you, but when I have down time, my brain is usually thick with tired and I want to veg (now I’m really trying not to turn this into a discussion of Season 4 of The Bear). But all along, I could’ve called the kind of time out that a residency requires. A few times, I have.

Work in progress by Chiara No at Vermont Studio Center. In between building the peg boards and steel structures that hold her mixed-medium rugs and wall hangings, Chiara was open about her process and materials and where to find the best swimming holes in the county.

We only find flow if we make room for it.

We only create when we prioritize it.

We get healthier and stronger when we do that.

This type of life time-out isn’t reserved for academics or professional writers and artists. You can find residencies of all kinds, for all types of creative work. Some are competitive, where you submit a portfolio for consideration; others are endowed to be open to anyone with a project to pursue. At VSC, my work went through a vetting process and then I was invited (then invited again as an alum). It’s not the most exclusive version of a juried residency—like a Yaddo or a Bread Loaf—and I did have to pay part of my residency fee (some or all can be covered by the residence; it varies). Other residencies are free if you volunteer—I know an artist who cooked at ACRE in return for studio space, room, and board, for example.

Work in progress by Mary Lamboley at Vermont Studio Center. More palette work, and inspiration ephemera. I love seeing the materials and the studios as much as the finished pieces.

Many of these have no requirements at all, and can be called, instead, retreats. Maybe you just have some thinking you’d like to do and need a little privacy in which to do it. A friend has used Prairiewoods to meditate and write—flow all the way. Some are based in museums, such as this one in Door County. The terrific writer and editor Erika Krouse compiles a list of free residencies and retreats for writers on her website—she’s a real champ and you should buy her books.

Creative residency or retreat doesn’t have to be official. A friend in need of a house sitter can be an excellent equivalent. Or use this app to watch someone’s pet in exchange for lodging anywhere in the world.

A little sidebar here: Wherever you set up, consider taking a cooler. It helps to prep food and other supplies for a big creative sesh. Think of these things as an offering to your creative self, to reduce outside interruptions.

Feel your flow faintly calling as you read this? Here’s hoping you’ve a long weekend coming up, and can give it some time and attention soon. Independence Day can mean whatever you want it to mean.

Happy almost weekend.