The thief of time

Clare Garner

My rituals of Procrastination are dressed as the random responsibilities of life – washing, cooking, emailing, but all of them are simply insidious enemies of my creative processes. Somehow, I listen to the constant whine of their requests, their legitimate sounding lies that promise more productivity – but later. Always later. They come with greedy hands full, of “ifs” (“if you get that cleaning out of the way now, you can work through lunch and get more done!”) and “buts” (“but you know that you can’t think in an untidy room!”) and like Sirens, their alluring songs draw me to be dashed on the jagged rocks of missed opportunity, as the “laters” of my day, unfold into the “nevers” of the night. And one day’s allocated hours are laid to rest, with the promise that tomorrow will be different.

This side of eternity, time is finite. A moment wasted, is a moment lost forever and the forces allied against our creativity seem determined to keep those moments tick-tocking away, whilst creativity sits in suspended animation, awaiting our engagement. How many symphonies remain unfinished, sculptures unformed, songs unwritten, because Procrastination has shouted louder than our natural desire to create, consistently bumping Art to a subservient position on our mental to-do lists? Why is it that Art seems to wait patiently at the back of the queue behind a constant trickle of thuggish mundanities?

I remain constantly frustrated by my childish belief that if I clear my home and mind, of every menial chore, I will achieve a kind of task-less nirvana, where my clean and cleared desk will allow for open passage to the muses. But this mythical pilgrimage’s only success, is the greedy consumption of my precious morsels of time.

Time to create, should be carved like a sacred altar into our day, not squeezed in like a necessary but painful dental appointment. Art is not clinical or contained and it’s the paint-splattered studio, not the sterilised operating room, where the beauty of Art unfurls. And it waits there, quietly, but not silently; Patiently, but not without desire. If we choose to silence the nagging demands of Procrastination, we can hear her call. All we have to do is turn up.

Art is not about having time, but taking time. If we “have time” we demand Art to show up on our schedule and tap our watches angrily, when she doesn’t arrive in her allotted slot. If she does show, it’s often too little, too late and we sulk like a wounded lover, despoiling what moments we have and bemoaning her uncontrollable nature. When we “take time”, we give Art room to breath, space to unfold her wings and we are awed by her company.

So, will we be bullied by Procrastination or allured by Art? One will bark out orders, the other will whisper our name. We won’t always get it right, but the cost of making Art wait, is much, much greater.

Create now. Tidy later.