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As a chronically ill person, managing energy levels can be a daily challenge. This can make it particularly difficult to maintain a “consistent” art practice, at least by the standards presented to us by artist social media! Even with careful planning and a flexible approach, it can be challenging to structure an art practice that accommodates the limitations of spoonie life, while still allowing for creative expression and growth.

One of the biggest processes for me, as a person with acquired disability and chronic illness, has been unlearning my internalized ableism. It's important to acknowledge that so much advice, so many online courses, and basically every Instagram challenge, is not made for me. I’m not a bad artist; the influencer life is simply incompatible with my needs as both a caregiver and a care-receiver. This means that setting expectations and adjusting my goals looks very different from literally everyone else.

It doesn’t mean I haven’t tried. Because I have. So many times have I tried to fit into a model of an artist and a business owner that is not accessible or attainable for someone like me.

I am now comfortable in myself and secure in my practice, to the extent that I can say those models are no longer desirable for me either.

I meet so many disabled and ill artists who feel discouraged by their inability to do and make and perform. The problem isn’t them or their art, or their art practice; the problem is internalized ableism and its nasty cousin capitalism.

I may have left the field of education, but I am still an educator at heart; what’s more, because I have learned from my community, I am distilling my most essential community-taught art lessons into this post specifically for my community of spoonies and chronically ill artists who are grappling with the sustainability of their practice.

You can create art in 10 minutes.

When I started painting, I was overwhelmed by the advice to paint every day. At the same time, I felt envious of artists who could paint for 10 hours at a time. As a disabled, chronically ill person, my energy is so limited. I read Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell when I was working in education, and seeing so many iterations on the theme of “10,000 hours of dedicated practice,” the me that is a recovering perfectionist and former gifted kid felt completely intimidated about learning new visual art skills while finding my place among these astounding artists! Some days I have 10 minutes; other days I have two hours. Creating a routine that works for me, that is sustainable for my energy levels, is the key to my art practice.

Use what you have.

I started printmaking with a piece of glass salvaged from a thrift store picture frame and some bubble wrap. I used old hotel key cards to scrape paint before I had a silicone wedge. There is a tool at every price point, and if you’re a hoarder like me, this is your time to shine.

Start with what you know.

My first subject matter included migraine and Idaho landscapes. I still make art about migraine, and it resonates with other folks with migraine disease. Using what we know allows us to build connections with other artists and potential collectors who resonate on the same wavelength. Isn’t the point of the arts to connect over shared experiences?

Play is a sustainable art practice.

I had to learn to loosen up. I took myself — and my art — too seriously for quite a while. It turns out I make bigger discoveries and have bigger breakthroughs when I let go, let loose, and play. I learned to start paintings with “chaos layers” from Amanda Evanston. Splatters, drips, big scribbles, and ripped pages are FUN. Find a way to play, even when the subject matter is serious, and the art comes to life. Play is also critical because it uncouples the artistic process from the capitalistic drive for productivity. Art is meaningful and worth pursuing for its own sake, on its own timeline, and sometimes on no timeline at all.

Love what you love.

My mentor Connie Solera leans hard into this affirmation. Throttling hard into what we love makes our art sizzle with passion. Of course, not everyone will love the same things we love. If we attempt to create something with generic mass appeal, our art will be tepid. I spent a lot of years as a K-12 teacher drinking tepid coffee—it’s not very good. I’d rather have it hot, or iced, none of that tepid nonsense. Likewise, If I make art that I love, other people will feel that. They may hate it, but at least they’ll feel something! And some folks are going to love it, too.

Don’t let the perfect get in the way of the good.

Malcolm Gladwell got too much credit for the wrong idea. In Outliers, Gladwell spends pages and pages expounding on the idea of 10,000 of disciplined practice leading to expertise. The people he uses as examples are what the rest of us can identify simply as having privilege: being in the right place at the right time, probably with an abundance of money and time. In the distillation and the subsequent retellings, we only hear the “10,000 hours equals mastery” part. After a lifetime of perfectionism and chasing the extraordinary, I have learned that the process is as important as the mastery, especially with art. I have breakthroughs during the slog, the muddy middle. Having certain privileges has certainly helped me along the way (art supplies can be expensive), but every person is inherently creative, no matter where along our journey we may be. Perfectionism gets in our way! We don’t need to be extraordinary, hyper-productive “outliers” to make meaningful art.

Time and place are important.

Gladwell’s book did get that right— our time and place are important. They shape us; they shape our art. Context matters. How we fit into the fabric of history and within the community of other artists influences how we create, and how our art is seen. One of my favorite artists that illustrates this so vibrantly is Shuri at Not Sorry Art. Her neon Millennial generation paintings pay homage to her childhood growing up in poverty, with such pieces as Dollar Store Barbie Aisle, and the series of glitterified fast food restaurant signs. Her use of context is exquisite in its precision; she offers vibrant commentary on life in the U.S. through unexpected and beautifully executed paintings.

Find a mentor. Be picky.

Artists have historically been known by the communities they form with each other. Think Black Mountain, and the cohort of artists that came out of that school and continued to associate with one another. In my opinion, a good mentor relationship doesn’t just foster our technical skills, because art touches every area of our lives. Several years ago I quietly ended a mentor relationship when my artist soul was not nourished, and I felt a significant shift in our public ethics. Finding a new mentor sparked a shift in my self and my art that I could physically feel. It affected my art, my writing, my mental health, my sleep. That’s how critical it was.

The time is now. The place is here.

Every period in history has been documented by artists saying, “We were here. We lived through this.” There isn’t going to be a better time to create than right now. The world needs artists and dreamers. The world needs my art, and your art. The struggles of late-stage capitalism, chronic illness and disability, perpetual war, the cost of living crisis are driving us into further isolation; we need each other. Another world is possible. We can co-create the world we want. Today.

By calibrating our art practice in a way that takes into account our limited energy and unique needs as spoonies, we can unlearn the lessons of capitalism that infect our art practices; we can create a sustainable and fulfilling artistic journey.

Does this resonate with you? Download my Artful Affirmations for Spoonies and Crips