Learning Unlearning: Dear Diary, Why Does Learning Art Hurt?

Bruce Lee is an underrated philosopher.

In his book, “The Artist of Life” he writes:

“Learning gained is learning lost.

The knowledge and skill you have achieved are after all meant to be “forgotten” so you can float in emptiness without obstruction and comfortably. Learning is important, but do not become its slave…

You can never be the master of your technical knowledge unless all your psychic hindrances are removed and you can keep the mind in the state of emptiness (fluidity), even purged of whatever technique you have obtained — with no conscious effort.”

These are lessons of the artist, of someone who was called to a craft, of someone who is able to sublimate knowledge and skill into wisdom and practice. This is what comes to life in the studio, practice room, rehearsal space, and in the privacy of our homes – places we have permission to be vulnerable and make mistakes, places where we can get it wrong and finally, finally, get it right. (Here “right” does not mean “correct” or “palatable” or “objectively good.”) Rather, this alludes using the craft for what it was made to do – to channel energy, feelings, and inspiration into meaning. How does one capture a moment in time? How does one make “now” infinite?

I believe the creative space to be healing. I believe it to be sublime. It is intrinsically validating and reflexive of life. It is a place where one can be enough by providing exactly what you have.

But I learned to appreciate creative space in this way much later in my life.

The Expense

In the past, having a hobby or extracurricular in the arts meant long hours and commitment. I danced, I played instruments, I sang. I remember it fostering in me a want to succeed and an appreciation for the detail, history, and theory that is put into making art.

I also remember my passion for a creative space being squashed by competition, perfectionism, elitism and “not-good-enough-ness.”

Whether perfectionism was self-perpetuated or was given to me by a person or circumstance, it is indubitably inherent to the arts. The narrative is then written that precision and accuracy are the keys to the kingdom. Every note, every detail of choreography, every breath had to be perfect and of a specific quality to be valid. And though I do agree that there is standard and technique for a reason, and perhaps we are meant to learn rules to break them, somewhere along the line the narrative became twisted in my young mind. And it did cause a lot of pain and dysphoria. Why did that happen? No one person or experience was at fault.

The authentic desire that initially drew me to a craft was the expense I had to pay to be “good” at it. (Not to mention the literal financial expenses paid for lessons and classes – I remember there being a financial guilt tied to not being “good-enough,” I could not afford to be mediocre.)

What happened to the excited toddler dancing around in tutus? What happened to the child who picked up a guitar for fun? What happened to the kid who made up songs while doing chores around the house? Where did they go?  

Ponderings for You, Audience 

I had to forget my purpose in order to gain technical skill – to become completely obsessed with skill-learning – that I no longer knew what it felt like to feel the art I was making, to sublimate in it. It was always wrong. It was always not enough.

Who gave me this narrative? Why is it my responsibility to unlearn it?

Going forward, how can we balance the healthy high expectations of artmaking with the warmth and validation needed to foster the innate and authentic creativity and expression in the young artists making it?

Creative experiences are inherently personal. They require vulnerability and self-awareness.

I extend my ponderings to include: How do we care for our creatives of all ages? How do we care for the creative who exists within each of us? How do we lift these “psychic hindrances” of learning so that our mere existence becomes the lesson learned?