Making Unskilled Art

When a friend first convinced me to come try her dance class, I was excited . . . and apprehensive. Dance was one of those things that had always vaguely interested me, but which I’d never been brave enough to do. Although I have pretty good balance and reflexes for a non-athlete, I’ve also never been one of those people with an inherent understanding of/command over their own body. And as my friend and I hung around at the studio waiting for class to start, I desperately hoped that I wouldn’t suck too much.

My whole life I’ve gravitated toward activities I was naturally good at. This tendency explains why I’ve always been an avid reader. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve been writing as long as I have. I love both these things too, and I don’t want to discount that, but a portion of that love stems from some natural skill. I knew I was a better reader and better writer than most of my peers at the time, and that made me want to read and write more.

To be reasonably good at something is to be comfortable. It’s empowering. Being bad, on the other hand, is demoralizing. It’s embarrassing. It makes you question whether this new activity or skill is even worth it or whether it’d be better just to quit.

I spent most of my first year in dance class questioning whether I should quit because I did suck. No amount of hoping could change that. I sucked for a lot of my second year too. And even though I’ve finally gotten comfortable with the fundamentals, there’s still at least one class a session–if not more–where I feel like I’m in way over my head. The plus side to starting with such a low bar, though, is that it’s easy to see how much better I’ve become than I was when I first started out. When I pick up a tricky combination with relative ease or pull off a movement or series of movements I couldn’t do six months (or one month) ago, I get firsthand proof of how much I’ve learned. And that proof doesn’t just build my confidence in my dancing; it gives me the courage to get creative in other ways too.

Since I started dancing, I’ve tackled a whole bunch of other artistic projects that felt initially overwhelming to me given my lack of skill. I made a wedding scrapbook that I’m still really proud of. I taught myself just enough sewing to make new straps for a dress a friend gave me–with a little consultation help from my husband. I started drawing again, which I’d always enjoyed as a kid but stopped because I wasn’t good at it. (Turns out I’m still not especially good at it, but I do still enjoy it regardless.) I even took a calligraphy class for the sake of a future creative project I have in mind, even though I have a lot more practicing to do before I’ll feel comfortable beginning said project.

None of these things are my “usual” expressions of my creativity. None of them came naturally to me. There were plenty of moments where my own lack of ability or lack of knowledge made me very uncomfortable. Where I had to reckon with the fact that my best would not be good enough to suit my standards.

What I’m starting to realize, though, is that there’s a lot to be said for making art no matter how unskilled you feel. Letting yourself try and experiment with something that doesn’t come easily doesn’t just challenge your body or your brain. It challenges your sense of yourself too. I’ve been a writer and a bookworm my whole life, and I like those labels. But I’m surprised by how good it feels, too, to be able to call myself a dancer. A (very, very low level) seamstress. An artist.

Do you find it easy or hard to stick with things you know you aren’t good at? What have you stuck with–if anything–that was especially challenging at first? Let me know in the comments.