What Matters

I have just finished reading Oliver Burkman’s ‘Four Thousand Weeks’. While the book itself is a little overblown, the message is an important one: Stop focusing on the things that don’t matter, refocus on the things that do, because the time we have on this earth is very limited indeed. As Burkman himself states, this is not a credo to incite depression and morbidity, but an opportunity to stop and think, to remember what we enjoy doing (if we are honest with ourselves, we already know the answer) and to prioritise this over the ‘things that can wait'. It is a mode of being that provides resistance against the most odious of mantras ‘live life to the full’. For living life to the full, is not only unachievable for most, it is a phrase that inspires panic and feelings of inadequacy. This is not to say that we must neglect work or family. We all have obligations. But we are not built to be active at all times, to be hyper-focused and overstimulated. We need downtime and quiet time. Isn’t it the mundane, seemingly irrelevant things, like waiting in line, preparing food or chatting to a neighbour that makes us human? And the small things within reach that bring us the most happiness? 

Four Thousand Weeks, by Oliver Burkeman (2021).

For myself, reading, a walk in the woods behind my house, or spending an afternoon at an art gallery bestows comfort and gives me pleasure. They don’t deliver an earth-shattering dose of adrenaline, but they do create a quiet sense of wellbeing. And there is something particularly magical about art/the arts that creates a feeling of stillness and satisfaction that cannot be manufactured or bought. Yes, art materials can be expensive, but you can also make art out of almost nothing. There is something about art and creativity that resists many of the forces bearing down on us today. Perfectionism, capitalism and the commodification of your time. For billion-dollar companies such as Google and Meta, the commodities are no longer the things being sold to us, but our time and data being neatly packaged and sold to other large organisations. 

Art from anything, including a found cuttlefish, from a beach walk - soon to become a pencil drawing.

So, focus on your art, and don’t feel guilty about it. It doesn't matter what type of art you make, it is the dedication of time to your practice. By dedication, I don’t mean the endless pursuit of perfection, but the achievement of parcelling up some of your time and dedicating yourself to creativity, dreaming and escapism. To go to a place where you cannot be reached. Not by the impending task of washing up, or cleaning the house, nor by big business who want to lure you into scrolling oblivion.