#ben boothman

A vintage bottle of #Gordon's #gin is found in the cellar of @FlyerRochdale during refurbishment

The Flying Horse Hotel in Packer Street in Rochdale has recently undergone a refurbishment and reopened for business on February 1st. Nothing unusual in that although a somewhat bold move at a time when the hospitality sector is in crisis. What is newsworthy is that, according to Ben Boothman the landlord, while Fred – it always is Fred – was smashing out the cellar, he found a bottle of vintage…

Photo courtesy of Ben Boothman. Article featured in his publication Design Aid.

It is essential to have perfectly prepared materials in order to start work productively.

I lay down a clean stack of A3 cartridge paper. I begin the vicious circle of the ordeal of pencil sharpening/lead breaking. I employ a needle from my sewing box to cope with the number of broken tips that are clogging up the sharpener, and amassing themselves in a shameful pile of uselessness on the top sheet of paper.

A while later, satisfied that all 20 are now sharp and reliable enough to endure being drawn with, I rank the pencils on my desk from hardest to softest, 9H to 9B, with their foil embossed names proudly displayed. Easing a ruler against their blunt ends, I persuade them into a precise, level row. With their newly mismatched lengths, this looks absurd. I reorganise them by height, an equally foolish arrangement, and dejectedly put them back into their pencil pot.

I walk to the nearest stationery shop and buy a mechanical pencil.

The prodigiously creative Ludwig Von Beethoven drank ‘buckets’ of strong, black coffee. My eight-cup cafetière seems inferior in comparison. Some people might feel that the speed at which I push the plunger down is excruciatingly slow, however I believe that the slower the cafetière plunger is pushed down, the better the coffee is. And of course I would never dream of blaspheming my tongue, or any mug for that matter, with instant coffee. Two minutes later, the plunger has reached the bottom, and its ready to be poured.

I add some whiskey take the edge off doing nothing.

Why have I written such a meandering and convoluted start to this article? I was less than enthusiastic to start serious research into the subject matter of creative block. In fact, my final submission landed on the editor’s desk over a month after our mutually agreed deadline. Am I guilty of procrastination or am I a victim of self-sabotage? Is the reason it exists merely due to the fact it has been given a title?  I can imagine the defensive fury coming after accusing someone who claims to have ‘creative block’ of being lazy, or unimaginative or speculating that the condition doesn’t even exist.

Of course it is frustrating not being able to tap into your creative skill when it’s a livelihood and a passion, but perhaps creative block is more the embarrassment of the whole situation of not making anything that is further detrimental to creative production.

Every artist suffering from an unwanted pause in their art making will be frustrated, mainly at themselves, which is not something that an artist likes being, especially if one has the artists’ typically large and fragile ego. Maybe overanalyzing, searching for and chasing your creativity could make it even more intangible.

Perhaps another way of handling the situation could be embracing the supposedly unwelcome impasse. An artist might like to dine out on the romantic idea of being officially blocked creatively, for reasons other than lack of skill or commitment. It’s somehow inversely trendy to be inflicted with such misfortune as it is to be a creative that cannot create.

Is it helpful for artists to experiment with illegal stimulants? Or would apathetic-making after effects make the whole venture counter productive? A successful example of drug use for creativity can be found in Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s opium fuelled dream that inspired him to write Kubla Kahn. It is left unfinished because after being interrupted whilst writing it, and no matter how much more opium he took in the name of poetry, he never managed to reenter his trip like state to complete the masterpiece. The ever-creative Picasso was also an opium user, and who knows if Pollock’s paintings would have been so thick with emotion had they not been so fuelled with alcohol.

A more conscientious way of self-medicating could be through the use of ‘study drug’, Modafinal. Originally abused by Oxbridge students, the drug allows focus and energy for hours beyond what nature intended. Users feel a little bit manic, but very determined and capable when a task is in mind. Perhaps suiting to an artistic manner, my experimentation with it caused inflation in confidence and ability to achieve. I also found myself falling victim to obsessive tidying when I didn’t have specific task planned, and was decidedly more peppy for the entire 32 hours it takes to wear off. (If anyone’s interested, I’m selling them at £2 each).

It’s more conventional cousin Ritalin is more often prescribed for people with A.D.H.D. (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). Having exaggerated my symptoms during a test with a psychiatrist, I was blessed with a diagnosis of A.D.H.D. that allowed me to be prescribed Ritalin. I was expecting the effect to be similar of some kind of magic bean, which would fill me with the desperate need to be productive and create work. Without a goal in mind, I became fidgety and intense, causing distraction and annoyance to whomever I was with. I wanted to be involved in everyone else’s creativity, not come up with my own.

A.D.H.D. also means that I am easily distracted, which could be a reason for Jordan watching me type. Stop it. Stop watching.

Anyway, being distracted could be an advantage. Distractions can become inspirations. Forcing your creativity is possibly exactly what stops it from being possible. Absentmindedlydaydreaming is a way to let ideas organically arrive of their own accord, instead of forced, contrived work. Conversely, there is the well-known mantra (modernized from Aristotle’s centuries old theory), ‘Fake It Till You Make It’ (which is often used as a therapy technique for combating depression).

For productivity, perhaps concentration isn’t what is needed. If there is a huge market for a study drug, surely there is a niche market for a ‘creativity drug’. Hallucinogenics conjure wild ideas or obscure ways of looking at things. A number of cartoons are rumoured to have been inspired whilst their creators were on acid trips.

I spoke to creatives that said ‘Oh, poor you,’ very sarcastically when I asked them what exactly creative block felt like, because I’d never had it. Their eyes definitely sparkled a little with a sense of privilege of having had an artistic problem that they’d battled and overcome. ‘It’s the worst thing. It’s like you’ve rinsed all your ideas.’ How insightful.  Remedies suggested were walking, Internet browsing, and second hand bookshops as well as the benefits of collaboration and conversation.

What if creative block was an unproven medical problem? The famous artistic temperament perceived to be had by painters, writers, musicians, and sculptors is often seen in manic episodes of frenzied hypomania, and episodes of depression- big highs and big lows. Munch, Pollock and Van Gogh were artists that all suffered from bipolar.

I agreed to complete this article within a two-day deadline. It took me that, plus another four weeks on top to make any sort of start. I don’t think it was creative block, I think it was some kind of resistance, maybe the rebellious streak that all artists want to possess, even if they’re faking it. So actually, perhaps creative block is the artists’ state of rebellion, because when they are being happy and productive, there is nothing tortured or emotional about the work. Maybe it was my fear of failure that could be to blame for avoiding writing this article. Atychiphobia afflicts a sufferer with such an intense fear of failure they choose not to take the risk in the first place. As delicate as the artists’ ego is, doing something shit could do more harm than good. I often find that procrastination can become the work in itself.

At my desk, I pick up the top piece of paper and tip the broken lead into the wastepaper basket at my feet. I examine the emptied piece of paper at arms length: organically produced faint lead squiggles have made delicate marks in the center of the page. This can qualify as a piece of work.