Imposter syndrome

Ok guys, let’s talk about the big bad monster under the bed. The ghost with the most. The haunting feeling that wakes you up at night in cold sweats.

That’s right. I’m talking about our good friend who may not be driving the car, but they are certainly in the passenger seat at all times.

I’m talking about imposter syndrome.

This is a funny one, quite personal, and not entirely connected to historic craft or repair, but in my case I could make a strong argument that it actually is. And I thought, since we’re all friends here, why don’t we talk about it? Because if there is one thing I know about gross imposter syndrome feelings, it’s that they cannot exist in the light. And just like shame, which I’m sure is a related twice-removed cousin of imposter syndrome, when you shine a bright light on it, it diminishes in power.

So let’s do that!

My imposter syndrome has been kicking up lately. And I think I have figured it out…

I am getting very close to finally doing something I have wanted to do for ages… offer new levels of Kintsugi repair training at our studio. While I am immensely excited about this prospect (traditional materials! Long-form repairs! 24 karat gold for everyone!) I am also shaking in my boots about execution. Managing the numbers, making sure everyone gets the most value… and, oh my god, what if i’m not a good enough teacher??

There are a few things that have been helpful to remind myself of in the lead-up to finally offering these new classes at our studio, (and trust me, they will be amazing because I am a detail-oriented Capricorn) I thought that someone, maybe even just ONE of you. might benefit from hearing this too…

We all have something we are good at

Thats right. We do. You might not even know it, because it’s something you are so used to doing that you forget that there is a time you were not competent at that thing. Take me for example. Teaching is something I’m reasonably new at, and when I started I kind of sucked at it. My delivery was stunted. My ability to foresee the pitfalls of a lesson were lacking, to say the least. I would find myself scrambling around with larger groups, unable to answer 4 questions from different sides of the room all at once. Therefore, a few of my early lessons were a bit of a disaster. I doubted myself momentarily, perhaps my ability to convey information wasn’t up to scratch. But it must be said… if you really want to know where the holes in your own skills are, teach. Nothing is more humbling, and I would argue more educational than teaching.

I studied Historic Conservation and hold a BA in it, and I have to be honest…at this stage of life academia is not my thing. I find traditional ways of book learning challenging. It’s just the way my brain works. So when I started my course as an ahem ‘mature student’ it was challenging. I had to come up with a whole new way to learn. It had been years since I had sat my butt in a seat, absorb tonnes of information, and then regurgitate it again in a way that made sense.

It’s not the learning that irks me, I love to learn through watching, doing, replicating. But it takes me ages to absorb information. Book learning is tough with an arty brain. But once its in there, it’s IN THERE. I have a treasure trove of semi-useless pieces of information that if I COULD trade in for something more useful, trust me baby, I would. I’m willing to bet some of you reading these words feel exactly the same.

But just because I’m not particularly good at ‘book learnin’ in the traditional sense, does not mean that I don’t have some skill sets that others would really benefit from learning. I remind myself of this every week, and it really helps. Figure out the tricks and shortcuts that have helped you learn something, and pass THOSE on to someone else. I promise, it will benefit you both in ways you couldn’t even imagine.

The nagging voice

I’m a bit of a studio hermit a lot of the time. If I had it my way, I would spend every day in the studio just playing. By myself, moving materials around to create new things and repair old things. It’s also the perfect way to exist in a bubble. Completely protected from the pull of validation (hello, social media), potential criticism and the demands of capitalism. A safe space, but also a space completely devoid of community and feedback, both of which are valuable and perhaps essential to creating anything at all. I am an artist, but I am also equally a business owner. When these two sides are existing in harmony, magic happens. But when only one gets to drive the car, I’m either financially stable, but spiritually depleted, or creatively fulfilled and unable to pay my rent. All of us have this balance to strike between doing things that light us up, and supporting ourselves in the ‘real world’. And this is where the voice comes in…

You know the one.

She tends to show up when you’re about to do something new that you would love to try.

Or something you used to do, but stopped.

You reach for that paintbrush, or pencil and out of nowhere, there she is.

There is something incredibly vulnerable about going to a new class, to do something you have never done before. It inspires me every single week to see these brave souls filing though the door. And during our sessions, there is usually quite a bit of time to chat. Get to know each other. Open up a little. And one of the most common things I hear from people is about their, let’s call them ‘art traumas’. Maybe it was a teacher who gently mocked their drawing skills. Or a distracted parent who hid their away the painting of a horse they did when they were 6 years old (sure, the horse had 5 legs, but who cares?). These little formative experiences set a weird phenomenon in motion that would follow most of us around in one way or another for the rest of our lives. Usually in the form of the nagging voice.

We are all familiar with the nagging voice. Sometimes it likes to disguise itself as a ‘gut feeling’ trying to protect you from looking dumb. or failing. it’s usually telling us we are not creative. That it’s not something we could make money off of. Or maybe worst of all, that we will embarrass ourselves.

But when we interrogate that voice, get to the core of it, there’s something else going on there. We start to say things out loud like ‘I’m not very creative’ or ‘I’m terrible at painting/drawing/wood carving/etc’. These are all things I have heard numerous times uttered in my workshops. And in these moments, I would like to gently grab you by the shoulders, shake you like a little rag doll, and remind you that THE ONLY CURE IS SHOWING UP.

Hey, I hear you. The voice is never louder than when you are JUST getting started. And there is no more perfect microclimate for the nagging voice than the artist’s studio. It loves the dark corners, the ambiguity (making your own schedule? Self discipline??) it’s just *chefs kiss* perfect for that nagging voice to set up shop. But the only difference between a painter and you, is that they show up for themselves every day like its a 9-5 job, even if they only have one hour per day to do it. And the cumulative result of all that showing up… is being a painter. or a recipe developer. or a baker. or a wood carver.

Even writing this, the voice is there. Telling me ‘you are not a writer’. But because I’m showing up and writing, she’s getting quieter. And I’m going to put this little bit of writing out there, in all it’s imperfection, because that is what creativity requires of us. To do new, sometimes annoyingly scary things.

The Mastery Gap

I try to prioritise being a life-long learner over being a master. Mastery is more of a journey than a destination, if you ask me. In that spirit, I try to emphasise the lesson itself over being amazing at whatever I try to learn… but it’s really hard to do something more than once if you were kind of terrible at it the first time. We all know that feeling of having a specific outcome in mind. In your daydreams, you picture picking up the tool, handling it with the confidence of a young Caravaggio, using the material with such skill that you feel like a fish to water.

FINALLY finding the one thing you are truly AMAZING at… only to have your hopes dashed in the sloppy execution of, well, a beginner.

Oh yes, I have been there. In fact, I feel like if i’m not truly visiting that zone of sloppy failure at least every couple of months, I am not growing enough. Growth, progress and improvement only come from the messy middle (you will often hear me refer to the messy middle if you have ever been to one of my workshops, because the messy bit in the middle is essential to any project) I have been fortunate enough to learn this skill of perseverance from some of my favourite teachers. Its a muscle that needs to be flexed often so that you don’t get too comfy only doing the same old things.

There is something interesting I noticed in navigating my own teaching journey. Having been taught at various levels by both types of teachers, novices and masters, I seemed to always prefer the novices. Someone who is only a few steps ahead on their own journey towards mastering a craft. Don’t get me wrong, of course the masters have exceptional skills, but are sometimes so far ahead of us on our own journey, they have little empathy for the struggle of the beginner. They almost can’t see the start line where they began. I think about this often as a constant learner as well as teacher. We have a special insight as beginners that can serve us well in our journey of mastery. We can see with a kind and empathic eye.

I felt deep insecurity when I first started teaching repair. There are actual masters at my craft, ones who have honed their knowledge and skill over decades, some of whom I have been fortunate enough to benefit from the wealth of knowledge they possess. But there is just something to be said for the teacher who can stand a few steps ahead of you on the path, who points a torch in exactly the right direction, and says ‘Watch your step, theres a log right in front of you. I know because i just tripped on it myself.’

I remind myself of that weekly while I’m working my way down the path, and so should you.

The only truly wrong thing you can do, is not show up for your creative self. You will always pay for it in one way or another.

So feel like an imposter, and do it anyways.

Love,

Cody

T.S.C.