I keep telling myself, “Holly, you have to make time for art.” And it’s true. I think the problem is in my method. ‘Time’ suggests something rigid. Planning. Art, for me, is never rigid or planned. “Making time for art” has started to sound like “making time for thinking” or “making time for listening to music”. It all just seems a little incongruous. If art is the fluid ‘thing’ we all perceive it to be, endeavouring to ‘timetable’ it is pointless. It actually misses the whole point.

When I think of fitting art into my busy schedule, I am already thinking incorrectly. ‘Art’ will never be a heading of one of my Google Calendar blocks. It is forced. It is calculated. I want art to be an outlet for reducing stress, exploring creativity, producing something other than an essay. But as soon as I start thinking of a time, date, and place for this activity, I have already reduced it to another ‘task’ to tick off from my infinitely long to-do list. I am forgetting the art of spontaneity, and the spontaneity of art.

To tackle this ‘scheduling issue’ (to use the phrase crudely – for the very issue is the scheduling itself, rather than an issue of scheduling), I have found refuge in evening art. At first, even the use of the term ‘evening’ seems to undermine everything I have just said: “evening”, you say, “but you have now prescribed a particular ‘time’ for art!” Perhaps you are right – I am still learning. But what I mean by ‘evening art’ is art that might span one hour, or two, or three. I have approached ‘evening art’ as I would approach a dark room I have never stepped foot in before. I approach it not knowing its limits or boundaries, not knowing when the ‘light’ might be turned on. I let the ‘time’ pass as if it were not there, I foreground the art. Once my evening of art has started, who knows when it might end?

“I am forgetting the art of spontaneity, and the spontaneity of art”

At the beginning of term, I attended the most recent Kettle’s Yard Late. It started at 6pm. I remember thinking, as I arrived, that I would just stay an hour: listen to a talk, make a badge, get out, and go straight to the library. I ended up staying until the end, 9pm. I stayed because I forgot about ‘time’. I stopped treating art like medicine, to be administered in short doses before getting back to what really mattered.

My dad teaches illustration at BA level, and when I was younger, I was dragged to countless degree-shows, previews, and exhibitions. I never really knew what time we went to these events, or what time we left – I let my dad do the talking, scheduling, and guiding. At the Kettle’s Yard Late, I felt transported back to this child-like state. I let external forces, and my own naïve wonder at the art exhibition in front of me, guide me. Just like when I was 12. I created two pieces of art that night, two pieces of art unlike anything I had ever made before. I think this is because I was not expecting to make them – as I said, I like to approach evening art ‘blind’.

Just four days ago, I attended the famous ‘drink and draw’ at the Classics Faculty’s Cast Gallery with some friends. When we showed up, we unexpectedly encountered a long queue. I was instantly stressed – what about my essay plans? What about the translation waiting for me in my bag? The prospect of unscheduled art loomed large, an undefinable, fluid beast eating away at my precious ‘time’. I had not learned from the Kettle’s Yard Late.

“Art is not something we need to make time for, but rather something that itself bends, manipulates, and liquifies time”

We went and got a drink. We waited, and went back, and we were let in. We had another drink. I naturally started to relax. We sat down, I chose a statue of an Amazon’s head to draw, and I drew. I did not check the time on my phone once. I now had this mission ahead of me: to draw the Amazon, and draw her well. I forgot about the library, the exams, the ‘schedule’. We ended up staying until we were told to leave: “It is over now, please bring back the pencils and clipboards”, they said. Even then, we stayed sitting for another 5 minutes, until we were told, more firmly this time, “I am really sorry – you have to go now.” We got up, reluctantly (and tired from the wine), and meandered to the exit. I had in my hand a piece of art I was proud of, my heart full for having spent a peaceful evening with both my friends, and my own creativity.

I did not go back to the library that night. I might have gone to the library after the Kettle’s Yard Late, I can’t remember. But that is besides the point – the ‘Late’ is what made a lasting impression, not the one or two extra hours of studying I might have got in.

I allowed the expanse of the evening to stretch out before me, to be embarked upon and abandoned whenever I wished. Art is not something we need to make time for, but rather something that itself bends, manipulates, and liquifies time. It might have a starting point – arriving at Kettle’s Yard, or the Cast Gallery – but the joy is not knowing when it will end.

Stop treating art like a lecture or a supervision, and encounter it on its own terms. You will feel better that way, and art will truly give you release. So take art on an evening out – and let it take you – and instead of putting it in a neat Google Calendar box, let that box expand and stretch until art is done with you.