Cultivating Joy

Practices of intention, inspiration, and community

Image: Justice for All, 2019, Yinka Shonibare

Cultivating joy is neither a passive nor a singular process. To me, cultivating joy is an aspirational daily aim, and a benchmark for good art-making. To be cultivating joy, I think, means to have a direction; intention. But committing to joy also means finding it where you can, in the momentary encounters or feelings; inspiration. And when we feel lost and a bit joyless, connecting with our peers and friends brings joy; community.

Intention–what do you want to do or achieve? Goal-setting, large and small, wanting to bring some things into your day I think can lead to those small joyful moments. A modest intention and moment of joy might be wanting to see flowers in your house, buying some flowers, and then spending time to look at them. Setting intentions is how we can feel a sense of agency in our life and career. Setting small intentions and accomplishing them, like buying flowers, develops the practice. It’s OK to set intentions beyond your capacity, if that feels like the right direction for you, the right aim. The task then is clear–grow in capacity, seek knowledge and advice.

Inspiration–go out of your way, at least once a week, to feel inspired. Last week I went to London to catch up on all the shows on my wishlist. I experienced maximum joy levels in Barbara Kruger’s exhibition at the Serpentine, Thinking of You, I Mean Me, I Mean You, and Entangled Pasts, 1768-now, Art Colonialism & Change. Both of these shows were weighty, tackling the pressing issues of the day. But feeling joy is not at odds with the depth and breadth of life. What was exemplary in both shows though, was the artists’ capacity to alchemise observations, experiences, and insights into material and play formally. That play with form, incorporating wit, humour, incisive thought, and at times beauty, creates these moments of connection and expansion with the audience. I felt alive and hopeful but of course even more cognizant of systems of oppression. That did not get in the way of my open-hearted gratitude for these artists working at their respective coalfaces.

Community–it’s tough. I’m feeling it. I have all kinds of painful feelings both in terms of my own personal and professional process of change, and I feel disempowered by the social, political, and violent machinations of the world around us–so many things beyond our control that feel like a visceral punch to the gut. I feel this. But as I see it, that is not the end of the story. My duty, in my work, my vocation, is to chip away at that edifice of systemic pain and alchemise into joy whatever is in my capacity to do so. A tarot card I pull in those moments of pain is the Three of Cups–the three women dancing around with their cups held high. This card reminds me, joy is cultivated in community. Joy is found in the discussions we have with our friends where we alchemise our experiences and grow. Joy can be felt in being seen in our full complexity by others. Cultivating community takes work. But not hard work. It can be found in the voice notes we send, the studio doors we knock on, the people we invite round for coffee. The people we reach out to, and the people we share ourselves with.

I’m not suggesting that joy is easy to find and feel. But the practices we adopt can equip us to notice joy, and capture it. Phone photos or journaling can capture the joy and enable us to feel gratitude.

As a mentor, I can be your attentive witness, I can hold your intentions, share inspiration and help you find the path ahead, always with an eye on where more joy can be found in your processes and practices. We don’t go it alone if we commit to joy.