June 7, 2010
Walking along Harbord Street the other day, I noticed, jogging towards me, a woman pushing an odd piece of equipment. She was dressed in a sleek body suit and cap. The object guided in front looked like one of those chariot bikes where someone almost lies on their back and the front wheel is held at the end of an arm bar–an elusive disc the rest of the bike tries to catch. Closer, I realized there was indeed someone inside this contraption: her baby. Cute little thing was dressed in a toque, wrapped in blankets and set deep enough into this hi-tech stroller to prevent spillage should mum hit a fault or swing a curb. The goal I presumed, involved daily exercise for the woman combined with quality time spent with her child in fresh air.
As the future intimates less and less time at our convenience, with more demands to meet, there is a challenge to find both time and energy saving solutions. Artists are no different. If we don’t hire apprentices, assistants or others, we definitely need to be physically able to execute our own work. The more we can do it with some degree of health and fitness, the longer we can sustain effort. This is problematic for artists who struggle financially and can’t afford expensive classes or equipment. Less than adequate nutrition and a general lifestyle neglect of one’s constitution makes many artists vulnerable to illness, fatigue and overall malaise.
But do artists need to be fitness gurus or engage in some training program? I don’t think it hurts. If done in moderation and tailored to professional demands, certain aspects of endurance, strength, flexibility, timing, balance and hey–even speed can serve an artist in their craft.
I felt an obligation to research possibilities using the same qualities of imagination and craftiness I would otherwise employ in my work, yet kept in mind a necessary budget. I scanned the studio for potential opportunities to integrate an exercise routine within the daily practice of my art. For example, I noticed 8 ounce jars of Liquitex/Onyx/Golden acrylics could substitute for weights. Standing erect, jars gripped in palms facing up, arms straight out, I bent my elbows until the jars touched my shoulders. This not only flexed and pumped the upper arms but gave good shake and mix to the chartreuse pigment inside the containers when done ten-fifteen times. If I turned the wrists out while the jars were still at shoulder level, I could push up overhead in alternate repetitions. To be effective though, I really had to secure the lids to avoid full spectrum showers. Another exercise involved using a stretcher for cardiovascular workouts. Before installing the crossbar, (while there’s still that big square hole of space) I could do enough step/hops into and out of the picture frame to make an aerobics instructor curious but proud. Tripping was a problem as well as skipping. I almost whacked the TV and my poor cat warming on top of it when I tried to test it for a potential (hard) jump rope. Nixed that idea.
As I waited for paint to dry, nothing, nothing compared to the wooden tip of a bristle brush poised on my index finger as a test for balance and coordination. Zen moments arrived when the brush remained perfectly still. I increased the difficulty by rising up and down on my toes. Mastery took practice.
These are but a few examples from a painter’s studio. I have no idea what innovation and potential lies with say, sculptors who truly hoist their bronze, lumber or stone. How about the dexterity to mimic rowing from the printmaker’s press or the photographer who truly must hike and climb for outdoor shots? These people must need some regimen to maintain health and fitness for such demands. (I actually do set aside time daily for tai chi (my god, is it slow) and walking).
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