there should be new rules next week
on Sister Corita Kent's rules for making art
This week, the Immaculate Heart College Art Department Rules have popped up in my life not once, not twice, but thrice—first from a Hyper Allergic article my cooler-than-me father sent me, then out-of-context on Pinterest, then in conversation at school—and that seemed a clear sign the universe was sending me a wonderful thing I needed to think and write more about.
Sister Corita Kent was an artist, educator, and social justice advocate who first made it onto my radar a few years ago thanks to the wonderful art department at my school—our teachers designed a fall show around her work, and it blew my mind. She’s known as the “Pop-Art Nun,” famous for her progressive views, vibrant work, and community activism. The new Corita Art Center just opened in downtown LA (hence the Hyper Allergic beat), and I can’t wait to make it there ASAP.
She’s fascinating and inspiring in many ways, and her role in developing the Immaculate Heart College’s rules is high on the list. Corita asked her students to “collectively reimagine what a learning environment could be,” and these were the result:
I immediately took this image to my creative writing students. Because: “General duties of a teacher: pull everything out of your students.”
We spent no more than ten minutes journaling about our own rules, trying to generate ten, like the Immaculate Heart students.
Their rules amazed me:
Let people read your work. I know it hurts and I know it’s scary but it’s totally worth it.
Writing should be fun, so if you aren’t having any, mix it up.
When you’re in the flow, don’t stop for anyone or anything because as much as you think you’ll remember your brilliant idea, you won’t if you don’t write it down.
Nothing is set in stone! Everything can change!
When stuck, remind yourself why you’re writing/creating.
Give yourself a break. You only have writer’s block when you think you do.
Feel free to be confused and amazed with what your brain comes up with, and then explore that!
Go with your gut. You're gravitating toward something for a reason.
Live in the real world. I know that’s harsh but it’s helpful to draw from real experiences (not just the ones you make up).
Do I work with the most brilliant young writers or what?
In all seriousness, though, this exercise reminded all of us: we know so many things about making art, even when we’re at the very beginning of our journey. No one is more of an expert on our own personal art-making than we are.
I consider it my duty as a teacher to provide as many tools and strategies as I can, but then I try to get out of the way.
Hate my method? Cool, make your own. Jump behind the wheel. Rev the engine, stall, figure out how to start again. There’s only one way to learn to drive.
Of course, the tables were quickly turned when they asked me what my list was. Because: “General duties of a student: pull everything out of your teacher.” (They never slack on this one.)
So, a few things I scribbled down during those ten minutes. I offered my list to them (and now offer it to you!) with a huge shrug of ymmv, because even my mileage varies—but these are working for me right now:
Start with fifteen minutes of writing. Make it small. It’s always worth it, and you can do anything for fifteen minutes.
If it feels true to you, it probably feels true to others.
When stuck, move. Sweat, then shower it off, and let your mind untangle while you soak. (I often think of Isak Dinesen in these moments: “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.”)
Force the time, don’t force the energy.
When the computer is a glowing portal to distraction, grab pen and paper and start scribbling. Your unconscious hand knows so much more about the story than you think, and sometimes your job is to get out of its way.
It’s okay to revisit themes: there are only so many big questions in the world, and it’s a good thing if you’re returning to old ideas with new thoughts.
Your joy and peace fuel your best work.
I love that the Immaculate Heart list reminds us that we’re all students to the eternal, ongoing process of creation. It’s one of my favorite things about writing and teaching in tandem, and Sister Corita Kent had it figured out; it’s a cliche, but when I’m doing my best teaching, I’m also learning just how much I still don’t know, how readily I can be surprised, how many other approaches exist.
Who am I to make all the rules by myself—and how foolish would I be to stick to them?
Making art is about figuring out what works for you at any given moment, and sometimes I think the more we make, the less we know how we do it. I was listening to an interview with Olivie Blake on V.E. Schwab’s No Write Way recently, and was struck by her reflection that she used to feel so confident in her “process”—until, of course, she wrote enough books to learn it would never be static.
It’s so hard to capture the inner experience of creating something from nothing, and I sometimes get stuck in my head wondering if I’m “doing it wrong.” But I’m not, and neither are you—we’re experimenting, and we’re working, and we’re trying to enjoy ourselves. Maybe the place we need to “try trusting for a while” is our own minds. Because we know a lot, and we know nothing, and isn’t that the fun of it all?
There should be new rules next week.
In that spirit, I really wrote all this to ask: what rules are speaking to you right now—in this moment, for whatever you’re working on? Would you join me and my students in the ten-minute exercise of brainstorming your own current commandments? Does anything especially resonate from Corita Kent’s list?1
I’d love to know.
New rules next week,
Emily
"Force the time, don’t force the energy." This is EVERYTHING.
"Your unconscious hand knows so much more about the story than you think, and sometimes your job is to get out of its way." Yes. Yes. Yes.