One of the things that seldom comes up in discussions of art and creativity is the growth of the artist. And that’s a bit surprising given that growth is absolutely necessary for an artist, and a lack of growth may well end an art career.

There are a number of reasons that artists fail to grow. One may be that they simply run out of new ideas. Another is that they may find themselves repeating work they have already done. Yet another is that the conditions under which they work suppress growth. A fourth is that some event in the artist’s private life impacts the artistic side of their life in a negative manner. Certainly burnout is a cause of lack of growth. And, of course, there are other reasons, and combinations of reasons.

Then there is the problem of what actually constitutes “artistic growth.” A number of Internet articles discuss artistic growth, but what they are really discussing is the development of artistic skill in children, which is not useful in this context. And then there is the issue of different artists and theorists defining “artistic growth” in different ways. Bryan Mark Taylor says that growth comes from practicing rather than performing. Willa Cather says that artistic growth is a “refining of the sense of truthfulness.” I have often said that I never did a project from which I didn’t learn something, and thought for a long time that that was an indicator of artistic growth; I have since come to think of it as more than that, but I am convinced that learning is a component.

Lack of artistic growth can be very frustrating to artists. Some say it feels like writer’s block except that it continues over multiple projects. This frustration can be compounded by a growing lack of interest in the work as well as a growing lack of confidence. And that leads to a downward spiral for artists. So then the question becomes how to maintain artistic growth. One suggestion that I give to my students—for other reasons—is to find something in each project that piques your interest: some emotion to explore, some technique to resolve, some springboard for research. This often works for individual projects, but what about a larger problem that spans different projects?

Caleb Vaughn-Jones, writing for the blog, The Future Muse offers some suggestions in two posts: “Artistic Growth: The Journey to Artistic Fulfillment” and “3 Tips for Creating Original Music.”  There are other suggestions as well: Look for inspiration outside normal channels. Get involved in a workshop either physically or virtually. Talk with colleagues about what they are doing and what they are getting out of it; again, this can be physical or virtual. Read a book that you’ve put off reading. (I have not found creativity self-help books very useful, but you may.) Take a sabbatical. Pick a radically different kind of project. Try a project in a different venue. Do a project in a different medium. If you are working for a company or a school, consider another place of employment. And there are certainly other approaches. Some of these are extreme, but extreme measures may be called for, depending on how important the creation of art is to the particular artist; the alternative is to stagnate artistically.

The main thing is to break whatever patternw are causing the lack of growth. Since lack of artistic growth bridges multiple projects, there will be patterns, although it may take a bit of time to suss them out. Then if becomes a matter of picking the solution, or combination of solutions, that works best for the particular artist involved. Lack of artistic growth is not a simple problem and may not only take some time to acknowledge it, but require a variety of approaches for a solution.

It happens. Sometimes we make art that we don’t really like. This happens for a number of reasons. The work was a consignment piece; we made the work because it was on the schedule; the work didn’t turn out the way we expected; the reasons go on and on. But it feels strange to have made something and realize that you really don’t like it.

So then what do you do? There are a number of choices: you can destroy the piece, if it’s physical. You can rework the piece if there is sufficient time. You can put the piece into the world, but take your name off of it. You can call it a failure (even if it’s not really) and learn from the experience. Or you can recognize that you cannot love everything you make, let it go, and move on to the next project.

This happened to me recently. I directed a show, a musical, and it turned out to be not one of my favorites. There were a couple of reasons: one was the structure of the play; it was more a concert with narrative inserts than a real play, and it was not a show that I would have voluntarily gone to see had someone else staged it—not to my taste. But it was on the schedule and so I directed it. And it was successful. The intended audience showed up and—judging from their reaction—thoroughly enjoyed the show. And through it all, I nodded, and smiled, and said “thank you” when people told me how good it was.

And it was a good show. We worked the script to capitalize on its strengths and minimize its shortcomings. The musical direction was excellent, as was the band. Choreography, though minimal, was exactly what was necessary. The performers were precisely what the script needed to bring it to life. It was simply not to my taste. A valuable lesson I learned long ago from a visiting professor of English literature was to be able to distinguish between art that was good and art that I simply didn’t like. I learned that my liking or not liking a piece of art had no bearing on whether the art was good. That is determined by standards outside of individual likes and dislikes. So despite it being not to my taste, I did the best job directing that I could do, and even came to like certain parts of the show.

Like all artists, I would like to love everything I produce; however, it doesn’t seem possible, particularly when there are so many considerations in determining what projects one works on. So I think that if we are artisans as well as artists, we do pretty much what I did, or tried to do: make the project the best we possibly can. Put it out into the world. Accept whatever the reaction happens to be. Move on to the next project. Maybe it will be one that we can love.