‘Showing Up’: why inconvenience is essential to community and creation
While living in the dystopian bubble of late-stage capitalism, it feels harder than ever to find time for the things we love. Moreover, in a world where the powers that be no longer seem to appreciate the value of art, many artists have been forced to resort to other avenues of income to survive. Creating is no longer a sustainable career path for many, with exceptions made for the rich kids in London whose rents and Soho House memberships are paid for by generational wealth. But for the average person with dreams of making it as an artist, most jobs are not enough to get by on, and you find yourself sacrificing time doing your craft to work a regular 9-to-5 job that barely pays the bills.
You find yourself living for small windows and cracks of time in which you can work on the things you love, sneaking moments in between meetings or lunch breaks to chip away at your dream, impatiently waiting for your evenings and weekends so you can make a dent in your creative projects. But there never seems to be enough time, and you slowly find yourself feeling resentful towards the artists who don’t have to worry, becoming bitter about those who have limitless creative energy and space to nurture their craft. Everything becomes a threat to the precious little time you have, slowly letting the walls close in on your world, so it comprises two parts of need and want—the job you hate that you must do and the work you love that you yearn to do.
The challenges of creation are not often articulated on screen, with the struggling artist archetype often being depicted in a glamorous and unrealistic way, usually ending with the aforementioned artist reaching staggering levels of success or winding up dead. However, in a cinematic world that places extraordinary and unattainable lives on a pedestal, there is one director who has always advocated for quiet and lesser-seen stories that most resonate with all the struggling dreamers out there.
Kelly Reichardt is a true poet, lending a voice to the misfits and people living on the margins of society, whether it be a homeless woman who has lost her dog, a lonely ranch worker trying to connect with a local lawyer or a man struggling to connect with his old friend. Her films often focus on working-class people simply doing their best to get by and find connections along the way, often being met by unsurmountable resistance and characters who deny their humanity. However, this is something explored in a new way through her 2022 film Showing Up, which follows an artist named Lizzy as she prepares for a solo gallery exhibition, navigating the disruptions of the world around her and trying to find time for her sculptures.
Through her signature minimalist style, Reichardt creates a delicately layered and beautifully understated film about one artist and her endless struggle to find time to create, finding herself inconvenienced by her broken shower, a time-consuming administrative job she doesn’t care about and the unexpected arrival of a pet pigeon. She lives in the middle of a creative community in Portland, surrounded by artists who seemingly don’t have a care in the world and are able to sustain themselves without additional menial labour. To rub it in further, her landlord is an artist, and the financial stability she gains from renting out property allows her to focus solely on her creative passions, yet she never finds time to fix Lizzy’s broken shower.
There is a subtle and deceiving weight to the thematic undercurrent of the story, with Reichardt once again criticising the capitalist systems that restrict our humanity, but with an additional layer that explores the necessity of these inconveniences to the process of creation itself. Lizzy does not come across as a content person when she isn’t creating, with her presence being defined by strained sighs and scowls as she finds herself burdened by the worries and chores of the people around her, being asked to babysit an injured pigeon and constantly chasing her landlord about the perpetual failures of her property. However, none of this matters when she is in her studio, with everything else melting away as she devotes precious hours to the art of ‘making’, finally at peace. This is the only thing that Lizzy truly wants to do, and everything else is simply a distraction from the act that matters most.
But as Lizzy continues working on her sculptures, Reichardt gently introduces the idea that these everyday mishaps and stresses are essential to the process of creativity, with each interaction and moment of connection gradually enriching her life and adding a new dimension to her perspective. Her life is touched by these unexpected moments of chaos that eventually reveal themselves to be beautiful. Such as the simple sight of her new pet pigeon escaping from its shoe box in the art gallery, spreading its wings and flying towards the ceiling as the people below look upwards and watch, completely transfixed by the simple absurdity of this sight. Lizzy’s landlord eventually helps the bird find its way outside, and everyone stares, united in the brief anomaly of this scene.
At first, Lizzy views everything as time away from her beloved craft, not realising that the moments away from it are crucial in shaping the work—with each conversation, annoyance, and surprising encounter living in the traces of our stories. Each day’s experience just becomes a new tale to tell, with each creation becoming a reflection of these very stories and the way they shape us.
The chaos of an inconvenienced life can become a permanent source of contention and resentment, with many artists feeling burnt out and bitter about the trivial jobs they’re forced to take to sustain their passions. It often feels like an unfair system, with grossly over-paid hoards of finance bros and investment bankers earning obscene amounts of money off the backs of those fighting to make noteworthy contributions to the general human population. But as much as it can feel like you are being tested through a constant stream of hurdles and mishaps, with nothing but a poorly paid 9-to-5 job and a dream of getting through each day, the inconvenience and struggle will quietly expand your understanding of the world, until one day, like a pigeon flying through an art gallery, it will all make glorious and absurd sense.
