Downtime

For several years I was employed as a commercial photo stylist. In fact, it was the job that brought me to Atlanta from Tulsa. The 50,000 square foot studio that housed the photographers, copy editors, graphic artists and stylists, all collaborating on impossible deadlines, was visibly throbbing with intense creative energy. Honestly, it was amazing.
        

I was completely overwhelmed in the first few weeks because I had come from a more laid back work environment. Also, I started just as the Christmas catalog crunch had begun to rev up. Nevertheless, I had no choice but to do it. If I didn't understand or hadn't experience in the product styling I was assigned - too bad. Since I didn't want anyone to know, I faked it until I had a grip on it. I asked questions, offhandedly, of course, and observed everyone, making copious mental notes. I've always been pretty good at mimicking. This is a dubious skill that has carried me through many learning curves. Though it was a tense time in my life, by the will of God, I hung on until, eventually, I was able to handle most anything thrown my way from elaborate bed sets to food. While mayhem and chaos fairly describe the hectic phases during this period, there was one saving grace. Downtime.
        

When the last shot of the last seasonal catalog lay approved on the light box, the whole building heaved with one huge sigh of relief. Everyone knew there would be close to two weeks before the next big drive would hit. Suddenly, the previously tumultuous studio was dark and cavernous. All the freelance shooters and stylists, temporarily hired on to help with the work load, were gone. In the morning, there was time to have a cup of coffee in the break room and peruse several months worth of Advertising Age and Photo District News that had stacked up unopened. Without much need for assigning, everyone voluntarily chose menial clean up tasks. The photographers straightened their sets, repaired and replaced equipment and cleaned and rolled their extension cords into neat coils. The stylists purged and sorted the prop room and styling kitchen and took time to scan decorator and design magazines, pulling swipes for their personal style reference binders. The music on the PA was more mellow and restful. It was a time for recharging. Most artists understand this process instinctively, but it is a dynamic that should apply to anyone because each of us needs periodic downtime whether we admit it or not.
        

Because of my work experience, I am in tune with this fundamental human requirement. I know when I need it and am able to recognize the signs instantly - inability to concentrate, lack of patience, wandering thoughts, memory loss, restlessness, bottled up creativity, mild depression. Sleep is really just daily physical downtime; the body takes over here. But there is a more subtle, easy to circumvent, emotional downtime that we, unfortunately, in this high speed society, are programmed to ignore. No amount of sleep will help.
        

We aren't comfortable unless we are being productive and unfortunately, by our own standards, clean-up doesn't count. The conclusion of every day must be held accountable to some measure of meaningful progress. High blood pressure, heart attacks and strokes are the results of this relentless, mechanical demand on our worthiness. There is no question, bad diet contributes, of course, but, I believe, not allowing the recharging and reversing of our gears is what can kill, if not our bodies, then at least, our spirits and ultimately, our ability to visualize and create. Put simply, we never give ourselves the right to be unscheduled. That is why vacation isn't downtime. Downtime is not about getting away or playing or planned activity. It is more about dulling down to allow for contrast. In this contradictory life, it is a given that everything gains it's significance by contrast. In the studio, by the end of downtime, we were so bored, our creative juices were foaming and literally spilling out, ready and eager for the next challenge. The last few days before work resumed, we were like race horses held back at the gates, muscles twitching, ready to run hard and fast once again.
        

Before I left, a communications company bought the studio. They were a management group, essentially "bean counters", who did not recognize the basic concept of downtime. As far as they were concerned, people who weren't churning out photos weren't earning their salaries and thus not enlarging the bottom line. My first internal warning bell began clanging when the order came down to make everyone fill out hourly time cards that recorded daily activity in six minute intervals in military time. I didn't stay much longer after that, because it got worse, real fast. In a matter of months, upon entering the building, a wall of stress and tension met you like a negative electric field.
        

You see, the powers in charge ignored the human element, thereby leaving out the most valuable contribution to productivity and finally good product - enthusiasm for the work - which, if they had cared to research, only comes from the cyclic recharging of the batteries before burnout occurs. If you haven't stopped to recognize this phenomenon of the human spirit, you probably aren't being good to yourself. How can you be your best for anything or for anyone, if you can't give yourself the gift of downtime?

You know you need it, so, go ahead. I give you permission.