We recently had the chance to connect with Shannon Mack and have shared our conversation below.
Hi Shannon, thank you so much for joining us today. We’re thrilled to learn more about your journey, values and what you are currently working on. Let’s start with an ice breaker: What are you being called to do now, that you may have been afraid of before?
I’m being called to let go of control and any attachment to outcomes. Consequently, I’m also being called to slow down to a natural human pace. It has felt safer for me to move faster than is healthy—essentially to trip over myself. At least then, I have “evidence” that I’m making progress as an artist, that I’m not letting opportunities slip through my fingertips.
As I’ve witnessed this pattern of urgency play out, I’m beginning to see that I am never actually arriving. With urgency comes a striving energy that ends up making me feel like I am not enough, and that I have to continuously pitch myself until I am enough–– for the submission, the job, the gallery, etc.
What I’ve recently allowed myself to feel is a sense of acceptance in the endeavor of creation—that the act of pursuing a life full of art and making is beautiful in and of itself, and that maybe I’ve already arrived. I’m being called to stop and look around, sniff the air… breathe in my current circumstances.
There are open sketchbooks on my desk, stamps I just carved to print on clothes for gifts, buckets of dye, and boxes of art supplies brought in from the cold garage, now making their transition into our makeshift studio/spare room. My partner is playing guitar in the other room, and I have the day off from working at the art store, giving me time to write. I just got back from a week-long artist residency, where the silence and the repetition of showing up in the studio every day are still seeping into my being. I already miss it.
My life is not perfect. I’m not where I want to be financially or in terms of time flexibility to create for most of the day. But for maybe the first time in my life, I’m okay with this. Perhaps it’s because my nervous system is calm from the residency. Maybe surrendering to the imperfection of it all is its own art form. It’s freeing up space for me to experience more peace in my heart and, subsequently, allowing me to create again from a place of overflow rather than striving.
I’m remembering that art is for the artist; to deeply feel, explore, and be forever changing, if only I allow myself to experience the internal fruits of my labor rather than focusing outwardly. I know this will be my lifelong dharma, my daily practice.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m interested in patterns, the ones that keep surfacing in my individual life, as well as those appearing in the collective. We are what we repeatedly do, which means we can transform through even a small shift in our patterns. With a single change, our entire paradigm, our outlook, our sense of self, and the ways we relate– can be renewed at any point in our timeline.
I like to play with this idea as it relates to memories and future projections. Our memories are, in a sense, repetitions of the past, yet they’re always a bit fuzzy, warped, unreliable. This fuzziness feels like an echo to me, a kind of ghost of a moment in time, each one slightly different from the actual event. Likewise, our elaborate projections of future threats or desired outcomes never seem to align with the actual events and emotions associated. I’ve been trying to bring my attention to how the narratives that form around these memories and projections shape my current experience of reality.
By repeating and overlapping elements, figures, and shapes in my work, I can literally recontextualize these narratives, or arrive at an unexpected clarity around the ones I’ve subconsciously created, and begin to build new ones. I don’t always know why I’m repeating certain elements; it feels a bit like music, it just happens. When I paint, it usually begins with a struggle to get into the swing of things. Eventually, it becomes a door that leads to another, and another, and another, into what feels like a physical space, beyond time. I don’t claim to know why I make certain things or have a tendency towards repetition, but it feels like I’m participating in something that has been happening long before me. Something nameless and rhythmic, like the chills we might get from sitting in the middle of a drum circle.
Thanks for sharing that. Would love to go back in time and hear about how your past might have impacted who you are today. What breaks the bonds between people—and what restores them?
I think what really breaks the bonds between us is the belief that we already know the person standing before us; in other words, certainty. Whether it’s someone we’ve known for what feels like longer than a lifetime or someone we’ve just met but have already judged, there is no space for real connection. I’m certain of one thing: the degree to which we are willing to be vulnerable is our only hope in restoring these bonds.
How can we truly honor the mystery of another if we’re not honoring it within ourselves? It requires surprising ourselves and allowing ourselves to be surprised. I think truth is another word for vulnerability. And if we are courageous enough to do the hard thing, to exist in the world in a way that reflects our values, we get to experience the inner spaciousness that comes with integrity.
Yes, the difficult side of living in truth is facing the potential pain and the actions that honesty demands. But with more space inside, there is room to honor our own living, breathing being. From this space, we have the opportunity to really see the other. We can recognize their equally complex existence and begin to forge a bond through what I believe is our natural resting state: curiosity.
I can’t change this for anyone but myself. If I hit a wall in my thinking, if I really can’t wrap my head around someone’s personality or behavior, I’m learning to step back instead of further into analysis of them or myself. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with either of us, just a simple misalignment. I’m beginning to step even further back to neutralize the need to figure it out. Trusting that I can go through life, be disliked, or dislike others, and still have peace in my heart gives me the seeds for letting go of self-judgment for experiencing friction with others. It’s not my responsibility to change anyone or manipulate anyone into liking me, but it is my responsibility to step back and allow people to be who they are, which also gives me space for more self-acceptance. The more I can accept myself, the more I have a chance at connecting with the very same people, or have the decisiveness to step away.
Was there ever a time you almost gave up?
Yes. Recently. And I think many times before, too. I don’t exactly know where I heard this statistic, that most people give up on art at 34 yrs old. Oddly, I’m 34 this year, and felt like I might be kidding myself. This was brought on by a recent move across the country to be with my partner. There was this sense that I had to “start over”. It felt like everything that I had spent so many years building, the community, the art friends, the income, the opportunities, and connections, had come to a halt. I almost couldn’t fathom the idea of starting from what felt like scratch. I felt paralyzed. What did all of that work mean? I was severely stuck in my head.
Luckily, I have a friend who also happens to be a life coach. His name is Imari, and I’m so lucky to have him in my life. And another friend, Ien, helped me push through this major block. I called Imari and basically vented to him about the jumble in my head. About how defeated I was feeling about the prospect of starting over, and I couldn’t imagine myself going through the same things I pushed through in the last five years. Imari, being Imari, sat for a moment and said curiously, “Anything else?”. I had concluded my worry spiral. He took it in and asked a few simple questions. “Okay, so let’s say you’re starting over. What makes you think you’re not way more equipped now than you were then?” (tenseness deflated) and, upon further discussion, he posed the question, “What else is there to do?” This second question was equally important for me. Yes, it’s hard to make one’s own way in the world, but if given the order to fulfill someone else’s dream rather than my own, would I take that out? No. Essentially, it was the pep talk that I needed. None of this is easy, but that’s not why we’re doing it. What else is there to do?
The other phone call I had with my friend Ien was important to me, as these calls usually are. He had been traveling the world and discovering what it feels like to go beyond the perceived limitations of self. He was in this space that was matter-of-fact, yet playful. He wisely reminded me, “This is all a matrix, and we can step out of it anytime we want. Any. Time.” That was all I needed–another friend who sees through the veil of these arbitrarily imposed status quos. I began thinking of all the ways I was unnecessarily pressuring myself, tightening towards life, and future-tripping. These conversations with trusted friends were the seeds of my hope for beginning again. The birth and death cycle is constant, but on occasion, life calls for a full K.O. and a couple of guardian angels to help see the path forward.
Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? What’s a belief or project you’re committed to, no matter how long it takes?
This question sparks some excitement in me, because it’s not fully formed yet. However, I have developed some clarity on why art is so important in our current world. It always has been, and always will be. Right now, though, we NEED it. Without art, we have lost our way. It can uplift a tired soul, change minds, provide reprieve from suffering, and create safety in a society that is hostile to anyone attempting to be fully human.
I’ve been thinking a lot about accessibility. Not everyone can get to a gallery or pay to travel to see great art. This is why I love murals. They are for everyone. And, great muralists have spent many years learning how to translate complex ideas and artwork on a large scale, facing fierce competition, rejection, red tape, operating boom lifts, working in blistering heat, cold winds, and daunting heights. It’s so worth it to see a Renaissance-style painting with a street art flavor, towering over a corner store or hiding in an alley.
I’m committed to continuing to build the skills and resilience necessary to share my art on a large scale. I want to give people chances to stop and be in the presence of beauty, create opportunities for perspective shifts, right where they are. In its purest form, art is made by the people for the people.
Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. What light inside you have you been dimming?
This might be one of the most important questions to pose. I think it’s worth asking in a very serious way at least once a month. It’s incredibly relevant in my life right now. What I have come to understand is that it’s really hard to live in our integrity. I’ll get to why this has to do with dimming our light.
We are presented with a thousand micro-decisions daily, each one an opportunity to move toward ourselves or away—or, put otherwise, toward discomfort or comfort. It is our natural human tendency to choose the path of least resistance. Where this becomes dangerous is that these thousands of seemingly harmless micro-decisions can land us in a completely different reality, one that doesn’t even resemble our most basic truths.
I think that when we are around others who have intentionally chosen the “blue pill” vs. the “red pill,” so to speak—those who face discomfort head-on and actively seek out challenges that move the needle of life forward—this has a ripple effect. I think the opposite is true as well. I’ve noticed that in much of our Western culture, the expression of joy arising from a place of genuinely cultivated inner clarity is not very common, nor is it really the goal.
Recently, I had the opportunity to spend a full week making art at a residency in Santa Fe. Afterwards, I stayed for a few days with an acquaintance who has become a friend, a retired monk in his early 70s. He is not the picture of “old” that we typically imagine. He has so much vibrancy and this contagious smile. He dances with people, sings with people, meditates with people, hikes; he doesn’t overindulge. He intentionally builds his days around getting closer to his core human needs. Does he like and get along with everyone? Hardly. Yet, he still shows up.
We were talking about exactly this question: How does one maintain their vibrancy late into life? As he was speaking—so excited about the question—I was hit with the realization that I’ve been stifling my own joy. I love when my reality can shift in an instant just by being around different energies. I felt this sudden release, like, Oh… that’s what’s been going on with me. That’s where half of my anxiety is coming from—suppressing the flow of joy.
It is so common in our culture to be “fine” or “okay,” but joyful? Don’t bring that over here. I think that’s because there’s a big difference between being hopped up on caffeine, feeling productive, and smiling aggressively at others, and true joy that comes from equanimity, from calm waters within. One feels manufactured; the other feels innate. I also know that difficult emotions like rage, fear, or hopelessness must be expressed in a healthy way in order to reach a place of calm. The dark sides of existence will always come knocking, but how we express or repress them can determine our resting state. So, in many cases, it’s simply easier to be cynical, sarcastic, and nonchalant. Plus, the added benefit of being nonchalant is that it’s low commitment and effortlessly cool. And if cool is the aim, then joy definitely isn’t on the radar. Don’t get me wrong, I love sarcasm and dark humor, but it can be a slippery slope, and dangerous to take on as an entire personality, as any single trait can be. I say this all with the caveat that sometimes life throws us some dark curveballs that make joy a very distant and “unreal” thing. I would never suggest to someone that they should just look harder during these times. Some seasons must be moved through. I have noticed that even in some of my darkest times, my sensitivity to beautiful things increases 20-fold. Life always has an uncanny balance.
I haven’t been allowing myself to truly express my joy because, at times, it’s met with flatness or indifference from others, which leads me to feel it can’t be received. After this conversation with my friend, I realized this shouldn’t have power over me. I can only tend to my own garden, and if that means making many uncomfortable decisions throughout the day and the week to cultivate a calm mind—making space for life to enter my being—then that is what I must do. It’s okay to be the only one in the room who isn’t concerned about whether my inner light is visible on the outside. This strengthens the invincible string between me and all the others who continue to renew themselves.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.shannonmack.com/
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/shannon__mack/
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/shannon-mack-06949063/
Image Credits
Alyssa Simone
