Random Acts of Art, Part One: First Fish

Every now and then, I like to put aside any creative projects or plans I may have, and simply commit random acts of art. "Random art," to me, is art with no gain in sight, except the sheer delight of making it. Committing random acts of art is like resetting my inner art compass…suddenly again I am pointed in the direction of pure fun, able to follow my gut and forget about whether something looks good, what purpose it serves, or whether anyone will like it.

The Magic of First Fish
I first got turned on to the joy of random acts of art by friend and fellow art-maker, Donna Otter. Many years ago, Donna began an annual artist's gathering called "First Fish." First Fish was loosely based on the tithing tradition, in which the first salmon caught during the spring season was thrown back into the waters as an acknowledgment of nature's bounty and as a blessing for an abundant season.

Above: Invitation to the East Coast Version of First Fish

Catch and Release Art-Making
At Donna's First Fish gatherings, a group of artists would make crazy collaborative art pieces, and then "throw them back" into the universe in some ceremonious and fun fashion…Sometimes the group would decide to burn them, or hang them in a tree, drop them off a pier, or mail them out at random, anonymously. One year, the group decided to put all the art together in a big box and mail it to the first "Fish" name in the phone book. Shortly thereafter, a certain Mr. and Ms. Fish received a mysterious box of messy, colorful art with no return address.

Random Art Goes on Retreat
A few years back, while working at Insight Meditation Society, a meditation retreat center in rural Massachusetts, I decided to hold an East Coast version of First Fish. I was living in a renovated grain silo at the time, and a group of us squeezed into the top floor and stayed up into the wee hours painting and collaging on big pieces of cardboard.

Above: My silo abode in Petersham, MA, and First Fish participants

Late that night, after finishing our work, some members of the group dropped off wild art surprises into the mail boxes of the sleepy New England town where we lived. The next day, others deposited colorful art into secret spots around the meditation center, where it would be noticed only by the keen-eyed retreatants that roamed the grounds.

Last I checked, before leaving the retreat center to come out West, there was still a bright piece of art stashed away on the back door of the retreatants' medicine cabinet…Success!

Above: Pile of First Fish art

Casting Back our Catch
It's easy as artists to get attached to our creations. Making random art and throwing it back into the world is a way of acknowledging that it doesn't really belong to us…If we can see, instead, that creativity arises out of a much larger source, and that that source is inexhaustible, then our art can flow freely out of us, and into the world, with less clinging and constriction.