Your Art Changes Everything

Getting hyper-intentional, creativity as oxygen, choosing a different revolution

I’m almost embarrassed to admit it these days, that I write a newsletter. I mean, because… who doesn’t?

Independent longform writing is still having it’s moment. And feel how you may about the various methods of sharing/reading it (Substack v. Medium v. Kit v. Flodesk v. zero platform allegiance, the list continues to lengthen), there’s clearly a need to both contribute and receive.

Those of us that write more than we read likely got into this racket for similar reasons. Writing is compulsory. It’s something we’ve either always done or have always aspired to do, and independent of either history, it carries some level of weight for us. It’s an innate need somehow, this attempt at making a certain sense of things.

Those of us that are reading more than we write have something just as primal going on, and it’s not dissimilar from the need of the writer—we gain multitudes when we see our own experiences reflected in the stories others tell.

Writers write in order to connect, to themselves and to others. Readers read for the same reason. And so it goes with all creative work, whether experienced through sight, sound, smell, touch, taste or movement.

But here’s why this is all more important than ever:

Art of any discipline, when divorced from the subjective valuations of capitalism, is one of the few truly democratizing acts available to us.

And it’s not just about the final product, the physical manifestation of our creativity. The decision to make art, the prioritization of one of the things that defines our humanness, is an assertion of what we value. It’s also a rejection of what we don’t.

By making art, we’re making a very deliberate decision on how we’re using our time. Time is finite, as we’re all well aware (as in the material span of a lifetime), but it also has its buckets. We can and do choose what to do within the conceptual frameworks of time we’ve all learned and continue to agree upon. The hour, the day, month, year, etc.

There’s plenty we’re obliged to do with the volume those buckets allow, beginning with the attendance to our basic physiological needs. We know, and have known for aeons, that breathing, eating, drinking and sleeping, and having the appropriate shelter to accomplish all of the above, are crucial to our individual survival.

We also know that, once these basic needs are met, we can choose what to do with the rest of our time. These choices are what elevate our lives beyond livable to meaningful, from simply existing to flourishing.

But… Culture.

Culture, ‘the customs, arts, social institutions, and achievements of a particular nation, people, or other social group,’ (ie. our species), somewhat ironically now holds an incredibly outsized influence on our decision-making. The expectations of our peers, colleagues, family, the fricking internet, they all dictate how we use our time for the majority of our time.

We feel this, we blame the system, and yet we don’t reclaim our autonomy.

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When I’m working on a creative project, whether it’s writing for myself or others, crafting with my youngest, stitching, working in fiber or mixed media, building stuff, taking photographs with a purpose outside memorializing a specific event, trying something totally new, I quickly find myself outside of time.

The rules of life are different here.

I’m thinking of politics only if I want to translate it somehow, using the language I’ve chosen, the mode of interpretation I’ve decided is appropriate for communicating beyond fact.

I’m thinking of the infuriating conversation I had, the miscommunication I’m perplexed by, the existential dread of the day, only if I want to transform those thoughts, experiences, feelings, into something different, thus claiming and redefining. And, only if it’s valuable enough for me to do so.

When we’re creating, we’re no longer imprisoned by the reality that feels outside our control, nor by our obligations to it. We’re inventing completely anew, even when it’s inspired by our learned experiences over time, consciously or sub.

Making art is the ultimate expression of both our autonomy and our commonality. It is the only position from which we can truly make our own decisions, while at the same time, providing proof of life—a physical thing that shows others ‘I was here. I felt this and I’m willing to bet you have too.’

When I’m making art, I’m also making a hyper-specific decision on what I’m NOT spending my time on.

I’m not scrolling, doing dishes for the tenth time that day, giving into distraction because engagement with purpose is more challenging. I’m not spending money on things I don’t need (or really even want), and I’m not self-soothing with food, sleep, booze, etc. in ways unhelpful and/or unnecessary for the state of the moment. I’m definitely not listening to the news.

Some may consider this a checking-out from the practical necessities, the responsibilities, of being a citizen of the world at this moment. I’d argue it’s exactly the opposite.

When in a space of creating, we are precisely checking IN.

We’re sitting with all this stuff, all this constant and unrelenting input (coming apace now more than ever), and we’re synthesizing it. We’re taking the jumble of what we’ve seen, heard, touched, tasted and engaged our bodies with and we’re massaging it, untangling it, and rearranging it all in a way that only our individual consciousness can.

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The days I commit more of my time to thinking and working creatively are noticeably different than the days I don’t. When I slow down enough to create something from nothing, my life feels more my own… like I’m at the helm of a boat in full sail rather than what can often feel, especially with three school-age boys around, like being forced repeatedly into another game of whack-a-mole. In a windowless basement. Subsisting on Cheetos and gas station coffee.

There’s a bigger picture dynamic at play here too, the forcing of an issue that affects us all, every day, all day, and often even through the night. We are, by and large, a population of consumers, of takers versus givers. And I’m obviously not just talking about solid goods here. We’re consuming everything being thrust at us, including those things intentionally designed to harm us.

Making art, by it’s very function, is an intentional act. It’s problem solving. It’s experimentation and innovation. It’s generative instead of destructive. It’s all the things that distraction isn’t.

In addition to feeling more captain than stowaway, I also notice how much more present I am when creativity is my regular copilot. I’m calmer, more patient, more joyous and engaged, and eager to spread all of these things around. Instead of joining others in the mud, I’m more inclined, and actually have the strength to, help pull them out.

Creativity isn’t an escape; it’s the oxygen mask.

When the plane’s going down, as it most certainly is, we need to get right first before we can attend to our fellow passengers. And we want to, don’t we? It’s the reason why social media has taken such hold of us, why newsletters are the norm, why we care at all about what’s happening outside our own singular experience.

We’re on this silver bird together, and it’s going to take some big creative moves to land it. Better get to work.

FROM THE ARCHIVES:

For more on why making and sharing art is ASAP crucial:

Humanity Called--It Needs Your Art

And on radical acts of intentionality:

How We Protest through Our Purpose