“Creativity is the fruit of deciding that you and your efforts matter. Once you decide to matter, you enter into a certain sort of generative self-relationship. Out of that self-relationship, a particular awareness state naturally arises, ideas are born, and the work of elaborating those ideas begins. “
For me, creativity comes from a deep need to be seen and heard. To be real, like the Velveteen Rabbit. And to interact with actual people who want to hear what I have to say.
If my work is an authentic expression of my personal journey, then my work will be different from anyone else’s. It will expand on what it means to be human in this place, in this time. It will inspire others to think, grow, wonder, grieve, and love alongside me. The more I improve my craft, the more effective my unique expression will be in its attempt to move people.
Nothing in life compares to the thrill I get when I create something I love—and someone else loves it.
"The Grand and Damaging Parade," oil on canvas, 2009-2012
I suspect that most artists feel the same way. Compliments, good reviews, sales, or even controversy, prove that our work created a connection. Some sign that we and our efforts matter. That desire is so powerful that it keeps us going even when we don’t get any of those rewards.
But as selfish as that sounds, as Rick Rubin said, "Ultimately, the act of self-expression isn't about you...Through [art making], we get to face our inner world outward, remove the boundaries of separation, and participate in the great remembering of what we came into this life knowing: There is no separation. We are one."
What does creativity mean to you? Whether you call yourself an artist or not, how do you express and share your deepest self with the world?
Maria Popova said it beautifully: “all creative work springs from the same source: to comprehend our human experience, to give shape to our suffering and our joy, to find our way to each other and back to ourselves in this wilderness we live in beneath the canopy of one hundred trillion synapses capable of sorrow and of song.”
Art Heals
Émile Friant (1863-1932) was kind of a quirky artist, known mostly for his traditional landscapes and country scenes--but I've always found this painting so compelling. As the group of mourners passes by a beggar, the little girl reaches out to give a coin. Her arms pierce the space in between them like a mouth. All that movement forward, while the man sits so still, his blanket the only color in their outfits. So much movement and drama in one fixed image, painted all those years ago.
