WHY BOTHER BEING CREATIVE

Or, there are infinite ways to burrow into creative portals, and that's kind of the point.

Standing in front of a door, you jiggle the knob, only to find its locked. You know what’s on the other side, and that all you need to do is get there.

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Do you regularly ask yourself, What is the point of all this, or do your anti-anxiety meds actually do their job? (Must be nice)

When I say “this”, I mean *~*making things*~*

Writing, drawing, painting, dancing, singing, playing, moving, sculpting, shaping, dipping, photographing, designing, building, cutting, welding, baking, firing, sketching, knotting, sewing, acting, birthing, imagining, dreaming, seeing, etc.

Now, consuming art? Totally get that.

It reminds us to be more human!

It stimulates new ways of seeing the world!

It elevates the mundane — a half-drunk abandoned espresso, a child’s single dingy sock flattened into the asphalt, the last crumbling brick townhouse on a long-deserted block — into something profound!

It grants us the opportunity to encounter emotions beyond our reach!

But making art? Creative action? Why.

Why bother trying to make something new when I can open up my pocket super computer and pull up a Hilma af Klint painting on Googs, or scroll through a digital library of thousands of meaningful films commenting on the mystery of the human experience, or, I dunno, just walk down my block and notice the rugged wildflowers bursting out of the concrete like tiny miracles of life?

Why make new art? And who are we (you, me, everyone we know) to make it?

When I was younger, I couldn't find the answer to this question. As a twenty-something making dances for myself late at night in a tiny studio, I was paralyzed with guilt every time I glanced in the mirror.

Creativity seemed so selfish, solipsistic, masturbatory, unhelpful. And I genuinely believed my work was mediocre — lacking technically or aesthetically or intellectually or process-wise — and therefore an even more offensive waste of space.

So why make art? Because our own creativity is a portal.

When I’m depressed with the state of the world, it’s because I’ve accepted this current state as The One Truth. The way things are.

I once heard Patrisse Cullors say,

“Abolition is about imagining something else than what we know or the systems forced upon us.”

Creativity enhances our critical thinking skills — it trains us to innovate. Art is a practice of imagining new worlds.

Art is a balm to the humiliation of existence in a world that measures your value in productivity. It gives us a break from the relentless striving of Doing Things just to keep pace with the Capitalism Stair Master.

And maybe by being prolific artists we’re doubling down on our faith for a different future. Hope for humanity.

When we make things, we’re making a conscious (or sometimes unconscious) historical record of the time we’re in. We’re commenting on how reality is for us, in this moment.

Which I think shows some small hope; it means a tiny part of us knows in the future the world will be different, and posterity will regard our snapshot into another time and mutter to themselves, Wow can you believe how it was back then?

Exercising our creative muscles heals us.

Sure, it’s therapeutic to write a scathing personal essay skewering the dickish 10th grade Geometry teacher who screeched that you’d never amount to anything substantial because you didn’t understand his lecture on parabolas (suck it, Mr. Ross), but there’s actual physical somatic healing that occurs while we regulate our nervous systems through art-making. Through craft! Through focus.

And then there’s the connection to the divine.

Art helps us explore abstract concepts that we don’t have language for. Given the limitation of our senses and our intellect, there’s so much that we can’t know about the truth of reality. If we can’t describe something, how can we truly witness it? Without the color blue, the sky is unknowable.

There’s a belief that ghosts, spirits, the unseen all exist on a spiritual plane we, as regular-degular humans, don’t have constant access to. When we do experience some spectral presence, we’ve momentarily tapped into that unseen frequency. It was always there, we just couldn’t see it before.

Creativity is like that. It unlocks planes, frequencies, and information that’s impossible to access through our usual ways of thinking and doing. Even though it’s been sitting beside us the whole time, patiently waiting to be noticed.

Creativity is an unambiguous enigma.

It’s silly and it matters. It’s important, but it ain’t that deep.

It answers some questions, but usually creates more uncertainty inside of us, too.

It’s nothing and everything.

We have to just do it. But also… how?

There’s no one right way to be a prolific creative. (You definitely don’t need to make “perfect” or even “good” work)

The belief that there’s some sort of magical hidden formula which universally unlocks the art hidden in your soul is what holds us back from even getting close to it.

You’re in a room that extends in every direction, infinitely. The walls are plastered with doors that all lead to the same place. Standing in front of a door, you jiggle the knob, only to find its locked. You know what’s on the other side, and that all you need to do is get there. A huge ring of jangly, mismatched keys sits heavy and cool in your pocket. You find the key that fits this lock, crack open the door, and step over the threshold.