How creativity kept me alive that week

An invitation to embrace creativity as a way of engaging whatever life brings

Last week, I wrote about the idea, borrowed from Scott Avett, of making a covenant with your creativity. The post was about how deciding to acknowledge, honor, and attend to the longings and leanings of your inner self can transform your life.

If you missed that one, here’s a quick link to it…

---

Do you have a covenant with your creativity?

---

The Everyday Experience of a Commitment to Your Creativity

“I am interested in art as a means of living a life;
not as a means of making a living.”
― Robert Henri

Okay Sara (I hear you saying), that was a lot of lovely words, but what does it really look like in practical, everyday terms to walk around with a commitment to a sustained relationship with creativity?

And p.s. how does any of it help me navigate the terrors of our current governance by psychopathic fuckwits/systems collapse situation?

I’m so glad you asked!

Of course, the truest answer is that it looks different for different creators, but I thought I’d offer a set of snapshots of the different ways that my devotion to my own creative spirit (and its reciprocal devotion to me) transformed my experience of life over a series of difficult recent days.

My hope is that these little glimpses will help illuminate some of the ways that creativity is so much more than a synonym for “making things.” An agreement to honor your creativity is a commitment to a way of living that is guided and fueled by your deep, sensual, knowing, loving self.

Monday and Tuesday:
Staying Alive When Things Aren’t Working

The week I want to tell you about began with two days at the computer, starting the project of crafting a new website for my coaching and art business.

I had sketched the site architecture ahead of time, but was going in pretty cold on design concepts, except for a color palette I wanted to play with. And so, on Monday morning, I plunged in and quickly generated a series of hideously bad drafts. Like BAD bad. Like are-you-SURE-you-shouldn’t-stop-right-now-and-hire-a-design-professional bad.

I was filled with disgust at the cringy color combinations I had thought were going to be so cute and I could feel nausea rising each time I strayed toward predictable, empty marketing copy instead of saying something meaningful and honest.

But, even as my critical faculties were (correctly) informing me that my early efforts were EXTREMELY lame, my years spent cultivating a trusting relationship with my creativity allowed me not to panic. I was able to read my disgust and nausea as positive signs that I have intuitive preferences that, collectively, add up to a distinct style.

Through creative practice, I’ve gained years of experience wandering in the dark, running experiments, and auditioning possibilities as a way of learning what is and is not going to work. I’ve come to understand that discovering what repels me is a fantastic way to find my way back to something that lights me up.

By the time I stopped work on Tuesday, I felt hopeful about where things were heading, even though there wasn’t anything on the digital page I’d want anyone else to see and I still couldn’t quite imagine how it was all going to come together.

My covenant with my creativity enabled me to consider two days of painfully terrible ideas and awkward experiments “a happy immersion in creating” as opposed to, say, “an abject failure” or “a complete waste of time.” I was saved from despair by my trust in my own capacity to withstand the ambiguity of messy beginnings.

This same insight about messy beginnings teaches me that the rule in art, life, and political shitstorms is all the same: KEEP GOING UNTIL IT GETS BETTER.

Tuesday overnight: Into the Fire

And then, things took an unexpected turn. Shortly after dinner on Tuesday night, my husband, Mr. Goodness, developed painful symptoms, and a few hours later, it became clear that we were headed for a trip to the Emergency Room.

During the all-night odyssey that followed, I mostly focused on keeping my husband company, witnessing his pain and trying to be a calming presence, all while perched uncomfortably on the front third of a too-small chair that was not designed for someone of my girth.

That long night in our small local hospital played out as late-night ER trips always do, with hours of waiting punctuated by tests and brief encounters with a wildly over-caffeinated doctor. (At moments, I wondered if caffeine was the only thing he was on…but that’s another story.)

I had plenty of time to take in the dirt gathered in the corners of the linoleum floors, the dingy greenish walls, the bad lighting, and the outdated instructional posters. My mind had free rein to explore the various surgeries that might or might not be on our horizon, and it was a short trip from there to wander down the easy path of despair about the state of our healthcare systems, the criminal abdication of our obligation to invest in care, the way that rural hospitals in particular have been abandoned, the cost of health insurance, the infuriating long lines at the pharmacy…

But as I felt myself starting to spiral downward, my creative practice kicked in and suggested another place for my mind to go. I shifted my focus back to what I was trying to create, turning over the work I’d done that day on the website, and taking a little imaginary tour of my art studio, visiting the pieces underway there and planning next steps.

Around 2:30 am, when Mr. Goodness was off getting some imaging done, I sat at the foot of his gurney, staring at the grim, band-aid colored patch of paint on the wall where some now-absent piece of equipment had once been painted around. I thought about what I’ve learned in the studio about how ugly underlayers give an art piece a richer, more interesting texture and depth, and I imagined the layers of human history underlying this place, all the lives that have travelled through it and been saved within it, and visualized the cleaner, brighter, more human space that perhaps future generations will have the wisdom to demand.

Mr. Goodness was discharged around 4:00 am with a comforting list of things he did not have, and an inconclusive finding of what he DID have, and a recommendation to follow up with his primary care doc soon.

My covenant with creativity teaches me how to put my imagination to work, not just in the studio, but in all settings, fueling a habit of seeing deeply into and beyond the grimmest situations by seeking possibility, meaning, and insight.

Wednesday: Recovery and Renewal

We got home at 4:30 Wednesday morning, and after getting some sleep, running out for groceries and pharmacy, then sleeping again, I spent a couple of hours at my craft table with gentle music playing.

The relief of being home and the aftermath of heightened stress and emotion somehow combined to create a surge of creative energy, and I ended up laying out two new pieces. As I did, I could feel myself calming and coming back into my body, reconnecting the frazzled ends of my nerves.

My covenant with my creativity provides me a place of comfort and renewal. It is a place I can reliably go to put the pieces of my self back together when I am scattered by events; a place where I can integrate experience and emotion into my being. Drinking from the deep well of my inner life replenishes my spirit and allows me to keep going.

Friday: Creating in Community

On Friday, I led a gathering of the online KOLO creative support group. It was a week in which our focus was on shared studio time, working in parallel with each other. In our check-in circle, I was able to share about the events of the week and felt seen and heard by the group.

That experience of connection and community added a layer of depth and richness to my week, offering a healing sense of being held in a net of other creators with a shared commitment to mutual support and encouragement of each other.

At one point in the studio hour, I glanced up at my Zoom screen to check on the time, and was gleefully surprised by the vision of my co-facilitator Melissa, who had donned a fabulous Mardi Gras headdress featuring a fountain of glorious purple/black feathers. We exchanged a grin at the sheer delight of allowing ourselves this space for play and went back to our creating.

My covenant with creativity teaches me that creating is not a solo venture. Even when you are writing or art-making alone in your room, you are held in a living network of other creators, all making the same choice to do what brings them to life, and all cheering you on through every stage of your process.

An Invitation

As you walk through the week ahead, I invite you to watch for opportunities to activate and appreciate your creativity both in and out of the studio.

Look for:

• Moments when you can choose to switch from a “well, that sucks” mindset to a “well, that’s not what I want - where is it steering me?” mindset.

• Moments when you can choose to pull your mind back from pathways of self-perpetuating worry and despair and re-focus on the questions: “what am I trying to create? what are my next steps?”

• Moments when you can tap into the experience of community and connection with other creators - living or dead, in your immediate circle or far away - and be refueled by their inspiration, support, and encouragement.

What has your commitment to creativity taught you?

---

Update on Mornings Alive

So two weeks ago, I put out feelers about starting a morning Zoom group for focused creative work and several of you responded that you would like to participate. (Thank you!)

Which is why I feel a bit sheepish telling you that I have decided that this isn’t the right time to launch this gathering.

I’m afraid it is a case of my creative self galloping forward without checking in with other parts of my life.

After some reality-checking and prioritizing, I’ve realized that I need to allow space this summer for some big transitions happening in my family life and that I am craving a spacious and free-flowing July to cherish moments with my daughter who is moving away in August.

I hope you’ll find your own best rhythm and pace for your creative projects over the summer and I promise to check in again in the fall and see if the time is riper then to share space for some deep dive mornings.

---