Creativity in Crisis: A Collection of Thoughts
some reflection on the past three years and the impact they've had (and are having) on creativity
I don’t know where to start with this. It’s something I’ve thought about for a long time—felt, I guess, really—and rather than let it continue to burn a hole in the back of my brain, I decided to just write about it. Because, well, that is what I do. I’m not sure if anybody will read this, but I’m also not sure that matters. I’m writing this for me.
There’s been a distinct shift in the past three years. In everything. Politics, culture, media, and above all, peoples’ awareness of those things and, more critically, the dark underbelly operating behind the polished veneer of what had, until recently, passed for “civilized society.” We are a world in chaos, teetering on the edge of upheaval. And creativity, something that requires a person to sort chaos into order (newsflash: not an easy task), has become more difficult than ever without the balance of external stability to keep the ship from hurdling out of orbit.
It's difficult to focus. To stay grounded and absorbed in the making of a thing when you can’t be certain of when the next seismic shift will occur in the outer world, or what the fallout will be. We’re running a proverbial gauntlet here, and to an uncertain end.
And on top of this pressurized shift in the general psyche is the fact that the deck is increasingly stacked against genuine art and truthful, heartfelt artists—from AI-generated counterfeits to the dogged, zombified cult of progressivism propped up by social media algorithms and the shambling dinosaurs of the publishing industry. Realizing that you’re destined to scream into a void of glowing rectangles all blaring the same, demented message is, to put it lightly, not motivating. It’s both isolating and demoralizing. Which, I suppose, is a feature, not a bug.
So, what gives? Is there a point?
If you’re like me, you can’t just stop. Making art, I mean. You can’t stop thinking about it, and, like some kind of masochist, you can’t stop pursuing it, even to the point of the occasional existential dilemma. Surely there must be some purpose in it. After all, the band kept playing as the Titanic sank.
I think, partly, it’s because making things is soul-food, and, regardless of the status of the external world, the human spirit needs sustenance. To quote a famous line from The Dead Poet’s Society: “We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”
Creativity in crisis is, I think, a little like lightning in a bottle. Sometimes it strikes just right, and you capture a poignant, timely piece of raw, real art out of the midst of the tempest. But mostly, I think, it’s just slogging through a lot of mud.
And in a sense, this is what creativity always has been and always will be: the attempt to make sense of and translate the world around us through the medium of expression. It’s not exactly new, and it has never been particularly “easy.” What is new (at least in the immediate, modern sense) is the itching premonition of a storm on the global horizon, and the subconscious realization that survival must take precedence over fancy. Needless to say, this puts a fetter on something that functions best unfettered.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this, so if you were hoping for a neat little conclusion, I’m sorry to disappoint. It’s just something I’ve been observing for the past couple of years—and experiencing myself: that what once came [more] easily has become an increasing struggle. It is a widely shared sentiment that places like Instagram, for example, are nothing close to what they used to be in terms of friendly to creative people and pursuits (or free speech, period). It is also a widely-reaching phenomenon that people (including creative people) are shifting their focus—not out of desire as much as necessity—to more immediate concerns of security and survival.
Is this good? Is it bad? I don’t know. I guess it depends on what’s on the other side.
In the meantime, I guess we just keep making stuff as best we can.