Creative Strength & Surrender
I’m having trouble walking this week!
I’m flexible from years of yoga, but lacking in muscle density, so I’ve been working on getting stronger.
My gladiator of a youngest son, Che—who was ten pounds at birth and never looked back—has a collection of weights in the garage, so I figured I might as well get into it too.
I’ve been following dumbbell workouts on YouTube, but this week I did a leg session with a trainer. It absolutely cooked my quads and glutes.
I discovered something new though, it is actually possible to walk downstairs with straight legs!
And guess what this week’s chapter is about? Yup—strength.
Building Strength: Creative confidence
Chapter 8 of The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron focuses on building creative confidence and the ability to stand up for the artistic self.
I had a few unsubscribes from my last email, and it knocked my confidence.
I thought, “Oh no, they didn’t like what I wrote.” I wondered if this whole process was just a big waste of my time—and yours.
Then I thought about why I write and create. Is it for accolades? Yeah, sure, an encouraging comment is always welcome, but I’m not a circus dog doing backflips for treats.
It’s more of an inner drive, something done for its own sake.
It’s been an interesting feeling to sit with. A reminder of how easily confidence can be shaken.
Through the Periscope
I receive a weekly newsletter from the brilliant essayist Maria Popova called The Marginalian. In one of her recent essays, she discusses Carl Jung’s take on creativity in his 1939 book Modern Man in Search of a Soul.
Jung writes:
“Art is a kind of innate drive that seizes a human being and makes him its instrument. The artist is not a person endowed with free will who seeks his own ends, but one who allows art to realise its purpose through him.”
Although that feels a bit too grand a notion for my creative output, it does accurately describe that inner drive—not for money or fame, but something else.
Our job as creators is to follow that urge without judgment, self-consciousness, or attachment to the end-product. And if we can truly surrender to that, we can touch a place that is unknowable through the conscious mind.
Popova writes:
“The great bewilderment is that we can only access a fraction of our own everythingness – most of it dwells in the recesses of the mind and the psyche, below the level of our surface awareness.”
“Creativity is the periscope through which the unconscious looks out onto the world and renders what it sees. The rendering is what we call art, and it is as much a picture of the seer as of the seen.”
I love the idea of creativity being a periscope for our unconscious. And perhaps we can also say our superconscious.
Creativity as Survival
Sometimes creative strength is about so much more than making something beautiful or impressive. It can be a thread we cling to when the ground falls away. A way to keep moving when everything else stands still.
I’ve been enjoying Bella Freud’s podcast and YouTube channel Fashion Neurosis this week. In homage to her infamous great-grandfather, she has her guests lie down on her couch as she questions them about life through the lens of fashion.
She interviews a range of interesting creatives, including Susie Cave—fashion designer and wife of musician, Nick Cave.
In the wake of their son Arthur’s tragic death at 15, Susie was engulfed in profound grief. She spoke of spending long hours in her bedroom, submerged in darkness and numbness. This persisted until a friend asked her to design a dress for an upcoming event.
This request became a lifeline that pulled her out of the dark depths of despair. She returned to her studio to reengage with her creative work. Through designing, she discovered a renewed sense of purpose, allowing her to channel her grief into her art.
Practical Creativity
That puts a few unsubscribes in their place, hey.
And happily, at the time of hitting publish on this week’s reflection, I’m happy to report that I can once again descend stairs like a person with knees that bend.
After that grand lead-up, my creative things this week have been very earthy and practical.
I’m currently in a creative collaboration with Mother Nature. Every autumn we co-create an organic installation in the backyard—aka my veggie garden.
In summer, I surrender it to be devoured by grasshoppers like an ephemeral Buddhist sand mandala. But when the weather starts to cool, I reclaim it.
This week I’ve been weeding and mulching, getting the soil ready for planting.
There are some nasturtiums and mint already peeking out, and a bumper crop of ginger almost ready for harvest. The rest of the veggie garden is a blank canvas waiting for the moon to start waxing. Sounds a bit witchy doesn’t it!
And then there’s choosing a colour to repaint my house—which has been an overwhelming process.
I’m working with 80s brickwork and tan aluminium window frames. I thought a grey-olive green would work, but there are so. many. greens!
After much deliberation and a few sample pots, I’ve settled on Still green.
Still Here
So, little things happen, big things happen, and still we keep going. We make things. We strengthen the muscle—physical, creative, spiritual.
We stay open, we stay soft, and we stay still.
Still creating.
Still listening.
Still here.
