I write because I have to. Scribbling my insides out has become my way of being. Something I can confidently say I will do for the rest of this strange human life, no matter what. It feels like the best thing in the world to watch my insides shapeshift into word form.
But I’ve come to realise that even though I consider myself a creative person, sometimes, I seem to have a hard time creating things.
Recently, I was talking to a friend about painting. I found myself saying “Oh, I don’t do it much. I’m useless at it”. As sometimes happens, I felt called to deconstruct the word that had just left my lips.
Useless.
Use. Less.
I began to question at which point in my life I’d started to believe that creating must always have a use.
In absorbing masses of beautiful art and success stories, I think I too absorbed the beliefs that creating must be for something other than being enjoyable or cathartic. That all of my outputs must a. be “good” and b. have some sort of use. That they must be polished, beautiful things that fit into a tight (conveniently sellable) little box with a label on: I MADE A THING. THIS IS IT’S PURPOSE. BONUS: OTHER PEOPLE VALUE IT TOO!
I definitely didn’t have these beliefs as a small child when I would paint (always making quite the mess), draw whole worlds I’d created, write short stories for the joy of it and spend hours in my room acting out scenes by myself or with friends. In these moments, the whole point was creation itself.
So, when did they creep in?
Do they come from a culture where everything seemingly has to be a productive, money making exercise, and side hustles take precedence over hobbies? Or maybe through comparison to picture-perfect online versions of everything: “look at this 30 second video of my flawless craft project! You too can do it, easily- you just need 10 tools, a glue gun and endless patience!!” Maybe from being part of a generation where if our own creative outputs aren’t seen online, it’s as if we didn’t do them at all? Or maybe from our schooling system: creative projects given grades based on one persons’ opinion? (Honestly, grades = madness in my mind. But that’s one for another day.)
Or perhaps I should focus the lens inwards rather than outwards. There’s some serious ego involved in wanting to be a “serious” creative, ten steps further down the line than I am. Maybe I’ve internalised the idea that my rough poem drafts and amateur collages aren’t as worthy as all the art out there from those big “serious” people. The ones who are getting paid for their work. The ones who have been perfecting their craft for years on end. I think I need a regular reminder that they probably have a thousand drafts and experiments in their archives, too.
I’ve always been a creative person, but I wouldn’t say that as an adult, I was confident enough to consider myself one until fairly recently. I spent a lot of my twenties being a party animal instead. And then travelling. Being introspective. Trying to figure out how to exist in a world which quite honestly baffles me. Exploring spirituality. Finding my tribe. Finding my way. Through a lot of this, focusing on creative pursuits took a backseat. But I’m here now, and I am fuelled up and ready to go.
Maybe the affirmation I need is that it’s very much okay to be exactly who and where I am: a writer and creative who is early on this particular path of discovery. Who is finding her voice more, and loving it. Who doesn’t really need to worry about anything outside of that. Who just needs to create, and know that it’s as simple as that.
So maybe creation itself is purpose enough. Maybe just doing things for joy or for catharsis is enough. As I write this, it seems so glaringly obvious that of course it’s enough. How could I ever believe anything else? What else is it all about?
In the spirit of this, I spent an evening last week with a few of my favourite people doodling on a big piece of wood (our house puzzle board: home of another entirely “useless” activity!) We each took a corner, made it our own, and met somewhere in the middle. Useless? By a lot of standards, yes. Fun? Mindful? Wholesome? Absolutely.
I love writing here on Substack. I love honing my craft and learning new ways of expressing and sharing, and I’m excited to do more and more of it. But I also want to relish in doing more offline creating too. Not in a way that’s aesthetic, filtered, edited or polished. Not by trying to produce my finest work. Not by making things that are made to be shared.
In other words, I would like to spend more time being completely and utterly useless. Painting things for fun and trying not to be plagued by “not good-enoughness”! Scribbling in my journal knowing most of what lays scrawled across the pages will never make it anywhere else-because it doesn’t need to! Experimenting with new crafts knowing they will probably come out weird and wonky, but that I had fun doing them!
I want to dedicate time to making things that are so un-publishable, so un-exhibition worthy, that maybe experimenting with them will pave the way to my life’s finest work. Or, maybe not and they’ll just be fun.
Either way, I’d say time well spent.
Yes! As children we just create for the sake of it, for me it was always private, I had so much joy but never shared my 'creations' with others - making it, planning it, creating it, that was enough to set fire through me, and leave me buzzing to eat out of bed and do it all again!