How did they do it?
The poets who wrote powerful pieces in the midst of war. The cave paintings while the world changes. The painters who created long lasting pieces of art while fighting through the dark. Novelists with a bestseller while struggling to survive. The flowers that burst through the snow.
I, like all humans, have a primal urge to create and to make. It’s in our DNA to create things. From the very dawn of human time, there has been art and creation. Handprints on the wall. Stories told around a crackling fire. Song and dance used to celebrate.
And art has reverberated through the ages. There have been eras and growth and changes. There are good pieces and bad. And we need all of it.
I’ve been writing since I was a child. Little stories scribbled on lined paper in child’s handwriting. The various fanfictions, both public and private, that carried me through my tween and teen years. The diary entries that hold the joys and sorrows of youth. The monologues and short stories written in college when I had a million extra minutes and the most creatively stimulated mind.
I’ve been working on a lot of things. I try to create something with my time and my skill. I am constantly lost in thoughts of what I want to make, how I want my words to make others feel, what I have to say.
But, I am stuck.
How can I create when I feel like the world is ending?
I open my phone or my laptop to the screaming of the world. People dying. Politicians saying heinous things. Wars. Burning buildings. Polar bears sleeping on grassy rocks because there isn’t enough ice. Taylor Swift and her plane. 10 injured, 2 dead in a mass shooting. The hottest summer on record.
I am fatigued. There is too much to say. There is so much worth screaming, yet I can’t even engage with it. The rage, the hurt, the upset I feel makes me want to shut down, not get louder.
I deeply admire my friends that can share infographics full of information that makes them sick to their stomachs on their instagram stories. I admire that it makes you stronger. Makes you feel like you can do something. Not a helpless cry that makes me close the app I was on. I feel powerless to help.
I feel inadequate because my stories are not revolutionary. My tales, my musings are quieter, full of joy. It makes me happy to write something with a hopeful end and joyful middle.
Is there still room for hope? Room for joy?
In the constant screaming on the world wide web, are people really interested in joy and hope? Or has doom scrolling made it so we can only engage with doom and gloom?
I’ve recently taken on a new appreciation for the Lord of the Rings. A story that in some ways doesn’t hold up perfectly (bro where are your women?) But in others, is more relevant than ever.
In my Hobbit brain era, I’ve learned many people don’t like Frodo Baggins, and barely consider him a hero. Passing that title to Sam or Aragorn. All because Frodo fell to the pressure of the ring. In the story, Frodo struggles and Frodo fails. (This is not a spoiler because the story is 70 years old.) The mission is only achieved by the selfishness and accidental stumble of Gollum rather than the determined action of Frodo. The ring won. That isn’t Frodo’s fault.
The "alpha males" of the internet think that it makes Frodo less of a hero.
I don’t believe this failure makes him any less of a hero. I find his story hopeful. Sometimes we can do our best, and things will still work out for the best.
In fact, the thesis statement of The Lord of the Rings is hope. There is no story without hope. They all have an overwhelming amount of hope despite living in a dark period of time. It’s the opposite of fantasies like Game of Thrones which relish the doom and gloom of war and violence.
Hope isn’t violent, and violence sells.
What kind of wave could I make without profiling violence? Or saying anything that could change the world? Can't I just write about unicorns and kindness?
Is kindness silent? Or is kindness radical?
I take in so much doom and gloom and toxic masculinity and overconsumption and deforestation and war and violence and sadness and sadness and sadness that I don’t have any stories in me when I sit down with my laptop. The fatigue is limiting my ability to write anything. Not just joy.
I believe people crave joy.
It’s the Chappell Roan effect. After 5 or so years of consistently gloomy pop, she is dominating the charts and pop culture with her upbeat, mindlessly fun tunes. She and Sabrina Carpenter and many others have flipped the music industry on its head in less than 4 months.
I am inspired by this joy. This searching for joy that we all yearn for. This confidence that it’s okay to dance and let your hair loose.
I don’t know how to create in a monetized landscape. Everything I’ve ever made has been for me and maybe those who were intrigued by it. But now, the most human piece of ourselves– the ability to create– has been monetized.
I cannot write unless I want to be a bestselling author or a Tony winning Playwright. I cannot sing unless it is my job. I cannot dance unless it is professional level. I cannot post silly videos unless I am willing to make it my job. I cannot take photos unless they are fantastic. I cannot draw unless it is able to be slapped on a tee and sold.
I am in awe of the unabashed artistry of the children I work with. They proudly show off drawings, photos taken on a digital camera, and poems written with their whole heart. There is no shame. They are thrilled with the euphoria of creation.
It inspires me as a maker. To make things proudly and loudly and imperfectly because the feeling of creating is more important than its quality and what it means.
It is not content to them. It is art.
On that note, the contentification of art has broken my brain. I was watching a YouTube video where the creator went on a content fast and in her content fast she not only cut out social media, but also films and books. I understand the theory that consuming other’s “content” is not a hobby. But, if you begin to think of reading and absorbing stories and art as “content” we limit its power. It’s a tool used by capitalism to diminish the importance of art.
It’s why a lot of TV series are bad lately. The suits think only of creating more content rather than just letting artist’s create art. It’s The Lord of the Rings films vs The Hobbit films.
If I ever refer to my creations as content, I need to be euthanized for it.
With all this said, how can I create when the world is ending? When art is commodified and monetized? When the act of creation is only as good as you can sell it as?
I believe it starts small. With short stories and doodles on the corners of assignments. With notes app poems and artistically shot instagram stories. I think it ripples to the silly Canva made party invite and to something with a little more thought and a little more conscious effort.
Hopefully for me, this blog helps me exercise the writing muscle so I can create the visions that haunt my dreams. The characters that whisper their stories in my ears begging for life.
How do we create when the world is burning?
One hopeful piece at a time.
hopeful and artistically frustrated,
katie
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