The Contagion of Creativity

The Stigma of Self-Indulgent Creation

I don’t remember exactly when, but at some point in my early adulthood, being creative began to feel taboo.

There were circumstantial exceptions, of course. Household DIYs, for instance — building a spice rack, or repurposing recyclables into chic storage — those were ok. Or anything done for profit — selling customized jewelry or selling holiday wreaths, for example — anything that brought in an income was a perfectly acceptable hobby, as well.

But at some point, telling people I was, say, writing poetry or drawing, started to feel juvenile.

I can’t say for sure that it’s universal, but I don’t think it was just a “me thing,” either. I feel like a lot of adults feel a certain degree of social stigma against indulging in creative activities that don’t have an obvious practical or financial benefit, especially if it’s a creative endeavor in which they hold no innate skill. After all, if you’re an artistic prodigy at age eight, that’s impressive and marketable; if you’re a beginner artist with no inherent skill at age forty, well — that’s just sad.

Expending effort for any reason besides financial gain is not something that meshes with our hustle culture mindset — everything is a side hustle, a grind, or an opportunity to make money, and if it’s not, well, why even fucking bother??

This is not to say earning money from your artistic endeavors is bad. But failing to recognize the intrinsic worth in creativity when divorced from financial viability is an unhealthy and unhelpful mindset that both devalues art and artists, and devalues the self-care, self-expression, and catharsis that is the basis of most amateur art.

Despite genuinely believing this, cultural stigmas are insidious, and I have always hovered along the periphery of almost-but-not-quite buying into this mindset. I am a creative person at heart, and despite being otherwise non-confrontational in most other ways, absolutely baulk at the notion that others get to dictate where I find my joy. But even as I slogged away at my yearly NaNoWriMo attempts and taught myself how to draw and paint, there was always this small, niggling guilt in the back of my mind:

You could be doing something productive, you know. Something useful. I can see about ten things that need to be taken care of around the house right now, and you could be doing literally any one of them.

It was a struggle, some days, ignoring those voices. On the good days, I managed radio silence; on the bad days, it was a nettling buzz, droning just at the edge of my perception.

Everyone Wants to Be an Artist

I’ve been doing visual art for a little over four years now. I’m not a master, and what I do isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but over the course of four-plus years, I’ve seen staggering improvements. While I was the (nearly) forty-year old lacking any artistic talent, I’m now someone that others regularly refer to as an artist, have been commissioned by people and non-profits, and been in nearly a dozen gallery shows.

And with that shift, I noticed the strangest thing.

While I do believe there is a systemic devaluing of art in our society, on an individual level, so many people genuinely, deeply wish they could be artists.

I know this because it’s become a recurring motif when people look at my work:

“Oh, I wish I could draw!” “Oh, you’re so talented, I wish I could make something like that!” “You’re so creative, I wish I had your ability!”

And of course, they could — where I’m at artistically is a very achievable place. But I think seeing people’s art decontextualized from their journey is disheartening and misleading — no amount of insistence that progress is achievable is really reassuring in the absence of proof of said progress.

Add to that the stigma of starting an art hobby as an adult, and the litany of more “productive” things on our plates — family, jobs, household chores — and you’re fighting a losing battle.

So instead of fighting, I just smile, say thank you, and continue to quietly share my art.

I’ve been sharing my art since the start of my art journey. I have my public Instagram of course, but that is pretty heavily curated with my favorite pieces, favoring the last two years — those more recent pieces that I’ve determined are acceptable for public consumption.

It’s my personal Facebook that’s seen the real shit. And also, the real shit, to be frank. Facebook has seen art of mine that I wouldn’t dare show to strangers on the street, let alone people who could otherwise be potential collaborators. Every stray pencil sketch, failed watercolor, and wayward micron drawing has found its way to Facebook over the last three years, and while I may have been internally cringing as I posted them, I knew, for me, that it was an important step in staying motivated and accountable to my own art practice.

But it had an unforeseen side-effect, as well.

Setting an Example

My wife has never been artistically inclined. No, actually, forget that — for years, she was full-on anti-making art. Not in principle — she routinely encouraged me, and other friends of hers who pursued artistic endeavors — just personally, for herself. She could barely write legibly, and doing so was a struggle, so sure making good art was surely just a step too far.

But within the couple of years or so, as I crested a hill with my art practice, and she began surrounding herself with more and more adult artists, things started to shift. She was exposed to art every day, of varying levels, from people at very disparate places within their artistic journey. She saw the struggles, and the triumphs, and the incremental progress that added up to significant milestones over time. She watched people experiment with graphic storytelling, illustration, painting, digital art, graphite. She saw people starting out from the ground up, and building something beautiful.

Two years, she bought a sketchbook.

I think I’m going to try drawing, she said. Maybe we can draw together?

Her full purchase was a $7 sketchbook, a $3 mechanical pencil, and an eraser. She subscribed to an artist’s Patreon to get exclusive pose and anatomy references. She put drawing guides on her Amazon wishlist.

She set pencil to paper over a month ago and she hasn’t rarely a day.

She recently wrapped her tenth gallery showing, and a last month, sold her first piece of art at an art show.

Her progress in the first two years has been astounding.

Creativity is Contagious

Within a couple of weeks of starting her art journey, a mutual friend reached out to my wife to tell her how inspired she’d been by us; she’d gone out to buy her own sketchbook and pencils, and was drawing every night after she put her kids to bed. She’d always enjoyed art, had kept an art practice alive through high school, before life circumstances and adult pressures forced it onto the backburner. Why not reclaim it now? We both had, my wife and I, and we were also working parents. If we could do it, why couldn’t she?

So, what’s happening here? Why is posting some art of dubious quality on social media everyday having this ripple effect?

I’ve a few thoughts:

1. As demonstrated, watching other people balance similar work-life responsibilities and still have time to pursue art makes us re-evaluate our own use of time. It’s easy to say “I can’t, I have chores/work/kids/etc.,” but when you see your friends, who have very similar responsibilities, eke out time — even if it’s just fifteen minutes a day after the kids go to sleep — you begin to realize if you just sacrifice your designated “Scrolling My TikTok ‘For You’ Page” time each night, you could integrate a similar hobby and see similar progress.

2. It is easier to embark on any journey with a crew. There’s something about it that feels more communal and less self-indulgent, something that feels like belonging or being a part of something bigger. Uniting with people who support us, who are on the same level of us, or just a few steps ahead (or who clearly remember being where we are now) is motivating and comforting.

3. Under the right circumstances, it is validating seeing people pursue the things you want for yourself, and being successful at them — so long as you understand that those things are also within your reach, if you choose to pursue them. It’s validating in so much as it helps to counterbalance the nay-sayers who tell you that you aren’t good enough/you’re too old to be embarking on something new. It feels validating to find people your age who are also just beginning. It feels validating to see them make the progress that people have told you — and likely, them — that they will never make.

4. Once you begin, the process of making art is joyful. It’s freeing, and cathartic, and relaxing, and challenging, and exciting.

5. In the face of a world telling you that creativity not focused on generating income is foolish, it’s refreshing, heartening, and emboldening to have people willing to stand beside you, hand in hand, and tell the capitalistic system to very kindly go fuck itself. Full stop.

So if you are hesitant to make art, or to embark on a creative journey later in life for fear of ridicule, or for being seen as silly or childish, know that there is a very good chance that you may simply be the only person in your orbit brave enough to take the leap from aspiring artist to practicing artist.

And know that, in taking the leap, you may encourage others to take one, as well.

Be there for them, connect with them, commiserate with them. Inspire each other to keep going.

Let yourself be the catalyst.

Spread the love of creating wherever you go.