To Write, To Understand

Liminal Spaces, Issue 4, Volume 2

Our refrigerator, like many refrigerators, is the epicenter of our children’s creative pursuits. As they’ve grown older, the creativity has given way to photos and any accomplishment held fast by random magnets, but the notion is the same. We’re proud, and the most appropriate location to display our glowing pride is where we frequent most. It could be argued the bathroom is even more familiar, but the sentimentality would be lost each time the toilet flushes.

I remember the joy as a child, having my own drawings placed on the side of the refrigerator, indicating I had somehow reached the attention and admiration of my mother. Her judgment was not to be questioned, especially with my fine scribbles, which deserved those personal accolades. I was satisfied with an audience of one, but it didn’t hurt if other family members took notice. This encouragement fostered a growing desire to continue producing works of art, simultaneously igniting a passion.

My peers began to notice as well. Elementary school teachers would hand out blank coloring pages for the holidays, which we were instructed to color with crayons, to be blind judged by our peers. The results were numbered and taped to the chalkboard, for classmates to observe with reverence. With heads down, we would silently vote by raising a hand, the final tally signifying what page was most aesthetically pleasing to our immature tastes.

On multiple occasions I was recognized for my contributions, which assuredly set the fine art world on fire. The greatest prize I could receive was not monetary, but it was confirmation of an innate desire, imparting value and purpose onto a young boy who would soon struggle to find his place. Never once did I consider the usefulness of this talent, not until the early days of college when one is required to choose a path leading toward self-reliance and a steady paycheck.

The simple pleasure of drawing and writing, or any creativity for that matter, drove me to continue and improve. I remember sitting with my brother at my grandmother’s house, drawing sharks, robots, cars and anything else, while we munched on Cracker Jack. Only the physical prize inside – a tattoo or sticker – could pull our attention away from the pencil and paper. While we loved to be commended for the pictures we drew, the carefree enjoyment is what kept us motivated.

A New Motivation

That changed at university, when I needed to choose a major. I wanted to become a novelist or painter, but at the behest of my father, explored majors aligning with dependable career paths. I waffled between journalism and graphic design, finally choosing the former. It became clear after working for the student newspaper that I hated the business, graduating with a degree that provided little pleasure. While I never regretted my decision (after years of introspection), I questioned how my life would have turned out with a different degree.

After graduating, I landed a job as a copywriter at an advertising agency. The excitement of getting paid to write quickly subsided when I learned my primary responsibility involved tweaking blessed-by-legal catalog copy for an accompanying website. No original ideas were necessary, and who was I, so inexperienced, to provide them anyhow. During the dot-com boom — before it was fashionable — I learned to code, escaping the drudgery and changing careers entirely.

While I still experimented with creative outlets, my relationship with creativity grew complicated. A subtle shift in attitude tainted my efforts. The sheer enjoyment, or intrinsic value, was replaced by a growing sentiment it was only worth doing if it accumulated external measurable worth. Other people needed to find it valuable, enough to pay me to pursue it, in order for it to be pursued at all. That view cemented as a result of social media and the commodification of creativity. The combination of the two became the largest global refrigerator, where your work could be adored, or be covered up by the constant flow of images numbering in the billions.

Social media reminded me of my youth and the satisfaction arising from adulation. But instead of teaching me to embrace this passion again, it twisted the motivation as an enticing rush of dopamine followed by payment from fans of my work. I’m extremely grateful for this support, but the purpose has been lost along the way. It’s complicated by the duality of the community, who often claim we should get paid to create, all the while stating we should do it because we love it… because most of us won’t get paid, at least, not enough to subsist.

A Lack of Purpose

This has led me to study why any creative pursuit is worthy of our time if it doesn’t receive attention or money. The necessity of it is suspect when compared against the catalog of existing works, exacerbated by the rise of artificial output. What value is there in expressing our understanding of the world and our place in it, if it isn’t shared or appreciated by anyone else? It’s possible our unique, individual visions are no longer useful as a result of societal advancement. Technology and over saturation have exposed us to everything possible, making too real what was once unimaginable and thereby making further exploration pointless.

In the book, “Childhood’s End”, by Arthur C. Clarke, the author explores the necessity of creativity when we align collectively and advance technologically as a society. Humans enter a golden age when suffering ends, brought on by the Overlords, an advanced race of aliens who usher in Utopia.

“The end of strife and conflict of all kinds had also meant the virtual end of creative art. There were myriads of performers, amateur and professional, yet there had been no really outstanding new works of literature, music, painting, or sculpture, for a generation. The world was still living on the glories of a past that could never return.”

(Clarke, Arthur C. Childhood's End. Ballantine Books, 1953. p. 75.)

I was deeply offended the first time I read this passage, but didn’t recognize why, until I admitted the hard truth. Clarke is right. While Utopia provides reassurances and stability, the comfort eliminates the need for personal expression. If all is known and understood within our sphere of influence, then there is no mystery to unravel, nothing to explain. We are reaching a point in human history where art only survives through the observation and copy of what’s already been accomplished. With the single click of a button and a few keystrokes, the entirety of our creative accomplishments is available. What purpose is there to add to it?

That’s not to say we’ve reached the apex of human achievement. People suffer and die every day, but our experience with it is no longer transcendent. Books, essays, movies and music all have cast their lot to explicate our temporal nature. Where once only the wealthy could afford personal libraries, there is one nearby in most communities. Our ability to digest a meal of literature is only commandeered when we’re distracted by bite sized chunks of anything “short form”.

A Detox

Early on in my software engineering career, I worked with a gentleman who colored on his lunch break. He tore pages out of Disney coloring books and kept several boxes of crayons in his desk drawer. When asked about his hobby, he would reply that it helped him relax. The glint in his eyes and smile on his lips led me to believe it reminded him of childhood, and by capturing a familiar activity it removed him from the stressful demands of information technology. I admired his willingness to openly embrace it, since a grown man today who colors could be misunderstood as mentally unsound.

That same man died a few months after I first spoke with him. His immediate coworkers were devastated, and to capture his outlook and spirit, a conference room was decorated with several framed coloring pages he left behind. On the surface, it conveys one reason to produce creative works is so they can help others remember us after we’re gone. While pleasant to consider, I doubt the reason he colored was for the benefit of others and he had said as much. He practiced the art as a form of meditation. It was personal and didn’t require sharing with others.

This is where I’ve come full circle on my own journey. When my brother and I engrossed ourselves in drawing, and me later with writing, it was for selfish reasons. It provided a fun escape, and in the process, taught me to embrace certain activities in order to experience life’s simple pleasures. But in the present, it’s become difficult to approach creativity without a detox from the attention and lure of monetary gain. Keeping my creativity and creative works private and sacred is a part of the recovery process. Sharing with a select few can feed the desire for critique and improvement, all while preventing a slow deterioration.

This doesn’t mean I’ll stop publishing my writing, at least not yet. But it does mean the audience and purpose for which I write is shrinking down to a fine point. I doubt I’ll publish another book unless it materializes through a friend or confidant, now that I understand it steals the satisfaction and replaces it with worrisome substitutes such as marketing and audience growth. I don’t want to think about those things anymore. I want to think about stories and characters and rekindle a passion that takes me back to grandma’s kitchen table, to better understand myself and the world in which I live.

“First, I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.” — C.S. Lewis