Art and Creativity: The Child vs. The Nihilist

Dear Phil,

For a 4th Grade project, I made a little book out of colored paper, markers, and sandwich baggies strung together with yarn. It was a history project during a unit about early Egypt. When my Mom took it from my childhood bin of projects a few months back, I became entranced by an odd, and eerily prophetic “Author” section I had added. On the last page, under my picture, I said, and I quote, “I love video games, but most of all, I love to write.”

The past few months, I kept thinking of that page, and sadly it haunts me instead of encouraging me. I know I should feel enthralled that even at a young age, I enjoyed writing, but my current self is wrestling with the innocent, naive statement of my younger self. I think it’s because recently I’ve been feeling nihilistic towards art and creativity.

Art is beautiful, inspiring, life changing, challenging, enlightening, and on an on. It is an incredible gift that we as humans are able to take simple observations of the world and transform them into fictional narrative worlds, heart wrenching poems, or bombastic films. But, aside from the talented and lucky few, many of us aspiring creatives may never see our creations become acknowledged to the point of becoming a career artist. I shouldn’t be, but I have been debilitated by the possible reality of artistic obscurity coming to blows with my aspirations.

Couch-ridden nights of despair were more common this summer as I sunk deeper into what felt like a never-ending existential crisis: there’s no guarantee that my art will take me anywhere in life or launch me into a dream career, so what’s the point of creating anything? Am I just wasting my time? Should I even spend any of my free time making art? What if in the end I wasted years of my life chasing a dream that never happens? What if in giving up my hobbies, I miss out on watching all the amazing shows and movies, or playing hit games for nothing? What if I’m doomed to be an artist in my imagination, but never in reality? The answer seems clear. I should quit and consume. But I can’t. No matter how logical that conclusion feels, something in my soul clings tight enough to my psyche to give it a shake and say, “Create, because it’s what you love to do.”

And it’s true. I love to create. There is no greater feeling than re-reading a completed short story, flaws and all, and reveling in the joy that I wrote it. Or, experiencing small moments of affirmation, like our time in Milwaukee at Collectivo. I had my Pop Culture Punks shirt on, and the cashier said she loved my shirt. “Thanks! I actually designed it.”

There was the time my film won the Weekender film festival, another time when, during my 5th year of college, my short film made it into UW-Madison’s Comm Arts Showcase. Plenty of past memories should remind me that I love to create, but every so often, real life and the fear of failure discourages me. Because the truth is, I believe that until my art is widely known or praised, it’s worthless. That unless I become someone, anything I create will be for naught, and if I’m never famous, I’ll just be another mediocre creative fruitlessly chasing the stars.

But, my 4th grade self wasn’t burdened by these existential dreads. He was simply enamored by the creative process and holding the finished product in his hands. When I finally broke out of my despair, I found it was because of this question God placed on my heart: “Why should you want to create art?” The answer I had bought into was to find validation for my gifts, but that mindset was making me miserable. He revealed the truth, which freed me from the burden of chasing fame:

I should want to create for my Creator, because that is what he designed me to do. I believe He wired my brain to be inspired by the world, to have a passion for telling stories, and encouraging others through the trials He’s helped me conquer.

When I’m reminded of God’s true view of us as inherently valuable, I’m filled with peace. In a world that does not share that opinion, I’m thankful for the truth that even if I write a book and never sell a copy, make a design and never see it on a shirt, or make a movie that no one sees, I am doing what I was designed to do: create art, with or without recognition.

My friend, I wanted to write this to you as a letter of encouragement. You and I both have weathered the uncertainty of callings and passions, especially over this last year. I hope that you or anyone else who reads this feels comforted by our shared struggle with life and identity, but more importantly, encouraged to embrace with confidence your uniqueness and striving after what you were made to do.

So draw that picture, write that story, build that sculpture, code that program, bake that cake, study that major, chase that dream! Do it, because it’s who you are. Fame is fleeting, and the praise of man will come and go like the wind, but our true selves, when cultivated and driven by passion, will grow to be mighty oaks nourished by streams.

[Psalm 139:13-14]

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.

Your Enneagram 4 Twin,

Josh