Looking for Arete > Project Writings

Since childhood, I’ve been an artmaker and writer. Despite this, I’ve never really paid attention to how my creativity happens. Lately, however, a few things have made me do some major reflection on the topic, which (of course!) means I’ve done some research.

And it turns out…

Creativity is a cyclical process consisting of multiple stages. These phases are often identified as: Insight (initial inspiration); Preparation (research, idea collection); Incubation (rumination); Illumination (ah-ha moment); and Verification (making of actual artwork/evaluation of idea).

Much of the creative process is not visible; activities in the insight, preparation, incubation and illumination stages mainly happen within the mind. Most of the time, only the verification phase overtly creates something concrete that others can experience.

Now, before I go any further about this…

For the vast majority of my life, I have struggled with depression. It is usually subsyndromal—too mild to be categorized as a major depressive disorder—but it is chronic. My subsyndromal depression manifests mostly as anxiety, which typically takes form as negative thought loops, perfectionism, and obsessive/compulsive tendencies. During bouts of major depression, these symptoms become highly intrusive to my daily life and are accompanied by pervasive feelings of deep dread and despair.

Over the years, I have learned to effectively manage my mood disorder, which means I don’t often experience incessant, overwhelming anxiety like I frequently did, once upon a time. Yes, angst still exists. But for the most part, it’s a mild undercurrent I’ve learned to tolerate.

I use a wide variety of strategies to maintain my mental health, but artmaking and writing are my absolute favorite wellness tools. These activities are not optional pastimes or hobbies and since I have three art degrees and have maintained a creative practice for thirty years, I consider myself to be a dedicated, professional artist. However, the outside world probably doesn’t take me quite so seriously (yet!).

You see…

Although I’m a prolific creative thinker, I’m not much of a creative producer. It takes me an excruciatingly long time to produce anything and all too often, I abandon my ideas before they are fully realized in the verification stage. This tendency has frustrated me for years, but I haven’t been all that successful in changing it. There are specific reasons for this, but before I get into all of that…

Anxiety is quite common in the creative process (and not just for creatives like me who have mood disorders). Creative anxiety usually occurs during the incubation or verification phases. Typically, it revolves around fears related to feelings of inadequacy (is this idea good enough to make) and judgment (will others approve of what I’ve made).

Yeah. Pretty familiar stuff.

To me, even the smallest amount of creative anxiety feels intolerable—probably because I rely so much on my artmaking and writing to alleviate personal anxiety. Thankfully, I’m a confident creative thinker who likes to brainstorm, research and ruminate. My angst is mild in the initial phases of the creative process (I can simply ignore it). I conceptualize big (heavyweight!) ideas easily but the illumination phase is my last carefree moment in the creative process. During the verification stage, my anxiety absolutely surges.

And how all that usually happens is…this!

When I arrive at a BIG (Big Idea Tournament), I am a total powerhouse who is completely prepared to wrestle. (I’ve done my research! I’ve done my thinking!) However, even though I’ve made weight, imposter syndrome walks up to me while I’m on the warm-up mat. ‘Oh, wow, Fearless Thinker—look at you, trying to grapple with a heavyweight!’ I just roll my eyes, and belittle it. ‘Yeah, whatever, Tiny Ripple. How about you go bother someone else?’

Satisfied that I’ve put the moment of mild anxiety in its place, I go back to warming up. I run a few practice moves with my idea until I feel ready to compete. ‘Okay Awesome, I’m good!’ We head out to the production mat and shake hands. The ref blows the whistle, and we start to grapple.

The match is barely underway when I hear it. Loud voices, shouting from the sidelines. ‘Wrong bracket!’ ‘Novice!’ ‘No moves!’ ‘So overrated!’ I look over. Oh no! It’s Tiny Ripple, hanging with its crew! Panic sets in, so I quickly signal for injury (safety first!). I hobble over to Coach, who gives me a good once-over. ‘Yikes, Fearless Thinker—you need to injury forfeit this one.’ I rub my knee and agree. ‘Yeah…I think so. Darn it!’ I pull off my headgear and limp back over to my idea. ‘Hey, Awesome…uh, sorry. Coach says I have to call it quits. But don’t worry, we can still practice together!’ I smile encouragingly and hold out my hand.

(Now, at this point, my idea usually gives me a limp handshake and silently watches me leave the production stage. But one dark and stormy night (one fine day!) I got a totally, completely, and utterly different response from it.)

My idea reared away from my hand, snarling. ‘Oh, cut the crap, So-Notta-Champ! You know you won’t ever wrestle me again! And you know why? Because your creative process—it totally fucking sucks!’

I was shocked—no idea of mine had ever dared talk to me this way! Unsure of what to say (or do) I just stared at it blankly. Coach quickly flew into action. ‘Woah woah woah—that’s enough, Awesome! Can’t you see she’s hurt? No wonder—because you’re waaaaay too big for her!’

And hearing that? From Coach?

Oh, it really pissed me off!

And in my anger, I then did something I had never, ever done before.

I looked my idea straight in the eye and shook my head. ‘Actually…I’m not really all that hurt.’

The next thing I know, my idea is bear-hugging me and Coach is slapping me on the back. ‘Finally! I knew you could do it! Now get back to the practice room, Fearless Thinker—and start training your artistic ass off!’

And to explain that shift in my creative process storyboard, I really need to explain this…

Like many people who are close to their mothers, I’ve always deeply feared my mother’s death. However, for me, this personal existential fear has always been coupled with one from my creative life. You see, my mother was not only my mom; she was also an artist (a fiercely productive talent). And so, it was as a mother and as an artist that she knew me, and my personal angst, and my creativity, and my anxiety about making.

(Oh, what it meant to me! To have her (this amazing artist, my mother!) believe in my creative ability and empathize with my creative angst. ‘Just make it, Elise—make whatever you want. Make what matters to you and don’t worry about all the rest.’ Oh, how many times she said things like that to me, throughout my life.)

When my mother was first diagnosed with a terminal lung disease, my son was still a toddler. Raising my intense, emotionally turbulent little boy took an incredible amount of energy. He required most (all!) of my time and focus, so like any good mother (like my mother), I set aside my own angst so I could help him learn to manage his. This meant that although I understood what my mother’s illness meant for her, I could not (I dared not) completely process what meant to me.

But then COVID happened, and the dire things that were already happening in the world (and to the world, and with the world) began to spiral even further downwards. Fear and anxiety became unceasing and incessant. They were everywhere—in everything and in everyone—and not understanding and not knowing flowed unchecked, from one unclear moment to another, until they turned into a turbulent, tormented sea of not trusting and not believing.

Midway through this dreadful time, my mother’s body finally decided its end was near (a decision her soul adamantly disagreed with). Her symptoms, which had been mild until then, began to progress.

And that long-felt angst I had, about losing my mother?

It came rushing back. And this time, it was a riptide. And in it, all the anxieties of the world flowed.

It was exhausting, being in this awful current. But there was no other place to go, no other place to be. All I could do was tread water and distantly watch, as my mother’s declining health pulled her away from the shores of her life, as every protective bank and dune and marsh in the world crumbled.

And then, finally. A prick made a small break in the relentless tide, and I traveled to see my mother. It was shocking to see how tired she was from all her waiting. Still, I did not expect to receive the call so shortly (all too shortly) from my brother after my return home.

The time had come.

Without any alarm, my mother woke her body up, out of its morphine cloud. ‘I’m ready.’ And without hesitation, her body agreed, because it was so tired, so done. (It had so patiently waited for her, for as long as it possibly could.)

When I arrived back to her side, my mom was delighted but confused to see me. ‘Elise! Why are you back?’ Not long after that, however, she would turn to me, fully lucid. ‘Oh…I knew it was coming—I just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly once it was here!’

Soon after, my mother completely retreated, into herself, to wait for her body’s departure from the world. (And I like to think that this moment of waiting went unnoticed for her. I like to think that she was looking outward, towards an ocean of future creations.)

And all through her waiting, I did the only thing I felt well-practiced at.

I waited, and I watched what was happening.

And somehow, I did this with fearless courage, despite the immense tug of anxiety and grief. And while I did not know how it was possible to remain standing in this surging tide, I absolutely knew I would— because I was experiencing her death not only as myself (because oh, the pain!) but as someone else—my creative self. And I knew, absolutely, that this creative self could bear this moment (the death I had been dreading all my life) because it knew something I did not yet know.

And then, Time Eternal let my mother open her body’s eyes, one last time.

And in her inexplicable, unseeing yet all-seeing gaze, I came to understand what my creative self knew.

I understood that my mother was still undeniably there (she would always be here!) because now she was everywhere and in everything, and because of that, she was seeing wholly and completely (as she always did, as she always would), and what she was seeing—it was nothing like anything she had ever seen or imagined and oh, it was so breathtakingly and heartbreakingly beautiful!

Soon after this startling and revealing moment, I would put my hand on my mother’s unmoving chest and feel her heart’s uncomprehensible stillness.

And when I did, I accepted that my mother had left me.

And in the incredibly loud and peaceful silence of my acceptance, I heard something speak. ‘No reason to be afraid anymore.’

And I knew this clear, lucid voice, even though I hadn’t heard it for a long, long time.

It was the voice that always spoke to me, during moments of creative illumination.

And in this moment of indescribable sorrow and incredible awe, I perceived with dazzling clarity how my future creative self would help me withstand my mother’s absence, and all my future griefs.

And so it was, that I came to know this:

If I ever was given the crystalline gift of illumination again, I would fully listen to its voice. I would pay attention to it, absolutely and completely. I would honor and trust it. I would intrepidly follow it to wherever it led me, and wrestle with whatever curious thoughts came to me there, until I totally and completely and utterly understood them. And then (only then!) I would step outside of myself, into the verifying world, and finish grappling with my peculiar insights.

Yes, I understood that I would do all of this, because now I finally knew what my mother had always known.

I was strong enough (knowledgeable enough, astute enough, talented enough, experienced enough, funny enough, flexible enough, resilient enough…). And I could do much more than just remain inside myself and wonder distantly about what I meant to the world, and what it meant to me.

I could take my truly awesome idea out into the world, and illuminate all its shadows.

With my own beautiful struggle, and the world’s verifying light.