Our Readers Write: Reflections on creativity and pushing through

Editor’s note: The 2021 Our Readers Write column is a curated collection of articles and creative writing by various members of the Chicago dance community. We hope to provide our readers with expanded perspectives on both dance writing and the artistic lenses of the contributing authors. Joshua X. Miller’s video “Catching Creativity” and accompanying essay provide a comforting camaraderie around the highs and lows of the artistic process—along with some simple motivations for those of us in that creative slump.  —Jordan Kunkel

Sitting down to write this piece, one song continuously played in my mind. That song is as follows, “Do you ever feel like a plastic bag, drifting through the wind?” Not only are these great throwback lyrics, but they also represent how I often feel about my creative life. Though I live a career as an artist with many gigs and projects spanning dance, writing, acting and singing, I rarely consider myself an artist. That is imposter syndrome at its finest. I hold the queens and goddesses of the art world on a high pedestal, and I let my perfectionism get in the way of finishing any given project. I find excuses to stop myself from carving out adequate time to create. I’ve almost walked away from my dance teaching jobs and theatre gigs to become a janitor, a line chef and a movie critic with the intention of never challenging my artistic brain again. 

But whenever I think I’ve reached that point, there have always been key moments that bring me back from the edge and fuel me with what I need to continue to create. “Catching Creativity” was one of those moments. To create this video I interviewed two artists, Brenden Smith and Maria Blanco about their relationships with their artistic practices: film and dance, respectively. The project came along as an ode to my deep love and respect for Smith and Blanco’s crafts—as well as a sort of answer to the most recent questions swirling in my brain, blocking any sort of artistic action. These questions range from the obvious (What does creativity look like?) to the existential (When will we achieve world peace?) and the personal (Does my art even matter?). Smith and Blanco gave honest responses that validated my own feelings as an artist.

In her interview Blanco said, “[Dance is] not always joyful. I sometimes hate having to be creative because I’m like, ‘I can’t do this right now. I don’t have it in me.’” This quote resonates with me as an artist because over the pandemic, I never quite had the energy to complete any of my projects, a trap many of us have fallen down. Still, I couldn’t help feeling like a failure for not adapting to the situation and being productive. Maria’s words remind me that a lack of creativity is natural. It doesn’t mean you’re a failure—and it is certainly not the reason people stare at you as you walk past them on the street. While it’s easy for me to say that we should be gentle with ourselves, we all know it’s a difficult act to carry out. Sometimes I feel myself swirling in the thoughts, opinions and voices of others, leaving no real space for my voice to grow. Putting that on paper, on the stage, or into a scene or song is more complicated than it looks. I sometimes wonder: If my voice is too similar; does it need to be heard? Do I really have something to say, or am I repeating what is already done? These questions stem from my own need to be validated as a human and an artist—from my fear that my art is only worthy of funding or an audience if it is unique or bold. 

A book that has become my personal blueprint for creative living is Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Big Magic.” In it, she writes about how our creativity doesn’t have to save the world or have huge meaning to it. Those words have saved my artistic life. Too often, we believe as artists that our art must be the next best thing. But I never feel that what I have to say artistically is more important than anyone else’s work. Surrounded by people with loud opinions and ideas, I’m usually the one to agree with what is being said in a room with an excited, “Yup, me too,” or “I agree.” With all these voices and opinions, is there a space for me in the Chicago art community? 

This is when Gilbert’s reminder that my work doesn’t have to change the world calms me down. I can start with changing my personal world by creating something, anything. In Smith’s interview, he says, “You have to be okay with not being good for a bit, and once you become comfortable with [that] you have to create the space for yourself to [make something].” That is honestly the most challenging part of the artistic process. Like any muscle in our bodies, we have to stretch it and give it time to expand. If I am able to make time for scrolling through the never-ending feed of Instagram or TikTok, I can take 10 minutes out of my day to be creative. I’ve found myself loving guided journals or 10 minutes of all-out freestyle dance. To jump start my own creativity, I revisit the greats: Maya Angelou, George M. Johnson, Niki Giovani, Joseph Beam, Elizabeth Gilbert, Brene Brown, Ocean Vuong, Yung Pueblo—even Katy Perry, to name a few. Being lost in their work and words always gives me the spark I need to get the creativity flowing.  

I still struggle with allowing myself to create freely, but the more baby steps I take, the closer I get to my goal of calling myself a multi-disciplinary artist. In pushing through my doubt and fear, I can feel myself strengthening as an artist. "Catching Creativity” has also confirmed for me that you cannot be creative alone. It takes a village to support you through your creativity. That village is just as important as your personal journey to finding joy in your art and maintaining healthy creative habits. Your village of people supporting you will lift you up. They will stay up with you at four in the morning and read over your rough drafts. They will let you know if something is good or bad. But, most importantly, they will give you the love you need to continue. 

What I find myself doing now, whenever I get riled up by fear, is breathing more. I constantly remind myself that this is something I love doing, whether it be writing, dancing, acting or singing. Once I remind myself of that, I gain a sense of confidence that no one can take away. I then think about all the lives I can change with my art, but most importantly the healing I gain from creating my art, that outweighs any fear I have. 

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About the author:

 

Joshua X. Miller Joshua X. Miller (He/They) is a Chicago born artist that brings life to the work that he does. He is an artistic omnivore, and a devoted life learner. With the dream of being a producer of influential material, Joshua is dedicated to telling the stories of the unheard. He currently works as a teaching artist and hopes to inspire a new wave of artists to come after him.

 

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