Lean on the Magic
What we don't talk about when we talk about creativity
My play, and Isabella Bootlegs had a production in Seattle in 2015.
I may have told this tidbit before.
On opening night, my Mom and I were in a circle chatting with some people and she said, “Sam says this is all fiction but there’s no way she could have known some of that stuff.”
That’s when I learned that writing is communing with ghosts.
But there’s more to it than that.
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Almost the only place I light candles, at least scented ones, is in the bathroom. That means that I often forget about them.
I guess if you are going to forget about a lit candle, the bathroom is the best place to do that. It sits on a porcelain throne above a tile floor. The closest flammable item is a good three or four feet away. It’s not not dangerous. But certainly less than dangerous than leaving it lit next to a pile of scrap paper collaging supplies.
Anyway, inevitably, I’ll go into the bathroom at some point, see that it's still lit, whisper “oh” to myself, and blow it out, letting the smoke curl lazily to the ceiling.
*
On a good day, uncertainty is the quiet background noise of everything. So much of life, of living in the world, is question marks. How did we get here? And why? You know, all of those existential questions. We never know what’s coming next. Which is terrifying, sometimes exciting. There are forecasts for things, of course—weather forecasts, profit forecasts. But those are, ultimately, guesses.
These days, uncertainty isn’t the background noise; it’s the main theme. It’s loud. And it keeps going. At some point, it feels like we should move into the next scene but, then, the theme plays over again.
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I finally articulated my views on creativity because it felt necessary. I’ve been writing artistic statements for a long time so I’ve written about my own work a lot—the inspiration, my approach, my view of the purpose—but it wasn’t until the last year or so that I’ve articulated my views on creativity as a whole.
After years of being told there was a definition of creativity and a definition of success within creativity and also being told, both directly and indirectly, that I didn’t fit into any of those definitions, my view of art grayed. Because it wasn’t just about what I was being told. It was about what I started to believe. Or, more accurately, what I stopped believing in. What I forgot to believe in. What I could no longer see.
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Gray days are hard. As a naturally melancholy person who also happens to have clinical depression, a gray day is not wholly unwelcome. Actually, sometimes it’s both wanted and needed. But just because it’s something I, occasionally, want doesn’t mean it isn’t hard. Whether one day or ten, in the midst of a gray one, it’s easy to forget there’s any other kind of day. It’s like when you’re sick and you can’t remember what it’s like to breathe through both nostrils freely. When you forget the time before being filled with mucus or coughing up your lungs, you may think it will always be this way. It will always be garbage cans full of kleenexes and fitful midday naps.
There are situations where it’s easier to remember that something else exists beyond the thing in front of your face. Things like summer breaks for school children or new seasons of your favorite series. You know, things with schedules and release dates. Things that generally have a guarantee associated with them.
You can predict the end of gray days. You can’t guarantee them.
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I read the news. I don’t really do social media.
It’s been about a year and a half since I’ve signed into Instagram and TikTok. …that’s not entirely true. I’ve logged into Instagram a few times to screenshot career related things. I always log-in on my computer and go exactly to what I want to screenshot and log back out immediately. Well, with the exception of when I logged in recently to see if I could find out anything that directly concerns a friend of mine but I had an immediate anxiety attack and decided that was a good indication to…not. Not sign-in. My profiles still exist; you can find me if you want. You can find me up until the September 2023 version of me. My current self doesn’t exist there.
Well, yes, I LinkedIn. Unfortunately. Because BUSINESS!
(How do you post on LinkedIn without hating yourself? You can’t.)
All this is not to say “wow, look at me!” Although that would be very on brand for a millennial. All this is to say that on a moment-to-moment basis, I’m not worried about falling into a social media type years long doom scroll. The real danger I face with my phone is silly little merging games.
So, I read the news. I try to read the news.
It’s part of my morning routine. Well, as morning as I ever get. I usually read some news in the evening as well. I read it all with a furrowed brow, as I imagine many of you do. When I finally come out of the news newsletters, everything appears to have a gray tint. It’s like a cinematographer decided this is a world of cool tones, full of shades of gray.
It’s been a while since I’ve looked up from the computer and was greeted with warm tones.
*
When a candle is blown out, it’s not finished. The lingering smoke and liquid wax are remnants of what was. The wick is proof that there can be another spark. Even when a candle has burned away, at least for now, there are more candles to be had. Full stores devoted to candles. There are stockpiles of candles.
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Creativity requires a certain amount of vulnerability. It’s probably why so many sensitive souls charge head-first into creative pursuits. Probably why so many creative types have a hard time approaching any creative activities of any level as a hobby. Probably why so many people who have gone through art school will talk about the effects of it for years to come in therapy.1
While we tend to associate creative vulnerability with mostly famous artists2, well-known creators, and recognizable art works, the vulnerability exists whether you share what you create or not. Art, in all its forms, is subjective. That means there is no right or wrong. No fact or falsehood.3 In a subject like math, for instance, there is a right answer. So, if you get the answer wrong once, you can learn and next time, you’ll have the right answer. There’s sometimes an embarrassment to getting answers wrong. Then, there is a pride in having the right answer.
Creativity doesn’t have a right answer. Sure, like any other thing in life, you can learn more about it, grow and develop your personal art, let years of wisdom compound and color the work you make. That process, however, does not a right answer make. Realizing you can’t technically get it wrong should be freeing. On the flip side, realizing that for some people, what you create will never be right can be debilitating.4 There is fear associated with uncertainty. Fear tends to stall and stop people in their tracks. It tends to turn people inward, keep them quiet, and convince them that keeping their head down and minding their own business in a world drained of its vibrancy is the smartest thing to do.
Creativity and vulnerability will always go hand-in-hand. Bringing something that happens in your brain, heart, and soul to life and never being sure what the response will be—from yourself as much as other people—is a risk. I am of the opinion that it is a necessary risk and one that we all have the ability to take.
Creativity brings color. Creativity is a certain kind of magic.
*
It’s funny to me how much I think about that moment with my Mom at and Isabella Bootlegs. It was such a small moment. That comment could have passed through the air and dissipated quickly like steam. But I’ve held onto it.
For one, it was a tiny connection with my Mom, the rest of my family, and our history. There are so many things my extended family does not talk about beyond lore and whispered rumors. That is, in large part, what Isabella is about; What do we lose when we don’t share truths? How do we come to understand ourselves and our family when there are so many unknowns? When does secrecy help (because sometimes it does) and when does it hurt (because sometimes [more often, probably] it does)?
It was also a moment of understanding a bit of my own writing process, I think. Creative arts require craft. Whether you are pursuing something creative as a career or doing it as a hobby, you are developing your craft every time you participate in it.
At the time of that production, I had already spent years and years working on writing as a craft. I was a couple years into living in New York, halfway through grad school, and writing bigger and longer plays than I ever had before. But I can’t say that I fully understood my process then.
When you pursue a creative career path—in this case theatre and playwriting—and you have productions and submit for opportunities and receive a lot of rejection, you have to be able to articulate your process. Which means you also have to understand it. Process is constantly changing and we as artists are always reevaluating but the articulation requirement doesn’t change. It’s a hard requirement, I won’t lie to you. It’s hard to talk about your own work and your own process with any clarity. Forest for the trees and all that. So, when someone points to something in your work for you, it’s helpful to hold onto that. Whether you agree with their view or not, it will always help you come to some kind of understanding of what you are trying to say and how you are trying to get there.
In this case, I agreed with my Mom. Not just because she rightly pointed out a certain ethereality to writing that I hadn’t yet grasped. But also because she highlighted a bit of magic for me.
*
In the ongoing onslaught of news and the depressive gray toned days that surround it, I’ve read a lot about holding onto joy. Joy as resistance. Joy as support. Joy as protection. Joy as healing. I agree. I believe joy is all those things. And more. Joy is so important.
Joy is also not always so accessible to me these days. It feels like it requires a certain amount of energy that I don’t have in my reserves. When I can’t seem to find the joy, I begin to feel like I’m failing, like I don’t actually know my place in the midst of the all of it. To me, joy often feels like it requires thoughtful action. Joy isn’t passive. Joy, like creativity, requires a certain amount of vulnerability. You have to open yourself up enough to find it, make space for it, create it. And I know, I know. Most of us, probably, aren’t finding it every day. I just have felt like I’m even farther away from it than others. (Comparison is the thief of…joy.) I’m coming out of that feeling a bit now but many days, I still feel like I am farther away from it than I would like to be.
Which is why I’m leaning more on seeing magic than finding joy.
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Creativity, as a concept, is important to me. (As if that was, in any way, unclear.) Because of that, I truly believe every person is a creative person. It’s part of the reason why I’m a creative consultant. Every person is a creative person. Some people have just lost sight of that. Or they never really knew that. Or they were told it’s not important. Or told they were doing it wrong. Or told if they can’t make money off it, they shouldn’t do it. Or told if they aren’t immediately good at it they shouldn’t do it. Or that it’s a waste of time.
I have had conversations about the traumas, realities, and benefits of creativity more times than I can count. Often, the same conversations over and over. Art, creativity, is not something that is well-valued in greater society. When that is the case, it doesn’t matter how much you believe something, it’s hard to convince yourself of its truth. The truth is everyone is creative, creativity is important, it’s not a waste of time, there’s not one way to do it, there is no right and wrong way to be creative, and you don’t have to make money from it if you don’t want to.
Maybe you’ve had these conversations yourself. Maybe you believe what I’m saying and maybe you don’t. Maybe you believe it for everyone else and not for you. Maybe you’ll have this conversation again tomorrow. That’s great. Talk it through as many times as you need to.
Honestly, I don’t think it’s these conversations that are the most important part. It’s imparting on people that creativity is more than personal development, self-expression, responding to your environment, connecting with others, exploring ideas, stress relief, levity, and, yes, joy.
It’s magic.
*
I’m leaning on seeing the magic.
If finding joy is active, then seeing magic is passive. Maybe it’s not passive so much as it is about being infinitesimally observational. It’s noticing the little things that create a spark. It’s wonderful if it creates a spark in you. It’s equally as wonderful if you see the spark it creates in someone else.
To me, creativity is the ultimate form of magic. An act of creativity results in something that never existed before. It requires radical vulnerability. It doesn’t have a right answer. When you learn to see every person as a creative person, you will see magic all around you. To me, there’s nothing better, literally nothing, than being a witness to the way a creative act lights someone up. A tiny smile after finishing a doodle. Relief when the combination of words is just right. The deliciousness of a good joke. Any little moment. All little moments.
On days when joy is hard to come by, when you don’t have the energy in the reserves to kickstart the search party for it, try observing the creativity that already exists around you. Try listening for it within yourself. Notice it. Catalog it. Add it to the spellbook.
See the magic. The magic will lift you and lift those around you. The magic will support the joy.
The magic is a necessary part of the resistance.
*
Some days, I don’t light the candle at all. It waits at the ready and I completely forget about it. Some days, I light it once. Other days, I light it more than once. Or leave it lit for hours. (Oops.)
All days, the candle is there, waiting for the next little spark.
See? Always some vulnerability in art. …or always some vulnerability in a dressing room. I get those two mixed up.
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I don’t think you have to consider yourself a “sensitive soul” to be a creative person. It’s just a common theme among the creative people that I know, at least.
References to ‘Arts’ or ‘Artists’ or etc. in this post refer to any and all types of arts: music, fine arts, theatre, film/tv, you name it.
There is, obviously, an erosion of fact in day-to-day life as well but, I’d say, that’s a different beast altogether.
The meritocracy of art issue is another conversation for another day.