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Creativity has always felt like a gentle knock on the door. When I was young, I would get up to greet it. Invite it inside to take a look at the furnishings, enjoy a quick meal together, or even allow it to stay for a while before running out of things to say, and awkwardly escorting it out. As we grew closer, it became harder to say goodbye, but every day I would sit by the door and eagerly await its return. The older I got, the more opinions I heard. Some people didn’t approve of opening the door, creativity wasn’t a serious guest after all. Others admired its presence, but only in the right place at the right time. Some said take the door off the hinges and let creativity run free until you can’t stand it any more. Enjoy the friendship while it lasts, and eventually make room for other, more important guests. Over time, our visits became confusing. Sometimes shorter, avoidant, abruptly ended by obligation or circumstance. I could be distracted, judgmental, over indulgent with the time we spent together. Invitations began to feel forced, resentful as I asked more and more of my guest. Other times I simply ignored the knocking altogether until they gave up and left. The relationship was strained, dysfunctional, unbalanced and accusatory. Every time I closed the door, I knew it would take longer to hear that gentle knock return. I didn’t blame creativity for that. Eventually, the two of us became distant. I would occasionally see it pass by the house, sometimes a nod or a quick wave would suffice. Our conversations remained light, shallow, easy to step away from. Life was passing in passive and passible ways and we didn’t seem to need one another. Creativity had a lot of time on its hands, I had none, but I kept its picture on my desk to remind myself of old days. A representation of who I once was, and a subtle reminder of who I was choosing to become. It was a number of years before I realized I had stopped looking out the window to see if my old friend was passing by. Our last conversation had faded from my mind, other memories half drowned, discarded, and strewn across the floor. I hadn’t noticed the locks I’d installed on the doors, the leak in the roof, or the dust collecting on my once prized possessions because there was no one to invite inside anymore. I stood amongst the wreckage of my neglect, an emptiness, a consequence of choosing to be alone again and again. It was only then, for the first time years, I heard a gentle knock on the door, and though we had much to discuss, creativity welcomed me back with more love than I ever could have imagined. — The first time I told a stranger that I was pursuing art professionally was eighteen months ago. Nearly three decades after I picked up my first crayon, and 25 years after an abstract cartoon appeared on the crinkled sheet of paper I struggled to get from my parent’s printer. Though my career led me elsewhere after college, where I studied both English and Film, the desire to create continued to creep into every inch of my life until I finally couldn’t ignore it anymore. Over the last two years, I’ve attempted to redefine my relationship with creativity and take myself more seriously as an artist. I have attended conferences, had my work reviewed by professionals, finished my first children’s book draft, contacted over 50 agents, illustrated a comic series, and written several short stories and novel chapters, yet I still feel like I’m trying to convince myself I’m making progress given a past filled with creative repression. This newsletter is a way for me to take another step in the right direction by directly connecting with you (an audience), while having fun and encouraging a sense of accountability and growth as an artist. As you read these words, please know that you are actively shaping a collective community that ten, twenty, and almost thirty-year old me only dared to dream of. A space to share art, words, feelings, not simply for the sake of myself, but for others as well. I hope this newsletter can serve as a conduit for everyone involved. One of joy, comfort, peace, and presence. To the individuals who have supported my work at any point over the last 30 years, which includes everyone reading this. Thank you for your encouragement, your critique, and your patience. It has taken a long time, but we are finally here, and I could not be more grateful for each and every one of you. - Chris
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