Let’s talk about creating something—anything. Whether it’s a doodle on the back of a boring meeting agenda, a spreadsheet so pretty it could hang in a gallery, or a film that makes thousands laugh or cry—it’s all creation. And creating stuff, my friend, is hands down the most underrated form of joy you can gift yourself.
But somewhere along the line, we decided that creativity was only about art—the big fancy word with paint-stained smocks and tortured poets attached to it. Newsflash: Creativity can look like a lot of things. Even how you dress up that Excel file with just the right colors and formulas counts. It’s creative if it makes someone pause and say, “Well, damn, I didn’t expect that!” That little moment of surprise? That’s the spark.
And here’s where it gets juicy.
True art happens when you create for yourself. When the world blurs out and your brain enters that weird time warp where you forget to eat, pee, or check Instagram. Hours pass, and you’re lost in your own delightful mess. That is the pure, undiluted bliss of creating something just because you want to.
But (and there’s always a but)… the moment you try to make money out of your art, the whole vibe shifts. Suddenly, it’s not your playground anymore. It’s a product with stakeholders, target audiences, and deadlines. You start shaping your ideas not to please your own curiosity but to appease the person who’s paying. That’s when the flow dries up and is replaced by second-guessing.
Let’s take movies. On paper, cinema sounds like the most creative of creative pursuits—grand stories, music, costumes, emotion. But scratch the surface, and you’ll find a producer who made their money selling cement or real estate or, I don’t know, flavored toothpaste. That money, earned somewhere else, bankrolls your so-called creative masterpiece. And naturally, the person who signs the checks expects a return—usually from the masses. So you compromise. You change the ending, add an item song, throw in a celebrity cameo, and before you know it, the thing you created is a diluted broth instead of the fiery curry you started out cooking.
This is why so many corporate-produced “artistic” things end up feeling so…meh. Art created purely to sell often loses the very essence that made it worth creating in the first place. The soul gets traded for marketability, and sure, the producer gets to feel like they “made something,” even though they can’t wield a paintbrush to save their life. In a way, they’re buying the illusion of being creative through your labor.
So what’s the alternative?
Simple: Create for yourself. Make something just because it thrills you, even if no one else gives a damn. Pay your bills doing something else if you have to. Because the moment you tether your creativity to a paycheck, you invite a crowd of interruptions—notes, suggestions, budget cuts, ego clashes—and eventually, you’ll end up wondering why you even started.
In a world sprinting toward ever more corporate-controlled “creativity,” maybe the bravest act is to keep a little corner of your life where you create without agenda. No likes, no sales targets, no metrics—just the sheer joy of making something because you can.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the one place where art still belongs only to you.
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