Book Review: “The Creative Act” by Rick Rubin

“Ensō,” Artist Unknown

Reviewed on: Audible

“Living life as an artist is a practice.
You are either engaging in the practice
or you’re not.

It makes no sense to say you’re not good at it.
It’s like saying, “I’m not good at being a monk.”
You are either living as a monk or you’re not.

We tend to think of the artist’s work as the output.

The real work of the artist
is a way of being in the world.”

— Rick Rubin, “The Creative Act.”

One-Sentence Summary: Music producer Rick Rubin’s “The Creative Act” is one of the best books on art that I’ve ever “read,” if not the best.

It’s a ballad to universal creativity, what it requires of us, and the challenges we may face on the creative path. Its lessons apply to every manifestation of creativity— whether music, writing, painting, or, as Rubin says, even more pragmatic situations, such as starting a business, or solving a relationship problem. The book is as much a guide to life as it is a guide to art. It’s also a book that inspires— it certainly inspired this Medium post, my first ever.

Rubin comes across as an earnest and dedicated park ranger, or perhaps a mystic resident, of humanity’s wondrous park of art. He is eager to provide a tour of the artists life, its implications, and its many tests.

I didn’t read the book. I listened on Audible, and I must say, if you ever come across an audiobook produced by a legendary music producer, the production values alone are worth your time. The audio quality is top notch, likely produced in a high-caliber studio. The narrator, Rubin himself, clearly made great effort to narrate his work in a way that felt true to the spirit of the book. His voice is sonorous, emotive, and mindful.

The book was certainly produced in studio— but it’s contemplative nature made me feel like I could have been listening to Rubin narrate from an evergreen forest, a hidden beach, or a Zen temple.

“Without the spiritual component, the artist works with a crucial disadvantage.” — Rick Rubin, “The Creative Act.”

Rubin takes a meditative and naturalistic approach to art. To him, art is the Dao. It has a life of its own. The artistic impulse must be respected, cultivated, and nurtured as a force of nature, innate to our humanity.

He portrays the work of art itself as a kind of life form, with its own desires, intentions, and even evolutions. Like a living being, each work of art exists in relationship to all other works of art— and to our own human context. An artwork’s place in the world changes over time. Even over centuries.

“Think of the universe as an eternal creative unfolding.
Trees blossom.
Cells replicate.
Rivers forge new tributaries.
The world pulses with productive energy, and everything that exists on this planet is driven by that energy.
Every manifestation of this unfolding is doing its own work on behalf of the universe, each in its own way, true to its own creative impulse.”

— Rick Rubin, “The Creative Act.”

As we should do with nature, Rubin impels us to treat both the creative force and the work of art with respect, awe, and love. Both are in conversation with our inherent nature and can bring great benefit and fulfillment. Works of art can change us and change the world.

“Artists who are able to continually create great works throughout their lives often manage to preserve these childlike qualities. Practicing a way of being that allows you to see the world through uncorrupted, innocent eyes can free you to act in concert with the universe’s timetable.”

— Rick Rubin, “The Creative Act.”

Like a park ranger sweeping the brush from our national parks, Rubin cautions us to be mindful of common artistic pitfalls, resistances, and mistaken ideas. He warns against, among many other things:

• Clinging to rules or guidelines that may stifle the childlike creative impulse.
• Trying to imbue art with too much intention rather than respecting a work of art’s own natural unfolding. The ultimate purpose or destiny of a work of art is almost never clear to the artist.
• Competing with collaborators, or other artists or creatives, rather than nurturing one’s own voice.
• Forcing art. The more it is forced, rather than allowed to unfold naturally, the more it loses its innate character.
• Prioritizing the criticisms or voices of others, rather than oneself and staying true to the work of art.
• Focusing on commercial outcomes— this can lead to a work of art that feels more artificial or compromised, and will likely not be as successful as it could be.
• Aspiring to perfection. There are no objective measures for the success or purpose of a work of art, and to obsess over achieving perfection is to play a game you can’t win — in fact, sometimes art that is flawed can be more emotionally resonant than something that is “flawless.” It’s a bit of a paradox. Even flawless art contains a flaw, that of a lack of humanity.

“In Japanese pottery, there’s an artful form of repair called kintsugi. When a piece of ceramic pottery breaks, rather than trying to restore it to its original condition, the artisan accentuates the fault by using gold to fill the crack. This beautifully draws attention to where the work was broken, creating a golden vein. Instead of the flaw diminishing the work, it becomes a focal point, an area of both physical and aesthetic strength. The scar also tells the story of the piece, chronicling its past experience.”

— Rick Rubin, “The Creative Act.”

Many of Rubin’s recommendations are also applicable to the spiritual life. He does mention spirituality throughout, particularly Buddhism. His creative career looks to have been profoundly influenced by his spiritual life.

“In terms of priority, inspiration comes first. You come next. The audience comes last.”

— Rick Rubin, “The Creative Act.”

Personally, I found Rubin’s warnings more useful than his recommendations. His recommendations are also great. Other readers may prefer these.

A sampling of his advice:

• Tune in. Artists thrive in taking time to observe their daily lives, nature, culture, and world, and in following their deepest inspirations. As Ernest Hemingway wrote, “If a writer stops observing he is finished.”
• Be still. Out of nothing, can emerge everything. Observation and creativity can best emerge from a safe, quiet, and tuned-in state of consciousness.
• Ship. Sharing your work is one of the rewards of art. It may never be perfect— but, sharing your art can instill a feeling of confidence and, over time, reduce our creative insecurity.
• Create a process. Some artists love to work in the morning. Others late at night. Some in noisy cafes, and others in a cabin in the woods. Find what works for you.
• Change a process. Creative blocks can sometimes be overcome through changing a process. This could mean that if you like to work in the cafe, but are feeling stuck, try the cabin in the woods.
• Ideas are abundant. Sometimes, artists try to hoard ideas or keep them secret, afraid of another artist stealing their idea and their success. In fact, ideas are more like an endless stream than they are nuggets of gold in the ground— they come more easily, when allowed to flow, rather than when they are locked away and kept secret. Sharing and acting on ideas with the mindset that there are always more to be had is a sure way to find some of your best.
• The Golden Time is Now. We can procrastinate or feel that our time is not yet right. That we do not yet have the skill. Or, there was some golden period in the past where we did have the skill, and we are now over the hill. Usually this is false— for every work of art is a work of a particular time, place, and person, and unique to that context— there is no objective Golden Age, there is just right now, and every now is a Golden Age in its own way, full of its own unique opportunity.

Seize the Now. And the next one. And the next.

The Paradox of Art, Or, The Art of Paradox, Or, Simply, Following the Dao

One theme of “The Creative Act” that runs throughout the book:

The creative flow is best managed when living in a state of harmony & balance. When surfing the flow of life. This can appear paradoxical.

For example—

There are times where it’s beneficial to share. There are other times where it's beneficial to listen.

Process can help. Process can also hurt.

Every creative work evolves with the times, and none can be perfect. Yet, it’s still important to complete things.

Rubin isn’t entirely clear as to what may best help one discern. That is the point. The answer is feeling.

The process is intuition, of listening, of tuning into the flow of creation and the flow of a work. This isn’t a logical process, it’s a felt one.

What is required of the artist is equal parts skill, sensibility, and discernment.

Missed Opportunities?

I savored this book. However, I do think it could have benefitted from more personal stories. I respect that Rick highly values the privacy of himself and of the artists he works with. Some of his points could still have been illuminated by a story or two, even if the artist’s name was removed.

Some of his wisdom was a bit cliche— but others were not, and his take on even the most cliche nuggets was worthwhile.

In Sum, This Book Rocks.

I gained a lot from “The Creative Act.” It’s dripping with wisdom, for life and for art.

I delighted in the production of the Audible. Walking in the park and smoking a cigar as I contemplated the text, I decided that I would finally stop waiting to publish my creative work on my own and put something out into the world on my own terms.

If not for “The Creative Act,” I may have waited longer. This is perhaps the highest compliment I can give the author. Thank you, Rick Rubin.

Best of luck to all on their creative journeys.