This Is Observation: Questioning and Creating Holistic Creative Spaces
This article I’m writing is made with the intention to be endless. A beginning invitation to you, the reader, to dream with me towards the future of artist spaces, artistic places, and the health of creators all over this world. The big idea, dreaming up a new energy in artistic spaces, one that helps artists of any kind to thrive in their creative practices while taking care of their whole self. By whatever means they have, through whatever means they feel are most comprehensible.
It’s a big thought.
Especially because of the overwhelming amount of factors that are related to our wellbeing. In this article, I’m going to start the conversation with ones I know very personally, I’ll begin this dreaming at home base.
“You have to be a little bit nuts to be able to make this,” she says as she looks at my walls plastered with loud colorful faces, my space entirely covered in my creativity. “People who have bipolar disorder are often incredibly creative.” On Google, I scroll through articles about how bipolar disorder is linked to creativity, specifically to the highs of mania. “You’re so lucky, to be able to do that.” I hear this in response to explanations of the sleepless nights I spend creating art, unable to quiet my head. These hypomanic episodes can last sometimes for weeks. They end with a predictable depressive crash, stemming from not getting enough rest, feeding myself, and the drop from the the wildly high heights of hypomania. These are the words, seemingly uplifting and kindness-built, that still make me uneasy as I recall them. These are words said by loved ones, friends, guardian figures, and the internet. These are concepts of intended care that have in many ways paralyzed my ability to clearly assess my mental health’s importance as I work as an artist. These are just the beginning, an edge of a bigger, more complex conversation that needs to be had.
This article’s conception happened during a conversation about food with my chosen family. We were talking about ideas for future events through our collective, and wanted to make sure food was a part of these events. I don’t mean snacks, or what you’d traditionally party food. We talked about big soup pots and shared bread, potluck-style meals, and shared weight in making shared meals. The conversation shifting into why this was so important to us. We discussed how many of us, and our loved ones, have complicated relationships with food. Largely, many of us are inconsistent when it comes to nurturing our bodies fully. This comes for many reasons, from lack of money to an abundance of depression, anxiety, or other mental health issues. Sometimes, we just forget. We forget to eat breakfast while we try to get to work on time, or don’t eat dinner, because we feel every bite taking away time to finish an assignment, project, or something we really love. Food becomes a side note many days, for many of us.
This conversation continued to evolve.
It became one centered around artist spaces. We talked about how many of the spaces we inhabit hold many of those that are doing incredible artistic work in our communities. But that while the work is being done on a creative level, many of these spaces don’t entirely support or nurture the mental and physical health of their creators and occupants. In other words, we started to look and notice the environments we and others inhabit in our creative culture. For weeks I turned this conversation over in my head. Thinking about what was common themes in the creative spaces I am part of, whether super temporarily or consistently. I took a mirror to myself, my mental health, and where I saw my own issues reflective of bigger issues.
On the most personal level, I began to unravel how my mood disorder and my creativity have become bound together. How the swings of super high highs and crashing to low have become a space of reliance, of routine, in my creative practice. I began to look at this more closely, and see how much of my identity in art-making has been formed around the unpredictability of my swinging moods. From here, I went to Google, and was not surprised to find the amount of similarity in voices from those with mood disorders. More prominent, the resistance to taking medication, or getting mood disorders in control, due to the fear of losing the creative potency of mania/hypomania.
This is only the beginning. Other examples such as how often in these spaces there is excessive or irresponsible use of substances, to an extent where safety has to be considered, comes into play. Situations that would usually cultivate concern often are overlooked and accepted by certain artistic spaces, thought of as part of the artist lifestyle. I also want to acknowledge the legacy that has been part of many artists who has committed suicide or overdosed. That while many of us do acknowledge the loss of these creative geniuses, and the preventability of the loss in many cases, there is also a kind of beautiful based stigma set around them. I have heard many times the “cool factor” set into their way of leaving this world. I wonder about them. About their lives and their selves related to and unrelated to their art. I wonder about their mental health, and their ability to access care in forms of support from their creative communities. I wonder about what was good, and what could have been more supportive of their existence here, as creatives.
I’m swinging back to the discussion that started this whole article, I want to come back to the people who inspired this process of processing. Those that first inspired me to start dreaming up a future where I saw the kind of love, care, respect, and kindness I feel in my own creative unit right now, in a bigger scale. I’m dreaming of what that might look like. Both the friendships and the spaces, how would they look on a monumental scale? Or is that the dream at all, could it be that we need to focus on smaller scale groups of creative families and inspire the future from them? Of course, these are all just parts of it, of the dreaming, the looking for what he future could hold.
I imagine a future where we understand that our observations of creativity extends beyond art school, art institutes, and the gallery system. The exclusivity that creative spaces often exude. I imagine a future where we understand that creativity is valuable in both the least and most “creative” individuals. Where we understand that by loading and narrowing the terms “artist” and “artistic” to be as specific as they feel right now, we are limiting the accessibility of artistic communities and spaces. I want to think about individuals that for their well being, do not participate in many creative spaces. I think about individuals that are sober, some that feel uncomfortable by creative spaces that foster alcohol and drug use. I wonder about individuals with children, that need to dedicate their time to their loved ones. I think about individuals, like myself, with mental illnesses. Those that need to go to sleep at certain times, or have a routine to take care of themselves. I think about my classmates in school passing out during critiques. After creating projects for finals and treading on little to no sleep. I think about where is their room for change, where is their room to build creative spaces that foster a holistic approach to existing as an artist. One that understands boundaries, respects self care, and nurtures our humanness in creativity.
It’s all a swamp.
Although I could run down a million more avenues (ones I hope will be run through after this) relating to this article, I want to end this with opening a conversation up for dreaming. What would you do if you could reform the values, environment and even output of your creative communities? How are you fostering or not fostering a more inclusive and care-taking creative community? Do you find any patterns in your own creativity that you feel could be better nurtured or entirely uprooted? What are some of the major stereotypes and patterns in what we consider creative individuals and spaces? How are these stereotypes incorrect or limiting? Who is left out of creative spaces, and why? These are all questions I want to put out into this space as I myself begin to question them equally.
I want to end with noting the people who inspired this article. These individuals and I have created a small, creativity-conducting, love-holding, artist collective. In this collective, I am both pushed to be my best artistically as well as mentally. I’ve found in this collective that I always feel I am able to verbalize what I need, whether that relates to my mental, physical, or creative self. I’ve found that we have made checking systems with each other to know where we are at, making sure we are taking care of each other when we are able to and cognitive of when we can. In this collective, most of our creative spaces also hold space for gathering together and sharing food. For the reasons I mentioned above, this has been a really beautiful part of our time together. Lastly, I want to mention that in this space I feel constantly uplifted in seeking out my creativity. That while I was initially more inclined to feelings of jealousy or competitiveness with other artists around me, I have been able to shift my mindset into one that is excited to share my processes, and one that knows ideas can grow outside of my head. That this group of people has taught me that more is more. More love is more love, more ideas are more ideas, and that there is enough room in this world for all of the creativity we can spew.
This piece is part of a series written by college undergraduates enrolled in off-campus study programs through the Higher Education Consortium for Urban Affairs (HECUA). HECUA programs offer students a chance to think deeply about the issues that matter most, and we’d like to share a piece of that experience with you. Every student post on the HECUA Medium page considers a theory or reading that intersects with that student’s lived experience. For more information about HECUA programs, click here.
