Unreasonable, Unshakeable, Unignorable
Showing up for the ideas that won't leave you alone
I’ve just been down a YouTube rabbit hole with a Portuguese illustrator whose name, unhelpfully, escapes me. What struck me most- aside from his dazzling, jewel-like illustrations- was his enthusiasm. His buoyancy for the process of creating. He was so infectious that soon after watching him, as I’m splashing ink and paint and cutting bits of paper in ways I’ve never cut bits of paper before, I find myself talking in fake Portuguese.
I know nothing of the language, but I do know a thing or two about cadence, rhythm, and pitch- which makes me confident that if you listened to me from a distance (and had a slight hearing problem), you might think I, too, was creating and conversing in Portuguese.
Which, of course, I absolutely am.
The truth is, my Portuguese illustrator friend could have been making an utter load of sheit and I couldn’t have cared less. What enamoured me was his playfulness. His willingness to try something- anything- and see what happens. To wonder where it might lead.
And to ask, where does that leave us?
His hands were black with ink, his page was smudged, and in the end, we both looked nothing but delighted.
Playfulness in adults is a rare and captivating force.
Which brings me to this: You may or may not have noticed that I treat this newsletter as something of an adventure playground. If I’m going to ask people to embrace their creative selves- and the discomfort that often comes with it- then I figure I’d better be willing to do the same, and have something to show for it.
It’s not always easy. But it is always worth it.
Along that line, I’m often sharing things I’ve never done before. This week, I challenged myself to create a series of ink paintings that, for me, captured the spirit of creating- a story told entirely through visual metaphor. They’re still a work in progress, but I’ve scattered them through my words here for you (first attempts and all).
The thing I find myself suffering from the most with all this sharing of new things is something I’ve come to call ‘rebound anxiety’. It’s when you hurl yourself into the process of creating, only to send your creation out into the world and find yourself gripped by a strange, self-regretful panic. You wonder, as small fingers squeeze at your insides, whether you are, in fact, completely bonkers. Whether the things you’re making are just plain ridiculous.
Rebound anxiety, I’ve decided, has a surprisingly simple root cause: it’s just the result of doing something different.
I mentioned to a friend that, in hindsight, the best things I’ve written were the ones I spent a significant amount of time worrying were absolutely unhinged. This, perhaps, is the creative dilemma we’re all faced with: when an idea is unique,one-of-a-kind or we’ve really tapped into something new, it tends to feel… wrong. Not because it is wrong, but because it’s unfamiliar.
We only want ‘different’ after it’s ‘successful’. At that point, we’ll gladly claim it. But before then, it feels terrifying and risky, like we might finally be revealing the secret part of ourselves that proves to everyone (once and for all) that we are truly a little bit batty. And they were right about us all along. Thanks for coming. Let’s never speak of it again.
It’s our uniqueness combined with our willingness to share that makes life interesting.
There are two ideas I want to offer to you now, gleaned from reading about product creation and design. I remember them only loosely but enough to apply them to the conversation we’re having now.
The first is this:
People often don’t know what they want until they experience it.
To use a banal example, if you ask someone to imagine their ideal cup, they’ll offer you 50 versions of cups they’ve already drunk from. But when you, the maker of the 51st cup, present them with something entirely new, chances are they’ll love it. Not because it’s what they requested, but they didn’t conceive such a thing was possible before they saw it. And now they see it they desire that which they didn’t know they wanted before it was made real.
An unusual conundrum to hold as a creator.
With that in mind, as people interested in making things, we must remember this:
Just make the thing (the essay, the art work, the sculpture) exist. That might be the point in and of itself, and if it’s not, it’s a necessary step to finding the thing that is. Sometimes, we can’t know what’s wanted ‘til we see it.
The second is this:
Humans often reject new things not because they aren’t good but because they’re different (launching us into a strange, paradoxical world when we consider our point prior). But after a period of marination, of “getting used to,” we tend to come around.
In other words, we reject as a reflex.
I think the same is true of our most excellent creative ideas. We reject them reflexively not because the idea is flawed, but because our brains are trying to coax us back to the safety of what’s familiar. As a recovering perfectionist, I consider this a lot.
Make it exist, number one. And if the process and production feels creatively dangerous, it’s probably only then it’s getting interesting. Doubt can manifest from the unfamiliar. Keep going and if need be, tweak later on.
Speaking of the unknown and unfamiliar, next week is my birthday (that’s not the unknown part) and I’m using it as a marker to start a thing: I want to begin with my new book.
I’ve given myself the week off calls and regularly-scheduled-things to brainstorm and put roots down on a series of words and pictures that, in the best possible way, won’t leave me alone.
The last couple of years, I’ve attempted to make a start and get it done, but there has literally been no time. Not in the glamourous I’m-busy-and-jetsetting-way but in the parents-in-high-care-needs-situation, young- children-at-home, need-to-earn-a-living kind of way. The kind of way of feeling perpetually and boringly tired.
And to be honest, creatively, it’s left me more frustrated than gracious.
There are a few things that have led me to commit to picking my pen up in this new (for me) way, and they are this:
1.
All this caregiving, and chapter turning, and mortality considering has led me deep into the question:
What is my responsibility to creating?
On my mother’s side, I understand something about my fractured family line. That many of my women were artists—creators, painters, potters, embroiderers. I imagine their wild creativity, shaped and contained by the limitations of their time. Expressions allowed only within certain bounds.
And now, as I sit here—drawing, writing, creating with abandon—I feel the weight and wonder of that inheritance. The responsibility to create. Not as a burden, but as a liberation. If I am privileged enough to make my art, then I am called to follow what I love. And if I carry all those women within me, then creating freely, wildly, doesn’t just heal forward—it heals in reverse, too.
I take my responsibility to creating very seriously.
2.
We often speak of art as a healing force—and it is. But the roles I’ve come to inhabit this year have led me to understand something even deeper:
While creativity can help us process and metabolize life’s challenges and traumas, unexpressed creativity creates them.
When creativity is repeatedly restrained, it causes rupture—both within ourselves and with our life force, as well as our sense of who we are in the world.
I have witnessed this rupture in others and myself. I believe tending to our creative spirits is a survival act.
3.
I just really want to. I really, really want to. And that in and of itself is quite enough.
If any of this sounds familiar- not necessarily the desire to write a book but to do that creative thing you’ve always wanted to do, then I’d love for you to join me.
What started as a personal project, has turned into something bigger: An invitation I’ve extended to my community.
I know there are so many of us with projects we want to begin, or practices that we want to establish. For me, it’s a book but it could equally be a daily drawing practice or a creative project you’ve been thinking about for ages but haven’t managed to establish.
While I know the practice of creating can be solitary, the practice of sustaining is best supported in community. I didn’t intend for this to leave my little garden office, but I know if I’m going to be intentional with my time, and show up in the way I need to, having my peeps along the way will be a whole lot more fun.
Plus, we’ll all help each other with our rebound anxiety, trusting in our ideas, and learning to navigate the unknown and unfamiliar. Essential creative navigation skills. All the deets are just below.
The One Wild Idea Club: Focused Time For The Thing That Won’t Leave You Alone
The One Wild Idea Club is a three-month creative journey for Creating Wild Community members for those ready to focus on that ONE idea you’ve been holding onto.
Whether it’s a new project, a creative habit, or an art form you’ve been itching to dive into, the goal is to give you the structure, support, and community to bring it to life. (And even if you don’t have a specific project to focus on, the conversations and momentum will be valuable for bringing more creativity into your life.)
What’s involved?
Two live calls each month (all recorded if you can’t make it live), where we’ll explore the emotional side of creating: what it takes to start and, more importantly, what it takes to keep going and build a sustainable practice.
The sessions will include:
Creative Pep Talks: 20-minute deep dives into mindset, the nervous system, and creative confidence.
Field Notes & Creative Labs: Share your progress, troubleshoot stuck points, and gain insights from the group.
There will also be group accountability & creative support in our community space: Ongoing check-ins, feedback as wanted, and collective encouragement to keep the momentum going.
Our first call is this weekend! You can learn more about it here.
Love to your fabulous selves,
xx Jane
I'm travelling home on the M6 and have just crafted and shared a poem, not something I've done before, apart from the poem I wrote for my mother's funeral last year. With this in mind, I'm very interested in healing her hurts, of freeing her creativity that was so stifled and repressed by creating forwards.
All of this is so lovely, but that illustration of the female ancestors at our back blew me away! Incredible!