Thoughts on the oscillating creative life.
Originally published on SubstackAround this time of year I typically write a post or two where I explore the cool music and books that I spent time with. It’s fun and gratifying to share the things that were inspiring or moving. I set out to write something like that again, but came up against an uncomfortable truth: this year I read and listened to very little. It’s been cricket-y over here. Not much to share, not anything that I could shape into a playlist anyway.
This sorta sent me into a (very low-grade) spiral. Am I dying inside? Have I unconsciously chosen to cut myself off from the world? Will this weird self-imposed drought end, and if it does, will I even know how to engage with art again? I feel like the end of the year in particular can be riddled with these kind of doubts, especially if you think of yourself as a creative person. In the face of all of the year-end lists, it is easy to feel like you’ve fallen behind in some way; it is easy to wonder if you’ve somehow misspent your time.
If that feels relatable, what follows is an attempt to convince you (and myself) that you’re probably fine.
I won’t be the first person to sketch this out, but the practice of making art is cyclical. There are periods of gathering and digesting, and then there are periods of emptying and outpouring, and the two oscillate. Remembering this makes me freak out less. Perhaps for the last few years, ya boi was unknowingly inputting, listening to music, literature, non-fiction. Maybe this year marked a flip over to output. That would certainly track because I’ve been writing and recording a Draw the Back of a Cloud album.
What I think I’m beginning to understand is sometimes this oscillation in a creative life takes place on timescales that surprise us—years, not weeks. And what’s more, the strength of these oscillations varies. Sometimes the swings are mild and porous: there is still a bit of inputting in the midst of a season of heavy outputting—or vice versa. But other times the swings are more totalizing: sometimes you really let go of gathering and digesting and really throw yourself to emptying and outpouring.
We’re more responsive and self-compassionate when we frame our creative work in this way. If we can find our way to an understanding of what I might call the pulsatory nature of reality (if I really wanted to put some sauce on it), we’re more able to trust that if things are important, they’ll come back around. It’s like a good conversation between two friends — the cadence of listening and speaking unfolds naturally, and you don’t try to do both at the same time. Or if you think about it as breathing — if creative inputting and outputting are like inhaling and exhaling, doing both at the same time is kind of impossible.
What makes it challenging is that with many of our projects — albums, novels, movies — the rhythm can be absurdly, derangingly slow. Imagine a conversation where for some reason it was only possible to speak for a year, without any listening. It would be very easy to lose the plot. It can be similarly weird to shut oneself away and write a batch of songs. And similar existential spirals await on the other end, in seasons of heavy inputting. If you are doing a great deal of reading, listening, and research-y thinking, you might begin to worry. It might start to feel like you’ve been inhaling for too long.
As with everything, I think this sketch of creative life requires a little care and attunement — maybe you are actually inhaling for too long! That is what procrastination is I guess. Maybe you have been speaking too long! I’m not sure what that is — some kind of collapse or closing off that deadens you instead of making you more alive. But before you elaborate on that thought or plunge into self-judgment, it’s worth gently asking yourself the question, “What if this is just a part of a natural rhythm and all I need is a little faith and patience?”
Wishing that faith and patience for you and me, now and in the new year. Hope you’re swell. See ya next month.
Recent Work
A few things are cooking, but nothing is quite ready to serve y’all, so enjoy a few of my faves from this year. You can always see more over at the ol’ portfolio: brentmccormick.com
Whiskers on kittens
A few of my favorite things.
A year of wintering doesn’t mean I didn’t listen to anything this year. Here arethree songs I loved (in addition to the albums they are on).
I quit Spotify this year. I feel like the reasons for doing so are myriad and increasingly obvious, so I won’t belabor this, but you should too. I’m on Apple Music now, and if you think I’m stoked on it… you’d be wrong. The current streaming models don’t really facilitate the future I want for us — one where art is valued, listening isn’t passive, and humans are essential. Which is why I’m encouraged to see interesting alternatives crop up! In the next year I hope to get behind ideas like these and push.
This was truly awesome to watch.