Creative Cojones (part two)

Four days left in June. Eight weeks until fall commitments have you spinning around the city or clicking buttons in an office full-time.

If you're anything like me, spring and summer are sirens, luring you outside - sunshine and possibility. Play and napping. It's a season of re-creation.

I don't beat myself up over lost, sleepy days. But I won't let those sirens sink my ship either.

In early June, visiting the Midwest, I noticed farmers understand something I'd forgotten: there's no dawdling under the sun. No pretending there's infinite time. It's a race to squeeze every drop of daylight from three brief growing months.

Make hay while the sun shines is gospel.

Here's what I'm thinking: if I can help you figure out with certainty one thing you're called to work on this summer, then sirens be damned.

You're going to find the time in the wee hours or last gasps of the day. All moments in every place are opportunities.

Sketches on the Eurail. Poetry by the pool. A swim becomes illuminated and while you’re living your life, you’re documenting it for your work.

Even when your sunburnt, tipsy friends finally go to bed, you're up. Or you're up at dawn, creating before you play.

Here’s a gentle nudge. Our time is brief, friend.

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In our issue last week, we discussed Frank Lloyd Wright’s knack for “certainty”. The question for today is how did he know (and how can you know too)?

If you want a quick, logical answer, I have half of one.

Wright had built a set of design values over the years that became instinctual. in 1908, at 41, he wrote an essay “In the Cause of Architecture” for the Architectural Record laying out his design beliefs.

When you develop a set of standards (cousin of today’s SOP’s), everything you create adheres to them. You’ve got a playbook. Consciously and subconsciously, everything is measured against it.

Here’s an excerpt from his treatise.

Imagine Wright at Bear Run, sitting by the waterfall as the sun rises, when the sun sets. For a short time, he creates some distance from his clients so that he can sense the site’s rhythms and. Not checking his phone (obviously), undistracted, not rushing to conclusions. Not even allowing his client’s assumptions to interfere with what the site is telling him.

The seed is planted: the Kaufmanns shouldn't look at this waterfall from a distant perch they should live with it, breathe it, wake up to its music every morning. Nine months later? Fallingwater emerges like it was always meant to be there.

Not exactly, but here's what I discovered.

Wright had a 70-year career. An entire lifetime. It feels like an unequal (but well-earned) advantage? How does this help us?

Here's the first clue: Influences.

Wright was born in rural Wisconsin. His playground had no fences, no GPS, no coordinates. He navigated by pure instinct and curiosity.

Do you remember being 6 or 7- that age when everything feels unknown and magical?

Imagine if you'd spent those wonder-years roaming lush green hills, watching hundreds of springs bubble up from the earth like the fountains of Rome, forming rivers and tributaries. Your toes and hands in the dirt, constantly connecting with the land.

You're surrounded by layers of Native American history that whisper at the forest's edge and clamors at burial sites. What would you have absorbed from all that?

Wright's signature color "Cherokee Red" was used at Taliesin, Taliesin West, and other prized projects. Based on his writings, he was inspired by Wisconsin barns and Native American pottery.

He was listening to those whispers his whole life.

Here's the second clue: Deep observation.

An excerpt from his essay reveals how Wright developed his creative certainty:

He translated the language of the prairie into architecture. His observations became his philosophy. His certainty came from decades of absorbing and turning environmental truth into creative conviction.

How can you have that level of certainty?

Wright's "knowing" wasn't magic it was the result of a lifetime spent paying attention. Not the distracted, phone-in-hand kind of attention we're used to, but the deep, immersive kind that happens when you let yourself get lost in what you're observing.

What if your creative certainty is waiting in the same place Wright found his- in the patient practice of seeing and hearing what's already around you?"

I believe I heard you mutter, "There's a difference between having direction from project parameters and facing an entirely blank canvas. Or worse, not knowing what medium to create in at all." I get it. But it doesn't have to be that way.

If your goal is to become the conduit and step into the flow of your greater purpose, then that's all you need to know.

Here's how to open those channels:

Seek solitude. Into the quiet you go. Take off those damn air pods and get comfortable in your head. Go on a walk with nothing but you and the sound of your footsteps. Don't think. Only observe. Commit to silence and record what comes up.

You're on watch for the nudges. They show up as obsessions, passions, illogical interests, and curiosities. They're observations that stand out. Over time, you'll sense nudges even on the crowded "L" train in Chicago. But baby steps first. You're accessing something beyond your conscious mind. If you can't receive it, you're missing everything.

Allow wonder into your life. Whether you're in DTLA or Singapore, find something that you can do, or see, or climb, or hang from that creates awe; that reminds you how incredible it is to be alive.

Follow your hunches (especially the illogical ones).

Stop living desperately. Live in certainty. You have a purpose and you're in charge of making it happen. Here’s a reminder.

Be casual. Don't chase. What is yours will come to you. You still work and practice but your mindset is peaceful.

Daydream without guilt about what you want.

Make a claim about who you are. Use cognitive dissonance to your advantage. Claim you are a creator. Say it all day, out loud: "I make art. I am an artist." "I make music. I am a musician." etc. Your subconscious will surge and strive to make it true.

Question your inner dialogue. Notice every word you're saying to yourself and ask "Is that true?" We tell ourselves lies constantly. Here’s a huge list of lies we tell ourselves as creators (and truths to replace them with).

Let's look at one creator who tangles with nature: Precious Okoyomon, poet, sculptor, and artist, age 29.

Precious makes a sublime statement about climate change by creating large-scale installations using living plants and invasive species as creative partners. Their breakthrough came in March 2020. Stuck in lockdown in their Brooklyn apartment depressed and not creating, they bought a single pothos plant "to have something alive around." Watching it grow sparked a revelation.

Precious followed a simple hunch to pay attention to one plant. That nudge to observe and then act opened doors to exhibitions worldwide. Creating is equal parts listening, observing, and physical work. The muse is here. Are you listening? The simplest everyday curiosity can lead to huge breakthroughs.

Does it make a financial difference if you label yourself as having a hobby versus making the claim, “I am an artist?” The simple act of claiming "I AM an artist" can be worth thousands in increased earning potential because it fundamentally changes how you operate in the creative economy.

Economic Shift:

1. Hobbyist pricing strategy: "I'm just someone who paints sometimes"- charges hobby rates.

2. Hobbyist positioning: Competes on price, apologizes for costs.

3. Hobbyist investment mindset: Reluctant to invest in tools, education, marketing.

4. Hobbyist Time Allocation: "I'll work on art when I have time" (sporadic, low output).

5. Hobbyist networks: Other hobbyists, limited commercial opportunities.

People who adopt professional behaviors before feeling "ready" accelerate their growth. The identity drives behaviors that create the financial results that justify the identity. The claim creates the reality.

The Certainty Prescription, part two

QUICK FIX: Build new brain pathways. Tell yourself “I’m an artist. I create art,” (or whatever you create). Do it in front of the mirror. And do it until you no longer cringe.

HIGH AMP FIX: Check your thoughts constantly. Pull out this huge list of lies we tell ourselves as creators, figure out which one you identify with, and tell yourself some truth instead.

DAILY MAINTENANCE:

**NEXT WEEK I’m interviewing a special guest who has spent over 35 years conjuring the muse and creating creating incredible work. Stay tuned.