šŸ’œ(10/24) the creativity for good friday five

this week’s highlights on creating for good

Well! Shit does continue to be absolutely fucked out there, doesn’t it?

But amidst the feeling of everything going to hell in a handbasket, this was also a week of beautiful community action. My toddler took us all out with a plague she picked up at daycare (the little bioweapon, I say fondly, through my mountain of tissues) which meant that my family couldn’t make it out to our local No Kings protest — but watching the recaps, seeing the photos, and sending post-rally snack money to some of my friends still made me feel like I was part of the action.

Showing up in community feels more important every day. As a creative, my first instinct is usually to find ways to do that through my work, from writing this letter every week to mentoring and supporting emerging artists to my editorial and copywriting clients. But I think, in times like this, what feels more and more important is showing up not just with energy and passion, but with joy.

When I look at the photos and videos from the No Kings rallies across the world, I see fury and frustration and determination. Of course I do. But more than that, I see love. Connection. Frivolity, tactical and otherwise. It’s love that brings us together in moments like these: Love for one another, love for our communities, love for the generations that will come after us. Love for this world that we’re trying to create together.

Yesterday, my friend and her wife opened a queer-oriented indie bookstore in our town — a labor of love if there ever was one. I stopped by to visit (because indie bookstore! five minutes from my house! FULL OF QUEER SHIT!!!! be still my heart) and as I chatted with my friend and some of the other customers, I felt, by the simple action of just walking through the door on a special day, delighted, and safe, and overwhelmed with love. Love for my little community. Love for the passion my friend and her wife have poured into this new place. Love for the realization that there’s yet another queer-friendly, locally-focused, joyful space for people to gather, and connect, and see themselves.

So yes, shit is fucked. But every day, people are making new things. Investing in their passions. Showing up with love.

We should do the same.

HAPPY STICKER HAUL DAY TO ME

your friday five!

this week’s highlights on creating for good

  1. In a Time of Mourning, Grief Stories Are a Lifeline (s.e. smith, originally in Catapult, reprinted for The Flytrap)

I’ve written thousands of words about grief over the past five years — up to and including Rules for Ghosing, to be honest — but it’s one of the topics that I think I could keep both writing and reading about every day for the rest of my life. I don’t say this to be depressing. Grief writing, for me, is a way of making memory into something tangible. It’s inherently connective in a way that so many other topics aren’t, because everyone, everywhere, knows what it means to grieve. This line from s.e. smith particularly stood out to me:

For as long as we have been telling stories, we have been telling each other about grief, over fires, in great halls, on sheets of parchment. Grief is the universal equalizer, coming for us all just as death does. These works keep resonating with us, even centuries later, because grief itself is resonant, a ringing that goes on forever, even if it passes beyond the reach of our ears, still there, vibrating.

s.e. smith

Grief connects us, impossibly yet irrevocably, to everyone who has ever lived, no matter how different their lives, their beliefs, their values. It’s helpful, sometimes, to remember that.

As a creative, one of my absolute favorite things is learning about other creatives’ crafts — especially the ones I have absolutely no understanding of. Neon work is one of those arts that is so incredibly cool and so incredibly confusing to me, and this mini-documentary going into how it works and why people still do it is so worth watching. BRB, acquiring more neon signs for my office immediately.

  1. The CDC Diaspora Fights Back (Jonathan Cohn for The Bulwark)

As a chronically ill person, the attacks on public health are some of the scariest things to come out of this clusterfuck of an administration. But what gives me hope right now is the sheer force of will that health care professionals and researchers are bringing to the work of keeping us safe, however they can. Creation, creativity, isn’t just about making art — it’s also about creating communities, creating networks, creating ripple effects that can, and quite often literally do, save lives.

ā€œPeople were doing this outside of their day job, just to get the data out there,ā€ said [Rochelle] Walensky, an infectious disease specialist now back at Harvard Medical School after having led the CDC for two and a half years under President Biden. ā€œSo many people were like, ā€˜I don’t know what to do, but I’m feeling at this moment like I need to help the country.’ And so while we were all working these ridiculous hours, I think we all felt like we were doing something important.ā€

Rochelle Walensky, quoted by Jonathan Cohn

Mr. Rogers told us to look for the helpers — well, my loves, there they are.

  1. A Possible Future is Here (Jared Yates Sexton for Dispatches from a Collapsing State)

DON’T PANIC AT THE TITLE, I SWEAR THERE IS OPTIMISM HERE.

Or if there’s not necessarily optimism, there is, at least, hope. What I appreciate about Sexton’s writing is that he doesn’t sugarcoat reality, but he also insists, persistently, on a refusal to let things simply happen. Acceptance of what reality looks like in this moment, he reminds us, is not acceptance of the path we’re going down, or a decision to do nothing in response. Rather, he reminds us:

We are living in a liminal space. What is being communicated to us through these videos and actions is a preview of what the future could look and feel like. Right now the fascists are consolidating power and control and part of that process is the normalization of these extremely abnormal things.
[…]
We are strong and we are resilient, but we cannot let these bastards control our imaginations and our emotional space. Every day now is a lesson and a possible exit.

Jared Yates Sexton

Conscious awareness is not the same inaction. We have agency here, no matter how much That Guy And His Fascist Buddies want us to believe otherwise. We can take action, however small. We can do something to make a difference.

When I was ten, I took a sewing class at my local community center. Over the course of a few weeks, I learned the basics — using a sewing machine, understanding the structure of a pattern, introductory alterations, etc. Our ā€œfinal project,ā€ so to speak, was to make a garment from scratch. My dad had recently mentioned that his favorite old sweatshirt was starting to fray, so I decided to make him a new one.

It was the first time I’d ever made something for someone that wasn’t an elementary school art project, and I was so, so proud of myself when I was done. My dad was delighted. And that sweatshirt held up — fifteen years later, he still wears it.

Ballard’s article talks about her experience learning to sew during the early days of the pandemic, and how the skills she learned, and the way her identity shifted, still impacts her today. But this is what stood out to me the most:

Sewing a garment is a way of telling yourself a small story: something that was once a flat piece of fabric is now a shape to hold a body. Something you imagined is made real. Writer and fabric historian Sofi Thanhauser has written that sewing is an act of ā€œinvestment in a future self,ā€ like cooking or gardening. Sewing implies a belief in there being a future occasion to wear whatever garment you’re making.

Maddie Ballard, link in original, emphasis mine

I haven’t sewn anything in years — I don’t know if I really even remember how to use my sewing machine. But learning a new skill, especially one that takes something from idea to reality — sewing, baking, cooking, gardening, connection, community — can take us from stagnation to action. It’s powerful, meaningful stuff.

This week, I think I might take my sewing machine out of storage, dust it off, and pull up a YouTube tutorial to re-learn the basics. I probably won’t be able to make something right away, but maybe next week, or the week after, I will.

What will you learn in the days to come?

See you next week!

šŸ’œShelly