I've been in a bad relationship with my art for most of my life. Not because I don't love it — I do, deeply — but because I've treated it like something that fits in the cracks. Two hours at the end of a workday when I'm already spent. A rushed weekend session that leaves me drained for Monday. Calendar blocks that get moved every single week because something "more important" comes up.
I'm done with that.
The Framework I Inherited
For a long time, my relationship with creativity felt inherited. Like a strict set of expectations about what art is supposed to be, how it's supposed to look, and what it owes the world. Culture hands you a framework: art should be popular, art should be profitable, art should be impressive. And if it's not? Then it's a hobby at best, a waste of time at worst.
I bought into that for years. And it turned every creative act into a transaction — am I getting something from this? Is anyone watching? Is it good enough?
What My Art Actually Wants
Here's what I've figured out: my art doesn't want to be big. It doesn't need to be at the Guggenheim or LACMA. It doesn't need millions of streams.
It just wants to exist. To be witnessed. To be respected.
In design, we say you don't know what something is until you get feedback. Art is different — it just wants to be. Ten people or a hundred thousand, the number doesn't matter. What matters is the stage. That it gets its time.
Time Is Respect
That's been the biggest realization. Respecting my art means giving it dedicated time — not scraps. If I need to spend a whole Friday protecting two hours of real creative work, that's what it takes. Those two hours should be treated with the same reverence as a high-stakes meeting. Because what's more important than keeping a commitment to yourself?
This is where the constraint becomes a superpower. I'm finite. My energy is finite. Like a painter choosing a limited palette, the limitation isn't the enemy — it's the container. The boundary that makes the work possible.
The Studio That Became an Office
There's a feeling I keep coming back to: the creative space that slowly becomes a bill-paying station. I've built studios — at home, at the café where I work. Spaces designed for output, for making things. And little by little, they get taken over by the practical. The urgent. The other stuff.
That's disrespectful to the intention behind those spaces. And to me.
Gratitude Grove
One of the things I'm proudest of is an installation I built with two friends — Lucas, a brilliant architect, and Evan, who's since taken it to festivals across the country. We called it the Gratitude Grove: a 20-foot interactive geometric tree installation. We built it from a derivative idea, made it smaller, added lights and interactivity. And people loved it.
Now it's been to Burning Man, Desert Hearts, Superbloom. It's become Evan's as much as mine. That's collaboration. That's how creative work lives beyond the person who started it.
What Comes Next: The Curiosity Canvas
If Gratitude Grove was about the end of experience — the moment of appreciation — the next installation is about the beginning. Curiosity. I'm calling it the Curiosity Canvas.
An interactive piece that invites people to explore what draws them in. To turn inspiration into intention. To solidify a feeling into a commitment. Not from pressure, but from wonder.
That's how I want to approach everything now. Not from obligation or expectation. From curiosity and respect.
Letting the Art Lead
Rick Rubin says: let the art lead. Not the audience. Not the algorithm. Not the trend.
I think about Porter Robinson — he could have kept making "Worlds" forever, but he followed the creative spark into something else, even when it wasn't popular. That takes courage. That takes respect for the work over respect for the reception.
I want to make what wants to be made. Not what gets consumed.
The Commitment
So here's the relationship I'm committing to:
Respect. Trust. Space. Time.
No more scraps. No more "I'll get to it next week."
The art gets its own container. Its own stage. Its own hours on the calendar that don't get moved.
And I'm excited to see what it becomes when I finally treat it like it matters.
