For the Birds: The physical body *is* the creative body

David Bowie, Struggling toward an Artist's Statement (Part four), and the continuation of last week's oracular bird prompt.

Thanks for reading For the Birds! A couple reminders:

1. My celebratory discount is active all throughout Autism Acceptance Month! Sign-up by April 30th to support the ongoing creation of this newsletter *and* snag a discount on writing prompts, The Resiliency Circle, & creative nourishment galore.

2. My workshop, “Partnering with your Creativity,” is happening next Wednesday, April 24th, at 11am PST. Sign-up here.

Dear paid readers, today’s letter ends with:

• Part four of “Struggling toward an Artist’s Statement.” (Parts one, two, and three of this series can be found here, here, and here, respectively.)

• The continuation of last week’s oracular bird prompt!

• Next week’s Resiliency Circle Zoom link.

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Bowie energy

Have you seen Moonage Daydream yet? More trippy collage than narrative arc, it’s not the style of documentary I typically reach for, but David Bowie is that rare inspiration that transcends preference and form. I am here to tell you that I didn’t like the documentary as a documentary, and that I loved the experience that watching it created for me. (Art is goofy.) I wrote voraciously in my journal the entire 2+ hours, and the moment the film ended I put more Bowie on in my headphones, turning the volume up as high as I could. I did not even do that thing I do sometimes, where I push one side of my headphones halfway off my ear, ever vigilant of my surroundings.

I wanted to be vigilant of the music and how it made me feel and nothing more, to disappear from Planet Earth for a while.

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I woke up the next morning feeling certain that if someone were to dissect my emotional body, they would discover something like this:

the brief possibility of adoring oneself

Moonage Daydream is a study—because Bowie’s life was a study—in grabbing the reins of your innermost artistic impulses and holding tight no matter where they take you. It’s a study in letting creativity lead. I encourage you to watch it, and to listen and look for the wisdom that so clearly has nothing to do with fame and reception.

In fact, still hopped up on his intoxicating fumes, I’d like to declare that creativity, in its purest form, is at complete and utter odds with success and acclaim; that estimating anything about our creativity through how its received is like eating something you’re allergic to and then measuring your physical aptitude. You’re getting data about conflict, not ability! You’re measuring the wrong thing.

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Here’s what I’m thinking (tell me how it lands): In the name of authenticity, or values, or devotion—or at the very least, sanity—we must set up a good system of boundaries around our creative work, sharing it with others when we’re motivated by expression, not reception. Maybe not even reciprocity.

(Reciprocity happens in small, discrete ways, between people who can see and be open to each other simultaneously. It is the opposite of social media—that terrible gauge of modern success—because the latter is a space that thrives by ridding itself of context.)

Being read or received or adored or idolized or fangirled-over has nothing whatsoever to do with being a person who lives their life with art-making front of mind.

Can we achieve so much radical self-clarity about our impulses and our vision that it starts to feel silly to care more than a little about what other people think about our art? Can we devote ourselves to the church of personal experiences rather than kneel before the cult of outcome & result?

With David Bowie perched at the front of my mind / sternum, I am here to say, Yes, I think we can, and I also think it’s the artist’s job to try to even if we can’t. (Work is goofy.) We need to create ways of interacting with our creativity that are, by their very nature, going to make us feel like oddities sometimes.

Maybe “body as canvas” is a mandatory lesson. Which isn’t to say you’ll find me wearing make-up and bold patterns anytime soon, though who knows what’s in store for me as I continue to unmask. But I do think paying more attention to the somatic nature of our creativity is vital, from nervous system regulation to emotional armoring, from tattoos to jewelry to hair liberation. And from dressing how we want to feel, to the radical notion that we present ourselves each day not to our partners or our co-workers or our phones and our feeds, but to ourselves.

Appearance as self-communication. Clothing as private conjuring.

For those of us struggling our way toward an artist’s statement, and trying to understand the depths of not just what we make but why, how might some of the answers be right in front of us, in plain sight? The plain-sighted obviousness of the body, which is the first genre, and the first experiment. A category of making in and of itself; a constant procedural attempt.

Body as first inspiration, which isn’t even me being poetic & shit. It’s just etymologically true.

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Writing the Body

(aka Sarah tries to say something about what she’s inside of—fourth attempt)