Between Creating and Performing

How I'm learning to find the value in what I make versus how I perform

“Artists are not like athletes. We cannot win gold. We cannot ‘beat’ other creatives. We cannot come first. Sport is objective, art is subjective. Creating to ‘be the best’ is a waste of energy. Instead, create to connect with to the people who need you. Because they’re out there. Create in your own way, because there is no right way to take the pressure off, and focus on your own unique brand of magic.” - Aimee McNee

I’m writing this live from Super Bowl Sunday, the cheers and boos and intensity of the game playing on the TV in front of me. Given the nature of the sport, a game that is played within a defined time period with a clear scoring structure, I thought this might be a timely essay— though I must admit, a cheeky grin is across my face knowing the irony in writing this during, arguably, the pinnacle of athletic performances in the U.S. ;)

My twenties thus far have, at times, felt like walking a tight rope between the creative and performer in me—the writer & the storyteller & the designer & the thinker itching to express herself in subjective and undefined ways, with outcomes that can’t necessarily be measured by an award nor title nor scorecard, and the achiever, conditioned to “succeed” through an accumulation of accolades and externally defined objectives. My strong desire to make & build & speak & write & ideate & explore has existed alongside the knowing that survival in this world requires a level of maintained performance we’ve developed for ourselves and our societies over thousands of years.

The irony, I’ve found, is that the much of the most fulfilling work of my life has never received a score—nor has it always been possible to define the success of the outcomes. The magic was in the creating, the making, the building, the impacting. The mere act of putting words to the page, forming meaning, combined with the intention to reach and connect with people, has filled my soul with a deep peace that no title nor grade nor award could possibly replicate. And while, sure, the satisfaction from “performing well” has brought about temporary fulfillment, it often has left me wondering… but for what? What is the purpose of this? What meaning does this have? How does this really impact the world? How do I reconcile the desire to create just because? What if I don’t want to play any games? What if I don’t care about “winning”?

As Aimee McNee so beautifully writes, to create is to choose a subjective art that has no “winner”. To create is to go against a system of principles that guide us towards external award by finding the inherit worth in what we make, regardless of whether or not it meets the requirements to be defined as a “success” to the outside world.

So then, how do we try to create within a system that conditions us to constant performance? First, we remember that this isn’t a sport, nor is it a game. It’s a process with intrinsic value derived not from the outcome but from its impact, both on others and ourselves, before, during, and after we release it to the world. We choose to create for the connection & meaning & joy & hope it brings, not for a score it could receive. We choose to share our art with the world not for the recognition nor accolades, but for the way it, whatever it may be, connects us in often inexplicable ways to the deepest parts of ourselves, our humanity, and our world. We create not for the deliverable but for the formation; we release expectation and allow for exploration.

More tangibly, this might look like spending a free afternoon writing or painting or making music or craft or hardware or software or anything, really, without pressure to deliver a “final” deliverable of any kind, at all. It might look like doing without knowing sometimes, letting your mind wander into whatever it might be you’re meant to make without care for whether or not others will deem it worthy of existence. It might look like sharing with the intention of connecting, releasing any sort of desire to convince or compete.

Let your art, in whatever form it takes, be the area of your life you leave ungraded, unresolved, untouched by rules and regulations that may restrict its development. We have plenty of areas of life that require us to meet standards & rules & play games to compete for a status or title or approval—but our art… our art is so wonderfully different. Our art is our freedom. Our art is our joy. Our art is needed & worthy. And there is a never ending abundance of ways in which we need this magic within us to be shared with the world.

Always,

Elle