The slow, the repetative and the unseen steps.
Today, I’m writing this with less of my usual creative flare. Mostly because I feel like I haven’t been as engaged in my work as I should be. I’ve been working on a project that requires less creativity, and more technique, repetition, and patience: paper making. Lots of paper making.
It’s easy for me to forget that my days have been productive, simply because there hasn’t been an outcome yet. And because this is just one step—a more mundane step—in a lengthy creative process.
So today, I feel like I don’t have much to say. Like maybe I shouldn’t say anything at all. Like my value is solely in my creative thought and output, not in anything else.
But I’m writing this to defy that notion. What many don’t realise, and maybe even I didn’t before, is that being an “artist”—whatever that means to you—doesn’t always look like an inspired, free flow of creative expression. Somehow, having a week lacking that makes me feel like a fraud. But fuck that. —Excuse my French.
I recently read a book, Poor Artists by Zarina Muhammad and Gabrielle de la Puente. It explores the different expectations we, as artists and society, place on the role of being an artist, through the perspective of a woman navigating her creative ambitions post-art school—much like myself. She juggles the polarities of creative expression and financial responsibilities, and how contradictory those demands can be, one often fighting the other. We live in a society that demands exactly that tension. If you’re a creative interested in the realities of other creatives, I’d definitely recommend it.
Reading the book was validating, but also kind of scary. Here I am, having given up most of what I knew—my stability—to pursue this dream, that, from my immediate and somewhat impulsive reading of the book, feels almost impossible.
The book also helped me realise that over the past month, the reason I haven’t been liking my own work is because I’ve been creating for the eyes of the viewer—that’s you. I wonder if you’ve noticed this when you see my work.
Except for the paper making, actually. That’s something I’ve wanted to play with for a while now. But still, here I am, feeling like I’ve failed you because that’s what I’ve been focusing on this week, rather than creating something tangible you can understand better. Whether I’m making for the self or the audience, I’m still putting the pressure of societal expectations on my creative process.
I’ve been trying to find a middle ground in many ways. Last week I talked about the difference between my identity as Maltese, and as a Maltese person trying to live in Norwich. Today, it’s about my creations for creative expression versus creating for an audience—whoever that may be.
I’m not going to pretend this post comes with a magical solution. I don’t think I have one right now. But I’m definitely aware of the problem, and I want to fix it. Because what I want most is to create for you again—whoever you may be. I just need to figure out how to do that while staying true to the most authentic self I can be.
Despite the uncertainties and frustrations, I remind myself that every part of this process matters—the slow, the repetitive, the unseen steps, just as much as the bursts of inspiration. Creativity isn’t a constant flame; it flickers, dims, and sometimes reignites in unexpected ways.
So here’s to embracing the ebb and flow, to honouring the work that doesn’t always look impressive but is no less important. To finding joy in the small victories, and to sharing this imperfect, honest journey with you.
If you have any tips or thoughts in response to all this blabber I’m sharing, I'd love to hear them. And I'd like to know who ‘you’ are—I won't lie.
Thank you for being here.
Catch you next Friday
P.S. At least I know I’m being authentically true here.
