Creative Abundance

I started reclaiming my creativity this past year. I enrolled in art classes, joined artist collectives, and began taking my creative practice seriously. It wasn’t long, however, before I started hitting the same stumbling blocks I had in the past. In a word: extremism. For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with balance. When I focused, I became obsessed. When I exerted effort, I maxed out. These extremes inevitably led to more extremes. Burned out from effort, I’d unwittingly slide past ease into apathy. Breaking my obsessive focus, I would reintroduce freedom and flow, only to find myself suddenly swept up in chaos. 

If it sounds hectic, I didn’t notice. I thrived in the midst of it—or so I thought. This journey of creative reclamation began with my 'soft girl era,' but years of corporate culture—and a lifetime in the capitalist structure of Western society—had wired me for intensity. Doing ‘hard things’ felt powerful, even necessary. 

I thought going hard with my creative practice would pay off. I was wrong. Creativity doesn’t thrive on extremes—it demands balance. Finding creative abundance first meant finding creative balance. 

I’ve started exploring 3 key dualities to help me find that balance. For anyone like me—who is just starting to unlearn the seductions of ‘more, faster, better’, I hope these perspectives help you embrace the ebb and flow of the creative process and open you to the abundance of creativity. 

Discipline + Surrender 

Discipline is everything. Without it, even the best ideas die on the vine. Every successful creator tells us that relentless hard work and perseverance are what enabled their success. Discipline isn’t optional for the creator who truly wants to create—it’s mandatory. While this is true, lately I’ve started trading some of my discipline energy for a bit of good old surrender. 

Truth is, my best ideas feel less like mine and more like divine gifts. Disciplined effort with a bad idea is often a waste of time, and forcing an idea rarely works. Surrender, it seems, is the fastest path to a good idea. My greatest insights come in flashes of inspiration—sudden, mundane moments that birth compelling and powerful ideas. 

Octavia Butler, the celebrated Black science fiction writer, often spoke about how she didn’t fully control her characters or stories. They emerged as if through her, demanding to be written. This is surrender: the feeling that an idea comes as a download, that you are simply a conduit for creative energy. 

So for anyone who needs permission to relax —know this: if a good idea is meant for you, it won’t pass you by. On the contrary, it will persist, nudging and stalking you until you’re ready to

bring it to life. Until then, surrender. Do the dishes, take a walk - embrace the mundane, because you never know when inspiration might strike. 

Restraint + Flourish 

In the excitement of the creative process, especially when learning a new skill I can get a bit carried away. For my visual art pieces, this usually means over-rendering, muddling colors, and ignoring basic compositional principles. For my written pieces, it can translate into an overload of concepts, too much abstraction, and a loss of clarity. And in my life choices, my overzealousness can drive me to set the bar impossibly high, setting myself up for inevitable disappointment. 

While my unabashed zest for life is well-intended (and often unmatched), my enthusiasm and over-receptivity to all the things can overwhelm my creative process. More often than not, it leaves me stifled and confused, grappling with the challenge of trying to navigate too much. Conversely, too much restraint can leave me paralyzed, often by a fear of adding too much flourish. 

When I first started painting, I was so afraid that my signature enthusiasm might push me into overdrive that I would timidly touch the canvas with my paintbrush. My teacher once asked me if I was afraid of the canvas—the answer was most definitely yes. My fear of adding too much flourish led me to apply too much restraint. I restricted myself to the point that not only did my work lack flourish, but my creative practice started to stagnate. 

Too much flourish is never great, but fear of too much flourish is far worse. While striking a balance is important, it’s better to go overboard and peel back than to hold yourself back entirely and learn nothing. Even if the path is unclear, standing still won’t reveal it. Move forward—boldly, clumsily, imperfectly. Progress is found in the motion, not the hesitation. 

Structure + Play 

Taking a series of art classes this past year has meant I’ve been engrossed in art study, technique, and structure. My imagination has taken a back seat to design rules, compositional principles, and historical frameworks. Having never taken art classes before, the rigor and structure of these lessons have been incredibly helpful in my creative practice. They’ve made me more efficient and better able to channel my imagination. 

That said, I sometimes find myself too attached to structure. Sometimes my practice feels more rigid than playful, more intimidating than joyful. Too much structure and rigidity, and my art begins to feel predictable, boring, and uninspired. 

Jackson Pollock embodied the tension between structure and play. Early in his career, he mastered traditional techniques, building a foundation in composition and form. Over time, feeling constrained by these frameworks, he broke free with his groundbreaking drip paintings, letting instinct and spontaneity guide him. Though seemingly chaotic, his deep understanding of balance still anchored his work, making the interplay of structure and play truly revolutionary.

To my fellow sticklers out there, keep building a strong foundation of technique, form and mastery. Just remember to break the rules, take risks and go a little wild from time to time. 

All in all, creative abundance is about finding balance—between discipline and surrender, structure and play, restraint and flourish. In this harmony, creative abundance isn’t just a means to an end, but an end in itself.