Make something, and make hope
Dark times call for creativity
Find a reason to make hope. No matter what else comes your way. ~JRC
Optimism is in short supply and no wonder.
As I write, the war in Ukraine rages on, now for six months and with no end in sight. The coronavirus global pandemic is officially in its 28th month, with over 6 million confirmed deaths. Temperatures soar with record-breaking floods and droughts co-occurring. Economies worldwide are in tatters, and a recession looms large. Democracy itself? The very fabric of the free world threatens to unravel before our eyes.
Couple these near-apocalyptic events with everyone's day-to-day struggles - paying bills, healthcare, teaching our kids, daily commutes, putting up with a-holes around every corner - and it's no wonder so many of us feel desperate about the future. I am among them. But we can't give up. We can't lose hope.
But how? How to muster the strength of optimism, of hope?
Perhaps you draw on faith. Science and reason? History repeating? For me, I make. Because I know that when I make something, I make hope in my heart - hope for the future.
And I'm not alone.
Making is, in many ways, timeless. We draw on the past - upon our gifted talent, acquired knowledge, and earned skills - to create. And we dedicate the present to making, often for no apparent reason except to create.
But there is a reason to make things beyond the here and now. When we create anything, there is a subtle expectation that there will be a tomorrow in which our creation exists. Indeed, we hope others will see and enjoy what we've made, in the moments, days, or years after the making ceases.
We also make simply to cope. And coping leads us to tomorrow and the next tomorrow.
Stories abound where artists, wrenched by pain and loss, dig deep into their creativity to make a path forward.
Frida Kahlo famously painted her best works in response to her stormy marriage with fellow artist Diego Rivera. And Lee Krasner created a series of dark but exuberant abstract expressionist paintings after her philandering husband Jackson Pollock died in a drunken car crash. Pablo Picasso channeled his resentment of war in Guernica (1937), a huge mural depicting the horror following German bombing of this unsuspecting Basque village.
In making, there is a future, even when the lights have gone out.
But making to cope is not solely the purview of celebrated artists. What we make matters little, so long as it helps. Craft, whatever the outcome, is therapeutic. Anyone who engages in a beloved hobby will tell you this is true.
We make to cope, and we make to escape - which helps us cope.
Making helps us compensate for the absurdity of life - especially when the outlook is bleak. The stereotypical example is of a middle-aged man, home from a demeaning job, who retreats to his shop for solace. (I admittedly once resembled this stereotype.)
In making, we find ways to dream of a better future. Or at least escape the all-too-real world we inhabit now.
There's an oft-cited adage where one plants a tree but will never know its shade. It's about investing in the future, not for oneself but for others. I believe this applies to creating as much as anything else. A skilled carpenter building a home, a steadfast potter turning a soon-to-be family heirloom, a tinkerer creating curiosities that inspire the next generation, a gardener designing a landscape - these and many other makers engage in the present with an eye towards the horizon.
In creating, we find the strength to keep on.
Please, make something now. Anything. It will help both you and others.
No matter how you slice up the current geo-eco-political mess, whether you see yourself as red, blue, or purple, whether you are financially sound or flat broke, whether you are an optimist or pessimist, you can make something. And it need not be profound. It only needs to be an act of creativity. Share it, perhaps. Or at least share the hope you gain from making something.
In making, you signal the future still holds possibility. That all is not lost.
So make something, and make hope.
Until next time.
JRC