The Creative Act: A Way of Being

by Rick Rubin

Attuned choice by attuned choice, your entire life is a form of self-expression. You exist as a creative being in a creative universe. A singular work of art.

Every manifestation of this unfolding is doing its own work on behalf of the universe, each in its own way, true to its own creative impulse.

If you have an idea you’re excited about and you don’t bring it to life, it’s not uncommon for the idea to find its voice through another maker. This isn’t because the other artist stole your idea, but because the idea’s time has come.

We are all translators for messages the universe is broadcasting.

The best artists tend to be the ones with the most sensitive antennae to draw in the energy resonating at a particular moment. Many great artists first develop sensitive antennae not to create art but to protect themselves. They have to protect themselves because everything hurts more. They feel everything more deeply.

Most of the time, we are gathering data from the world through the five senses. With the information that’s being transmitted on higher frequencies, we are channeling energetic material that can’t be physically grasped. It defies logic, in the same way that an electron can be in two places at once. This elusive energy is of great worth, though so few people are open enough to hold it.

If something strikes me as interesting or beautiful, first I live that experience. Only afterward might I attempt to understand it.

No matter what tools you use to create, the true instrument is you. And through you, the universe that surrounds us all comes into focus.

When we take notice of the cycles of the planet, and choose to live in accordance with its seasons, something remarkable happens. We become connected. We begin to see ourselves as part of a greater whole that is constantly regenerating itself. And we may then tap into this all-powerful propagating force and ride its creative wave.

Living life as an artist is a practice. You are either engaging in the practice or you’re not. It makes no sense to say you’re not good at it. It’s like saying, “I’m not good at being a monk.” You are either living as a monk or you’re not. We tend to think of the artist’s work as the output. The real work of the artist is a way of being in the world.

Deepening our connection to nature will serve our spirit, and what serves our spirit invariably serves our artistic output.

The closer we can get to the natural world, the sooner we start to realize we are not separate. And that when we create, we are not just expressing our unique individuality, but our seamless connection to an infinite oneness.

There’s a reason we are drawn to gazing at the ocean. It is said the ocean provides a closer reflection of who we are than any mirror.

The person who makes something today isn’t the same person who returns to the work tomorrow.

If we focus on what’s going on inside ourselves—sensations, emotions, the patterns of our thoughts—a wealth of material can be found. Our inner world is every bit as interesting, beautiful, and surprising as nature itself. It is, after all, born of nature.

Isolated places like a forest, a monastery, or a sailboat in the middle of the ocean are fine locations to receive direct transmissions from the universe. If instead you want to tune in to the collective consciousness, you might sit in a busy spot with people coming and going and experience Source as filtered through humanity. This secondhand approach is no less valid.

To the best of my ability, I’ve followed my intuition to make career turns, and been recommended against doing so every time. It helps to realize that it’s better to follow the universe than those around you.

The people who choose to do art are, many times, the most vulnerable.

The sensitivity that allows them to make the art is the same vulnerability that makes them more tender to being judged.

Being an artist is who they are, and they are made whole through self-expression.

Adversity is part of the process.

An unhealthy self-image or a hardship in life can fuel great art, creating a deep well of insight and emotion for an artist to draw from.

One of the reasons so many great artists die of overdoses early in their lives is because they’re using drugs to numb a very painful existence. The reason it’s painful is the reason they became artists in the first place: their incredible sensitivity.

If you see tremendous beauty or tremendous pain where other people see little or nothing at all, you’re confronted with big feelings all the time. These emotions can be confusing and overwhelming. When those around you don’t see what you see and feel what you feel, this can lead to a sense of isolation and a general feeling of not belonging, of otherness.

All art is a work in progress. It’s helpful to see the piece we’re working on as an experiment. One in which we can’t predict the outcome. Whatever the result, we will receive useful information that will benefit the next experiment.

We’re not playing to win, we’re playing to play.

Oscar Wilde said that some things are too important to be taken seriously. Art is one of those things. Setting the bar low, especially to get started, frees you to play, explore, and test without attachment to results.

Gratitude can also help. Realizing you are fortunate to be in a position that allows you to create, and in some cases get paid to do what you love, might tip the balance in favor of the work.

By accepting self-doubt, rather than trying to eliminate or repress it, we lessen its energy and interference.

One thing I learned through having spellcheck is that I regularly make up words.

The imperfections you’re tempted to fix might prove to be what make the work great.

Art creates a profound connection between the artist and the audience. Through that connection, both can heal.

Sometimes disengaging is the best way to engage.

If the artist is happy with the work they’re creating and the viewer is enlivened by the work they’re experiencing, it doesn’t matter if they see it in the same way.

The purpose of the work is to awaken something in you first, and then allow something to be awakened in others.

Our thoughts, feelings, processes, and unconscious beliefs have an energy that is hidden in the work.

If the work doesn’t represent who you are and what you’re living, how can it hold an energetic charge?

Our work embodies a higher purpose. Whether we know it or not, we’re a conduit for the universe. Material is allowed through us. If we are a clear channel, our intention reflects the intention of the cosmos.

Most creators think of themselves as the conductor of the orchestra. If we zoom out of our small view of reality, we function more as an instrumentalist in a much larger symphony the universe is orchestrating.

The bee, attracted by the scent of the flower, lands on one then another, inadvertently enabling reproduction. Should the bee go extinct, not just flowers but birds, small mammals, and humans would likely also cease to exist. It’s fair to assume that the bee doesn’t know its role in this interconnected puzzle and in preserving the balance of nature. The bee is simply being.

The goal is not to fit in. If anything, it’s to amplify the differences, what doesn’t fit, the special characteristics unique to how you see the world.

The reason to make art is to innovate and self-express, show something new, share what’s inside, and communicate your singular perspective.

It’s helpful to continually challenge your own process.

Holding every rule as breakable is a healthy way to live as an artist.

Beware of the assumption that the way you work is the best way simply because it’s the way you’ve done it before.

Listening is suspending disbelief.

Listening, then, is not just awareness. It’s freedom from accepted limitations.

The artist actively works to experience life slowly, and then to re-experience the same thing anew. To read slowly, and to read and read again.

Our continual quest for efficiency discourages looking too deeply.

Yet it’s through deliberate action and repetition that we gain deeper insight.