The Creative Act: A Way of Being

by Rick Rubin

To see what no human has seen before, to know what no human has known before, to create as no human has created before, it may be necessary to see as if through eyes that have never seen, know through a mind that has never thought, create with hands that have never been trained. This is beginner’s mind—one of the most difficult states of being to dwell in for an artist, precisely because it involves letting go of what our experiences have taught us.

Experience provides wisdom to draw from, but it tempers the power of naivete. The past can be a teacher, offering tried and true methods, familiarity with the standards of the craft, awareness of potential risks, and in some cases virtuosity. It lures us into a pattern that absolves us of the opportunity to engage innocently with the task at hand. The more ingrained your adopted approach, the harder it is to see past it. Though experience doesn’t rule out innovation, it can make it more difficult to access.

As artists, we aim to live in a way in which we see the extraordinary hidden in the seemingly mundane. Then challenge ourselves to share what we see in a way that allows others a glimpse of this remarkable beauty.

What defines inspiration is the quality and quantity of the download. At a speed so instantaneous, it seems impossible to process. Inspiration is the rocket fuel powering our work. It is a universal conversation we yearn to be part of.

In terms of priority, inspiration comes first. You come next. The audience comes last.

Think of inspiration as a force not immune to the laws of entropy.

Thoughts and habits not conducive to the work: Believing you’re not good enough. Feeling you don’t have the energy it takes. Mistaking adopted rules for absolute truths. Not wanting to do the work (laziness). Not taking the work to its highest expression (settling). Having goals so ambitious that you can’t begin. Thinking you can only do your best work in certain conditions. Requiring specific tools or equipment to do the work. Abandoning a project as soon as it gets difficult. Feeling like you need permission to start or move forward. Letting a perceived need for funding, equipment, or support get in the way. Having too many ideas and not knowing where to start. Never finishing projects. Blaming circumstances or other people for interfering with your process. Romanticizing negative behaviors or addictions. Believing a certain mood or state is necessary to do your best work. Prioritizing other activities and responsibilities over your commitment to making art. Distractibility and procrastination. Impatience. Thinking anything that’s out of your control is in your way.

the first phase of the creative process, we are to be completely open, collecting anything we find of interest. We can call this the Seed phase. We’re searching for potential starting points that, with love and care, can grow into something beautiful. At this stage, we are not comparing them to find the best seed. We simply gather them. A seed for a song could be a phrase, a melody, a bass line, or a rhythmic feel. For a written piece, it may be a sentence, a character sketch, a setting, a thesis, or a plot point. For a structure, a shape, a material choice, a function, or the natural properties of a location. And for a business, it could be a common inconvenience, a societal need, a technical advancement, or a personal interest.

Collecting seeds typically doesn’t involve a tremendous amount of effort. It’s more a receiving of a transmission. A noticing. As if catching fish, we walk to the water, bait the hook, cast the line, and patiently wait. We cannot control the fish, only the presence of our line.

The seed that doesn’t get watered cannot reveal its ability to bear fruit. Collect many seeds and then, over time, look back and see which ones resonate. Sometimes we’re too close to them to recognize their true potential, and other times the magical moment that inspired a seed into existence is bigger than the seed itself.

Fueled by the initial hit of excitement at discovering a starting point, we play with different combinations and possibilities to see if any of them reveal how the seed wants to develop. Think of this as a search for life. We’re looking to see if we can get the seeds to take root and sprout a stem.

you know what you want to do and you do it, that’s the work of a craftsman. If you begin with a question and use it to guide an adventure of discovery, that’s the work of the artist. The surprises along the way can expand your work, and even the art form itself.

Often the most accurate signposts are emotional, not intellectual. Excitement tends to be the best barometer for selecting which seeds to focus on. When something interesting starts to come together, it arouses delight. It’s an energizing feeling of wanting more. A feeling of leaning forward. Follow that energy.

If two ideas feel somewhat equal in weight, and one has clear potential to turn into something beautiful and the other shows less potential but seems more interesting, feel free to follow your interest. Base decisions on the internal feeling of being moved and notice what holds your interest. This will always be in the greatest service of the work.

To dismiss an idea because it doesn’t work in your mind is to do a disservice to the art. The only way to truly know if any idea works is to test it. And if you’re looking for the best idea, test everything. Ask yourself as many “what if” questions as you can. What if this were the first painting anyone saw in their life? What if I removed every adverb? What if I made all the loud parts quiet? Look for different polarities and see how they affect the piece.

Allow the work to grow in the direction it seeks, evolve in accordance with its natural state, and have its own life. Enjoy the journey of cycling through all permutations to reveal a work’s true form.

The Craft phase is not just a building up. It is also a breaking down. The goal of developing the work can be accomplished through a pruning process of small cuts. We decide which details and directions might be removed, so that more energy and focus can be used to feed the core elements.

Consider the difference between art and most other trades. In the arts, our filter is the defining factor of the work. In science or technology, the aims are different. The reason we create art isn’t with the intention of making something useful for someone else. We create to express who we are. Who we are and where we are on our journey.

Great art is created through freedom of self-expression and received with freedom of individual interpretation. Great art opens a conversation rather than closing it. And often this conversation is started by accident.

If you’ve truly created an innovative work, it’s likely to alienate as many people as it attracts. The best art divides the audience. If everyone likes it, you probably haven’t gone far enough.

Part of the process of letting go is releasing any thoughts of how you or your piece will be received. When making art, the audience comes last. Let’s not consider how a piece will be received or our release strategy until the work is finished and we love it.

A river of material flows through us. When we share our works and our ideas, they are replenished. If we block the flow by holding them all inside, the river cannot run and new ideas are slow to appear.

The energy of wonder and discovery can get lost when treading the same ground over and over again.

There is no more valid metric to predict what someone else might enjoy than us liking it ourselves.

If we can tune in to the idea of making things and sharing them without being attached to the outcome, the work is more likely to arrive in its truest form.

The ecstatic is our compass, pointing to our true north. It arises genuinely in the process of creation. You’re working and struggling, and suddenly you notice a shift. A revelation. A small tweak is made, a new angle is revealed, and it takes your breath away.

An artist will be in the throes of creation, and the work may seem unremarkable for a while. Suddenly, a shift occurs or a moment is revealed, and the same piece now seems extraordinary. So little was needed to make the leap from mediocrity to greatness. The leap can’t always be understood, but when it happens, it’s clear and enlivening.

This epiphany is the heart of creativity. It’s something we feel in our whole body. It causes us to snap to attention and quicken our heartbeat, or to laugh in surprise. It gives us a glimpse of a higher ideal, opening new possibilities in us that we didn’t know were there. It is so invigorating that it makes all of the laborious, less interesting parts of the work worth doing. We are mining for these events: the moments when the dots connect. We revel in the satisfaction of seeing the whole shape come into clear focus.

Tune in to these feelings in your creative work.

When a beloved artist thwarts our expectations or a new artist defies known precedents, it can be confusing. Initially, the work may feel unsatisfying or of no interest whatsoever. Once we get over the hump of adapting ourselves to the new palette, these can end up being our favorite works. Conversely, works we like immediately might not have that same power down the road.

In the same way, each piece of art has a unique, life-giving feature that makes it what it is. It might be the theme, the organizing principle, the artist’s point of view, the quality of the performance, the materials, the mood conveyed, or a combination of elements. Any of these can play a role in forming the essence.

Distilling a work to get it as close to its essence as possible is a useful and informative practice. Notice how many pieces you can remove before the work you’re making ceases to be the work you’re making. Refine it to the point where it is stripped bare, in its least decorative form yet still intact. With nothing extra. Sometimes the ornamentation can be of use, often not. Less is generally more.

Try finding the simplest, most elegant way to put a point across, with the least amount of information.

Perfection is finally obtained not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there’s no longer anything to take away. —Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars

Any pressure you feel around the work—from the inside or outside—is a signal for self-examination. The artist’s goal is to keep themselves pure and unattached. To avoid letting stress, responsibility, fear, and dependence on a particular outcome distract. And if it does, it’s never too late to reset. The first step of clearing is acknowledgment. Notice yourself feeling the weight of self-criticism or the pressure to live up to expectations. And remember that commercial success is completely out of your control. All that matters is that you are making something you love, to the best of your ability, here and now.

It’s helpful to work as if the project you’re engaged in is bigger than you.

Even if the seed is nothing more than what we notice—a momentary perception, an unexpected thought, even the echo of a memory—it’s enough. Most often, the hints of inspiration and direction from Source are small. They appear as tiny signals traveling through the void of space, quiet and subtle, like a whisper.

Sometimes, it can be the most ordinary moment that creates an extraordinary piece of art.

A way to practice keeping a clean slate is to avoid looking at the work too often. If you finish a section or come to a sticking point, consider putting the project away and not engaging with it for a period of time. Let it sit for a minute, a week, or longer, while you go get lost. Meditation is a valuable tool for hitting the reset button. You may also try vigorous exercise, a scenic adventure, or immersing yourself in an unrelated creative endeavor.

Works hinting at greatness contain a charge we can feel, like static before a lightning storm. They consume their maker, occupying waking thoughts and dreams. Sometimes they become the artist’s reason for living.

The call of the artist is to follow the excitement. Where there’s excitement, there’s energy. And where there is energy, there is light.

Whatever you choose, it’s helpful to have fellow travelers around you. They don’t have to be like you, just like-minded in some way. Creativity is contagious. When we spend time with other artistic people, we absorb and exchange a way of thinking, a way of looking at the world. This group can be called a Sangha. Each person in this relationship begins seeing with a different imaginative eye.

Any framework, method, or label you impose on yourself is just as likely to be a limitation as an opening.

When sharing observations, specificity creates space. It dissipates the level of emotional charge and enables us to work together in service of the piece.

The synergy of a group is as important— if not more important— than the talent of the individuals.

In addition to getting to the heart of the work, through this brutal edit we change our relationship to it. We come to understand its underlying structure and realize what truly matters, to disconnect from the attachment of making it and see it for what it is.

It’s worth taking a moment to notice if any of your add-backs actually enhance the work. We’re not looking for more for the sake of more. We’re only looking for more for the sake of better. The goal is to get the work to the point that when you see it, you know it couldn’t have been arranged any other way. There’s a sense of balance. Of elegance. It is not easy leaving behind elements you’ve put so much time and care into. Some artists fall in love with all the crafted material to the point where they resist letting go of an element even if the whole is better without it. “Making the simple complicated is commonplace,” Charles Mingus once said. “Making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity.”

Being an artist means to be continually asking, “How can it be better?” whatever it is. It may be your art, and it may be your life.

In the moment when we feel the work is taking shape, there’s a dynamic surge, followed by an urge to share, in the hopes of replicating that mysterious emotional charge in others.

The reason we’re alive is to express ourselves in the world. And creating art may be the most effective and beautiful method of doing so. Art goes beyond language, beyond lives. It’s a universal way to send messages between each other and through time.