*Typing*

Let me repeat that:

Prolific output leads to profound work.

Isaac Asimov wrote 500 books (and an estimated 90,000 letters).

Emily Dickinson penned 1,800 poems.

David Bowie recorded 400 songs.

Pablo Picasso created 50,000 works of art.

Andy Warhol: 9,000.

Katsushika Hokusai: 30,000.

Georgia O'Keeffe: 2,000.

Salvador Dalí: 1,500.

Paul Cézanne: 1,000.

Henri Matisse: 1,000.

Your responsibility as an artist isn't to be perfect.

It's to be prolific.

With time, you will create something profound.

You should never hoard your ideas. They will only die on the vine like unpicked tomatoes. You should share your ideas. Tell the joke when you have the idea for the joke. Pen the poem when you have the idea for the poem. Paint the painting when you have the idea for the painting. Write the song when you have the idea for the song. If there is one universal truth to creativity, it's that ideas breed ideas. They aren't a scarcity, ideas. As long as you share your ideas when you have them and believe that more will blossom like fruit that has grown, ripened and then been picked only to grow again––ideas will never be a scarcity.

Tanhā is the Buddhist term for thirst, desire or longing. When we are overwhelmed with a feeling of Tanhā, we do what the Buddhists call clinging or grasping. Our minds become so engrossed with acquiring the object of our Tanhā––money, fame, status, recognition, sex, drugs, alcohol, etc––that we lose any and all presence in our lives. We think that clinging and grasping will allow us to obtain that which we desire––and occasionally it does––but it often leads to feelings of agitation, annoyance, frustration and deep dissatisfaction.

To prevent Tanhā from ruling our lives, we first have to acknowledge the moments when we are clinging and grasping. Think about the child who throws a tantrum when they want ice cream. As soon as they get ice cream, the tantrum stops. But, only momentarily. When the child's desire for ice cream returns, they will throw another tantrum. The parent's job is to teach the child to be content despite not having that which they desire. This means allowing the child to throw a tantrum without the pacifier of ice cream.

We are all children in adult bodies who have to become better parents to ourselves. We should never reprimand ourselves for experiencing Tanhā because this will cause us to develop feelings of shame around desire (a far uglier beast to wrestle). Instead, we should sit still when we are clinging and grasping. We should see that we are clinging and grasping. We should show ourselves empathy while we're doing this clinging and grasping. But, we should have the discipline to remind ourselves that sometimes we don't get the things we cling and grasp for and that's entirely okay.

When you're creating something new, there's this gorgeous period where you get to keep your creation all to yourself. As the days pass and your creation grows wings, you have to share it with the world.

I tend to experience crippling levels of fear when it comes time to take this step because I lose control over my creation and the outside perception of my creation.

I don't have any kids. But, I'd liken the act of letting go of your art to dropping your child off for their first day of Kindergarten. As soon as they let go of your hand, you lose control. You can't protect them from drinking sour milk or being the brunt of some cruel joke or taking a tumble off the monkey bars.

While this phase of the creative process hurts like hell, you must recognize that in order for your art to become a part of the culture––and perhaps even change the culture in some small way––you have to let go.

A creative vocation is like running barefoot through a field of mud. It's a hell of a lot of fun. But, if you run for long enough, you're bound to slip and get stuck. Your natural reaction to getting stuck is to do everything you possibly can to get unstuck. Usually, this looks something akin to you fighting and struggling and panicking and attempting to move as fast you were moving prior to getting stuck.

You get unstuck from creative block the same way you get unstuck from quicksand: with small, thoughtful movements. These tiny, purposeful gestures create space for your limbs, allowing you to pull them free. Creativity functions in the same way. Small movements allow room for the creativity to open up, expand and set itself free.

Next time you're stuck, try to create something small every day for a month: draw a single sketch, take a single picture, write a single sentence, brainstorm a single idea. As the days and the weeks pass by, you will notice your creativity feeling less constrained. You will finally be able to breathe.