Creative Boundaries and Boundless Capitalism
As a professional creative, I have to decide how much of my creativity is for sale
Creativity and capitalism have always been two sources tearing apart my sense of self worth. I need creativity to enjoy life but capitalism pays my bills and the two have such a complicated relationship to each other. Mixing creativity and capitalism doesn’t work because in many ways capitalism doesn’t respect creativity. It’s hard to set boundaries against capitalism: it is designed to take all your resources and leave you a shell of yourself. I wouldn’t be “me” without my creativity and I don’t want to exploit that part of myself to make money.
I grew up in Highlands Ranch, Colo., a wealthy suburb of Denver that was — throughout my childhood — ranked nationally in the top 10 for median income. I grew up in a large house on a cookie cutter street where everything looks the same; there isn't an anomaly in the landscape. Culturally, being different wasn’t okay, and everyone strived to fit in. Parents expected their children to grow up to be doctors, lawyers, and engineers. It's the type of environment where it was a nightmare if your kid wanted to be “a creative.”
From a young age I was different. I was this weird creative, born in a STEM family where my mom had a degree in pharmacy and my dad had a degree in chemical engineering. My extended family is full of healthcare professionals and engineers. I wouldn’t say that I was discouraged from pursuing creative activities, but it was definitely drilled into me that the arts were not a path to making money. I was determined to prove them wrong. If anyone asked, I said I wanted to be an artist when I grew up.
Around eighth grade, I learned about the field of graphic design. It sounded like a creative career, so I fixated on that as my new goal. I knew that I didn't want a “boring” career devoid of the rush of creativity and this was one my peers and parents would accept. In highschool, I had the blessing of a well-funded arts department and I learned how to draw, paint, airbrush, solder jewelry, and sculpt with ceramics. I had teachers who encouraged my creative pursuits and I felt that perhaps it was truly possible to make money as a creative.
Senior year came and class GPA rankings were posted. My rank was 13 out of 450 students, and it became public knowledge that I was one of the “smartest” kids in my class. I had always flown under the radar with my brains; I was quiet and shy and just wanted to be left alone to create weird art. Getting good grades was just a way to keep my options open for college. I was lucky; I excelled across the board in math, English, science, and history. I enjoyed learning, so I was happy to throw myself into any subject as long as I had a passionate teacher. Once the word was out, people who had never shown interest in me started asking me what I wanted to do for my career. When I answered, “I want to be a graphic designer,” they would often respond, “Oh, but that is a waste of your intelligence. You could be anything.” In this case “anything” meant “anything more prestigious” (i.e. any job that earns a significant amount of money).
To this day I resent the idea that creatives aren’t smart. Being a creative isn’t just painting something because it’s pretty; it’s figuring out how to put an emotion on canvas, or stringing together words and music to make someone feel deeply. The artists I admire are problem-solvers, deep thinkers, and among the most intelligent people I’ve ever encountered. The arts aren’t valued the way they should be in a capitalistic society and creators are often paid poorly as a result. In a classist society, we look down on people who are poor, or not earning to their maximum “potential,” as if they are stupid. I always felt that in order for my creativity to be valid, I had to prove it by supporting myself with it.
I had no idea what a trap I was walking into. In college, I realized being paid to be creative ruins the joy creativity gives me. First it was watercolor; I loved painting watercolors, but once I got commissions I became obsessed with deadlines and making money so I started to hate it. The other thing I hated about these commissions was the monotony. Everyone wanted a pet portrait or something similar to a painting I had done before. The work wasn’t challenging or interesting.
Then came jewelry making, which also started as a hobby. I got hired by a boutique to do their in-house pieces. Shortly after, I started hating it. I was able to make things at my own pace so I didn’t have to worry about deadlines, but many pieces in the line were similar and it became boring to produce them. To this day, I cannot paint or make jewelry for the joy of it. The deadlines, monotony, and monetary transactions ruined it.
“I always felt that in order for my creativity to be valid, I had to prove it by supporting myself with it. I had no idea what a trap I was walking into.”
This brings me to my current career as graphic and ux (user experience) designer. Technically, I am a professional “creative,” but graphic design has never been a love of mine. It was always a means to an end. For me, graphic design isn’t as creative as painting, jewelry-making, or other artistic pursuits. It isn’t a feeling or an emotion that I rush to get out through my preferred medium of the moment. Good design serves a purpose and fills a brief; you aren’t supposed to create it on a whim. I always knew I would feel this way about design. I didn’t realize it would take as much of my emotional creative energy as it did.
Graphic design or “design thinking” is a scientific process: It starts with a problem, followed by research, ideation, and ends with a product that solves the problem. The further I get in my career, the more I realize that I hate getting paid for the emotionally-driven, creative part. This would be the illustrations, colors, typography, and the pieces that require more feeling and emotional investment to make. Instead I like to focus on the back end. I prefer to get deep into the research, analytics, and user psychology to figure out how to make my work satisfy the goals given to me in the brief. This work is creative, but because it does not tap into my emotional creativity, I don’t mind being paid for it.
My creativity takes two forms: One is a structured scientific process, and the other is full of emotions, meditation, and exploration. The latter isn’t for sale. I guard my creative hobbies from capitalism now, almost snarling at anyone who dares to think they can pay me for it. I don’t want capitalism to encroach on the joy that being creative gives me. Right now, my main source of creating is sewing, but I am also learning to crochet and knit. I find these practices calming and use them as a way to center and focus. Someday, when the world opens up again, I’d love to get back into ceramics. I never monetized it when I was younger so it remains untainted and now my creative soul aches for an outlet where I can throw my emotions into clay.
I’m hoping that with age comes wisdom on how to draw boundaries around capitalism and my creativity. I’m still at an early stage in my life and I’m trying to figure it out based on my experiences so far. For now, I am erring on the side of not allowing myself to burnout and risk losing the creative part of myself because without it I wouldn’t be me.
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