A few weeks ago, I came up with this metaphor for the feeling of pursuing creative work over a long period of time, that I call “keeping the flame.”
People who make things, especially make things from an aesthetic epicenter within themselves, often talk about the source of their creative engine as something within them that is not entirely legible to them. We feel that there is something in the world that has gone awry, and that we may be able to set it right if only we could scoop up that thing that we can almost make out within ourselves and drop it in the right places in the world. But what is within us is hard to make out exactly, and what surrounds us seems so vast in comparison that it feels like a lifetime’s work to fix up everything we see in bad shape around us.
I think people who live this way actually have two responsibilities: (1) to take what the flame within us inspires us to put into the world, and realize it faithfully, and (2) to keep the flame alive, so that even if our realizations are poorly made or the world doesn’t treasure it as we do, the flame can live to fight another day.
Counterintuitively, I’ve come to learn that keeping the flame alive is far more important to the integrity of our creative pursuits than actually producing the work itself. If we put something into the world that disappoints us, that’s okay. We can try again tomorrow, and the day after that, and after that, because the flame will still be there. But if we let the flame wither, by letting the firewoods run out or allowing others to blow it out, there is no tomorrow. There is no fight left in us. We have to start all over again, which may take months, or even years.
How do we keep the flame alive?
First, the flame needs fuel. We should attend to the things we read and hear and see that remind us of why we want to create – the things we see broken in the world, or the ways it could be made better. We should remember how we feel in those moments, and hold onto those memories for when the kindling runs low to feed the flame. Second, the flame needs oxygen. I think of this as the time we give to the act of making something regularly. Without the oxygen – the recurring time – the fuel has nowhere to burn into fire.
Finally, there are the keepers of the flame. Sometimes, this is ourselves. We ought to check in from time to time to see whether we need more fuel or oxygen, or whether it’s keeping us warm enough. Other times, it’s us to each other. In companies, it may be the founder or leader. In larger communities, it’s often the writers and speakers and keepers of tradition. If we are working solo, it’s helpful to find other people who can keep a shared flame going, so that if I feel my own has burnt down to a kindling one day, I can come find theirs. But somebody has to keep checking in. It’s going to feel repetitive. But we have got to keep the flame alive. Without it, the spirit behind all our work will not live to fight another day.
One surprising way that this flame might die is when we are pulled to work on something that is needed in the world and motivates us in the short term, but is not ultimately true to the particular kind of wonder and injustice that fuels our flame. That kind of work can lull us into looking away from the flame, letting it sputter out while our hands and minds are kept busy making things that come to feel made of something external to us, rather than conceived from a fire within.
And just as we learn over time to better mold reality in the reflection of our vision, I think we can also learn to be better keepers of the flame. We can learn to be more diligent and less forgetful. More skilled tenders of firewood and an airy breeze.
Even before we pick up the brush every day, we have got to make sure we keep the flame alive. And if we ever notice the light glimmering dimmer, it’s time to put down the brush.
Back into the woods we must go.
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