By Eric Maierson
February 2022 - I have been trying to write this introductory paragraph since November — which should tell you exactly how inspired I’ve felt this winter. I was already experiencing the low hum of stagnation when omicron arrived in December, bringing with it even more isolation.
It turns out I was not alone in feeling stuck. My collaborators, illustrator Julie Elman and editor Sue Morrow, shared with me their own stories of dormancy. So the three of us, seeking assistance, decided to ask our friends and colleagues, and one another, for advice: How can we maintain our creative practices during this longest of winters?
Jump to sections:
Bethany Bickley, Savannah, Georgia-based designer.
Julie M. Elman, professor at the School of Visual Communication at Ohio University
Caitlyn Greene, director
Jim Haag, former reporter and visual journalist, is now based in Idaho and taking on pottery with gusto.
Gabe Hakvaag, community theater director and producer in Pennsylvania
Melissa Lyttle, photojournalist
Eric Maierson is a writer and two-time Emmy-winning editor. He’s the author of this column, “It’s a Process.”
Sue Morrow, editor/designer
Gaelen Morse, 31, Columbus, Ohio-based freelance visual photojournalist and writer. @gmorsephoto on Instagram
Have you been able to maintain your creative life? If so, what are you doing right? If not, how are you holding on to hope?
Kind of. I was pretty uninspired with my work in 2021. My outlet was my daughter. She just turned a year old and was home with me all year (because of the pandemic). I think others can relate to working at home with little ones. I found creative ways to entertain her and watch her learn, and I let that be enough. I have a sitter now, and I’m just now easing back into feeling more creative with my work.
How are you maintaining your mental health?
I talk a lot with close friends who can relate to how I feel. I try not to put too much pressure on myself. I keep a loose schedule and am OK if things don’t go as planned or if I’m not as productive as I want to be.
What advice do you give yourself or others?
This season doesn’t define you. You aren’t just as good as your last work; you are a collective of all of your accomplishments. The creativity is still there. It doesn’t just disappear.
Have you been able to maintain your creative life? If so, what are you doing right? If not, how are you holding on to hope?
I’ve been taking it slowly these days — and not putting pressure on myself to tackle big projects over the long haul. I’m finding that small, creative, daily acts keep me connected to my creative life during a time when that particular wavelength feels kind of frayed.
How are you maintaining your mental health?
Lots of working out, walking and dialing back on my news consumption.
What advice do you give yourself or others?
Take it one day at a time. Screw perfectionism. Embrace process.
See Julie M. Elman illustrations @joodlesbyjulie on Instagram
Have you been able to maintain your creative life? If so, what are you doing right? If not, how are you holding on to hope?
I’m working on an independent project solo right now, so finding ways to stay accountable has been key. Even though I’m working alone at this stage, I’ve tried to build a train that doesn't totally stop without me — even if that just means setting up meetings I'm on the hook to prepare for, or committing to grant submissions with hard deadlines. Also, letting myself recharge when I need and take in plenty of art and stories unrelated to my project.
How are you maintaining your mental health?
Going outside in the morning before starting work, even if it’s just for a spin around the block. Creating a dedicated workspace in whatever way possible. Reading the news only sparingly. Very sparingly. Celebrating small victories.
What advice do you give yourself or others?
Consistency is key. A tiny bit every day adds up. When in doubt, just do the next right thing.
Caitlyn Greene is an Emmy Award-winning filmmaker who loves complex tales that break the mold and has told them in everything from six-second shorts to six-part television series.
Have you been able to maintain your creative life? If so, what are you doing right? If not, how are you holding on to hope?
This will be a long answer, just to give you some background. I was a journalist for 35 years, and that was my main creative outlet: in writing, in editing and in design. As I got better at design, I found that it spilled into other parts of my life, and I relished making my home as creative and kooky as I wanted.
But I was nervous when I retired to a small Idaho community six years ago because that journalistic process was so much a part of who I am (who I was?) that I wasn’t sure what I would do. Shortly after we moved here, my wife (also a lifelong journalist) and I became involved in the local Senior Center, and we took over the monthly newsletter. It was a great way to use those skills that were so much a part of our lives.
But it wasn’t enough. I took many painting classes, and though I truly enjoyed it (and actually did a couple that aren't hideous), I knew that wasn’t where I wanted to go. I tried writing, just for me, and I enjoyed it, but it, too, wasn't enough.
Then a friend invited my wife and I to take a pottery class with her, and it was a revelation. At first, I was really bad, and at times, I had decided to stick with it even though I knew I would never get good at it because it was a “time stopper” for me.
So what’s a time stopper? When I was a reporter and also an editor, there would be days when I was working on a story and I would suddenly glance up and realize that I was so absorbed in what I was doing that two or two and a half or even three hours had passed, and I didn’t even realize it.
That same thing began happening to me in the pottery studio. My wife and I would leave class, and she would mention something that happened, and I would have to ask her to tell me about it because I was so into trying to create pottery that time — and the world — seemed to stop. It was just me and the clay. It was and is a wondrous feeling. Slowly, I got better at pottery, and I now create things that I’m not ashamed to actually give to others.
And along the way, I made a realization: Clay has now become my creative outlet, but it is different from journalism in a huge way. It’s physical as well as mental. When I was writing or editing or designing, if I could dream something up in my head, I could usually produce it. I was limited only by my imagination. With clay, I can imagine the most amazing pottery, but I often realize that I don’t yet have the skills to pull it off. It’s a very physical process, as well as mental.
When the pandemic hit, the studio closed. I missed it, but I didn’t know how much. As time dragged on, I found myself getting grouchier and grouchier — at times, even explosively upset about the most inane things. It scared me. I had always been a pretty levelheaded guy who loved to laugh, and I was turning into someone who was becoming enraged at the drop of a hat.
It was during this time that Julie and I reconnected; I had known we were soulmates early in our friendship, and I didn't know how much I missed her until we began Zooming regularly. (And I do wonder, had it not been for the pandemic and the loneliness that was setting in, when we would have done that.)
Last May, the studio reopened, and my wife and I began taking classes again — masked and socially distancing and all that. And I began to have those time-stopping moments again, and I cried — joyfully — more than once when it happened because it was such a good feeling to have back.
And, for me, the physicality of the process became even more important to me. I began to realize that if I want to create these incredible pots, I have to first learn — really learn — the basics. So this fall, I asked my pottery teacher if I could go back to the beginning. I spent weeks doing nothing but centering clay. Then weeks opening it. Then five weeks creating nothing but cylinders, because cylinders are a building block to so many things. I was reprogramming my muscle memory. I saved nothing — not a single thing — from those months.
And even though it looked from the outside that I was not being productive at all, it was — and the process is still continuing — one of the most creative times of my life. I had always thought that creativity meant actually creating something. Now I know that creativity, for me, is a feeling.
How are you maintaining your mental health?
I've always loved people and have been blessed with good friends, but I’ve realized over the past year that every close friend I’ve ever made has either been someone I worked with — and so I had spent much time with them before we ever became friends outside of work — or it was someone that my wife had brought into our circle — and then when I felt safe, I would open up and become friends with them.
We worried when we moved [to Idaho] how we would make friends — most of ours had come through work over the years. We aren’t religious, so we’ve never had church friends, and we don’t have kids and thus grandkids, which is another way to meet people at our age. So one day, I had a chilling realization: I was so insecure deep down that I had never initiated a friendship, especially with other guys, since I was a boy.
So this fall, I made a commitment to put myself out there the next time I met someone whom I thought was interesting. At a pottery class, there was a guy 20-some years younger than me, and I thought he was cool, and I decided we would become friends. At times, I went way overboard with him, but he has stuck with me, and we’re both looking forward to getting to know each other better.
So to answer your question, the pandemic made me realize that I needed to look inward and take chances if I wanted to remain sane and keep growing, and that has been amazing to figure out. The past two months have been my happiest in decades, and I attribute that to doing things that seemed scary — creating something out of clay and creating a friendship — but had immense payoffs in the end.
What advice do you give yourself or others?
• Take chances. Don’t hold yourself back. Be bold at times. Be needy at times. Be weepy at times. Be you at all times.
• Create a safe spot with friends you love and who love you. When Trump was elected, it shook my world. I hadn’t been naive enough to think everything was perfect, but I thought we were headed in the right direction. Now I realize that much of the world is ugly. In response, I’ve set out to create my own private Idaho, surrounded by people who I adore and who let me be me, as weird and warty as that sometimes is.
• Don’t be too hard on yourself. I know this goes without saying, but we all beat ourselves up too much. Why am I not creating? Why am I sad? Why can’t I do this? Let yourself fail. Realize that failure is part of the process.
• Try something new. And, yes, you will fail at it initially, but that’s OK. I’m anxious to take up the piano again. I had tried about 15 years ago, but when I wasn’t a whiz after three months, I stopped. Now I want to do it for the sheer joy of learning rather than an end result. And if I don’t love it, I’ll move on to something else.
• Get high occasionally. Sure, it’s cheating. But it helps. :)
Have you been able to maintain your creative life?
Yes, but with caveats.
If so, what are you doing right?
In normal times, I always looked for projects that were a challenge — that I was not sure I knew how to deliver them. In 2021 I produced an absurdist Sarah Ruhl play, “Dead Man’s Cell Phone,” that was a wonderful play that required a high level of collaboration and problem solving with a cast of nonprofessional actors. I incorporated dance for the first time. I’m still mulling over what succeeded and what didn’t, but I’m glad for the opportunity to try.
With COVID, and because I produce for a community theater, we are constantly challenged by changes in the situation, new safety protocols, etc. Figuring out how to create plays in this environment has called on a lot of creativity, as well as opportunity to build and strengthen our local community. For almost a year we had to close our theater and perform online. Now we are back on stage but learning new ways to rehearse and perform in ways that are reasonably safe. We understand that at any moment we may need to close down again. Learning to live with these constraints and make art together is a constant puzzle to solve.
If not, how are you holding on to hope?
Sometimes things don’t work out. Cancellations and postponements are a fact of life, even before COVID. I have tried to keep moving forward in the present but have an eye on the future. Our company is currently investing in a complete tech upgrade. New lighting and sound system, new stage. And along with overseeing this upgrade, I’ve been working to identify and train new people in our community to produce, design and perform theater in our community. There’s a lot of “herding cats” involved, as ultimately we are expanding a small community theater company to include multiple directors, with more opportunities to perform and reach audiences. Change often meets resistance. But I am encouraged by the individuals who are eager to learn new skills, especially in this “downtime.”
How are you maintaining your mental health?
Yeesh, am I? I just lean into the wind and keep going.
What advice do you give yourself or others?
Don’t be precious. It’s not about me, or what we as individuals want. We build community by working together, respecting each other and finding ways forward. We build community by telling stories. That’s what theater is. How we do it is up to us.
Gabe Hakvaag is a producer, director and technical director with Hamilton-Gibson Productions, a community performing arts organization serving north-central Pennsylvania. In 2022, Hakvaag is overseeing a complete overhaul of H-G’s lighting and sound system, as well as directing the Marx Brothers musical, “Animal Crackers,” in July.
Have you been able to maintain your creative life? If so, what are you doing right? If not, how are you holding on to hope?
Maybe. Kind of. Sometimes.
I think for many, the creative process actually has a life cycle. It goes something like this: Illumination > Incubation > The Pit of Discomfiture > Digging out of Said Pit (by Playing, Experimenting and Taking Risks) > Growth > Doing the Damn Thing (and actually freakin’ creating)
I like the illumination phase the most. That’s that spark. It’s the seed that germinates and gets me excited about growth and new life. It’s having cool experiences on which to draw from, researching things, reading and learning, then coming up with ideas and brainstorming and trying to make them bigger and better. I love being inspired, dreaming big and thinking that anything is possible. And then like most, I get stuck in the Pit of Discomfiture (you know, the “everything sucks ... why even try ... this is stupid” pit). Sometimes I can push through and dig my way out. Other times, my Moleskine notebook is simply the place where mediocre, half-baked ideas go to die. The hardest thing for most creative people, myself included, is to shush that inner voice telling you why something won’t work or how it’s all been done before or what have you, long enough so that you can start doing.
So, yeah, while I certainly try to maintain that creative life, it’s a struggle some days.
When the pandemic first hit and everything was locked down, and it didn’t feel safe to leave my house, let alone to venture out and do assignment work — not that there was much; it’d dried up for most freelancers I know, myself included — I started creating collages and making postcards at this cool old drafting table I have set up in the basement. It became an outlet to channel some energy and force my brain to create in different ways — other than photography — by deconstructing and then reconstructing, by finding new ways to look at something, by using my hands, by playing. It was incredibly cathartic … almost like therapy.
And then I started dreaming up ideas and projects I wanted to work on, and filling that notebook again. One of those ideas became a project on all of the Confederate monuments that have come down since George Floyd’s death. I’d been reading about how they were coming down in record numbers, and I started thinking up ways to tell that story safely — because the pandemic was still raging hard and vaccines were nonexistent at that point — and how to tell it so there was a lasting impact that could make people question what we should be doing with these symbols of hate and oppression that have been hiding in plain sight for so long. So I ended up applying for and getting some nice grants to help fund that work. And I found a way to do it not only safely, but also smartly.
I’ve been working on the monuments project for about 15 months now, and I feel like I need a little push to start creating new and different things now, so I’ve just enrolled in a few classes at two local art centers — one class is on large format photography and the other is on bookmaking, both of which are things I’m fascinated by and would love to know how to actually do well.
Learning new things challenges and excites me and will hopefully spark some new ideas and grow into something cool someday, too.
How are you maintaining your mental health?
It’s a constant battle. I know what I should be doing — meditating, eating healthy, etc. — but like many, I’m not always great at that.
Maybe, and I think perhaps more importantly, though, I know what I shouldn’t be doing. I know what’s detrimental to my mental health, so I try to avoid the triggers. A really good example is occasionally taking Instagram off my phone so I don’t fall into the habit of the endless scroll of despair and comparing myself to other photographers and questioning why they’re working for X and I’m not.
I’ve also gotten really into bicycling since the pandemic hit — it honestly felt like the safest way to work out once my gym closed. Besides being outside, getting some exercise and getting a little vitamin D, which never hurts, the added and unintentional benefit has been that it doesn’t allow me to think about anything else besides moving my legs and the road ahead. I don’t answer phone calls or texts when I’m on the bike; I’m not checking email or social media; I’m not distracted by a million things. It’s actually very zen, and it definitely helps to quiet my mind. (And I find when it’s quiet and uncluttered, that’s when ideas and inspiration can start creeping back in.)
What advice do you give yourself or others?
You don’t have the right to complain about something unless you’re willing to do something about it.
Evolve. Don’t be afraid of change; learn to embrace it — it’s the only constant we have.
Do what makes you happy; if not, what’s the point.
Melissa Lyttle is an independent photojournalist based in Washington, D.C.
Have you been able to maintain your creative life? If so, what are you doing right? If not, how are you holding on to hope?
Of late, I’ve been primarily focused on my new full-time job. For the first time in the pandemic, though, I’m finding it harder to focus on personal projects. I’m frankly a bit worn out from the last two years and don’t seem to have much extra energy at the moment. I’m really hoping that this is seasonal. I think it’s important to remember that what feels like a personal malady or shortcoming is really far more universal. We’re largely separated from each other now, but oddly we’re all going through that separation together.
How are you maintaining your mental health?
Pre-dawn walks in Prospect Park with my dog, Beanie, have been a godsend. It’s so easy to become caught in obsessive thoughts when sitting in front of a computer all day reading news story after news story. Going outside allows my mind to open and my lungs to take in fresh air, and for a little while I feel OK.
What advice do you give yourself or others?
Passengers on the Titanic weren’t writing memoirs as the boat sank. It’s hyperbolic, slightly, but you get the idea.
Eric Maierson is the author of this column, “It’s a Process.”
Have you been able to maintain your creative life? If so, what are you doing right? If not, how are you holding on to hope?
I have been lucky to have creativity within my 30-plusyear career of choice: photojournalism, editing and design. But the creative juices are pretty ground up right now, but that might be due to seasonal gloominess and the fact that I completed an eight-month book design/editing project on top of additional full-time job responsibilities. I’m drained. But I loved working on the “Best of Photojournalism” book. I love the feeling of being in a creative zone. Even better with music playing.
Hope: I turn 65 in a few months. A biggie. I’m thinking about the opportunities that will bring (I’m not retiring). At this point in my life/career, I need to focus on my well-being and happiness instead of what everyone else needs. Being a picture editor means being an advocate for everyone else’s work; being a conduit. That’s a role I will continue to embrace, of course, but my own work has taken a back seat. That part needs to change. I need to explore my artistic abilities that provide a source of personal joy. And I feel that the COVID lockdown has made me ponder these changes.
How are you maintaining your mental health?
I walk. When it gets warmer, I’ll cycle. I require a lot of alone time, which has been rare for almost two years. While it feels a tad selfish, I am learning to ask for time alone. It helps me and my spouse.
The first year of COVID I had a burst of inspiration from a photograph I made of my friends’ dog, whom I dearly love. I unearthed my drawing pencils and made a portrait of Leo, which now hangs on their wall. It took months to complete, but the 20-minute drawing sessions made me slow down and clear my brain. I aim to do more of that. Does anyone want a drawing of their dog? (I don’t do people.)
Oh! I’m happily addicted to The New York Times daily mini crossword puzzle — the tune that plays when you complete it is very satisfying — and the Spelling Bee game.
What advice do you give yourself or others?
When did I stop reading the comics? Far too long ago. Don’t stop reading the comics.
Sue Morrow is the editor/designer for News Photographer magazine for the NPPA. @suelmorrow on Instagram and Twitter
Have you been able to maintain your creative life? If so, what are you doing right? If not, how are you holding on to hope?
I have been able to maintain a semblance of my creative life. My work has definitely lost some of its creative edge, as I have fallen into a “just getting by” mentality and focusing on finding as much work as I can. That being said, just because I am not in the most creative head space, I have a great deal of hope and understanding that it still drives me. I make sure to take time to make pictures just for me, regardless of how technically successful they are. And while I surely need to make that more of a priority, it reminds me that my creativity is there, and it’s OK that my creativity is not always in its finest hour. It would be somewhat ridiculous of me to assume that just because I rely on my creativity to fuel my career, that I must always be living my most creative life.
How are you maintaining your mental health?
First and foremost, patience. Allowing myself to be not OK, to have off days and to rely on those who want to be there for me. I am fortunate enough to have a support network of family and friends, and I do my best to practice gratitude and self-compassion. Reminding myself that success is measured in many ways, and that I have come so far from where I started, is integral to my mental health. I have implemented practices that also help: I check in with myself and avoid social media if it is becoming more stress inducing than helpful. I make sure I take days to focus on being outdoors, with my girlfriend, accomplishing small things like chores, reading a book, cooking a new meal and so on. It isn’t a walk in the park, but I always make sure that when things are rough, I go for a walk in the park. Fresh air is always a great first step in feeling stronger on days when I am feeling weak.
What advice do you give yourself or others?
This is a tough one — in life, and in creativity, we are all so unique that general advice is sometimes difficult to give and take. I think the idea that very little in life is as simple as it seems has always helped my mindset. Neither work nor creativity, not happiness nor sadness, success nor failure, can be defined in black and white, good and bad, right and wrong — it’s all a spectrum, a scale. To be faltering in creativity now means little about your creativity down the road. Granted, one must always find a way to pay the bills and support themselves, but if you find yourself supplementing your creative work with a barista job, rideshare driving, unemployment benefits or whatever it may be, that doesn’t mean you are failing. You’re making it work. And when things feel like they aren’t working, consider redefining the idea of it “working.” Sometimes making it work is hour by hour, day by day. One day at a time, one foot in front of the other, one frame after the next. Life is too complex and fragile to place unreasonable expectations upon yourself. Life is meant to be lived.
@gmorsephoto on Instagram
Eric Maierson is a two-time Emmy-winning video producer and senior editor at Blue Chalk Media. He lives in Brooklyn with his wife, Ellen, and their dog.
Illustration by Julie M. Elman, a professor at the School of Visual Communication at Ohio University, where she teaches design.
Tips I learned in my years as a freelancer
Jealousy is natural, but turn it into something positive
Even small steps daily can help unleash creativity
Build networks, membrane uncertainty and ask yourself: should I take the gig?
Advice to creative beginners (and everyone else, too)
Let constraints free your mind, not box you in
