How a popular and influential book from 1992 reignited my creative spark.
In a Brooklyn studio, a snapshot of “The Artist’s Way” captured by Shawn Michael Jones for The New York Times.
Throughout my career, I have delved into the realm of art, finding it endlessly captivating. However, I have always viewed myself through a different lens—as a journalist and critic, not necessarily an “artist” with the boundless imaginative prowess that title implies. Recently, during a deeply moving interview, the artist and I delved into topics of childhood and the struggle for self-expression, leading to emotional moments and introspection. This experience sparked a profound question within me: What if I were the one being interviewed? Could I embody the essence of an artist, brimming with creative vision like those I often feature? The notion both excited and daunted me.
These contemplations emerged during a period of feeling both aimless and stagnant. While I regularly cover contemporary art for various publications, I found myself in a creative standstill. Initially unable to pinpoint the cause, I described it as a disconnection from my own voice or a stark misalignment between my work and personal life, which was then shadowed by themes of mortality and ailment.
Seeking solutions, I turned to my usual outlets—conversations with friends, family, and my therapist. When these proved insufficient, I heeded the advice of several acquaintances and delved into the pages of Julia Cameron’s seminal work, “The Artist’s Way,” first published in 1992. Structured as a 12-week program guiding readers on a spiritual voyage of “creative recovery,” the book originated as a class and a set of photocopied pages sold in bookstores before finding a publishing home. Joel Fotinos, the book’s publisher at Penguin, recalled the initial challenge of categorizing it, eventually birthing the genre of ‘Creativity’ with “The Artist’s Way” as its beacon. With over five million copies sold, Cameron has ascended to a revered status as a creative guide.
Unaware of this background, I approached “The Artist’s Way” with skepticism, perceiving it as a mystical self-help manual known for popularizing the concept of “morning pages” (reminiscent of journaling in the early hours). As I delved into the text, my initial reaction was one of discomfort. Cameron’s invocation of “The Great Creator,” synonymous with a divine entity, triggered my skepticism, marked by wavy underlines and a skeptical “Mmm” in the margins. The subsequent discovery of sporadic inspirational quotes nestled in the margins, such as “I shut my eyes in order to see” attributed to Paul Gauguin, further fueled my apprehension. The ensuing chapters unfolded with a tapestry of perplexing metaphors.
Despite priding myself on receptivity, my critical nature recoiled at what seemed like a compilation of questionable aesthetics. It transported me back to my adolescence, engrossed in the earnest pages of the “Chicken Soup for the Soul” series and publishing amateur poetry in school magazines. Reflecting on that past version of myself, I found a tinge of embarrassment mingled with admiration for her unabashed audacity—a trait I seemed to have outgrown.
Unexpectedly, the allure of “The Artist’s Way” lay in its call to transcend matters of taste and delve inward. Cameron’s core practices, including the morning pages—writing three handwritten pages upon awakening to navigate through fears, negativity, and moods—and the “artist date,” a weekly solitary expedition to nurture inspiration, encouraged introspection. While I didn’t consistently adhere to these exercises, I recognized their intrinsic value. Engaging in “The Artist’s Way” with a circle of women, one participant aptly described the process as a means of self-observation through the prescribed activities.