Why We Keep Making Art When the Government is Breaking Us

It's February 14th. Valentine's Day. My friend called this morning and their voice sounded like glass about to shatter.

They're a collaborator I respect. Someone whose work I've always admired. They said they don't know why they're making anything anymore. The news is too heavy. The government feels too broken. What's the point of posting art when the world is on fire?

I didn't have an answer right away. I let them talk. Then we stayed on the phone for over an hour processing what’s been going on the past few weeks.

I've been sitting with it all day. Trying to process what I said and what I heard. Because I think we're all going through something awful right now.

Here's what I keep coming back to.

Your art is not going to fix what's broken in this country. Neither is mine. We both know that, right?

But I listened to my friend's voice change when we talked about the last piece they finished. The way their breathing slowed down. The way they started solving problems out loud instead of spiraling.

Making things is the only time their brain gets quiet right now. ( Please read that again.)

I told them something I needed to hear myself.

You don't make art because it matters to the world. You make it because it matters to you. Because your hands need something to do besides shake. Because your mind needs somewhere to go besides the news.

Creating is not a distraction. It's how you survive.

It’s how WE survive.

It needs to be shared with everyone and anyone.

We talked about mental health.

Therapy appointments are weeks out. Medication takes time to work. Exercise feels impossible when getting out of bed is hard enough.

But your tools are right there. Your materials are waiting. Your hands remember what to do even when your brain feels scrambled.

Fifteen minutes working on something is fifteen minutes you're not drowning. I also address this with my own writing and creativity.

I thought about my own work today.

The collaborators I support. The artists and healers and musicians who trust me with their voice online. They're all feeling this too.

Some of them are posting through it. Some of them have gone silent. All of them are trying to figure out how to keep going when everything feels pointless.

I don't have answers. But I know what happens when creative people stop creating. The world gets darker. The silence gets louder. We lose the proof that beauty and meaning still exist.

Here's what I said. I hope it inspires you too.

Make something today. Not for Instagram. Not for your audience. Not because you're supposed to be productive.

Make something because you need to remember your hands still work. Make something because you need to see that you have control over at least one thing. Make something because it's the only thing that feels real right now.

Your work reaches people whether you see it or not.

Someone saw your last piece and felt less alone. Someone heard your music and remembered what hope sounds like. Someone walked into your space and exhaled for the first time in days.

You don't have to save anyone. But your work is part of what keeps people breathing.

I'm writing this because I needed to work through it.

The call shook me. Not because I don't know creative people are struggling. I do. But hearing it in someone's voice is different than knowing it abstractly.

We're all going through something awful. The news is relentless. The future feels uncertain. The government is doing things that hurt.

But here's what I believe.

Your creativity is how you fight back. Not in some grand political way. In the quiet personal way that keeps you alive. That keeps you connected to what matters. That reminds you why you're still here.

Make something today. Even if it's small. Even if it's messy. Even if no one ever sees it.

Because your friend on the other end of the phone needs you to keep going. Because someone you've never met needs your work to exist. Because you need proof that you're still here and you're still fighting.

Keep creating.

Not because it's easy. Not because it fixes anything. But because it's the most human thing you do. Because it's how we've always survived hard times. Because someone needs to see what you make.

I needed to write this down. To process what happened today. To remind myself why this work matters.

We're all hurting. But we're not done yet.

Please let me know what you are thinking and feeling.