12/16/2025
I think we conveniently forget about the alchemy that naturally happens in the artistic process.
The inherent push and pull.
The way we are asked to squeeze creation out of nothingness.
To allow enough spaciousness and breath for the contractions to pass without gripping too hard.
To stay in witnessing of what we are giving birth to in real time.
Not unlike the birthing process itself.
Devastating and beautiful.
Painful and holy.
A reckoning with who we think we are, and how we show up in the midst of challenge, unimaginable tension, and uncertainty.
And the irony is this:
We don’t have to work so hard to make anything happen.
We are the pressure cooker.
The force that has the capacity to transform coal into diamonds, ashes into wildflowers, and heartbreak into hope.
Against all odds, we keep coming back.
Having the courage to try again, regardless of how many times we get burned.
How beautiful we are.
How true.
How honest.
How utterly, unexplainably, and magically human.