THE POINT OF HEALING IS TO BECOME A WEIRDO AGAIN

On creativity, finding your way back to yourself, and giving yourself permission to be a little less sensible

A few weeks ago, I posted one of those slogan-type posts I occasionally share on Instagram.

You know the kind. A thought rattling around in your head that needs to find its way out into the world.

This one said:

The point of healing is to become a weirdo again.

To be an artist.

To be unhinged.

To create wildly and freely with whimsy and ingenuity.

That's the point.

I didn't think too much about it at the time. I liked the words, they made me smile, and they felt like something I needed to hear myself.

Fast forward a little while and, somehow, this little post has been viewed more than 900,000 times, shared and reposted over 20,000 times, and brought more than 1,000 new people to my little corner of Instagram. Which is rather extraordinary when you think about it.

But do you know what has warmed my heart the most?

The thought that there are so many fellow weirdos out there.

People who saw those words and felt something. Perhaps a little recognition. Perhaps a sense of permission. Perhaps just a moment of thinking, Oh, thank goodness. It's not just me.

And I love that.

When did we become so sensible?

I wonder sometimes how much of ourselves we learn to edit as we move through life.

We grow up, take on responsibilities, build careers, raise families, pay mortgages, organise the endless practicalities of everyday life. We become very good at being the people others need us to be. And somewhere along the way, perhaps without even noticing, we can become a little more careful.

A little more sensible.

We think about whether something is useful, productive, worthwhile or likely to lead somewhere before we allow ourselves to spend time on it.

Even creativity can become tangled up in all of this.

As an artist, I know how easily making something can turn into thinking about what it means, where it fits, whether it belongs in a collection, whether anyone will like it, and whether it makes sense for the business.

Of course, those things have their place. I make a living from my art, and I want to create work that finds its way into people's homes. I love thinking about colour, interiors, how a painting can change the feeling of a room, and the connection someone might have with a piece of work.

But there also needs to be room for the other stuff.

The things that don't have a plan.

The ideas that might be a little odd.

The things we make simply because we feel like making them.

The things that don't need to become anything more than what they are.

I recently spent two days at a textile workshop, stitching away with a lovely group of creative people. It was such a treat to do something different, to learn from someone whose work I admire, and to spend time making something just for the fun of it.

No big expectations. No need to turn it into a new direction for my work.

Just the pleasure of making.

And I think we need more of that.

Making room for the weird bits

I've been thinking a lot lately about how we find our way back to ourselves.

Perhaps it's something that comes with getting older. Perhaps it's something that happens when life throws a few things at us that change our perspective. Or perhaps it's simply what happens when we finally have enough life experience to realise that we don't have to take everything quite so seriously.

I've certainly had my share of questioning lately. Where my work sits in the art world, what sort of artist I want to be, how I want to spend my time, and what I want this next chapter of life to look like.

There are plenty of questions without neat answers.

But one thing I'm becoming increasingly sure of is that I don't want to spend my time trying to fit myself into a version of what I think an artist is supposed to be.

I want to make work that feels like me.

I want to follow the ideas that excite me, even when they take me somewhere unexpected.

I want to be curious. To play. To experiment. To make things that are a little strange, a little whimsical, a little bit of a surprise.

I want to leave room for the things I haven't thought of yet.

And perhaps that is what I mean when I talk about becoming a weirdo again.

Not that we need to abandon our responsibilities, throw caution to the wind or suddenly become entirely different people.

Although a little unhinged creativity never hurt anyone.

Perhaps it's simply about allowing ourselves to be a little less edited.

To stop asking whether every little thing makes sense to everyone else.

To remember that the parts of us that are curious, playful, unconventional and imaginative are worth making room for.

Even when they don't have a purpose.

Especially when they don't have a purpose.

So, here's to the weirdos

I have no idea why this particular post resonated with so many people, and I probably don't need to know.

Perhaps it was the word healing. Perhaps it was the permission to be a little unhinged.

Perhaps it was the idea that creativity doesn't have to be neat or sensible or particularly well behaved.

Or perhaps we are all just a little tired of trying to get everything right.

Whatever it was, I'm rather delighted that the words found their way to so many people.

And if you're one of the people who stopped to read them, I hope they gave you a little nudge towards something that makes you feel more like yourself.

Make the thing.

Follow the strange idea.

Wear the ridiculous outfit.

Take the class that has nothing to do with your work.

Let yourself be a beginner.

Make something that nobody else quite understands.

You don't need to justify every little thing that brings you joy.

Life is serious enough at times. There is room for the ridiculous, the curious, the playful and the wonderfully unnecessary.

And if you're wondering whether you're a little weird, well, I suspect you might be in very good company.

Here's to making things wildly and freely.

To a little more whimsy and ingenuity.

And to all the fellow weirdos out there.

I'm very glad you're here.