Creating from Joy

We’ve been sold the same version of the artist for years—and I’m starting to question it.

The typical artist, as portrayed by the movie industry, fits the same bill: tortured, depressed, battling an insane number of demons, definitely drinks, occasionally smokes, has one or more childhood or relationship traumas, and lives in an apartment that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a decade. The average artist is portrayed as a very sad person.

Honestly, I get the idea. An artist choosing to create in spite of the pain and all the bullshit they’ve been through is inspirational. It paints a picture that says, “pain can be turned into something beautiful.” It’s a coping mechanism, a form of therapy—and it actually works.

But what if we flipped the narrative and chose to create from a place of joy? It’s wonderful to take the baggage, the hurt, the trauma, and turn it into something that speaks to others—but what if our joys could do the same?

I’m learning that while art is an imitation of life, life also imitates art. Our reality begins to conform to the art we create and consume. Art is powerful and deeply spiritual (whatever “spiritual” may mean to you), and it should be treated as such. Through our art, we can shape the reality we want to live in.

This is not to say that art cannot be a medium for expressing sadness, grief, or any other “negative” emotion—it absolutely can, and should. But it doesn’t have to be rooted there to be meaningful. Joy, softness, wonder, and even quiet contentment deserve just as much space on the canvas—because they, too, are real, and not everything beautiful has to be born from breaking.

Sometimes, creating from joy feels harder than creating from pain because we don’t trust it. We don’t believe it will last, so it feels unworthy of attention—or we simply haven’t learned to notice and appreciate the small, fleeting moments of joy we are already given.

So maybe we can start small—the next time you sit down to create, you don’t wait for the ache to arrive. Maybe you begin with something lighter, something whole. Let it be soft without questioning its depth. See what happens when you let joy speak first, and what kind of world begins to grow when you do.