✧ On Letting Artists Be Artists

Why control rarely creates anything worth remembering.

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There’s something sacred about being trusted as an artist. About being given room to interpret, explore, and create in a way that feels true—not just to the client, but to the work itself.

Good art doesn’t thrive under surveillance. It can’t be scheduled to death, micromanaged into meaning, or checked for approval in every line. It asks for presence. For listening. For space.

I’ve learned that when people try to hold too tightly to something they didn’t create, it’s rarely about care—it’s about control. And usually, it’s fear underneath that. Fear of losing relevance, fear of not succeeding, fear of being left behind.

But not every space is built to honor the people doing the creating.

Some are built to contain them.

To keep things neat, manageable, unthreatening. To mistake control for "team work". To disguise fear as leadership. The more fragile the power, the tighter the grip.

I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. I’ve left it behind.

Now, I’m creating in a space where respect is mutual, not demanded. Where feedback is not met with defensiveness. Where accountability isn’t dodged. Where self-reflection takes precedence over obstinate self-righteousness. And where the intersection of creativity, art, and business don't have to "fall in line" with a strict set of rules.

The reality is that control stifles creativity;

true artistry requires risk and trust, and environments built on fear and dominance produce work that’s lifeless, forgettable, or worse—performative. To me, this control stems from fear. I’ve noticed that the loudest critics are often the most afraid. It’s easy to talk down about other local artists or shops when you’re terrified of being compared to them. That kind of fear dresses itself up as authority -- "this artist won't be as successful as us because ____" or "we've got an edge over this shop because they do (or don't do) ____". But when someone spends all their energy trying to diminish what others are building, it usually means they’re not building much of their own.

Real artists aren’t threatened by other artists. They’re inspired by them.

It's also easy to blame other shops for their “egos”, being "intimidating", or having “bad vibes,” but much harder to reflect on the energy you’ve created in your own, and what may be driving artists away. It’s one thing to name the tension in other spaces. It’s another to wonder why people keep quietly slipping out of yours.

There’s something different about creating when no one’s watching—not through the lens of suspicion, not through a hallway camera, not with the weight of someone waiting to correct you. The work feels lighter now. More honest. It belongs to me again. And when you’ve spent long enough under someone else’s gaze, even the smallest freedom feels like flight.

If you’re new here: welcome to my little corner of intentional creating. If you’ve been following my work for a while, thank you for staying close. And if you’re just here to keep an eye on things—I see you, too. If I’m still in your orbit, even after stepping away, it only tells me one thing:

I was worth watching.