The Creative State of Play
I was talking to a friend just the other day about doing what you love for a living.
Naturally, I encouraged the idea — how could I not? But as we talked, I felt the need to acknowledge something that often goes unspoken: how what you love changes once you start doing it for a living.
You don’t love it less, and you don’t stop enjoying it. It’s just… different.
That thought stuck with me this week.
I’m extremely blessed to be able to pursue a dream and make a life doing what I love (regardless of how long it takes!). But I’ve learned how easy it is to fall into the trap of creating to perform — to make what you think people want, to stay efficient, to stick only to the pieces that belong in a given series or that are likely to sell.
And before you know it, you’ve drifted away from the state of play. Your work starts to feel rigid. You hesitate before making a mark for fear of “messing it up.”
But these “mistakes” — those imperfect, unexpected moments — are the bread and butter of a self-taught artist. They’re what push you to discover something new.
Creativity requires a state of play - letting go of the societal need to perform and exchanging it for the simple audacity of a child. It’s a place where you experiment freely, where you’re comfortable not knowing what comes next, and there’s no pressure for it to turn out a certain way. It’s what allows you to ask, “What happens if I do this?” and follow that curiosity wherever it leads.
Ironically, this is where the playful poses of the marine life in my work comes from - what if we experimented with sustainable solutions and dared to ask the important questions, rather than settling for the status quo of a self-centered culture? What a different world we would live in, from sustainability to social justice to how we relate to God.
When we allow ourselves to play, the techniques we discover become more of an ongoing journey than an arrival. What an offload of pressure!
Lately, I’ve been trying to be more intentional about this — to keep things loose, to play again. I’ve been experimenting with values, shading, and abstraction, finding new ways to let the process teach me something.
One of the ways I’ve done that is through pointillism — creating concept art in tiny dots to explore possible color values and composition before taking an idea to wood or canvas.
It’s been surprisingly refreshing, especially for my more abstract ocean life pieces. It helps me solidify a concept before throwing color into the mix, and the process itself feels lighter, smoother, more enjoyable.
One of those experiments grew out of my time sailing in the Harvest Moon Regatta. I wanted to create a piece that captured all the memorable moments from the days of the return sail, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it all together.
So I started to play — and somewhere in that process, it clicked.
*With journal excerpts from the time on the water
That artwork, and the stories from that sailing adventure, will be part of the next Print Club Letter, and I can’t wait to send it out!
If you’d like to be part of this journey — to receive the stories and artwork that come from this creative state of play — join me on Patreon! It’s the best way to support my work while participating in the journey as I share my art, reflections, and behind-the-scenes process and adventures in their most authentic form.
I hope you’ll check it out.
Until next tide,
Ruth Scego 🌊
