Production vs. Creation with Natasha Akery

In the endlessness of January, I spent a lot of time staring at my phone, hoping it would give me a creative idea (and knowing it probably wouldn’t). As weird as it sounds to say, part of my role at Alexandria Art Therapy is to be a content creator, writing blogs like this and sharing posts on our Instagram page. 

But in willing the “creation” to come, was I stripping it of its true nature? My friend Natasha Akery had just sent me a definition I’ve been mulling over: the difference between production and creation. “Production,” she says, “is the pressure we feel to produce even when no one has that expectation of us. Creation is the impulse to manifest something inside of us in the physical world.” 

Natasha is a teacher, diversity educator, mother, guitar player, yogi, and brilliant writer (for more of her work, check out her haiku project on Instagram, or download her ebook, Breaking Up with Misery, which I re-read yearly as a mindset adjustment for myself). I wanted to go deeper into this idea of production vs. creation, so I asked Natasha if she’d tell us more. 

DOT DANNENBERG: I was so struck by what you said about production being pressure and creation being an impulse. For me that so accurately describes how these things feel different in the body. Production (and sometimes deadlines) make me feel so blank. Like my brain is just totally empty and nothing good will ever live there again. But when something really gets a hold of me, it really is an impulse. It’s every free minute of my day. It’s writing poetry while I’m sitting on the stairs waiting for my husband to finish reading our daughter a bedtime story. And like, writing while I’m waiting for the microwave to heat up lunch. I can’t take my eyes off the thing I’m working on until I get it right: until the thing that used to live inside me is now on the outside. How did you come to start thinking about production and creation as such separate acts?

NATASHA AKERY: Production brings to mind the idea of supply and demand. Creation, on the other hand, conjures images of the cosmos coming into being. It’s spontaneous. I understand what you described earlier about poetry; sometimes I’m obsessed with the poem I’m currently crafting. This is different from production because the only person demanding this of me is myself, not an outside source. 

DOT: Do you think this ties into productivity culture? Are we as creative people allowing ourselves to be poisoned by production? Is this a uniquely American/western problem?

NATASHA: I think creative people (all people) are caught up in productivity culture. We are encouraged to pursue a side hustle or to commoditize our hobbies and talents. I think this is poison only if we are driven by the idea of supply and demand. If an outside source is demanding our creativity, then the muse has changed. It’s not our muse; it’s someone else’s. I’m not sure if this is unique to the west but I think it certainly permeates out into the rest of the world.

DOT: The muse has changed–I love that. When do you catch yourself getting caught up in production? How do you bring it back to creativity? 

NATASHA: Unfortunately, I get caught up in production when I’m paying attention to engagement on social media. I have been writing haiku consistently for about seven years now. When I made an account for my poetry on Instagram, I noticed that I was thinking more about my audience rather than about my creative impulses. I have to be mindful of that mindset and shift back to why I write haiku–to notice the present moment.

DOT: That’s something we share–the “why.” Though I dabble in painting here and there, my more serious mediums are poetry and photography, and noticing the present moment is always the drive there. I want something small and jewel-like that I can look back on and remember exactly how it felt to exist on a particular day. But I fall into that same trap–because I mostly share my photos and poems on Instagram, I find myself thinking, “I haven’t posted in a while. What can I share?” as opposed to putting the noticing first. 

I wonder–do you think there is a time and a place for production? Can we harness it for good? I feel like sometimes good work can come out of production. The whole idea of an artist or writer’s routine is built around this notion that if you show up in the same place at the same time every day, you’ll get going, and you’ll make something bit by bit. At least that’s the story I was sold in school. If you’re lucky, you can start in a production mindset and then hit a flow state, which shifts your body into the feeling of creation. Does it work like that for you? 

NATASHA: What you’re describing is what I would call “practice” rather than “production.” Martial artists, dancers, athletes, sculptors–they all practice their talent and art. Production will always mean that someone is demanding something of me, maybe even myself. Practice is what I do to nourish my creativity.

DOT: That clarification helps. And I love the idea that we show up to practice our craft even when we don’t feel the drive to create that day. So much of the time I don’t. Because of our dependence on capitalism, production becomes necessary for so many of us. I wonder what you think about the tie-in between production/creation and truly considering whether or not you have anything to say right now. So much of the time, especially lately (pandemic, racial oppression, climate disaster contexts) I find that I don’t have anything to contribute. So instead of pushing through and responding to that production pressure, I’m trying to re-route my behavior and maybe just consume instead. Read more? Look at other art? Especially from voices that are really different from mine. Should I honor that? Or is this just making excuses for not being more committed to my art? 

NATASHA: When you said, “I don’t have anything to contribute,” I immediately thought about creatives such as Emily Dickinson. I don’t think any of the O.G.'s were thinking about what they had to contribute, but rather about what they were compelled to manifest in the physical world. Evaluating whether your art is worthy of contribution is a production value, a supply and demand value. Consumption is another idea that I have thought about a lot. It’s a word that’s intrinsic to capitalism. What if you aren’t consuming? What if you’re soaking? Basking? Bathing in the creativity of others and what their hearts can’t help but bring forth?

DOT: As you say that, I realize the language is so important. More basking, less consuming. More bringing forth, less supplying. And those subtle shifts in language can do a lot to shape our intention around living a creative life. I have one last question–we sometimes hear from prospective clients that they’re not sure art therapy will be a good fit because they don’t identify as “a creative person.” Do you have any suggestions for how someone can begin to think about creation when that identity feels distant? 

NATASHA: Every person is a creative person. It’s possible that people only consider certain things to be creative such as more obvious pursuits like painting or writing stories. A friend of mine, Joshua Robinson, is a hydrologist and engineer, and he is so creative. He takes pictures of nature while he is on the job that are absolutely stunning. He is an expert in his field, and that is creativity to me. He is compelled by noticing the intrinsic value of the natural world. That’s his muse, and it shows in his expertise. For any person out there who doesn’t consider themselves creative, I encourage you to ask yourself what compels you. What stirs your heart? Or to go in another direction, what enrages you? Creativity can come from there too. 

Everyone needs therapy, which really just means treatment that provides relief. We can’t find relief in production because its nature is rooted in labor. We can find relief in creativity, and creativity can show up in ways we least expect: singing at the top of your lungs in the carpool line, trying out a new recipe, describing aloud to yourself what the panic attack you’re having feels like. For some of us, our creative voice has been stifled because we’ve been lying to it–we’ve been saying that it isn’t a creative voice. It is. Speak.

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