Framing the Prompt

And so we return to our creative prompts. This is a fun one. The last one was a hard one—this is a fun one. Gonna ground into that to start. It's also an exciting one because we're thinking about the future. And the future is… an exciting thing.

The prompt:

What is the relationship to my art and creativity that I'm committed to having from this point forward?

That's the question. Having reflected on my relationship with art up to this point, it's been… kind of a fight. And also not necessarily my relationship. It's been more like a love triangle, or a relationship I was told to have. A framework handed down by culture—maybe something as strict and joyless as the Puritanical idea of marriage, where everything is dictated by roles, responsibilities, and expectation.

But I want to reframe that.

From Obligation to Respect

I want a relationship based on trust. On mutual respect. Like many of my relationships are increasingly becoming.

Up until now, I haven't always treated my art with respect—especially in how I present it to the world. I've had this weird instinct to protect it. Like shielding my creativity from judgment is some kind of kindness.

But that's actually deeply disrespectful to the creative act itself.

Because my art wants to be seen. Validated. Witnessed.

In design, we say: you don't know what it is until you get feedback.

Art, maybe, doesn't need feedback in the same way—it just wants to exist.

It doesn't need to be big or viral. It needs to be respected.

The Trap of Stardom (and Its Truths)

I could demand my art be popular. I do feel that desire.

I want to be a star. Millions of streams. Huge shows. Recognition.

But when I dig beneath that, I ask—do I really want to be at the Guggenheim?

Do I want to show at LACMA?

Not really. That's not the energy. What I want is to share.

To connect. In venues that feel right.

Festivals. Desert scenes. Places like Burning Man.

Ten people or a hundred thousand—it doesn't matter.

What matters is the stage.

That I give the art its time.

Time as Respect

And that's been missing.

I haven't respected how much time it needs.

I try to squeeze it into the scraps—two hours after work when I'm zonked,

or a rushed weekend session that drains me for the week ahead.

But creativity isn't something that fits in the cracks. It needs space.

Dedicated time. Which means saying no to other demands.

That's a fundamental shift for me: realizing I am finite.

My energy is finite. And that's not a flaw—it's a superpower.

Like a painter choosing a limited palette,

or a producer selecting a genre—constraints shape creation.

So if I dedicate a full Friday just to get two hours of solid work,

if I treat those two hours with the same reverence as a high-stakes business meeting—

that is respect.

Keeping Commitments (to Myself)

When it comes to others, I'm good at honoring commitments.

When it comes to myself?

To my own creativity?

Those time blocks get pushed. Every week.

Something else always "comes up."

But what's more important than committing to myself?

To the act of creating?

It hurts, when I think about it. The missed sessions.

The sadness. The slow fizzing out of dreams.

The feeling that my studio has become just a home office.

That spaces I built for creation have become places to pay bills.

That's disrespectful—to the intention, to the art, to me.

Asking for Help

I know I need help.

To make the art I want to make, I need to ask for time, for space, for support.

But I've always been afraid to ask.

My stuff comes last. That's the story. But it's often the most important stuff.

And I know I'm not alone in this. I see it in others.

People afraid to express. Afraid to create.

Afraid of what others will think.

But then there are those—those beautiful "crazy" people—who have to create.

They've made peace with the price. They go for it.

That's the energy I want to step into.

Gratitude Grove and the Power of Collaboration

One of my proudest creations was The Gratitude Grove.

My first installation. I did it with Lucas, a brilliant architect,

and Evan, who's since taken it to new places.

We built it from a derivative idea—because most art is derivative.

We made it smaller, interactive, lit it up. And people loved it.

Now Evan's taking it to Super Bloom.

It's become his, too.

And that's beautiful. That's collaboration. That's how it works.

Curiosity Canvas: The Next Chapter

So what's next?

If Gratitude Grove was about the end of experience—a moment of appreciation—

Then the next piece will be about the beginning.

Curiosity.

The Curiosity Canvas.

An interactive installation that invites people to start,

To ask questions, to reflect, to make commitments born from wonder.

To solidify inspiration into action.

That's how I want to approach my art too—not from pressure, but from curiosity.

Not from endless craving, but from respect.

Art That Leads

Rick Rubin says: let the art lead.

Not the audience.

And that's hard in today's world—especially in music and social media.

I think about Porter Robinson.

He could've just kept making "Worlds," but he didn't.

He followed the creative spark, even when it wasn't popular.

But I want to create what wants to be created.

Not just what people want to consume.

The Wildest Dreams

So what are my wildest visions?

• A community of installation artists, musicians, fashion designers
• A space—a club, a warehouse, a permanent venue—where that experimentation can live
• No need to wait for Burning Man or Lightning in a Bottle
• Just one or two installations, a few acts, in a day-long container of wonder
• A low-barrier space where the only requirement is: respect your art

Like what Walter is doing in Phoenix. I want that in L.A., in the Bay. Sister spaces.

Also, a record label—something that supports the electronic music I want to make,

Maybe built off what we've done with BYTE, the Burning Man camp.

I want to tour. I want to release music.

I want to connect across the world, through sound and space.

Creativity as a Path to Peace

Art is a bridge between cultures.

I've seen it. Around the world—music, dance, food, ritual—

They're how people express. How we meet human needs.

And that deserves respect, too.

Even if it disappears. Even if it dies.

It lives on in what it inspires.

Closing the Loop: Respect and Trust

So all told, this is the relationship I want with my art:

Respect. Trust. Space. Time.

No more scraps. No more delays.

I want to see it through.

To improve the craft.

To let it lead.

To let it bloom.

And I'm so, so excited to see what comes next.