Creative injuries & the contagion of rainbows and smileys

& my mom, the artist Anne Francey, on drawing in the margins

A tri-generational portrait

Hi friend,

I’m home after the whirlwind of the Alchemy Tour, and I’m just beginning to process the experience. There’s so much to share—so many behind-the-scenes moments and revelations that I can’t wait to go into soon. But more than anything, what has been on my mind is the subject of creative injuries.

Jon and I talked about this a lot on the tour—how, as children, we are innately creative, playful, and experimental, which infuses the world with wonder, but so often that gets knocked out of us by the time we reach adulthood. One of the stories I told onstage was of my first creative injury, which happened when I was in junior high. My English teacher invited us to partake in an extra credit assignment over spring break: to write a short fictional story. I was so excited, I spent that whole week filling an entire yellow legal pad with a novella, handed it in proudly, then waited on pins and needles for my first literary review.

A week later everyone got their assignments back—everyone except me. Now, in my mind, my teacher was waiting to pull me aside and tell me how impressed she was. I expected praise, maybe some kind of award. Definitely widespread publication. But instead of being called in to meet my new editor, I was summoned to meet with a very different figure: the school psychologist.

They say write what you know—but at that age, I didn’t know much. Instead, I leaned on some of my most recent literary forays, which happened to be Nabokov’s Lolita and Paul Bowles’s thrilling underworld tales set in North Africa. So naturally, the protagonist of my extra credit story was a thirteen-year-old, opium-smoking prostitute in a brothel in Tangier.

Now I can look back at this incident and laugh. But at the time, I was humiliated, and it was years before I showed my writing to anyone. We all have our version of a creative injury—someone or something that ignites that pilot light of self-consciousness. To this day, I can still feel when mine flares up, be it in writing, in painting, or any other creative pursuit that requires me to put myself out there.

My mind here turns to my mother, a visual artist and teacher who inspires me with her tireless efforts to defy the inner critic. She has taught me to revel in the messes, to find beauty in what may seem like a blemish. The things that make me want to start over—the paint that splattered or the brushstroke that went awry—that’s where the energy is, she always tells me. By word and example, she offers a salve for my creative injuries. I know she’s offered that same kind of balm for countless other students over the years, helping them nurture their creative gifts.

Here in the U.S., it’s Mother’s Day, and so it only feels apt to share my mom’s essay from The Book of Alchemy, “Drawing in the Margins.” May her words encourage your return to wonder, to play.

But one last thing before I go! I’m thrilled to announce something that’s been in the works for a while: The Alchemy Fund for Girls Write Now. I established this fund to help ward off creative injuries and instead empower and encourage young writers, and if you have the means and the inclination, I hope you’ll join me in contributing. More information on that below, and my mom’s words too—

À bientôt,

Suleika

Announcing the Alchemy Fund—

To honor the chorus of 100 contributors who appear in The Book of Alchemy, I’ve made a founding donation to the Alchemy Fund for Girls Write Now, an organization that supports young writers through workshops, mentorship, and community. If you’d like to help the program’s brilliant mentee writers conjure their own versions of creative alchemy long into the future, you can join me in donating to the Alchemy Fund.

Another item of note—

We designed some really beautiful merch for the Alchemy Tour—a limited-edition tote, baseball cap, sweatshirt, and Italian silk scarf printed in the same marbling as the cover of The Book of Alchemy. They’re all now available online. I can’t wait to see these beautiful pieces in the wild—get yours at the Alchemy Shop!

Yours truly, scribbling in the margins since the early 90s

Prompt 337. Drawing in the Margins by Anne Francey

Part of my practice as an artist is organizing community murals, where everyone—from people with no art experience to consummate artists—is invited to contribute a unique image. Over the decades I’ve done this, I’ve become fascinated by how people relate to creativity and some of the patterns I’ve observed.

Sometimes I organize these murals in schools, and with teachers and school staff, about ninety-nine percent of the time, they have hardly passed through the door when they declare: “I can’t draw. Only stick figures.” With principals, often it’s worse. They retreat to their offices with the supplies and ask for extra time to make their contributions. One even asked if she could make her image by tracing a logo. I’m always amazed at how resistant and even scared people can be. I always think, Of course you can draw. You were just never shown how, or never encouraged to believe you could.

With the kids, the delight in the process usually gets them going, but not always. Some start freely but soon lose confidence. After glancing at their neighbors’ work, they end up replicating what they see, resorting to what’s most generic—and oh, the contagion of rainbows and smileys! Others will make one small mark, look at it, ask for an eraser, and get very upset before they’ve even tried. The ones who artistically thrive are those who accept whatever is happening on their small canvas, letting the paint talk to them and guide their imagination towards something they hadn’t even planned. They simply trust that they can.

When it comes to my studio practice, I constantly experiment with new ways to get into a creative flow and to ward off the stiffness that comes with the fear of failure. I have a whole arsenal of tactics. It might be setting simple rules and limitations. It might be observing miniscule events unfolding inside my studio—the sun hitting a painting just so, an insect landing on the window sill. It might be having no routine. It might be having no routine.

More often than not, I find that the real stuff happens in the margins—meaning a free-flowing zone where the stakes are lower and I’m somehow able to tap into the essential. That often occurs in the morning, warming up with a small sketch, or at dusk, relaxing into a more playful mode because the work day is behind me. Or when I have such doubts about what I have created that I work the whole thing in a fit of despair, thinking there is nothing to lose—that’s when I am at my freest!

Varying my approach helps relieve the pressure and muffles the “I can’t” voice. Drawing in the margins frees me from my ego and unlocks that flowing creative mode where I just do.

Your prompt for the week:

Using whatever tools you’d like—pen, pencil, crayons, markers, watercolors—begin making marks in the margins of your journal. Let it be intuitive and expressive. Accept whatever is happening; resist the urge to judge. Let the marks spread and guide your imagination toward something you hadn’t even planned. An accidental drop of your morning coffee onto the page of your diary could be your starting shape. The petals from a nearby flower squeezed between your fingers and rubbed into the paper could be your watercolor. For ten minutes, simply trust that you can.

Today’s Contributor—

Anne Francey is a visual artist whose studio practice includes painting, drawing, and ceramic and who has exhibited in the United States, Switzerland, and Tunisia. She is the recipient of several grants from the New York State Council of the Arts for creating community murals in schools and public spaces. She was named a Fulbright Scholar for 2021 in Tunisia, where she led a participatory art project called 1,001 Briques. She is also my mother and my first and forever teacher on the subjects of curiosity, experimentation, creativity, and beauty.

Praise for The Book of Alchemy

“An extraordinary collection of wisdom. The Book of Alchemy is a springboard to new ideas, new insights, and new identities.” —Adam Grant, author of Think Again

“The Book of Alchemy proves on every page that a creative response can be found in every moment of life—regardless of what is happening in the world. It also demonstrates that we can be more creative together than we could ever be alone. I recommend it to every dreamer, with the highest respect and joy.” —Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love

“Beyond her brilliance as a writer, Suleika Jaouad’s greatest offering to the world is her brilliance of generosity, her curiosity, her seeking heart and mind. The Book of Alchemy is an extension and expansion of these gifts.” —Hanif Abdurraqib, author of There’s Always This Year

“Brilliant. Gentle. Encouraging. This book is the perfect mix of incandescent wisdom and kick-in-the-pants motivation to start your own creative journey.” —Kate Bowler, author of Everything Happens for a Reason