After months of looking for an apartment, I’m moving.

Like most people, I began my search with a list of practical considerations: price, safety, size and proximity to public transportation, stores and services. Following each real estate appointment or open house, I walked around the neighborhood, purposely meandering in whatever direction attracted me. I was looking for the same things that I would seek on any free afternoon: a local café, a library or bookstore, a gallery, interesting architecture. I took note of my choices: What streets did I select to walk along? What buildings did I stop to admire? What cafes presented the best opportunities for observing and listening?

As I explored different areas, I began to see that my list of practical considerations was growing an appendage: a supplemental list that, although more subtle, was just as important. It was my list of creative considerations.

The creative list attends to the needs of my work. When I say “my work,” I am not referring to a final product, or even the process of making work. I’m referring to all the elements that feed my creativity, the characteristics of an environment that make me feel intellectually stimulated and emotionally alive. These are essential ingredients that will, in one form or another, show up in my art.

Several years ago I lived in a location that was not right for me. I had moved for practical reasons, and had assumed that my new home would be fine. After all, the weather was beautiful, the people were great and the terrain was spectacular. But I was dry, like a fish out of water. During my trips away, where I was immersed in an urban environment, I made my best work. I felt guilty and self-indulgent, until I finally realized a very simple fact: I was living in a place that did not provide the factors that supply my creative nourishment.

My energy is fueled by the density of the city. My best ideas come from witnessing visual clashes of architecture and nature, and from being immersed in a population that is a confusing mix of age, race, nationality, sexual orientation and religion. I crave the evidence of edges—like the pronounced change where one neighborhood meets another. This is my content. These are my creative needs. If I deny or ignore them, I’m sunk.

Everyone’s artistic requirements are unique. You are the only one who can identify your own. For example, while I thrive in a chaotic urban setting, your inspiration might come from the meditative rhythm of the ocean. A recent New Yorker article describes how James Baldwin’s novel Another Country was “hopelessly stalled” until he went to Istanbul, where he finished the manuscript within two months. The article proposes that Baldwin was able to “experiment in ways that he had not been able to do elsewhere.”

These anecdotes about location are just examples; I could be talking about any major life changes that require making choices. My point is that along with the decisions that we base on practical matters, we must also determine what we need for our creative sustenance. My goal is not to define your “creative” list, but to tell you that you need one.

I believe that this is particularly crucial now, when it seems like our national anthem begins with the refrain, “In times like these...” We all know that we need to be cautious and pragmatic. When you, or those you care about, are faced with job loss, reduced home value or foreclosure, or an inability to get credit or financial aid, it is nearly impossible to make choices based on anything other than practicality.

But I want to suggest a counter theme song, one that reminds us of an equally critical consideration: the care and feeding of our individual and collective creativity. These fundamentals are not easy to discern. They are subjective, elusive, contradictory and always changing. With the current state of the world, they become even harder to protect.

On a particularly intense morning last February, President Obama unveiled a multi-trillion-dollar spending plan to address the drastic conditions of our economy. Later that same evening in the White House, he and Michelle presented the Library of Congress Gershwin Prize for Popular Song to Stevie Wonder. The President, in his praise of the musician, said, “This could be called the American tradition—artists demonstrating the courage, the talent to find new harmonies in the rich and dissonant sounds of the American experience. After a day filled with making and presenting decisions to address our country’s economic disaster, our President devoted a precious evening to honor musical genius. For me, he was saying, “Creativity matters.”

Especially in times like these. CA

^{©2009 W. Richmond}