Turning Back to Joy

Reflecting on what it means to experience creative joy.

Last winter I embarked on a personal journey to expand my taste in music. Before this effort, I could not describe what I liked about an album. I could list some favorite musicians, but I rarely listened to a record from start to finish. Those end of year wrap ups Spotify and Apple Music created usually reflected my current anime interests instead of my musical tastes in a year.

But something pushed me towards trying new artists and albums.

Most of my recommendations come from NPR Music and their weekly New Music Friday segments. In the previews they play, I hear one or two songs that spark my curiosity and off I go tasting an album, reflecting on what I like and what I don’t enjoy.

I have found that I am immediately drawn to albums that reach towards something intangible. A strong emotion. Some deeply personal experience or period of life. The albums that linger are the ones where I feel connected to the artist. They tap into the shared humanity that, if carefully and lovingly examined, touches many people at once. Or they are uniquely experimental in ways that are hard to describe, but activate many sensations at once. You can hear the effort coming through the speakers.

There is a creative, inspiration joy to many of these albums.

Raye’s newest release, This Music May Contain Hope, encouraged listeners to return to the beginning if they did not find the hope, beauty and love infused through the album. Alex Isley talked about the joy she felt, how she wanted to share it with the audience during her live shows. She was loose on stage, dancing and singing and performing in ways that moved me as I sat in the upper balcony. (I loved it so much I am currently planning to see her again in August.) Near the end of her DC show, Florence Welsh told the crowd to put away their phones and fully embrace the experience. At one point, she encouraged everyone to say ‘I love you’ to a neighbor. I felt loneliness creep in. But a woman, seeing I was there alone, reached across her partner to tap me on the arm and tell me she loved me, a sentiment I returned.

People say storytellers/artists/creatives are truth tellers. We need art because they shine a mirror on the world and ourselves. By looking at the reflection, we find things to change or see reality for what it truly is.

I agree with that.

I also am beginning to believe we need art to orient us back to joy. We need reminders that there is a spectrum of human emotions and expressions. Not in spite of chaos and sorrow. But because of it. We are not meant to live eternally in one emotion. Art, when done well, walks with us through that spectrum.

Every morning, as I ready myself for work, I listen to several news podcasts: Up First from NPR (Plus edition because I donate to NPR), Reuters World News and FT News Briefing (a recent addition). I try not to let the news destroy my mental or emotional state. When the Trump Administration returned to office, I promised myself I would not let them kill me. And I am sticking to that promise. But the harm being done gets into my spirit at times. Several weeks ago, I shared with a friend that the recent Supreme Court Voting Rights Act decision stole the wind from my sails in ways I had not expected. I went into the weekend feeling depleted and directionless.

And I turned towards art.

I attended the Alex Isley concert. Saturday, I sat in a coffee shop to journal and read The Anatomy of Story. There was a pop up market taking place at the coffee shop and I purchased four small ceramic hearts that now reside on my desk at home. It was a sunny, warm day and I walked to Barnes & Noble. There was another local market taking place. This time I purchased a watercolor print and a sticker for my water bottle.

I went to brunch at Kramers with my mom and a friend. After eating, we browsed the bookstore and I picked up The Country Under Heaven by Frederic S. Durbin. Recharged from the meal, I cleaned my room and found my creative journal from 2019. At the start of the notebook, there was a letter I had written to myself. It ended with this short passage:

But I’m determined to make things better this year. I’m going to do things that make me happy and be busy with a purpose. My intentions for the year are to: be kind, be mindful, be creative and be fun.

It will still be a challenge and I’ll have my rough days. But as always, I remain optimistic that good things are headed my way.

And one evening during the weekend, I sat in front of my computer and returned to the novel I shelved several months ago.

This reflection on joy through art comes at the start of Pride Month in the United States. As a Black lesbian creative, I am reflecting on my responsibilities to myself and the people I share my art with. I do not have answers right now. I hope as the month passes and I immerse myself in my creative works once more, I start to find meaningful answers. (And maybe I will follow up with another post in July.)

I know joy has a place in my work. And I seek to avoid toxic or uncritical positivity. I want to be truthful in my writing as I know that will connect me with the audience I cultivate.

I seek to turn towards the spectrum of human emotions and engage with it with earnest wonder.