Creative panic: the moment at which whatever you’ve been working on – no matter how enamored you were just a moment before – suddenly appears to be pointless crap. Again. Oh gawd. Not again.
While artists might be especially sensitive to the drama of making, it is not ours, and we are not alone in it.
The drive to continue to make and do, despite the impossible, inevitable pointlessness of it all, is the thread that connects all human experience.
Creative panic is just a flat tyre on the tractor, a hammer blow to the thumb, a bucket of water spilling onto your freshly cleaned floor.
The tyre can be fixed. The thumb heals. The water is mopped up all over again.
It’s no big deal, really. Just part of the job.
And so I offer you this, in lieu of comfort:
Of course it’s pointless, sweetheart. That’s the point.
Pick up your pencil anyway.