Rick Rubin (2023) The Creative Act: A Way of Being. New York: Penguin Press. <https://sites.prh.com/thecreativeact>

 

Rick Rubin’s book The Creative Act: A Way of Being is a collection of short chapters that detail his beliefs about creative labour and leading a fulfilling life in the arts. He does not pursue a delineated argument, but instead proposes a series of prompts that cut into the marrow of creative activity and the ontological possibilities for being. These chapters, or “78 Areas of Thought,” as he refers to them, predominantly function as a guidebook that delves into various genres, including self-help, autobiography, philosophy, and spiritual text. Rubin notes that the initial impetus for the project was a process-oriented inquiry, which gradually evolved into a broader reflection on, in his words, “how to be.”1 This is not to suggest that it needs to be read in a linear sequence, either; in fact, the book can be engaged with rhizomatically, in any order, with numerous points of entry and lines of flight. The result is a compelling methodology designed to assist artists in shepherding their work from concept to execution and beyond. It is also meant to refine their perception of the world-at-large, helping them recognize beauty in the banality of everyday life.

As one of the most critically and commercially successful music producers in history—having collaborated with recording artists such as Run-DMC, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Beastie Boys, Tom Petty, Adele, Johnny Cash, and more—Rubin is uniquely positioned to share his singular approach to, and personal experiences of, the creative process. Although he has been featured in various biographies and historical studies, specifically for co-founding the pathbreaking Def Jam record label, The Creative Act is Rubin’s first authored book. Co-written with Neil Strauss, Rubin’s use of language in the book is utterly accessible, unambiguous, and free of jargon or ‘artspeak.’ While many of its central themes and premises are profoundly complex, there is poetry in this minimalist style that, in a lovely twist, echoes a statement by American musician Charles Mingus found later in the book: “Making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity” (p 388).

It quickly becomes evident that much of the subject matter in The Creative Act parallels the elemental teachings of Buddhist philosophy. Rubin has been an avid practitioner of various forms of meditation since his teenage years, and for anyone familiar with the experiential force of this practice, its impact is deeply inscribed throughout the text. Overarching themes of impermanence, interconnectedness, fluidity of self, mindfulness, self-liberation, becoming, ego subversion, and the divine cosmic universe run throughout. Some of these themes are explored in Areas of Thought such as “Nature as Teacher,” “Awareness,” “Nothing is Static,” “Listening,” and “The Art Habit (Sangha).” By adopting an Eastern philosophical and spiritual approach and applying it to predominantly Western creative expressions, it stands apart from the multitude of self-help and guidebooks marketed to creatives.

The first of these Areas of Thought—“Everyone Is a Creator,” “Tuning In,” “The Source of Creativity,” and “Awareness”—establish the conditions for Rubin to define what he believes the creative act to be. He argues that creativity is not an elusive or exclusive “ability” per se, but rather “a way of perceiving. A practice of paying attention” (pp 1-2). This positions the artist as a vessel that senses and interprets the creative energies manifest within us and throughout the universe. This mysterious raw energy, referred to as the “Source” throughout the book, lies at the foundation of every creative expression. These expressions then form tangible ideas that can be transformed into the stuff of artistic material. It is, therefore, the role of the artist to develop the tools and mindset necessary to tune into these external stimuli. Rubin uses these concepts to define precisely what the creative act is, proposing that “one can think of the creative act as taking the sum of our vessel’s contents as potential material, selecting elements that seem useful or significant in the moment, and representing them” (pp 26-27). Rubin’s Areas of Thought do not explicitly distinguish between practice-based artwork, artistic research, and knowledge production, but he would likely find a synergy between each since he finds the creative act itself to be a viable and productive means of elevating consciousness in the individual. Hence, it is through the creative act – and the minutiae of the creative struggle – that artists can locate and perceive a fertile means of situating themselves in the world.

The initial Areas of Thought transition into what is essentially the central premise of Rubin’s book. He envisions four critical phases of the creative process—Seeds, Experimentation, Crafting, and Completion—that are examined in detail and also reappear later in the text. The first phase, Seeds, overlaps somewhat with the “Inspiration” discussion but specifically concerns the artist existing in a state of openness and receptivity, gathering kernels of ideas, memories, and sensations that will eventually germinate into artwork. In his concise words, “We’re searching for potential starting points that, with love and care, can grow into something beautiful” (p 143). In contrast to this he also examines how scrutinising the negativity of the world is as much a part of being an artist as finding the beauty in it. Continuing to use the seed as a metaphor, Rubin outlines some concrete strategies for accomplishing this, beginning with the desire to avoid filtering or narrowing the enigmatic potential of seeds before they have taken root; exhibiting patience for seeds to grow at their own pace, whether quickly or slowly over time; and resisting the urge to place value on one seed over another, for “the seed that doesn’t get watered cannot reveal its ability to bear fruit” (p 145). Time appears to be fundamentally important here, as the collection of seeds may take several months, which in turn allows for a greater number of seeds to be evaluated and selected before they move into the next creative phase.

The second phase of the creative process, Experimentation, involves metaphorically planting select seeds and encouraging them to anchor themselves in the earth—if they indeed take root at all. According to Rubin, there is no prescribed formula or set of rules for creative experimentation. Rather, it is governed by the jouissance of possibility and play. “In this phase,” he writes, “we are not looking at which iteration progresses the quickest or furthest, but which holds the most promise” (p 150). He uses the example of ancient Chinese alchemists, who were seeking a recipe for immortality but instead discovered gunpowder, suggesting that there is a strange alchemy to experimentation that often leads to unexpected results. Once again, the guiding principles of openness and flexibility are crucial in this phase, as he reminds us that it is craftspeople who begin with a preconceived expectation of what their work is, whereas artists begin with a “question and use it to guide an adventure of discovery” (p 153). Unfortunately, he does not include detailed personal anecdotes or tactics in this Area of Thought, but they do surface later on. Nonetheless, the abundance of theory without practical application or context may be a deliberate attempt to demonstrate that the book is not about Rubin himself, but rather about the rewarding process of self-actualization for the artist.

One impediment in Rubin’s articulation of the four critical phases of the creative process is that there is limited nuance regarding how these might vary in application across artistic disciplines. Put differently, certain artistic practices are less reliant on experimentation, say, while others are almost entirely defined by it. Classical ballet, for example, is governed by long standing conventions and codified techniques that structure narrative, movement, and execution, leaving comparatively little room for deviation. In contrast, some forms of poetry, theatre, and performance rely heavily on spontaneity, chance, and participatory intervention, making unpredictability central to its premise. This disparity suggests a tension within Rubin’s tetradic model: some disciplines may not fit comfortably within the proposed framework, while others could bypass or collapse particular phases altogether.

Phase three, Crafting, presents a clear shift from the more conceptual aspects of the creative act to the pragmatic. The boundaries between the Experimental and Crafting phases are not static but dynamic, as movement between both phases can occur as the seed materializes. However, Rubin does not sufficiently explain what this might look like or how the non-linear exchange between phases differs from the linear progression of phases. He acknowledges that there is a diminishing of the openness and freedom associated with the earlier phases, insofar as crafting calls for purpose, intent, and physical toil. “We are looking for a shape that fits a specific hole,” he says, “whereas before we were just looking for shapes [...] There is creativity involved, but it often carries less of the magic of exploration and more of the labor of brick-laying” (pp 163-164). The soon-to-be artwork in question is informed by “our filter” (p 165), or better yet, a window through which artists view the world using our accumulated knowledge, experience, worldview, memories, generational history, and everything else that makes us physical, mental, and spiritual beings. Be it a song, dance, painting, or pottery, Rubin also suggests that focusing on a single work at a single moment can be restrictive in some capacity. Therefore, working on various projects at once can help reconfigure the work-in-progress in a fresh light while resisting the pitfall of becoming stuck. In a subsequent Area of Thought titled “Breaking the Sameness,” he provides a list of techniques to use when encountering stuckness, such as “Change the Environment,” “Invite an Audience,” and “Add Imagery.” That being said, these techniques seem to be experiments masquerading under another name.

The final phase, Completion, is where the seed has taken root, yielded fruit, and is ready to be pruned. Here, the work is being refined and, if needed, sent back to the earlier Experimentation and Crafting stages to be edited and reconfigured. Rubin contends, “We can think of the Completion phase as the last stop on an assembly line. The finished piece is examined to ensure it meets your highest standards. If it doesn’t meet them, you send it back to be improved” (p 192). He suggests that when the work nears completion, it may be helpful to share it with others—not necessarily to invite their input, but to broaden the artist’s own understanding of it. In other words, inviting others to review a new sculpture or listen to a new composition is, somewhat paradoxically, a method of self-discovery. He rightly warns that during this evaluative process, “People will tell you more about themselves than about the art when giving feedback” (p 193). Often, these comments and feedback may be divisive, even disparaging, but occasionally the very best artwork is, and artists can better deal with such contentious criticism by maintaining a neutral, objective mindset.

Of particular importance in this phase are Rubin’s poignant observations on self-doubt, especially concerning the eventual exhibition, release, or publication of an artwork to the public. He explores why this can be difficult for individual artists, citing concerns such as perfectionism, lack of confidence, overthinking, insecurity, and, perhaps most interestingly, “commitment phobia” (pp 195-197). Even so, valuing the core principle of impermanence helps in letting go of the work into the public sphere because it is part of a fluid process of creation that continuously presents new opportunities for seeds to be collected and the process to restart. Ultimately, Rubin forms a convincing argument against perceiving the newly-formed artwork as a sentimental thing, as something coveted and precious.

The Creative Act arrives at a curious—if not precarious—moment in history: a time when cuts to public arts funding have diminished employment opportunities, the gig economy has intensified competition, and AI interventions into disciplines such as literature, voice acting, and graphic design have already begun. The book exhibits a tendency to speak in presumptions that may push creative practitioners away from reasonable, achievable outcomes. I could not help thinking that by idealizing—perhaps even romanticizing—the creative process, Rubin’s words appear to circumvent the very real demands of everyday life for creatives, such as financial instability, employment obligations, family responsibilities, commercialisation, or lack of access and opportunity. This also says nothing about the interpretation of artists experiencing political or religious persecution and censorship under authoritarian regimes. It is worth asking: in what ways does the book’s meaning and objectives shift for artists reading it in Canada or the United States, per se, as compared to Iran or Myanmar (Burma)? Moreover, is there room in this book for painters making work about war, poets writing verses about the Anthropocene, directors making films about opioid poisoning, or choreographers responding to ethnic cleansing? There is, of course, but this darkness feels slightly out of place in Rubin’s divine light.

At times, it may prove difficult—and increasingly challenging—to embody many of Rubin’s teachings in The Creative Act: A Way of Being, but that does not mean they are not worth following or aspiring to. It is baffling why academics have shied away from formally reviewing or engaging with this book, especially when I have witnessed its inclusion in academic syllabi for graduate-level studio art courses and found it on the shelves of professional artists throughout Canada. One can only presume that it is outwardly perceived by some as an unserious, rudimentary self-help guide. This, however, is unfair and far from the truth, as it is in fact a poignant treatise on creative methodology and ontology.

Although there are a handful of similar works, such as Robert Henri’s The Art Spirit (1923), Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way (1992), Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art (2002), and Twyla Tharp’s The Creative Habit (2003), it is not presumptuous to conclude that Rubin’s book will now be considered an essential part of the artistic research canon. Its accessible language, short chapters, valuable teachings, and positive reinforcement make it highly recommendable for non-specialist readers with an avid interest in the arts. But this exterior simplicity is somewhat illusory, as Rubin subtly references disciplines and sciences, including art history, phenomenology, psychoanalysis, theology, and psychology. As such, it can also be recommended for practicing artists, designers, craftspeople, and academics specializing or intersecting with these fields.

 

Biography

Matthew Ryan Smith, Ph.D., is a curator and writer based in London, Ontario, Canada. He is the Curator & Head of Collections of Glenhyrst Art Gallery in Brantford, Ontario, and the literary editor of First American Art Magazine. www.matthewryansmith.com