This Week I Have Been Struggling With Creativity
I mean, it took me three days to even sit down to write this. You'd think it'd be better.
And I say “this week” like it’s a one-off.
Most days and weeks and months sees yours truly struggling with creativity. And not just creativity in photography, or writing, or music, but also in my day-to-day work. Not a single good idea or initiative that could earn the company a few extra euro’s has crossed my mind of late. It’s a funk, a dip, a gulley, a dry biscuit, a vast chasm, an ocean of overwhelm lapping on the shores on an empty beach at a seaside town in winter. Empty, apart from the seaweed and driftwood.
Hence the title of this Substack, in case you were wondering …
Creative block is a terrible thing for the struggling artist. Thankfully my family don’t rely on my ability to take nice pictures that end up in a gallery and a well-received exhibition, or to craft a short novel, or to compose a light opera, so there’s no real pressure to be creative other than the pressure I put on myself to be creative. To get off my arse, put on my hipster beanie, load some Portra 160 into the Leica camera that exists only in my imagination or in YouTube videos featuring NYC based photographers. Or to pick up a pen, or my guitar and just do something.
But it’s not that easy as giving myself a simple kick up the hole.
I may have mentioned it before, but two years ago I was diagnosed with dysthymia. Dysthymia, or persistent depressive disorder, is like depression’s quieter, moodier neighbour who never really leaves the party. It’s not as intense as major depression, but it sticks around for years, making everything feel a little dull, unmotivated, and just meh. It’s like living under a permanent raincloud—not a dramatic storm, just a constant drizzle that makes everything slightly damp and exhausting.
Creativity can feel like a lifeline—an outlet, a sense of purpose, a way to make sense of the world. But when you’re dealing with dysthymia, that slow, persistent undercurrent of low mood, creativity can feel frustratingly out of reach.
It’s not that I don’t want to create; it’s that everything feels dull, heavy, or just too exhausting to start. The things that once excited me now seem pointless, and the things I used to enjoy feel like they belong to someone else. And that’s frustrating because I know I can be creative but my mind just won’t cooperate.
I know that creativity isn’t gone forever; it’s just hiding, waiting for the right conditions to resurface.
My therapist told me that instead of forcing myself to create in the way I used to, to try approaching it differently. Lower the pressure - give myself permission to make bad art, to write crap posts (like this one), to experiment without expecting anything profound. Even tiny acts of creativity—doodling in the margins of a notebook, playing with words or colours—can help reignite that spark.
Most importantly, I need to be patient with myself. Dysthymia has a way of making everything feel like a slog, and creativity is no exception. But even if it’s slow, even if it feels like nothing is coming together, every small attempt matters. Creativity isn’t about constantly producing—it’s about staying open to possibilities, even when they feel distant.
I’m going to keep showing up in whatever way I can, and trust that the spark will return.
My English teacher once told me that any creative block, whether it’s writing, or photography, or music is like constipation. And, he said, the best way to beat constipation is to introduce an external agent to get the creativity flowing, as it were. For example, a particularly hot curry, or eating a prawn cocktail sandwich that’s past the sell-by date.
Right now, that sandwich isn’t photography, it’s writing. This is why I started this Substack up again, and go back to a creative outlet that I used to enjoy (not to blow my own trumpet but I used to run a blog about Scottish football - scroll down to number 12 here - don’t click the link in the article, it doesn’t work. An archive of what it was exists here).
I’ll still take the odd photo but since I don’t really go anywhere much these days, other than my home office and the shop it’s not exactly a cornucopia of opportunities. Writing, though, I can do from anywhere. And like my therapist would agree, whether anyone reads it or what they think of it is not important. It’s that I wrote it, that I was being creative, that’s the most important thing.
It’s just gone 9pm, I’ve finally finished this, and the Billy Bragg album I was playing while I was writing this has ended. Time to put on the kettle.
If you’re looking for some great photography, check out the following people I found this week.
Tom over at all.eternal.things
Sage Sohier for those wonderful 80’s US vibes
the F8 documentary team
Mark Seymour (via the Photowalk podcast)
the website of David Collyer.
Rob Wisken, and especially his documenting of his home town, Louth