Building Creative Community - Collective Resonance - Vol. 1
The importance of practicing empathy as an artist and how that leads to collectively better art
This is Volume 1 of a new series called Collective Resonance in the Wanderlight newsletter which highlights what this publication is all about: the expression of movement and how it inspires deeper ways of seeing. Movement to me comes in many forms, including being emotionally and artistically moved. This week we’ll talk about how authentically communicating what you appreciate about art helps build creative community.
There's a kind of emptiness in sharing vulnerable thoughts with the world, not knowing if anyone will ever read them. I don't think most artists write for validation, but I do think many know what it's like to be a reader looking for something that makes them feel seen. At least, this is what's inspired me to keep making over the years. The "what if" of maybe it could help someone like other writers have helped me, even if I never know it. I recently read a quote by James Baldwin that perfectly encapsulates this feeling:
You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was Dostoevsky and Dickens who taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, or who ever had been alive. Only if we face these open wounds in ourselves can we understand them in other people. An artist is a sort of emotional or spiritual historian. His role is to make you realize the doom and glory of knowing who you are and what you are. He has to tell, because nobody else in the world can tell, what it is like to be alive.
The same goes for sharing photography with the world. I don't need to know it affected someone for it to be meaningful and worthwhile, but it doesn't come without the wondering.
I think it's natural to fall into the logical fallacy that if I make something and no one likes it, then it must not be good enough or worth making. It's a short and simple feedback loop to our brains that's easy to reinforce with self-doubt and fear of uncertainty. But what I think we sometimes forget as artists is that many creative voices experience those same fears and doubts. Humans are innately creative beings and we all possess creativity, which means not every single creation will receive unending glory and recognition. What it does mean is that many other people care about similar things that you do, have similar feelings about their own work, and make truly incredible things worth admiring.
Finding this community is as much an act of self-love and vulnerability in sharing your own feelings as it is genuinely acknowledging the things that move you.
The latter half is what I'd argue is the most important aspect of "finding your people." When you see something that really connects for you, or that makes you think "wow, this is a lens through which I'd like to see more," that's your signal to reach out. Connect. Make that artist feel seen because they've made you feel seen.
I notice a repeating pattern on Substack and among creatives in general: we are so concerned about sharing our own art and experiences, we forget what the purpose of art really is—to feel connection. Connection to oneself, yes, but also connection to our world, other people, nature, different perspectives. I would argue this heightened sense of connection to things is what drives many artists to make in the first place.
If you struggle to be seen, treat your relationship with art like any other relationship. When you respond to every Substack comment with something like "Great photos! I made something similar…" or "Lovely! I have that same camera…", you become that person in conversation who leaves no space for anyone else.
You can think of art as a practice in empathy rather than self-expression alone. It's the openness to be moved by something or someone that enables us to continue making things that matter. Remember, there isn't any such thing as true originality. We are all interpreting the world through our senses and responding to it from memory and intuition—this is the foundation of learning itself.
As Rick Rubin says in The Creative Act: A Way Of Being:
The heart of open-mindedness is curiosity. Curiosity doesn’t take sides or insist on a single way of doing things. It explores all perspectives. Always open to new ways, always seeking to arrive at original insights. Craving constant expansion, it looks upon the outer limits of the mind with wonder. It pushes to expose falsely set boundaries and break through to new frontiers.
When you acknowledge and welcome the impressions other works of art have on you, your own art becomes that much more moving, and you give another artist the satisfaction of knowing their work had an impact. When artists lift each other up in this way, it makes for a world collectively more rich in moving works of art.
In the spirit of sharing works that moved me this past month, here are a few newsletters, posts, and other works I’ve loved seeing:
Joe has been posting these once a day photos and this one really stood out to me. I was immediately captured by the use of motion, quickly followed by the variety of color. To me, this image beautifully expresses not only how chaotic it can feel to be in a crowd, but how rich it is to be in unique and diverse spaces, connected only by our humanness.
I reached out to Susanne in this visual journal edition sure she had made some kind of magic happen in the darkroom to achieve such beautiful, soft black and white tones. Amazingly, she made these by a purely keen eye for light, time of day shooting, and knowing the film stock to throw in the camera. That’s the beauty of seeing someone openly share their creative experience.
I’m especially enamored with Michael’s monochrome images for their ethereal quality and rich contrast. Somehow he manages to pull off this softness of light while still maintaining deep blacks. These images of Stourhead Gardens captures that perfectly.
Wow, this interview packs a punch on the depths of exploring what “style” means to Juliette and Susanne, a few of my favorite photographers on Substack. Their thoughtful inquiries, sensitivity to language and different perspectives, and openness to curiosity makes this a wholehearted read.
One of the best parts of the internet in general, but especially this space, is being able to see across cultures and be exposed to many different traditions around the world. Haitian culture day captured in monochrome is beautifully composed here by MacAndré.
Ok truth is, videos on substack are not really my thing, but I have seen a few gems like this pop up on my feed periodcally. I absolutely love this series where Jack Coyne interviews folks on genres of music they like and know. No joke, I’ve discovered some incredible new-to-me music through these thoughtful and fun interactions.
Erica has been making some absolutely stunning black and white images. I love the way she displays them in this style, where it steps through a sequence of how she was seeing these flowers at the time. The emotive expression adds a new layer of beauty to an already beautiful subject.
Another stunning glimpse into cultures across borders here from Livvi Grant. The images of the event capture her knowledge and experiences of the night of Sant Joan from nearly 10 years of attendance to the Mallorcan tradition. It makes you feel like you were right there in the moment.
Thank you for reading.
from my backyard, with love —
I'm so glad you published this, Lauren. Empathy is the basis for collectively better art, for sure! I especially want to highlight what you said here, since this is the theme that keeps arising: "I notice a repeating pattern on Substack and among creatives in general: we are so concerned about sharing our own art and experiences, we forget what the purpose of art really is—to feel connection." Thank you for stoking the community fire!
Thank you for the kind shoutout, Lauren! I really appreciate it. Especially in the context of connection, collaboration, and community. These are elements that I find so important, especially being an artist, more often than not means sitting alone at your desk, in your studio, or wherever you make art.