Create Dangerously
Words of wisdom from Albert Camus on the responsibility of artists in difficult times.
2026 calendars have landed and if you buy one now then you have something to look forward to in the new year. // I also restocked the Witch Fika cards because tis the season. // Don’t forget about the October creative prompts!
A few weeks ago I happened across a copy of Create Dangerously by Albert Camus. I was in the Lopez Bookshop, and despite the size of the very small book, the title immediately popped out at me. “Oh that’s a good one,” the woman at the checkout said to me when I went to pay. “I basically highlighted the whole thing.”
When I opened the pages later that afternoon, I understood what she meant. The book opens with this:
“When praying, a wise man from the East always implored his deity to spare him from living in interesting times. Since we are not wise men, our deity has not spared us, for we do live in interesting times. The writers of today already know this. If they speak out, they are immediately criticized and attacked. If they remain silent out of humility, no one will ever speak of anything but their silence, to raucously reproach them.”
Reading the first few pages, if felt like I was reading something that could have been published last week. The book is actually a speech that Camus gave at Uppsala University in 1957, just a few weeks after he became the second youngest person to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature. Originally titled “The Artist in His Times,” it is a call-to-action by a man who understood that making art is an essential part of a functional, robust civic society.
The book title comes from this line:
“To create today means to create dangerously. Every publication is a deliberate act, and that act makes us vulnerable to the passions of a century that forgives nothing.”
For Camus, freedom is at the essence of art, which is what makes it the “chosen enemy of every kind of oppression.” But that freedom is also countered by responsibility. Our art has to be grounded in the realities of the world we live in. We cannot retreat and look away. This risks work with no meaning—perhaps in our modern language we might call that “content.” This kind of work can quickly become soulless, devoid. Add a little AI to the mix and you get straight slop.
“…art created outside of society cuts itself off from its living roots,” writes Camus. Art is powerful because it is derived from living, breathing humans. We have to connect to our own humanity in order to make work that speaks to others.
Any artist or writer working right now knows the pressures of creating in a heartbreaking world. The task can often feel impossible. In the face of all the horrors, all the suffering, how do you continue to come to the page, the canvas?
“…artists faced by their times can neither turn away from nor become lost in them. If they turn away, they are speaking in a void. But, on the other hand, to the extent to which they accept reality as an object, they affirm their own existence as a subject, and will not completely subjugate themselves to it.”
Camus reminds us that we have to find the balance of acknowledging the realities of the world without allowing them to keep us from creating. Any artist working right now feels this. How much do you pay attention, how much do you tune out? Do you create the kind of art that specifically and clearly takes a stand and offers a message, or are you more subtle, weaving it in in unexpected ways?
“Art created outside of society cuts itself off from its living roots.”
- Albert Camus
Camus’ reflections reach beyond his own time and extend into ours. Proof that the work of fighting against injustice with our art and creativity is never done. I’m also not surprised that we’re particularly drawn to these kind of manifestos and declarations in this current moment. We’re hungry for anything that offers guidance, some kind of map for how to move forward.
In almost every conversation I’ve had in the past few months with fellow writers, artists, and workshop participants, there’s a craving for confirmation that a commitment to creativity matters. It’s as if we’re constantly on a teeter totter of wondering whether our art is enough, and the only way to balance it out is give ourselves yet another pep talk of all the reasons why our art—why any art—matters.
There’s a fear that we’re not doing enough, or that we’re not meeting the moment with the appropriate amount of intensity that is required. A rational response to the severity of what is happening around us. To counter authoritarianism, genocide, oppression, environmental destruction and all the other forces that are currently working to ensure that only a certain group with a certain set of beliefs remain in power—free to extract, exploit, and destroy—we need all hands on deck, in all kinds of ways.
But our insecurity about whether or not art matters, whether our commitment to creativity is enough, is also born from the fact that capitalist culture repeatedly tells that being an artist has no value. Certainly not in any monetary form.
It’s worth reminding ourselves that it’s not a new line of questioning. Camus again:
“The artists who preceded us had doubts, but what they doubted was their own talent. Artists of today doubt whether their art, and therefore their very existence, is necessary.”
But of course, art is necessary. Artists are necessary.
Camus argued that he and his fellow writers of the 20th century, “must know that we cannot hide away from communal misery, and that our sole justification, if one exists, is to speak out, as best we can, for those who cannot.” The sentiment continues to ring true now in the 21st century.
The weight of the responsibility can feel like a burden, but I would argue that it’s a gift. Artists get to experience the world, feel it, look it straight in the eyes, and then say, “I want to imagine something different.” Under authoritarian regimes, truth matters. So does beauty, love, and belonging. All in the artist’s toolkit. As Camus puts it, we artists are the “perpetual defenders of living creatures.”
I keep thinking of the assorted artists and writers across history who I admire. Do I ever ask if what they did was enough? Never. Instead, I am in awe of how they continued to make their work no matter what. Even when others told them it didn’t have value, even if producing it came at a great cost. I am grateful for what they made, that they lived creative lives which extended outward through their work, impacting the people of their own time and future generations. That is enough.
Camus finishes his speech with this:
“…hope is awakened, given life, sustained, by the millions of individuals whose deeds and actions, every day, break down borders and refute the worst moments in history, to allow the truth—which is always in danger—to shine brightly, even if only fleetingly, the truth, which every individual builds for us all, created out of suffering and joy.”
It’s not about what we create, it’s about how we weave our values into everything that we create. How do love, humanity, and tolerance sit at the base of our creative actions?
Let that be our guiding light.
-Anna
- wrote about spending time at Singla in Northern Norway. Since this is one of my favorite places, it was so wonderful to see it through someone else’s eyes.
Speaking of Singla… applications for their creative residencies are now open. Hannah Viano and I will also be doing another edition of our creative retreat there next August. Registration for that opens on November 1st. Read and dream about it now.
The 1976 album to help your plants grow.
Life advice from sea creatures.
A very cool global public art project in 35 different cities.
- with 20 ways to enjoy winter (because you might as well).
UPCOMING CREATIVE FUEL WORKSHOPS
Writing in the Deep: Inviting Your Grief to the Page
The world feels heavy right now—and let’s be honest, so do many of our hearts. Grief is a universal truth, something almost entirely inescapable in this life; it’s also a powerful thread of connection and a portal to our most potent and true stories. This winter, join beloved DIVE facilitator
for a timely and emotionally resonant workshop designed to hold space for any deep water you’re ready to explore.Meets: November 17, November 24, and December 1. More info + tickets.
What We Bring to the Table: A Writing Workshop About Food, Memory, and Meaning
In times of grief, growth, and especially transition, food often becomes the anchor: the way we remember, the way we connect, the way we process what lives beyond our own language. It’s how we pass down stories without words—through spice jars, seed packets, heirloom tomatoes, and the fragrant rituals that fill a dining room. Food connects generations, connects us to the land around us, preserves traditions. Food helps us celebrate and honor the people, places, and flavor profiles that shape our individual and familial stories. Join
for a one-time (for now) notebook-nourishing food-writing workshop designed to help you reflect on the year that’s been—and everything it’s stirred up or shaken loose.Meets December 8, 15, and 22. More tickets + info.
Perfect timing on this one. ❤️
What a joy this newsletter was for me this morning. I am prepping a bit for the protest action today (trying not to be in an angry space) and there was just so very much to think about and also enjoy here today. I just returned from an art centric sojourn to Italy and the food there is incredible. I have been thinking about food and its deep role in our lives so the workshop listing was perfect for me. I also loved the Orion glimpse and signed up for that magazine immediately. Katherine May is a true gift as well, time to reread Wintering. So much!!! Thank you.