Creativity in Small Towns

Exploring the idea of ownership and creative sources

Growing up, creativity was not a currency. Not in my household, and surely not within my school system. My mind was fiercely concentrated on sports and my GPA, both were the way I could go to a good university in order to be the first person in my family to gain a degree.

My great grandma, Evelyn, better known as “Cookie Granny” was born in a small rural town called Gassaway, West Virginia. My roots come from the dead center of one of the poorest, most isolated states in the United States of America. The town was created only 20 years after a railroad line was built, and according to the 2020 census, it was home to 759 residents. Her daughter, my grandma, Dorothy or “Peach,” lived in a small town in the north of Ohio her entire life, married to my grandpa, Pedro. He was the son of an immigrant from León, Mexico, and followed in his father’s footsteps as he worked in the same factory until he died. My grandma accompanied him, both with different roles, but both working class. My mom, Michelle, raised us in a small town in the south of Ohio, home to around ~5,250 people. I mention each of these characters because none of them had much access, influence, or creative inspiration from the outside world. None of them traveled, went to theaters, saw many live concerts, met diverse people, nada. And it wasn’t because there was a lack of interest, it was because they were working harder than most people any of us know, and because some resources, and access to these resources, were lacking. Deeply.

So, as you can probably tell, from the outside, my upbringing wasn’t bursting at the seams with many options to feel connected to something bigger than the day-to-day, or better yet, something that wasn’t a logical plan (degree, get a job, partner).

I write this piece today to connect with those kids, teens, and even adults who feel isolated and not influenced by their surroundings. It is a niche feeling that people who grew up in big cities will never be able to comprehend. But, while we may agree we can’t step out of our homes or apartments, onto a busy sidewalk to feel inspiration at every turn, I urge us to reframe. Life is happening everywhere, all the time. City folk do not have ownership over creativity. Hell, I’d argue the times when most artists, writers, or actors feel deeply inspired are when they sit in isolation. I mean, it is the storyline to many movies, TV shows, books — escape the noise, find solitude (most likely in upstate New York if you are a New Yorker, or maybe a writing trip to the hills of Ireland). Get isolated, get inspired. Create time, create your best work. That is the equation, right?

Living in an isolated place gives us precious time, allows us to get to know our neighbors, and most of the time, have a really strong relationship with the natural world. All of these elements create a flourishing human life and a really ripe space for creativity. If you reframe your thinking just a bit, you realize that you have the currency already, it is all around you. I wish I realized this sooner, but as they say, everything in due time.

As I look back to the years where I felt myself getting the most curious and the most creative, I think about how much time I had to truly just learn. To watch YouTube, to read books, to write nearly every single day. Now, as I live in one of the most creative, beautiful, awe-inspiring, colorful, connected places I have ever stepped foot into (yes, you guessed it: Mexico City), I realize that sometimes I crave the pace of my small town Ohio life. It isn’t impossible to create that for myself here, but it sure as hell is a bit more work. Work I am grateful to take part in because I am living in abundance every day… what an absolute gift I afforded myself. But, as I mentioned, having that embedded space, nature, and time are all things that you cannot buy.

While people from small towns and rural corners of the globe may be looked at as not understanding enough about the world, not knowing enough people, not having jobs that make people’s ears perk when they are eavesdropping on your convo, they are

resilient

observant

tend to their community

and are humble

Everything I would want to see from my creative idols.

They do not create to add another project to their portfolio, and most likely do not have one. They don’t create to get more widely known or make another check for their bank accounts (they have most likely never been paid for their art). They don’t spend all day online; they are busy living, experiencing, working, and taking care. They aren’t worried about their legacy and what will be left behind from their work; they are doing it out of pure love for their craft. Whether it be painting, woodworking, music, glassblowing, storytelling, and the list goes on, small town folk operate from a place of giving, not giving to receive.

I think this is an admirable way to move through the world. The idea of creative clout doesn’t have much place in conversations in these places, because who really cares? Are you creating something because you embedded yourself into a topic, place, or phenomenon? Or are you creating it because you really want to add that gallery event to your CV? As someone who now spends a lot of time in major cities around the world, I find it easy to sift through works that are made from community care, innate curiosity, and gutural instinct.

And to be honest, I am more interested in these “secondary” cities or towns. Places where people are gathering and sharing their creative works that maybe wouldn’t be acknowledged in bigger spaces. Whether that be because you couldn’t buy a space, you didn’t have enough Instagram followers, or someone couldn’t recognize the school you studied at (if any at all). I am moved by the scrappy communities, who are teaching themselves how to organize and share their visions when the rest of the world isn’t looking. Because that is not always the point, creative work doesn’t, and in my opinion, shouldn’t be for the other. It should be a cathartic practice for you to embed, learn, push against your own assumptions, question others, and feel more connected.

Making space for this creativity to shine sometimes feels like a bigger challenge, because your community may not value it, right? But as you get older, you realize, you are the community. You and your friends are the ones who have the chance to create that scrapbook club, host talks about the climate, and go on nature walks where you stop to draw the birds. You don’t have to start big — move at your pace. Gather your friends, partners, family, co-workers, and create without shame. Share your poetry, that song you wrote when you were 16, the website you built based on a YouTube tutorial. Eventually, others may join in, and over time, your community will start to understand that making time for the creative helps the collective. People meet, safe spaces are created outside of the home (if you are lucky and have that to begin with), conversations about new topics come into play, and the community becomes a more inspired place.

There are many places to start, and to be frank, you should choose interests that speak to you. Below, I have outlined some areas that have impacted my creativity while living in a rural, isolated town. These can be used as an example on how you can remove barriers to your creative practice and begin connecting with it again, or for the first time.

Nature

There was a phase of my life when I felt trapped in my physical environment at home. It was a dark space, dangerous even. The tiny house had one entrance and one exit, and none of the windows opened properly. It was never going to be anything but suffocating (and a fire hazard). So I would pack up a bag of notepads, pens, and sometimes a book, exit through the one old wooden door, walk down the driveway, cross the street, and enter the forest. Once I jumped over the creek, I’d walk up a steep hill, which was most likely privately owned now that I think back to it. I would sit at the top of that hill, isolated, being observed by nobody, heard by nobody. It was the time I felt the most freedom and safety. Two things that I personally need to feel creative. Once I took the time I needed to breathe, stare at the trees, talk to the squirrels, I’d write. And write. And write. Some poetry, some journal entries, some ideas for what I wanted to cultivate in my future life one day. My creative practice was to create space in nature and allow it to guide my brain by observing the raw, unbiased, innocent energy it so effortlessly gives to us all.

Sound

What do you hear when you step out of your home? Is it birds, a lawnmower, dogs, cars passing, or wind hitting the trees? For myself specifically, I always enjoyed that I had access to an abundance of sound. Everywhere I went, it was there. Whether I was creating it or taking it in. I used to have a notebook dedicated to listening to music and allowing my hand to move in flow with the sounds of the song. The page would be full of lines, circles, swirls, and shapes that do not have a particular name. I never had the urge to make those drawings into anything more; I liked the simplicity of them existing on my paper. Now, I am starting a project around recording sound in my natural environment so I can archive trips, places, and days through an additional medium outside of photo and video.

Movement

Barefoot, grass, sun, shadows, wind, headphones, or no headphones. This was my lineup. I would find places to move intuitively to the sounds of the external world or through the music blasting through my Beats headphones. I think I tapped into my creative flow in a way that I couldn’t find through any other medium. There is something so special about physicality. I always look back and wish that I would have been in dance or been offered any type of program of that nature. Now as an adult, I make time for dancing and movement when I feel the urge — typically on my roof in the sun.

Again, these are just three very dialed down examples of personal and, majority of the time, accessible ways to tap into creative lifeforces. Then you get to see where that takes you. Maybe it's just that moment, maybe it is shared, maybe it is replicated, maybe it is studied. That is the fun part; there are no bounds.

So while you small town humans, may feel forgotten or never known by the creative world, you must understand that it is because of you that it works. You are part of it. Take up the space, because quite frankly, you are some of the most refreshing people to learn from.