Empire or Evolution: A Creative Choice

Sometimes hope sounds like a calling for the light.

Jun 15, 2025

I care about your creativity like our lives depend on it, they do.

I care about your connection to nature because our planet depends on it, and your curiosity because our most authentic gifts depend upon it. We can't heal our way out of what's broken in the world, but we can heal our way into something more beautiful. This week's edition explores how creativity isn't just personal medicine, it's collective rebellion and rebuilding. An earthling remembrance, and the pathway to making meaning for a world that's forgotten how to craft life rather than endure it.

the birds: kookaburra

kookaburra drawing - sketchbook circa 2015

In documented Australian First Nations mythology, the kookaburra calls for the sun to bring daylight to the world and restore us from darkness. Perhaps this is why their famous call sounds uncannily like human laughter, pure joy at summoning light.

These charismatic birds can often be seen tossing food in the air and engaging in mock fights with their siblings. Their calls mark family territory, echoing in chorus at dawn and dusk. My grandparents would feed raw mince to their pet kookaburras, while my uncle claimed that if they called between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m., it was going to rain. Outside those hours, you could bank on a rain-free day.

What strikes me about kookaburras is their unwavering commitment to their purpose, calling for light whether anyone is listening or not. They don't question their role as dawn-bringers; they simply show up and laugh the world awake.

Natural Born Creatives

Every creature on Earth creates beauty without asking permission - except us.

"Beauty has no obvious use; nor is there any clear cultural necessity for it. Yet civilization could not do without it." - Sigmund Freud

Have you ever wondered at a spider's web? Been taken aback by its intricacy, the way dew drops hang on that silky web in early morning light? Have you ever seen a web and thought, "That's a bit rough around the edges"? Of course not, nature always communicates with beauty.

Since the industrial revolution, we've been obsessed with productivity. We've learned to view subsistence as lacking in sophistication. When we consider making space for creativity, that programming dismisses our creative urges as pointless, as lacking productivity. We don't have to look far to recognize that beauty-making is far more natural than widget-making.

The ocean doesn't judge the whale's artistry, and the earth isn't judging yours.

Bearing Witness To Beauty

We've all felt the affirmation that comes from being seen. As children we want our family to notice us, as teenagers it's our peers, as we get older it's partners, colleagues, friends. But here's what's beautiful: when we bear witness, it's a gift flowing in two directions: to what we're witnessing and back into ourselves.

When we witness beauty, we fill our own cups while nourishing that which we see.

This practice becomes radical in a world obsessed with productivity and overwhelmed with suffering. To pause and truly see the curve of a cloud, the way light catches water, the determined growth of a weed through concrete. It’s creative rebellion. It's training our hearts to find what's worth growing.

Journaling Prompt:

What have I witnessed this week in the sky, on the earth, in my life that was beautiful and made me grateful to be living on this planet?

What if my witnessing is a gift of noticing and affirmation to everything I’m noticing?

Regardless of how chaotic the world feels, beauty persists. Our witnessing becomes both refuge and resistance. Joy flowing inward through gratitude, outward through recognition.

Poetry: Basho’s Frogs Became Olsen’s Inspiration

A watercolour sketch of a frog by Dean Power — a watercolour sketch after John Olsen, after Basho

I have the late John Olsen to thank for introducing me to Basho. Olsen, considered by many, including me, to be Australia's greatest painter. He became celebrated for his frog paintings and prints, some of them directly referencing the Japanese poet. The watercolour sketch above should probably be titled something like “Frog in an ancient silent pond, after Olsen, after Basho”. It’s a rapid tribute to the Olsen’s loose and lyrical frogs in the absence of a image from the great man on account of not finding an image of one of his frogs in the public domain. I’m sure a quick google search of “John Olsen Frogs” will find you plenty of amphibians.

Matsuo Bashō (1644–1694) a master of haiku, whose evocative works transformed the form into a respected art and captured the beauty and impermanence of nature. He was born to a samurai family, Bashō left that life to pursue poetry, and his influence continues to shape Japanese literature today. One of his haikus was a favourite of Olsen’s and I love it too.

An old silent pond...
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.

The original was of course written in Japanese

古池や
蛙飛びこむ
水の音
(Furu ike ya / kawazu tobikomu / mizu no oto)

The ability of Basho and Olsen to transport us into nature in a presence that is both momentary and ancient. It captures something of the dichotomy of living moment to moment in the eternal story of the earth.

Healing Inside A Trojan Horse

Today, I’m 9 weeks into recovery.

Recovery from another burnout, I'm finally asking the right question: Am I cultivating creativity in service of empire or evolution?

When a walk around my dining table descended into excruciating pain, I had no clue what would follow. Three weeks lying flat, unable to sit, and standing or hobbling on my "one good leg". It forced me to stop and evaluate what brought me here. My recovery was slow and steady until week six, when I regressed rapidly. Almost as if I was being shown: you're rebuilding the exact same life that brought you here, destined to repeat the same mistakes.

This burnout was my nervous system disguised as a lumbar spine injury, a Trojan horse revealing deeper patterns.

While conscious creativity has healed me through many cycles before, this time I'm rebuilding not from fear of commercial solvency but from love of meaning, guided by curiosity toward contribution that exists beyond a world that eats itself.

I'm thinking of all the times I felt stuck preparing exhibitions to pay bills rather than painting love poems to the earth. All the marketing roles where I burnt out capturing market share instead of being energized by muse-inspired mindshare.

The question isn't whether to create; it's whether our creativity serves the systems that exhaust us or the evolution that calls us home.

Beyond Personal Healing

Our individual journeys can feel consuming, epic, sometimes overwhelming. It's comforting to realise that our stories are happening inside the most magnificent, magical story of all; life on Earth.

Living in 2025 means navigating systems that no longer serve us. But just like the kookaburra calling in the darkness, creativity is calling us home to remember who we are and contribute to birthing a world kinder to humanity and kinder to the planet.

My invitation is simple: make something beautiful this week and witness something beautiful. It doesn't have to be huge, in fact, it's easier to start with the smallest possible step.

Every beautiful thing you make isn't just personal healing, it's the planet dreaming through you.

art | earth | consciousness

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