Remembering who I was through what I loved
“I have creative block, I need to find inspiration.” I remember complaining to my sister. No amount of matcha runs, magazine flick-throughs, city walks, and Pinterest boards were bashing the block.
Deadlines were arriving for my business and projects. Designing, creating, testing, editing, writing, consulting, networking… The tasks kept piling on and on. It was overwhelming.
Einstein played the violin for inspiration to strike – why is nothing woorking fooor meeee?
Creative block is like a curiosity black-hole. It’s the most insufferable feeling ever. Especially when getting into flow, solving problems, and making things is supposed to feel naturally rejuvenating. That’s what I loved to do. And yet I felt completely stuck.
It’s normal to move through cycles of inspiration and dry periods. However, this had been lasting months. I was forcing myself to get on with it, but this wasn’t coming from the heart.
One thing I’ve noticed – for myself, and I suspect for others – is how easy it is to turn to social media as an inspiration source. Trends can make everything feel homogeneous. Algorithms narrow rather than open. And somewhere underneath all of it is a design intention that has nothing to do with you leaving the app feeling nourished or motivated; it just wants you to stay. That’s dangerously counter-productive into what I’m trying to build. Realising that changed my relationship with social media. I use it merely as a tool to remain connected with my friends, community, and an eye out for opportunities.
There was a little nudge on a Tuesday afternoon. I had the random urge to watch a video about the origins of Earthbound. The narrator talked about Itoi Shigesato, the creator of the Mother series. Someone I could easily dedicate an entire post to. He instantly reminded me of the artists who shaped my younger self. I was heavily inspired by Japanese art growing up, as you might be able to tell.
I dedicated an evening where I attentively observe their art.
- Itoi Shigesato (copywriter, essayist, writer, game designer, President of the Japan Monopoly Association, professional Monopoly player, voice actor, composer of some Mother music, owner of Hobonichi etc. he’s one of the most interesting person ever)
- Yoshitaka Amano (artist)
- Yoko Shimomura (composer)
- Keiichi Okabe (composer)
- Naoko Takeuchi (mangaka)
- Yoko Taro (game designer, writer)
- Tetsuya Nomura (game designer, artist)
That sent me to an old notebook where I’d stuck prints of Yoshitaka Amano’s work. I’m so glad I archived them.
Just by looking at his work again… It evoked a sense of wonder I’ve forgotten from art. Like re-discovering a part of myself that had been quietly waiting.
Exploring digital archives led me to think about how the internet used to feel like a place. People used to have their own blogs and websites. Well, Substack is around, but you don’t own that place on the web. It is good to see Itoi-san publishing every single day since 1998. You can find the archive here (in Japanese, hough web translators are now genuinely reliable). There’s something quietly remarkable about a whole web archive of a person’s ideas, stretching back decades.
I’ve always been curious to see how artists and scientists (people from any discipline) think. There’s always something to admire in how they nurture their craft. That’s where the magic lives.
That same hunger, I believe, is what led me to study physics at university. There’s a particular sense of wonder in it; you get to interpret the world conceptually, and there is truth in the mathematics. The creative and the rigorous aren’t so different when you look closely enough.
These artists inspired my younger self for a reason. She was onto something. I played Kingdom Hearts – yet I overlooked the wonder. I played the music – but I wasn’t really listening. They gave me joy, and understanding when I needed it most. Made me feel seen in ways I couldn’t have articulated then. (Yoko Taro, of course, is hilariously unhinged in the best way. I’m already bracing for whatever dreadful, brilliant thing he does with the upcoming Evangelion series.)
In a world that moves this fast, it’s easy to lose the thread back to yourself. Art helps you sit with feelings you can’t quite name or explain. No wonder the block had lasted so long. Life had simply gotten in the way.
There was a paragraph written by Itoi-san that truly resonated with me. It named something I hadn’t admitted to myself – that some of the block wasn’t exhaustion or busyness. It was fear of failure quietly shutting the door on curiosity.
“People have always talked about how failure is good for you, and I always thought that was just something they said to make each other feel better. Now I couldn’t agree with it more. I want to go back to my old self, the one who never gave up and was always trying new things, and tell him he did a good job. Nobody wants to fail, but there’s a kind of strength in the people who have.”
Now I keep a dedicated notebook within my A6 leather journal for noting down how something inspires me. It somewhat became an ongoing self-experiment to reveal how I think. Recently, I wrote about Alysa Liu, Artemis II mission (moon joy), and Project Hail Mary (amaze amaze amaze).
It’s genuinely satisfying to offload those ideas onto paper – like clearing space to think again. And I enjoy going back to read my own little records of thoughts.
I’m always curious to see how much I’ve grown.
Oh, Wonder Woman was my favourite person ever as a six year-old. Who wouldn’t want to be a strong, competent, intelligent goddess?
Drawings from old notebook with Amano
