Creative Algae Bloom

What to do when your creative projects get out of hand

Each summer, the canals around my home in East London are almost completely covered in a layer of bright green algae. This algae blooms in high temperatures, feeding off the sunlight and the nutrients in the water, and sucking up all the oxygen from the ecosystem below.

This week I’ve been thinking about how often my creative projects turn into an algae bloom. They start small, but then before I know it, every surface of my life and every corner of my time is taken up by one singular but ever more demanding enterprise. 

Maybe this sounds over the top, but I’ve spent the last week in bed nursing a horrific cold, and if there’s one thing that’s allowed when you’re ill, it’s hyperbole. I’ve written before about burnout and working myself too hard, and these topics will probably be a perennial concern of this Substack. And I do think one of the things that hinders me in the process of setting limits on my workload is the feeling that my work is like a force of nature. It’s overwhelming, unstoppable - and it often doesn’t feel like I have any choice but to do it. 

The useful thing about the algae bloom analogy is that just as algae blooms for a reason, my runaway-train creative projects also spin out of control for a reason. 

While I’d love to believe that I get so engrossed in making because I’m just so passionate about the craft, I know it’s not that. There are of course times when I can keep going for days and days on one single tapestry because I’m enjoying it so much. But more often than not, I’m at the loom for weeks on end because I have a deadline to meet. 

Most of the times when I’ve experienced Creative Algae Bloom, it’s been because I said yes to a project or set myself a task that felt reasonable and achievable at the time. But then once I got fully stuck into the project, it started to grow. Sometimes it’s because of unexpected challenges that I couldn’t possibly have anticipated, like a client changing their mind half way through. Or sometimes it’s because once I start working, I come up with new ideas, and the scope of the project starts to expand. And then before you know it, the algae isn’t just spreading across a minor tributary, but is covering the entirety of Regents Canal, from Mile End to Paddington. 

I don’t think I’m the only creative that struggles with this. Everywhere you look, you see artists and makers being encouraged to churn out more, and more, and more. In my recent rug weaving workshop, I chatted to a curator from Canada about the current state of contemporary art. I’d been to several exhibitions recently of artists I really admired, only to be disappointed by the quality of their recent work. She confirmed that it absolutely was a problem, that artists were being encouraged to exhibit too frequently and pressured to churn out work instead of giving it the time and care that it needed. On a more positive note, she mentioned artists that she’d worked with who refused to speed up their process to meet demand, going years between shows to allow their work to properly develop. 

Even if you’re not an internationally recognised artist, you might still feel pressure from social media to be doing more, sharing more, making more. Instagram and TikTok make us all feel like we’re perpetually behind. Even if you are a productivity machine, you might feel the pressure to share things before you’re really ready. A sustainable creative practice needs deep roots, and these often grow best in the dark, away from other people’s questions and well-meaning advice. 

As I’ve been resting and reflecting this past week, I’ve thought about how I might break this pattern for myself. After all, I don’t want a creative practice that’s a mile wide and an inch deep. I want something that feels meaningful, but which doesn’t exhaust and overwhelm me.  So here are just a few of the ground rules I’m laying for myself, to help keep the Creative Algae Bloom in check. 

Don’t Announce Projects Before They Are Ready

If I had the space, I would get this printed on a 6-foot-high banner and mounted on the wall of my studio. This has been the cause of more stress and sleepless nights than I can count, and it is, I’m sorry to say, entirely self-inflicted. 

What happens is that often, I will start a project that I’m really excited about. In that early buzz, I’ll make a whole announcement about something “coming soon”. I might even set a launch date, based on my optimistic calculations of how long I think it will take. Then, once I get stuck into the project, two things will happen. I’ll realise that, actually, it’s going to take a lot longer and be a lot more work than I bargained for. The second is that, as I mentioned earlier, I’ll come up with even more new ideas that I’ll want to include, and the scope of the project starts to expand. I then either end up delaying or staggering the launch, or pushing myself relentlessly to meet the original deadline. 

I do think that if you are a creative who has come up through a traditional art school education - one with exams, exhibition deadlines and portfolio hand-ins - it can be very, very hard to separate your creativity from the need for a deadline. I’ve always felt that I needed the external accountability of a public deadline, otherwise I’ll never get my projects finished.

Over the years, however, I’ve become more confident in my ability to finish projects without public scrutiny. Some of that is because I now have people in my life who can gently hold me accountable privately, and some of that is I understand my creative process better. I know that I can absolutely finish my projects - when there is the right incentive to do so.

Focus On What’s Working For You

I have found that when I prioritise what is genuinely working for me, it’s much easier to finish what I start, and in a reasonable timeframe. Whether that’s because it’s an online course I’m passionate about, a creative process I really enjoy, or something that’s actually making me money, these are all incentives that work so much better than setting myself arbitrary deadlines.

It’s also a useful assessment criteria for projects that other people ask me to be involved in. When I am focused on what works for me, both in terms of creative direction and profit margin, it’s much easier to say no to projects that aren’t a good fit. I’ve done a lot of commissions over the years that paid a lot but didn’t build my creative practice in a meaningful way. And on the flipside, I’ve taken part in residencies and exhibitions that established my creative practice, but didn’t actually pay well. 

Obviously, it is rare that you find something that ticks both of those boxes. But I think you have a better chance of taking these elusive opportunities when they do arise if you’re not already bogged down with the things that aren’t working. 

Don’t Try To Turn Passion Projects Into Income Streams

The reality of life as an artist is that there will be some projects that you are just so passionate about that you will want to work on them even if they don’t make you a single penny. One thing I have learnt after 8 years of being a self-employed artist is that if something is a passion project, it’s best to be clear about this from the start. If you begin by accepting that it’s not going to make you any money, you can plan accordingly. The project can be limited to your free time, or you can raise funds in other ways to cover the cost of the working hours spent on it.  

The worst thing to do is to get into something that you know won’t make much money, and then try and make it financially sustainable after the fact. If money is going to be part of the equation, it should be one of the first things you think about, not a bonus add on. 

I’ve learnt this the hard way with Substack. I started it as a space primarily to share my thoughts and my writing, and as a creative outlet at a point where I wasn’t getting to spend a lot of time on my own art. As it took off, however, I started thinking about how I might make it into an income stream. I doubled down on it, made a marketing plan and content calendar, and spent a lot more time on it than I really should have done. 

Last week, I finally took a step back and took stock. I realised that at its current growth rate, it will take 10 months for the paid subscriber tier to just cover the cost of my time spent on it, let alone make a profit. And in pouring so much of my time and energy into it, the rest of my business was suffering. 

So I’ve scaled back. I set myself realistic targets for Substack - one post a week, alternating between free and paid - and a timeframe for these posts to be completed in. I love writing, and I genuinely enjoy setting aside the time to sit down and share my thoughts with you. Right now, that’s enough. 

What Is Enough? 

This is the final question I’m asking myself as I reflect on my creative practice over the years. What is enough? 

One of the reasons I first fell in love with tapestry weaving over painting is that it has hard limits. With my paintings, I would go over and over the same board or canvas, constantly tweaking it and never knowing when to leave it be. In tapestry weaving, once you fill up the loom, that’s it. It’s ironic, but choosing a slow, slow craft like tapestry has allowed me to be more spontaneous and free. 

When I think about the type of creative practice I’d like to have, that spontaneity is a big driver. I don’t want to be locked in to deadlines every month, I want to have breathing room to play, experiment and explore. I don’t want to be bogged down in the green weeds each week, fighting to get it all done. I want to let it flow.