The Creative Crucible: Despair to Triumph
By John Knutila
John Knutila is a writer and artist whose latest work is available at johnknutila.com and on Instagram at @jdknut3.
My sweat froze instantly on the marble I carved. Long underwear became a second skin 24/7. Deep snow lay on the ground for three months. That was the winter I lived alone in a Vermont farmhouse. No job, no TV, no computer, no drugs, no alcohol. Just me, the stone, and my hammer and chisels.
I learned a lot that winter. I learned to feel gratitude for the sun as it rose and shone in the studio window, doubling the heat from wood-stove embers in a galvanized bucket. And I learned the deep relief every evening of snowshoeing across the field and into the forest.
And the crucial lesson: I learned that struggle and despair can be a natural, integral, and positive part of the creative process.
For me, that process begins with an inspiring sketch or idea. As the idea meets tools and materials, the path forward tends to disappear. Then, I’m lost. Inspiration has turned to frustration, which slips into despair: Who am I kidding calling myself an artist, etc. Now it’s bushwhacking, trial by error, trying new shapes or colors. Even after gaining skill with tools and techniques, I found myself in this state time after time, year after year. That’s the darkness, before finding the light (more on that below).
If you’ve engaged in any sustained creative effort, I’m guessing you’re familiar with some version of this struggle. Of feeling lost, confused, with more questions than answers. Not being thrown by the darkness in the struggle? It took me a long time to learn about that.
Early struggles and slow awakening
I was always a mediocre student. The shy fellow trying to fit in with others. The mid-level athlete who matured later than his peers. The quiet student in the back row. In high school, depression crept into my life. Was I experiencing a lack of motivation? Lack of focus? Lack of confidence? Yes, yes, and yes.
Thankfully, something began to shift in college.
The only “A” I managed to get was in a history of art course. During that long series of slides projected onto a screen, something within me responded to the full range from the primordial goddess of Willendorf to the spiritual color fields of Rothko. The next year, that teacher’s enthusiasm led me to the museums and cathedrals of Italy and France.
Looking back, I admire the grit of my younger self. Where to live and work? Was art a realistic occupation without an advanced degree for teaching? With no answers and no clear path forward, my mood frequently sank. Yet something drove me forward. I lived in Greece and learned how to carve marble. I saved money from factory work and moved to Vermont, where the journey began in earnest. There were creative peaks and valleys.
I didn’t know it then, but Carl Jung's psychology of the unconscious offered insight that would later illuminate my creative struggles.
The Jungian perspective: Understanding the creative process
The groundbreaking Swiss psychoanalyst believed creativity is connected with our unconscious.
He proposed that our psyche naturally seeks balance and wholeness through a process he termed “individuation.” In that framework, periods of depression or struggle are necessary descents into our unconscious, where we tap into deep wells of creativity.
Tension between conscious and unconscious forces can lead to creative solutions, and it can be a catalyst for growth and self-discovery rather than a mere obstacle. It was years before a Jungian analyst explained how this applied to me. In Vermont, I was still white-knuckling through my early days as a full-time artist.
There were times when I would collapse into an old armchair, unable to make progress with a sculpture, feeling completely lost as I gazed out at the endless white snowscape, the white sky mirroring my inner emptiness, while the cold air seeped under the door, chilling both the room and my spirit. Those observations were manifestations of the despair I introduced above.
One night in bed, under a bare ceiling light bulb, I scribbled an important note in my journal: “Each work of art is merely the outer relic of an inner journey.” In the studio, I had no single epiphany about creative depression; I slowly learned to accept it by making sculpture after sculpture. I learned not to be thrown by it. I began to recognize and respect it.
Relief carving by author, limestone, 1982, h. 19”
Creative depression: A shared struggle
Let me be clear: Depression, creative or otherwise, is not a simple topic and can involve serious consequences. I’m not qualified to address the mental states of others. I’m writing here about my own experience with despair in the house of creativity.
That said, I’ve found inspiration in the challenges and triumphs of others. Many creative icons have struggled with mental health, their stories familiar to my creative journey and perhaps your own.
Sylvia Plath grappled with the pressure to succeed creatively while feeling emotionally numb and detached from the world. Her renowned poetry and fiction are a testament to how depression can serve as a deep well for raw expression.
Frida Kahlo endured a lifetime of physical and emotional pain. Her self-portraits depict not just her physical pain but also her emotional and psychological struggles, helping her navigate complex emotions and reclaim control over her life.
Bruce Springsteen has written about his long-term battles with depression and using those battles to fuel his creativity, resulting in some of his most profound work.
Vincent Van Gogh had well-known struggles with depression. There were many uncertainties in his life, and he faced an untimely death. Yet the healing power of creativity sustained and helped him produce one of the most important bodies of work in the history of art.
I count myself as a fellow voyager only because I similarly have accepted the struggle in my creative journey. The important thing is to keep the creative process alive. Enjoy the early inspiration. Accept and move through the darkness of doubt. Encounter creative walls, change direction, but persist. I’m thankful I did.
Evolution of an artist: Adapting and growing
When my wife and I started a family, I found a corporate job that provided income while I fulfilled my creative urge through making art on the weekends.
As free time became scarce, I transitioned from stone carving to multimedia wall pieces using wood, paint, photos, and found objects. Then, a longer commute later motivated my shift to digital art, offering me new creative possibilities and flexibility. My studio became coffee shops, train seats, and late-night sessions at the kitchen table when the house was quiet.
This evolution had an unexpected healing effect. Despite parenting challenges, my depression lifted, and creating art became easier. The digital medium’s “undo” function and the ability to explore new directions while preserving the original one contributed to this growth.
My artistic journey has been profoundly therapeutic, improving my overall happiness and resilience.
Untitled digital art by author, 2023.
Embracing the creative journey
I now understand that the creative process is not just a journey of highs and lows, but a profound path toward individuation, where every descent into shadows brings potential new creative heights. The struggles I endured in that Vermont farmhouse were not merely obstacles; they were a crucible, forging my art and my understanding of myself. As Jung suggested, these descents into the unconscious can be the source of our most profound creativity.
To those who feel discouraged when their creative output doesn’t immediately match their initial vision, I urge perseverance. Being an artist doesn’t need to be about perfection or photorealism. It’s about finding your unique voice. In your creative process, each project can be a step along your journey of individuation.
Creativity, with all its ups and downs, can be profoundly healing. It has the power to help you navigate life’s challenges. You learn patience by working toward solutions; humility by overcoming mistakes and setbacks; and courage by repeatedly facing the unknown—all of which I’ve learned through making art. As you confront inner struggles and tap into your creative wells, you may find, as I have, that creativity is not just a passion, but a path to wholeness.
Accept and respect the darkness and the light. In your search for truths, you may discover new artistic expressions, a deeper understanding of yourself, and a vibrant way of experiencing the world.
Each work of art is the outer relic of an inner journey—one that can lead to healing, growth, and a new shape of happiness.
Untitled digital art by author (with help from Modigliani), 2023
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