Thoughts on Originality

"No man is an island, no piece of art is a continent unto itself"

"It is the ego's demand that our work be totally original– as if such a thing were possible."

- Julie Cameron, The Artist's Way

My inner critic whispers; it does not shout. I have to listen closely, quieting the outside noise, and even then, I am wary that I am getting the full story. So when I started The Artist's Way in January, I had to work hard to access that inner critic, gently coaxing it out with nurturing promises of the future we could create together.

As I began to listen closely, the first criticism I heard was that I would never create an original work. Taken to the extreme, my critic told me that if I couldn't make something truly original, I might as well not create anything at all. But creativity is so integral to my well-being that I shut that thought down fast. Instead of looking closely at the fear, I smothered it with affirmations: I have original creative ideas. I recited it again and again, assuring myself that this fear was not a boulder blocking my way. It was nothing more than a branch in the road—lightweight, easily moved aside. And so, I repeated my affirmation and pressed forward.

But there is danger in a quiet inner critic, power in subtleness. The criticism deftly creeps into the cracks. No, not a boulder blocking the way, but also not a branch effortlessly moved. Instead, a million tiny traps tacitly undermining the creative process.

So I moved forward, chapter after chapter, repeating my affirmations of originality, and then I arrived at Chapter 10, and everything changed. I read: "It is the ego's demand that our work be original– as if such a thing were possible." It felt as if the air was knocked out of me. I read that sentence again and again. Was Julie Cameron actually telling me that I don’t need to strive for complete originality and, in fact, that is an impossible goal?

From Mascarade à la Grecque by Benigno Bossi, 1771, Public Domain Image Archive

This revelation made me question all the work I had done up to that point. My affirmations of originality took on a new light, fluorescent and artificial, like those in a hospital hallway—a light that said, "Something is wrong here." Was my obsession with originality really just my ego in disguise?¹

I read on: "All work is influenced by other work, all people are influenced by other people. No man is an island and no work of art is a continent unto itself."

Again, I reread those words. I had long believed it was impossible to create something wholly original, yet I still held originality as the ultimate goal. If my work wasn't original, it wasn't worthwhile. I did not want to be influenced by other work or people because I believed that would somehow make my work less than. So, I avoided Instagram² and artistic references, fearing they would dilute my voice. Often, I abandoned an idea altogether, convinced it was just a lesser copy of something that had come before. But here was Julia Cameron, telling me that influence was inevitable.

Let me pause here with the caveat that people should not blatantly copy or take credit for others' work, putting it out as their own. That is wrong, against the creative spirit, and not what Julie Cameron advocates for. Originality still has a place in the process. In fact, it is the process.

I read on: "If the demand to be original still troubles you, remember this: each of is our own country, an interesting place to visit. It is the accurate mapping out of our own creative interests that invites the term original. We are the origin of our art. It's homeland. Viewed this way, originality is the process of remaining true to ourselves."

Burmese Map Of The World, 1906, Public Domaine Image Archive

The intention must be to make something authentic. I could still strive for originality, but the idea had to be reshaped. Originality has its place not in the work itself but in the process.

I began to see references in a new light—soft, luminous, and without the weight of shame. The hesitation I once felt around their use started to dissolve. I realized that when approached with integrity and authenticity, references don't diminish the work; they enrich it. They weave layers of meaning, history, and personal interpretation into something more profound. I began to pull from multiple sources across different disciplines and periods, riffing and reshaping until they became unmistakably my own—a map of my curiosities.

I also began to see the act of copying as a tool for creative growth. In her essay How to Begin, Celine Nguyen argues that copying teaches both technique and taste. Here was another creative I admired³ giving me permission to copy—not to steal, but to study, to internalize decisions made by artists I revered, to improve my own craft.

Lately, I've been working through a Saul Steinberg monograph, copying drawings that speak to me. Sometimes, I replicate them outright; other times, I riff on them. This is not work for profit or public display. I simply love Steinberg's childlike way of depicting the world and have always wished I could do the same. Nguyen's essay made me realize that I could. Why not? And something magical happened. As I copied, new ideas emerged. Drawings in his style, but undeniably my own.

Julia Cameron's quote was so powerful that I felt compelled to memorialize the moment my attitude toward originality shifted. Here, I depict myself as a child, in Steinberg's style, speaking Cameron's words. Yes, I am copying both Cameron's text and Steinberg's approach. And yet, the result is entirely authentic—so much so that I'm framing these pieces for my wall.

So, where did this block come from? This obsession with originality? I don't have a formative childhood memory of being told I wasn't good enough. Quite the opposite. I was praised for my intelligence and creativity, and that little girl internalized the compliments, making it her whole personality. But with that praise came pressure: if I was so smart and so creative, then I had to be perfect⁴.

Original and perfect are two sides of the same coin—unattainable blocks to free-flowing creativity. And while my inner critic never shouted, You are not good enough, the whisper that only original work is worthwhile might as well have been saying the same thing.

For years, the idealized understanding of my potential prevented me from taking risks and pursuing paths where I might fall short. I worried I would never live up to the version of myself as the smart, creative girl with all the possibilities in the world.

Founding LES forced me to break that pattern. I made the leap, pushing past the fear and anxiety slowly churning beneath the surface. My husband (an entrepreneur himself) often reminded me, "Don't let perfect be the enemy of good." I had to learn to let go of perfect and strive for good enough, and in that process, I began to internalize a deeper truth: I am enough.

The Story of the Sun, Moon, and Stars, by Agnes Giberne, 1898, Public Domaine Image Archive

Julia Cameron's quote on originality comes from an essay on competition. It begins, "It is the ego that demands not just to be good but to be the best." She warns against the "footrace mentality," the urge to compare ourselves to others. But for me, the actual footrace was against my own potential. My trap was always competing with an idealized version of myself.

So here I am—a recovering perfectionist armed with a new, powerful understanding of originality. This understanding is unlocking something profound in my product design, creative direction, and writing. I am more connected to my creativity than ever.

Here on Substack, I mostly write reflective personal essays—because it is easiest to be original when writing about myself. It is also most straightforward to write about my internal state because that is what I best understand. But I aspire to more. To write about art, history, and culture. And the ultimate ambition? To write a novel. You heard it here first.

I'll leave you with one last Julia Cameron quote:

"The spirit of competition—as opposed to the spirit of creation—often urges us to quickly winnow out whatever doesn't seem like a winning idea. This can be dangerous. It can interfere with our ability to bring a project to term."

Personally, I will be exploring my work with patience, letting it unfold without judgment. Not choosing "the best" idea too soon. And most importantly, enjoying the process. Because creativity is play. And play is fun.

And for some LES news:

We have lots of new arrivals on the site, including lighting and vintage. Here is an edit of my favorites.

And one piece of housekeeping…

I know a few posts back I claimed I would put together a list of all my favorite vintage clothing sources. I have started and stopped three times. The truth is I just don’t feel like writing it. It is not that interesting. So, I have decided to put it off until inspiration strikes. Any other substack authors struggle with the balance of writing what you want and what you think you should?

Keep Reading…

1. While those affirmations might have been my ego they were also crucial in the process, so I do not want to dismiss them entirely. Julie Cameron uses the term ego as a creative block to free-flowing creativity. But our self-esteem is also tied up in our ego. Those affirmations of originality helped me overcome initial fears and unlock creative flow. They were a band-aid, but one I needed at the time.

2. I still avoid scrolling Instagram for various reasons. Maybe a topic for a future post

3. Celine is quickly becoming my favorite substack author, and I have been slowly working through her years of essays. In addition to How to Begin, I suggest How To Change Your Life, Part 1: l.a. Paul's Transformative Experience, How to Change Your Life Part 2, Agnes Callard’s Aspiration, and Research As A Leisure Activity )

4. While this sounds burdensome, I am also deeply grateful for my self-esteem.