Dear friends,
It’s been a busy 2025. I did a ton of writing this year, though not enough for this newsletter! But now we’re here, together. And today I want to talk about making art.
First, a brief recap of creative highs:
- In January, I joined the Nieman Foundation for Journalism at Harvard, as editor for Nieman Storyboard, with a focus on the craft of journalism and storytelling. I write a weekly newsletter full of links, advice, and hopefully some creative inspiration — sign up to receive it every Friday.
- Continuing my journey back into music, I released my second single as a solo artist in January, “Don’t Get Too Comfortable.” It’s one of the first songs I wrote when I picked the guitar back up during the pandemic, and it’s a letter to my younger self.
- In March, we launched the Nieman Storyboard podcast, and I hosted and/or produced 18 episodes this year — conversations with brilliant journalists, writers, producers, and filmmakers about how they do the work. I had some anxiety about being in front of the mic and conducting interviews, but as Pulitzer-winning guest Mary Schmich reminds us, “deadlines crowd out doubt.”
- Over at Ursa, Deesha Philyaw, Dawnie Walton, Kiese Laymon, and I expanded from podcasts into events, with packed houses in Brooklyn and Philadelphia for live editions of our shows. We’re calling it Ursa Story Club. These gatherings were a reminder of the power of connecting with community in real life. We’d love to do more in 2026.
- Finally, after playing open mics over the past two years, I formed a band with some friends, and friends of friends. I’m proud to now be backed by The Strong Arms. Our first show is January 16, 2026 at Tim’s Tavern in Seattle (5:30 pm!), and my friend Dino Ignacio made this amazing poster, summoning the perfect late-‘70s-Willie-Nelson-at-The-Fillmore vibes.
When you’re making art, you’re building a house.
I spent a lot of time this year continuing to develop my creative muscle — which, it turns out, is less about the act of creating than it is about the act of procrastinating, overthinking, or self-censoring.
The idea that helped me get past those blocks (in addition to deadlines, thank you Mary Schmich) was my growing belief that no single creative act or idea will make or break us. Success or failure are ephemeral and usually out of our control. We must not wait until we feel “ready” — we just need to create one thing and send it out into the world. In the end, we only fail if we stop too soon.
In addition to the question of “being seen” (which was phase one in my journey), I’m interested in what it means to be an artist right now. AI is undermining many forms of content in the creator economy, and my inclination is to seek higher ground, to find the places where humans do their most meaningful work. AI can make “art,” but it is worthless without a human narrative driving it. Why did the art get made — why did she write those lyrics, or what inspired him to direct that film? What emotional moment — joy, grief, pain, surprise — led to its creation?
An artist is different from a creator or influencer (though some influencers are certainly artists), partly because artists are world builders. They create something from nothing, and have a confidence in their vision that gives them permission to do whatever moves them. They don’t overexplain or justify. They’re not chasing trends or engagement. They can be deeply vulnerable but also mysterious. They have built their own world with their art.
Consider the Davids — Bowie, Lynch, Byrne — and Prince, Gaga, Nina. They could explore creatively, and we would happily go on those explorations because we want to be guests in their world.
So when we think about making art — whether a song, novel, painting, musical, or beyond — it might be helpful to think about it less like a hobby or job and more like a house that we are building. With each creative action, you are pouring the foundation, building a frame, putting up walls, and hammering down the roof. Like a house, your art is where you get to live on your own terms. This body of work is a long-term investment, it is entirely your creation, and best of all, you can choose to throw open the doors and invite people in.
Grab a hammer, and start building,
-Mark
PS: One final creative note: Everybody needs an editor, and I’m grateful that I got a chance to work with the amazing Kara Cutruzzula on this and other newsletters this year. Thank you, Kara!