It is 2am, and I am creating. It is the first time in weeks I am making art, and I wonder why I don’t do so every night. But then I yawn, and I remember—I don’t do this every night because I go to sleep. 

The head of Netflix once said that their main competition was not other streaming services, but bedtime. The only thing that can truly outperform attention-grabbing schemes is physical exhaustion. As students, we are well aware of the late night tug-of-war between finishing work and simply nodding off. There’s no way to avoid this conflict. Everyone is exhausted from leading at least one job (either working or studying or both), which is more than enough—without even accounting for our off-duty second one; the consumption and creation of passive content. 

As we’re all made ridiculously aware of by social media and other sites that curate our online presence, this secondary role forces us to view our existence as our brand. Turning our private lives into a public effort means that there is nothing kept completely personal anymore, and the night—once meant for creation and rest—is given to doomscrolling and conducting brand research. Given the endless curation of our consumption, we now work in most of our waking moments, and have minimal time to create just for ourselves. 

When I say “we” I am talking about a very specific group of people, many of whom I’ve surveyed in research for this article: students who reside on the fence of creativity. Those who aren’t necessarily artists by discipline or or academic field, but have a “creative heart,” and could be making much more art for themselves than they currently do. In search of an explanation for why “we” are too tired to create, I’ve come to the simple conclusion that it’s because choosing to make art is just not the easiest option, especially since it is not presented as the best and most important one. There is a reason for this, one not disconnected from the fact that it is easier for capitalist forces to control a population of workers when they are not stimulating discussion and reflection on their circumstances through art. The practice of active creation forces true self-awareness, of a self not tethered to work or to an image.

At the same time, there is more art being made in this day and age than in practically any generation before ours. But how can this be so, and I still feel as though I see very little work that challenges? This could be because we have blurred the line between consumer and contributor more than ever before. This can’t help but take a toll on the quality of work being produced, on who is producing it, and on the message of the work. As Marshall McLuhan famously said, “the medium is the message.” With short-form content becoming the most popular and most “rewarding” medium for art and music, more complex work that requires critical engagement is not commonly made “just for fun.” This results in more “faux-art” being made—things that look like art, but don’t feel like they are the result of a challenging artistic process. This is visible in the styles of art and music most popular online right now that we’ve all encountered during a nighttime scroll: statistics show that musically simple, 3-chord indie songs are currently generating the highest engagement on TikTok, and that fluid art (acrylic pouring) is dominating on Instagram because of its straightforward, easily consumable nature.  

Most nights, I lie in bed and it feels physically unthinkable to make any art, but that’s only because I know there is another option: resting and consuming other people’s “faux-art.” This creates an impossible cycle, as the more we get used to quick, short-lasting rewards from passive creation, the less excited we are to exert the effort necessary to actively create. However, if we are able to put our exhaustion aside, we can recognize the power in our  collective view of the night’s ability to enable creation. We all recognize its renewing essence; it is erotic, quiet, and kind of nebulous, which is what makes it so opportune for creation. We can create our purest work within this contradictory time, both peaceful and unsettling, as long as we are not scrolling. We just have to work through the fatigue to be able to experience this flow state.

Miles Davis recorded one of my favourite soundtracks, for the film Ascenseur pour l’échafaud, in a single night. It is a little cabalistic, and perfectly continuous. There is a particular magic that comes from the clarity created when you have to do something once and do it right, which I think is only possible when you don’t think about the way it will be consumed. Black Sabbath recorded their debut album in a single night as well. This led to their sound keeping an improvisational and experimental quality and being forced to maintain very true to themselves. Under a limited timeframe, they were able to get into a hyperfocus that allowed them to hone in on the exact sound they wanted. Nick Drake recorded Pink Moon over two overnight sessions too. I think that’s exactly how it sounds so sparse yet still purposeful. Drake was able to focus solely on his personal creative process, which unending self-analysis and constant marketing of your life does not allow for. 

While these examples demonstrate how art comes out of giving our nights to creativity which can transcend our self-image, they were also all made before the everyday person had the secondary all-absorbing job as constant producer of passive content and pliant identity. And, excluding Nick Drake, these examples were recorded while the artists were still in relative obscurity, so their creative processes weren’t affected by obsessing over their image in the way we all are forced to do so today. 

One artist who I think was able to stay true to his personal artistic vision, even at the height of his fame, is Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones. This may be because he used the night differently; he drew from his dream-state-subconscious self for inspiration. Richards recorded the riff for “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” in the middle of the night, after a dream fuelled the initial idea. The Stones were already huge at the time of this recording, and had to deal with the creativity-stifling balance of public and private life that we all experience now online. Yet, through not losing sight of his personal vision and taking inspiration from the honest and vulnerable state of dreaming, he was able to create authentically. 

Perhaps we can take from Richards an approach to returning to night-fuelled creativity specific to our generation, which understands his weariness at having to craft a personal brand. We can reset our artistic selves by exploring the times in which we are not aware of our images, even if that starts with the moments we are not awake. The state of dreaming is currently one of the only times that we can think of ideas without considering how they will be perceived, and it feels like the only viable escape route left. If we can harness this dream-centered ability to think and create without imposing pre-existing images upon ideas, or giving up on trying to create at all, maybe we can become more intune with our inner artistic selves. In turn, we can make the option to create an easier one to choose, through practice and a slight change in routine. To be creative takes effort, and in order to do everything required of us as students and workers and people who make art, something has to be sacrificed. Personally, I think that it must be sleep. We have to use the night for art, because that’s what it was made for.