Creating Your Body Of Work: Embracing Vertical Time

Creativity is a river that runs through our lives, sometimes rushing, sometimes meandering, but always present. It’s not confined to the moments we sit down to write, paint, or perform—it’s woven into the fabric of our existence.

Let’s dig into this and explore the idea of having breathtaking clarity, inviting us to define and redefine our “body of work.” How? By stepping into the timeless flow of vertical time. This isn’t just about finishing projects; it’s about living creatively, deeply, and consciously. Let’s dive into how this perspective illuminates our creative lives’ fleeting sparks and enduring currents.

Your Body of Work: A Living, Breathing Tapestry
Picture a painter’s portfolio or a writer’s shelf of novels. That’s a body of work, right? Sure—but it’s only part of the story. What if your life is the canvas? Every brushstroke counts: the way you arrange your living room, the laughter shared over a spontaneous road trip, the unfinished poem crumpled in a drawer. These aren’t side notes to your creativity—they’re the heartbeat.

Your body of work isn’t just the polished pieces you show the world. It’s the roles you’ve embodied, the relationships you’ve nurtured, the dreams you’ve chased (even the ones that slipped away). It’s the quiet moments of reflection and the loud, messy failures that taught you more than success ever could. Short-term bursts—like a sudden inspiration for a scene or a melody—feed into the long-term arc of who you’re becoming. Zooming out, you’ll spot the threads: recurring themes, unspoken questions, and a signature uniquely yours.

The Roots Beneath the Bloom
Creativity doesn’t spring from nowhere. Is “that” project tugging at your soul today? It’s not random. It’s a flower blooming from roots that stretch deep—sometimes years, sometimes generations, into the past. Maybe the story you’re writing echoes your mother’s unspoken ambitions. Perhaps the film you’re directing carries your grandfather’s resilience or your culture’s quiet ache. These aren’t just ideas; they’re inheritances.

Short-term creativity—like a burst of energy to sketch or brainstorm—often feels immediate, but it’s tethered to something bigger. Ask yourself: Why now? What’s this really about? The answers might surprise you. That quick doodle could be a seedling of a lifelong passion. That half-formed script might be wrestling with a question you’ve carried since childhood. Long-term creativity emerges when we honor these roots, letting them guide us deeper.

Vertical Time: Where Art Breathes
We’re conditioned to see time as a straight line—horizontal, predictable, marching from start to finish. You begin a project, you push through, you wrap it up. Done. But creativity doesn’t obey that rhythm. It thrives in vertical time—a space of depth, presence, and immersion.

Think of the last time you lost yourself in a film or a song. Time didn’t just stop; it expanded. You weren’t racing toward an end—you were in it, fully alive. That’s vertical time: not a checklist, but a plunge into the moment. Horizontal time drives us forward with deadlines and goals; vertical time pulls us downward, into meaning and connection.

Short-term creativity sparkles here—a flash of insight, a sudden line of dialogue. But we build something enduring in the long-term dance with vertical time. It’s the difference between skimming five blocks on a bike and digging five blocks deep into the earth. One’s a breeze; the other’s a feat of courage and craft.

The Beautiful Cost of Depth
Going deep isn’t easy. It’s not a casual stroll—it’s an excavation. You’re working against the gravity of distraction, doubt, and the urge to rush. But oh, the reward. When you sink into your process, you’re not just making art but living it. Every layer you uncover, every truth you face, adds richness to your body of work.

This is where short- and long-term creativity intertwines. A quick sketch today might plant the seed for a masterpiece years from now. A fleeting emotion you capture in a journal could ripple into a novel. The trick is to stay present—to trust that these moments, big and small, are building something extraordinary.

Your Life as Art
Pause. Look back. What do you see? Are the same kinds of characters popping up in your stories? A persistent ache you keep circling in your relationships? A melody you hum without knowing why? These are your signatures, your creative DNA. They show up in the lightning strikes of inspiration and the slow burn of a lifelong pursuit.

Your body of work isn’t static—it’s unfolding. The more you notice these patterns, the more intentional you become. That awareness turns every choice—every trip, every heartbreak, every unfinished draft—into a brushstroke on a canvas vaster than you imagined.

An Invitation to Dive
So, step outside the horizontal grind. Look at your life with fresh eyes—not just the “finished” pieces, but the whole wild, messy, beautiful sweep. Trace the roots. Celebrate the connections. Honor the invisible work—the late nights, the doubts, the dreams no one else saw.

Then take that next step. Write the line. Shoot the scene. Sing the note. Dive vertically into whatever’s calling you now, knowing it’s part of something bigger—a body of work as alive as you are.

How’s your creative flow unfolding? What threads are you weaving, consciously or not? I’d love to hear—because your story, your art, your life—it’s all singing.

All of this and more is in a recent episode of The Creative Present podcast and a video on YouTube. Available under “Resources” on this website.