Back to this Creativity

I’m in a real creative mode right now. I’ve been making a bunch of beats and doing a lot of artwork. It feels like I finally got some me time—and my me time looks very specific. When I’m off from work, I want to take full advantage of it by making things, building new pieces, and just being in it.

What’s been really cool is how I’ve been bouncing between mediums. I’ll be painting and have a beat in my head, or I’ll be beatboxing while I work. Then I’ll switch—30 minutes making beats, then back to painting. It’s like what I’m creating visually matches what’s happening in my mind sonically. That back-and-forth… it’s special. It’s fun. And honestly, it feels important.

This week, my students have been finishing their portrait projects, and I had a chance to make my own work alongside them. Letting them see my process—how I think, how I move—did something to me. It gave me a kind of rebirth of energy. I locked in and made a piece I’m really proud of, and it pushed me to keep going.

I’ve been up since 4 a.m. just creating. Knocking things out. And it feels good. It feels like a release. Like tension leaving my body. It brings me back to myself. It makes me excited again.

When I make work, it’s also a chance to talk my shit—to release whatever I’ve been holding in. Creativity is expression, plain and simple. Whether it’s a heavy drum kick or painting in black, or exaggerating certain features in a character—it’s all language. It’s all release.

And being able to move between beats and painting puts me in a zone I really love. A zone I want to spend more time in.

Because my art matters.

Not just because I can sell it—but because sometimes, as artists, we’re not meant to hold onto everything we create. Sometimes the work comes through us—from God, the universe, our ancestors—and it’s meant for that moment. I can appreciate it, but I don’t need to keep everything. Sometimes it’s like, “Alright… someone take this off my hands.”

Art has helped me process pain, anger, joy—everything. And right now, I’m making work that doesn’t need to say anything. It just is. It’s feeling. It’s presence.

As a teacher, I think about this a lot. What am I really trying to teach my students?

Yeah, we’re building skills—but deeper than that, I want them to tap into themselves. To create authentically. To be vulnerable. To be bold. To make something and say, “I came up with that.” Not from Pinterest. Not from copying—but from within.

Honestly, I’m learning so much from my students. Watching their process reminds me of who I was in high school. Just making for the sake of making.

I think about being in class with my homie Tre Burnett—we’d pass a piece of paper back and forth, each adding to it. That feeling? That power? That creative flow? That’s what this is about.

Creativity is human.

It’s the same energy whether you’re making music, painting, or laughing with friends. I’ve been listening to my own beats, but also tapping into people like Tyler, The Creator, podcasts, comedians—it all feeds the energy.

And when I’m in that space, I’m thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. It’s like going on a walk. You’re present, but your mind drifts. You notice your breath, your steps, the air, the trees. You’re grounded, but free.

That feeling—being fully present with no agenda—is one of the most beautiful things in the world.

And when I don’t have it, I feel it.

Lately, making beats has helped a lot because it’s so accessible. No setup, no mess—just open the laptop and go. It keeps things playful. And that playfulness matters.

Because I’m 31 now. Life is evolving. I want to be a better man. Soon be a husband, a father. I want to grow in my career, make murals again, sell work, create merch. There’s a lot I want—and I believe I can do it.

I’m always evolving.

I made a piece recently that says “I Can Persevere,” and that really hit me. Especially with therapy, reflecting on my upbringing—being Black, white, and Mexican, growing up in Sacramento, then moving to Humboldt. I’ve always had to adapt.

But that’s my strength.

No matter what I go through, I know I’ll make it through. Even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t feel confident—there’s conviction. I know who I am.

That power comes from within—but also from my ancestors, my lineage, the universe. We’re supported in ways we don’t always see.

And even in the hardest moments, there’s beauty in knowing: I’m okay. I’ll make it to the next hour. The next day. The next step.

That’s enough.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on my time in the Bay. Almost seven years now. It’s been a whole journey—relationships, the pandemic, therapy, building a business, becoming a teacher, going back to school.

And teaching… it changed me.

It gave me purpose.

I get to shape lives. Through art. That’s powerful. That’s responsibility. And I don’t take it lightly.

Education isn’t perfect—but we work with what we have. Just like art. It’s never really finished. It keeps evolving—through us, through others, through time.

And I show up as my full self as much as I can. As a Black, white, brown man, I carry responsibility—to represent my family, my culture, my experiences, and to show up authentically for my students.

I’m grateful for that.

And now, having this time off—it’s a gift. A real chance to just be. To create. To rest. To explore.

Whether that’s making beats, painting, spending time with my girlfriend, seeing family, trying new restaurants, or just taking care of myself—I’m here for it.

Teachers work hard. We deserve this time. Not just to rest—but to live.

And right now, I’m excited. For life. For what’s coming. For seeing my family. For reconnecting.

I’ve felt isolated at times out here—but I’m finding my way back to connection.

Back to myself.

And I’m ready for what’s next. More art. More teaching. More community. More expression.

Maybe even an EP soon.

That’s where I’m at.