"Why I Am Not a Painter" by Frank O'Hara + Sardine and White Bean Salad


Some artists board themselves up in a room for weeks until the canvas or the typewriter inspires them. Others obsessively carry notebooks so that ideas can be captured the moment it strikes. Some go on retreats in the woods or by the sea, cut off from their digital lives for weeks at a time. Others look for it in their daily lives, in small doses that fit between work and school and errands.

The creative process has always been somewhat of a mystery, mostly because it affects each of us differently, and it can take years to fully understand how your own creativity ebbs and flows. One day, Frank O'Hara decided to write a poem about this very topic. "Why I Am Not a Painter" invites us in as if we are a friend sitting across from him at the dinner table, having a conversation.