Why paying attention might be the most important creative practice you have
This piece sits at the heart of my work — as an artist, a writer, and someone who teaches creativity.
Where this began
Somewhere along the way, I started paying closer attention to the mornings.
Not in a grand, spiritual, life-altering way.
Just quietly. Consistently. Before coffee.
A patch of light on the floor.
Fog hanging low over a field.
Steam curling off a mug.
The sky changing its mind every five minutes.
Small things. Ordinary things.
The kinds of things that are easy to miss when you’re busy trying to be productive or profound.
But the roots of this go back further than I realized.
The ponies
Years ago, I started a small photo project I called Ponies in the Morning.
Almost every day for nearly a year, I photographed my horses during their morning feed.
Nothing fancy. No big artistic intention.
Just a camera, a routine, and a few quiet minutes at the start of the day.
At the time, my horses were getting older.
I could feel the inevitable edge of that, and if I’m honest, part of me wanted to pull back a little.
To brace. To protect my heart.
But the opposite happened.
That daily practice of showing up with a camera — of really looking — pulled me closer instead of pushing me away.
I noticed the small things.
Expressions. Rhythms. Light on their coats.
The ordinary, fleeting details you only see when you slow down enough to stay.
It changed my relationship with them.
Not in some dramatic, cinematic way.
Just quietly. Deeply.
I was more present.
More attentive.
Less guarded.
And so were they.
I didn’t have language for it then, but I understand it now:
Noticing creates connection.
What noticing does
Over time, that understanding widened.
Noticing changes things.
It slows you down without making you stop.
It sharpens your eye without asking you to strain.
It opens a door without announcing itself.
And for artists — for anyone who makes things — it matters more than we admit.
Because before the painting, before the words, before the idea…
there is attention.
Before inspiration
We like to talk about inspiration as if it arrives fully formed.
A lightning strike. A download. A visitation.
But more often, it begins quietly.
In the corner of your vision.
In something you almost walked past.
Noticing is the beginning of that process.
It isn’t dramatic.
It doesn’t require talent.
No special tools. No perfect conditions.
Just a willingness to look.
The part we skip
To pause long enough to register what’s already there.
To let the ordinary have weight.
To let the morning speak first.
This is the part we skip when we rush toward making.
And it’s often the part that makes the making richer.
Because when you practice noticing, you start to carry it with you.
Into the studio.
Onto the canvas.
Into your writing.
Into your life.
You see more.
You gather more.
You trust more.
And slowly, almost without realizing it, your work deepens.
Not because you forced it.
Because you paid attention.
Why the morning
This is why I keep coming back to the mornings.
They are full of things worth noticing.
Small offerings. Quiet openings. Creative fuel hiding in plain sight.
Not every morning will change you.
But any morning might.
And that’s reason enough to look.
Your turn
If you’ve been playing along with the noticing prompts lately, consider this a continuation.
Last time, the invitation was simple:
Notice something — and stay with it a little longer than usual.
This is the next step.
Tomorrow morning, notice one thing again.
Not the most beautiful thing.
Not the most meaningful thing.
Just something that catches your eye.
A shadow. A sound. A color. A shape.
Light on the wall. Steam from a cup. The way the air looks before the day gets loud.
But this time, linger. Savor it.
Let yourself stay with it for a few breaths longer.
Long enough to feel the shift from seeing to noticing.
If you want, write a sentence about it.
Or take a photo.
Or carry it quietly into your day.
That’s the whole practice.
Small. Ordinary. Repeatable.
And more powerful than it looks.
A few things I return to
If the idea of noticing resonates, these are a few works that have shaped how I think about attention and creativity.
John Berger — Ways of Seeing
A timeless exploration of perception and learning to truly see.
The original BBC series is well worth watching
Rick Rubin — The Creative Act: A Way of Being
A modern reflection on awareness as the starting point of creativity.
You can pick this one up and read any page.
Mary Oliver — Upstream
A beautiful reminder that attention itself can be a form of devotion.
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