Author: flexanoel

Determining a Creative Practice

| flexanoel

In my work as a writer I’ve been going through a phase of trying to identify my PRACTICE. That’s Practice with a capital ‘P’. This is because I’m often not sure whether to call myself a Creative, an Artist, a Writer, or a Journalist. Or all of the above. I operate in all of these modes interchangeably – sometimes at the same time. A couple of people I’ve mentioned this quandary to have countered with “Does it matter what you call yourself?” And they’re right; it doesn’t matter. But then, it matters enough for me to want to know what I am in my own mind. This is about trying to capture my own approach and answer that dreaded question ‘What do you do?’ without fumbling. Because, it feels inherently linked to a process. And instead of feeling assured, my answer is usually a sequence of stilted semi-ramblings because I don’t have a coherent answer.

Perhaps it’s about identity too – a ‘Who Am I’ big life question. The truth is of course, that you can be several things at once. I’m a writer and I’m also an artist – both involve a certain shared perspective – looking at the world from the outside-in. You’re an observer trying to make things make sense; steering a course through a set of fractures and connections. And as you articulate what you see, you are hopefully helping others to articulate things for themselves too. Sometimes I’m writing opinion pieces and sometimes I’m reporting as a journalist, sometimes my writing is expansive and descriptive, sometimes it’s taut and to the point. And most often it is realised through the Media – published in physical magazines and on digital platforms.

An art studio or workshop with a bike whether creative practice is carried out.
Photo by Berkay Mavral on Pexels.com

It’s easier than ever for people to present themselves as experts, as a recent HBR article on thought-leadership versus ‘thought-doership‘ explores. A few prompts into an LLM, can throw up a suite of expertise to call one’s own – except that ‘this’ expertise was never actually discovered through experience or won through the school of hard knocks. Whether using AI or not to conjure expertise, theories need to work in practice. So we might as well make sure they do. Because if they don’t they’re of little use. And so it is, that in this AI age, having a Practice – the all-important ‘doership’ of putting theory into practice has never been more important. For example, a neat and tidy principle for how to fix the team dynamics at work – however groundbreaking as an idea, might turn out to be a dud in practice, and God-forbid, make things worse. Experience and knowledge straight from ‘the coal face’ will stand out amongst the untested and unsubstantiated advice presented as second-hand theory. The advice people offer from lived experience keeps us grounded too – it’s humbling for someone to have to speak from their own successes and failures, and that is exactly what gives people authenticity. It also underpins any genuine sense of authority. In terms of my writing, I want my words to have had a real physical life before they hit the page. I’m convinced that having a real world, lived Practice is creatively vital and leads to our best work.

At a recent three-day course I attended, I saw firsthand the importance that having a sense of Practice makes in the context of leadership. One speaker amongst several contributors stood out particularly because everything she spoke about was rooted in her own day-to-day on-the-ground experience. And this wasn’t an average role. – Nikki Marfleet had been (until recently) the Governor of one of Britain’s high-security men’s prisons – HMP Woodhill, where violence, drug-issues and safety were everyday challenges. Here the importance of effective leadership was vital for her team and the 800 prisoners in her charge. She had done an art degree (before also studying criminology) and it was both amazing – and a little surprising – to hear how she brought her creativity into her role as a prison Governor. A seemingly simplistic approach but incredibly effective: was to make handmade cards for staff which included personal messages offering encouragement. This could be taken as naive but the result was that it really helped staff to feel seen and valued. And with some more imaginative problem-solving she set out to improve prisoners’ experiences by planting trees in the grounds so that they could see the changing seasons from inside, which helped their mental health. Taking action like this began to give staff and prisoners alike a more positive outlook. It was still a high security prison but in terms of her leadership it was a game-changer, improving the overall wellbeing of staff and prisoners alike.

When writing, ‘Be better, be punk’ I really started to notice how my Creative Practice is developing. The piece had a momentum of its own right from the beginning – as if it was a story that wanted to be written. I kept finding myself, over and again, in the right place at the right time. From the initial idea, to the experiences and interviews along the way and the conversations it sparked with people after it was published – it was a living and breathing entity captured in words on a page. It had its own life. And I felt alive too. I suddenly noticed the things I already do very naturally, and when I feel at my best. It was a signal to me of the wider creative process I was participating in as I ‘made’ the article. Importantly, it relied on my being ‘out there’ and engaging myself – being present and active in the world. And I found that my Practice is very much rooted in these things, which contribute to the wider work of researching and developing the idea – exploring a hunch and being really inquisitive and curious. My Practice felt like I was hosting a wider conversation with every person I met along the way. This threw open new avenues and made me realise that as long as I continue to write I’ll be having an ongoing conversation with the world.

An example of this was at a networking evening: I had written on the sticky label I was given to wear: “My name is: Alex Noel… Talk to me about: Punk Spirituality”. It was far better than inviting people to talk to me about writing, which has never gone particularly well. I would get questions about whether I still even have a job (I do, by the way). It was fascinating to discover how many places Punk has reached into as it has pervaded our culture over the last 50 years. From design principles of ‘punk production’ to Punk’s DIY ethos influencing leadership and coaching, and then further insights into my particular focus for this piece of punk spirituality.

A sticker on a shirt saying: My name is Alex Noel, talk to me about Punk Spirituality. With the RSA (Royal Society of Arts) logo.
Talk to me about punk spirituality, and anything else intriguing!

In that sense, my Creative Practice, is about fieldwork – talking to people, finding out what they think, connecting with them. It becomes a whole dialogue where ideas and points of view can flourish and flow. This is most true in person but I also want it to be true for how I engage online. I think making that shift is really important for engaging well with people. And always remembering that an audience is made up of individuals, each with their own stories and experiences. Recording my experiences diligently is all part of that Practice, whether in note-form, with audio or photography together with other research – it forms part of my ‘field notes’ which has a similar function to an artist’s sketchbook – tracking the evolution of the idea and deciding how best to communicate it. It’s a work in progress but this is what I’m realising as I go.

I would also be lost without having read The Pyjama Myth; The Freelance Writer’s Survival Guide by Sian Meades-Williams. Although I’ve got this far, I have been largely making things up as I go along ever since I launched as a Freelance Writer three years ago, and I felt so seen when I read her book. It was brilliantly practical and no-nonsense. And it was both validating – I was getting some things right – and challenging; I needed to make some changes and upgrades to how I work. 

So this is my Creative Practice, which, as I’ve now come to understand forms ‘the architecture of my creative voice’. The more I lean into it, the more momentum and clarity and opportunities I create. And the more confident I’m becoming – having the framework there, gives me freedom.

© Alexandra Noel 2026. All rights reserved.

The year that made us

1976 - the year that made us
| flexanoel
1976 - the year that made us
Photo by Brett Jordan on Pexels.com

Something was going on in 1976. 50 years ago, it was like things really took off, and I don’t just mean Concorde’s first commercial flight. And while Concorde was ultimately decommissioned, other ideas and initiatives launched that year have endured. Among them; the Olivier Awards, Aardman Animations and yes, even the Undercroft Skate Space on the Southbank. Iconic in their own way, all of them celebrate their 50th anniversaries this year. And it doesn’t stop there. 1976 signalled such a coalescence of creativity, innovation and energy that its momentum has kept on rolling – permeating society and shaping culture right up to the present moment.

Let’s look at some more iconic beginnings from the year that made us.

Punk Music

You can’t talk about 1976 without talking about Punk. And the UK simply wouldn’t be the same without it. This year marks 50 years since Punk burst onto the music scene with the release of The Damned’s single New Rose. Shortly followed by the Sex Pistol’s Anarchy in the UK released a month later. It’s important because Punk music set in motion a profound shift in approach: inspiring a movement where everyday people realised they could just do it themselves. They didn’t need to wait for permission to follow their dreams or watch on as others ran away with things. Punk music expressed a frustration with the status quo and sparked a sense of anarchy towards established systems and ways of doing things – in its wake a raft of activity followed. Punk was characterised by grassroots energy and a DIY ethos which would not only influence music all the way into the Trip-hop of the 90s and beyond, but very quickly overlap with fashion, art, politics and social justice to become a cultural movement that would change society forever.

A man with the words Punk's Not Dead written on his shirt.
Photo by Gu00f6khan Baykal on Pexels.com.

The Body Shop

1976 was also the year the Anita Roddick founded the Body Shop – a ‘small green shop’ in Brighton with a big mission to disrupt and change the beauty industry through making cruelty-free products. This was groundbreaking – a major contrast to the accepted and all-too-common practice at the time of animal testing. And although this continues in very limited ways, the Body Shop, together with Anita Roddick’s campaigning and activism did much to challenge and reduce its practice. The Body Shop started small – a way for Roddick to support her family through owning her own business and making her own products. But she restructured the business so that further shops could be added through franchise. Although the brand was hit by controversy when she sold it to L’Oriel for millions of pounds, in its heyday and throughout the 80s and 90s, it exerted a huge influence on a generation of beauty shoppers, who for the first time were forced to consider the way their products were made and better ways of engaging with the beauty and cosmetics industry.

Dame Anita Roddick outside the Body Shop.
Dame Anita Roddick outside the Body Shop via thebodyshop.com

Apple Computers

In 1976 Apple Computers was launched by a three college drop-outs in Steve Jobs’ parents’ garage. It’s hard to imagine that Apple – as cutting edge and culture-defining as it is – has been around that long: 50 years. If there was ever be a set of products that would go on to change society, it would be Apple’s products. With their alternative version – and vision – of the personal computer Apple created a brand synonymous with style and creativity. So beautiful that Apple would easily find its products featured in TV shows and films. And so versatile and user-friendly that there was little argument in the necessity of owning an iMac, iPad and iPhone… And it was Apple’s iPod that changed the music industry in 2001 with “1,000 songs in your pocket”. Forget the need for a cumbersome walkman that you invariably had to hold or clip on; an iPod slid right in to your pocket leaving your hands free. This was thanks to Steve Jobs being joined by product designer Jony Ives in the early 1990s – a collaboration of shared ethos, marketing and design flair which would win consumers’ hearts and minds. Apple knew how to create sleek products that attracted generations of loyal customers and created a whole new way of engaging with technology.

An Apple Computer. Apple were launched in 1976 by Steve Jobs and two friends.
Photo by Armand Valendez on Pexels.com.

Rough Trade

Rough Trade launched in 1976 – another small shop, for music this time, on Kensington Park Road near Notting Hill. On its website Rough Trade hails the 1970s as a decade of “restless creativity” where music crossed borders and embraced multiple genres. While these genres developed as distinct in themselves, others soon took hands with each other, re-forming into new genres like Two-tone (combining Punk, Reggae and Ska) imbibing the fresh sounds of a new multicultural Britain, and challenging existing ideas of the time. It proved music wasn’t neutral. Nor were fashion and art, which characterised the emergent scenes almost as much as the music itself. Genres arising from Punk carried its DNA and just like it, soon became cultural agitators and disruptors too. But it was the music that fuelled the movement. Later, in the 90s, this same DNA would inspire the Trip-hop which drew on Punk, Dub, Reggae – to name a few – mashing them together like a musical collage to create something entirely new. For its part, Rough Trade has stayed synonymous with musical discovery ever since, championing artists, new sounds and physical media like vinyl, ever since 1976. And on annual days like Record Store Day – we get to celebrate what independent shops like Rough Trade do best: bring people together around music.

The interior of Rough Trade record shop, with music on vinyl and music fans browsing.
The interior of a Rough Trade record shop via MusicWeek.

My parents

1976 was also the year my parents got married. Yes, they will be celebrating 50-years-married later this year: their Golden Wedding Anniversary. And in theory – although I was all but a twinkle in their eyes (I appeared a few years later), I owe a lot to 1976 too. My existence was already being cued up as they walked down the aisle and said their vows. It was certainly a year that shaped me – quite literally – without it I wouldn’t exist at all. But it also shaped so much of the thinking and culture that we experience today and get to enjoy about our society. Punk especially signalled the freedom to try – to do it yourself and have a go. Not only does this encourage creativity, it also took power back from the Establishment and put it into people’s hands, igniting a sense of innovation and change that would ripple out across the decades right up to the present moment. And pervading so much of our culture, it’s hard to imagine what being ‘British’ is without it.

A couple getting married in 1976 in the the UK.
Not my actual parents on their wedding day…via Pexels.com.

In summary, it’s fair to say that life would look very different today were it not for the events of 1976. The wider socio-political context at the time, marked by upheaval and a whole set of frustrations, forced the need for change. Importantly this was change that started at a grassroots level – galvanised not only by music, but by the creativity and sense of permission it gave; soon becoming a wider movement with an unstoppable momentum. What a legacy it has given us. And if it was possible then, is it still possible now? Here’s hoping. We need it now more than ever.

© Alexandra Noel 2026. All rights reserved.

Putting pen to paper is in our basic human OS

| flexanoel

I have a theory. You can only hack the human operating system so far before you compromise it. It might be highly efficient to outsource things like writing to AI, along with other forms of creativity but at the same time these are fundamentally human-centric processes. We need to keep doing them ourselves in order to function well. What’s more, writing things down using pen and paper – rather than typing on a keyboard or using a digital interface – is where the magic can really happen. 

Stephen Bartlett put it well in a social media post: “When you write things down, you turn chaos into clarity. Start untangling your thoughts, pen and paper is where order begins.” 

Software code for operating system.
Photo by Godfrey Atima on Pexels

Putting pen to paper is indeed where a sense of order begins: do you have a jumbled pile of things you need to do but no idea where to start? Write them down in a list. Do you feel overwhelmed? Write everything down on paper. Or are you trying to figure out what you feel about a difficult situation? Starting journalling and see the clarity emerge as you process your experiences. Naming your emotions as you go will also help to gently pull apart the tangled knot and straighten out the various strands into clear thoughts and feelings. It is a form of literacy to know what you’re thinking and feeling.

Its effectiveness is connected to ‘mark-making’ which requires coordination between hand, eye and brain. The same is true for drawing or painting – it helps us to regulate our emotions and process our thoughts. It both embodies and externalises them. And when you read words you’ve written back to yourself, you are creating a mirror. It is here you can gain a valuable sense of perspective on the condition of your own soul and the inner workings of your own heart and mind.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve arrived at the page of my journal feeling confused and burdened about a situation. But as I’ve put pen to paper, and written in longhand, it has forced me to create understanding – to make it make sense – for myself first and then for others. It’s unlikely anyone else will ever my journal unless I show them, but the result for me is being able to articulate better what I’m experiencing.

And without even trying to create meaning there’s value in doing this. Just the action of writing words on a page – even if they’re largely nonsensical is still worthwhile; as a ‘brain dump’ so to speak. This starts the flow of thoughts going so you can get to that place of understanding. Like the scum that forms when you’re boiling leftover chicken – bones and all – from Sunday’s roast dinner. As it simmers away you periodically skim it off the top to find the clear broth beneath. It’s a bit like that with journalling. 

Journalling putting pen to paper and doing the morning pages from The Artist's Way by Julia Camerson.
Photo by Juan Zamoran on Pexels.

This type of journalling forms a core practice within Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. She calls it the Morning Pages. The intention is to open the creative tap and clear out the stagnant water which collected in the pipes overnight (I don’t know how far I can push this metaphor to be honest). Instead of clear intelligible thoughts, what lands on the page when you’re writing the Morning Pages should be considered dross, effluvium – you’re not even meant to revisit it. But by getting the creative flow – flowing – the process promises to release the good stuff. By flushing out all the concerns and randomness that fill our minds, the deeper ideas can surface. Under all that scum is pure gold. And there might even be some random ideas that come to mind while you’re flushing everything else out. That too is gold.

It’s good to make time for drawing too (and any other creative activities that involve making things with your hands). Again, it’s putting pen (or pencil) to paper for me. This is usually simple sketches in coloured pencil – either from life, or from images or paintings. I love going to the ever-popular Drop-in Drawing events on Friday nights at the National Portrait Gallery.  Those gathered draw from any number of the portraits hanging on the walls of the Gallery – in response to a brief we’re given at the beginning of the session. Each time the sessions offer a new way to engage with the artwork, to look from a different angle, and create renewed meaning. We then get to show our work and discuss it with the tutor. And while this is absolutely about catharsis, it’s also really fun – it throws me back to my art school days. I always have a sense of rightness afterwards – like I’ve done something that has cared for my emotional, mental and creative health in some way. I feel lighter, I breathe deeper, I smile. It actually feels good for me. And it is. Engagement in the arts is proven to improve health outcomes as well as our overall wellbeing (see Daisy Fancourt’s new book Art Cure for a full look at this).

That’s the thing about our hand-eye-brain connection. It’s something which is built into our human design. That’s especially true if you’re a self-confessed Creative, where things like writing, painting or drawing scratch a fundamental itch, but we all have that creative faculty within us. We all have a need to ‘make’ something in some way. In terms of the science; the tactile, connected nature of putting pen to paper has cognitive and psychological benefits for us as humans – not least for memory retention, mental clarity and focus. Wider benefits include enhancing our overall creativity. As we make those marks, we also make cross-connections in our brains which spark fresh ideas and solve problems – enhancing our lateral thinking. The tactile and physical nature of it – we can touch and feel the pen and the page – uses more of our senses (rather than converting key strokes to pixels on screen).

The way I think of creativity is changing. Rather than a luxury or optional extra – a ‘nice-to-have’, I’m now beginning to think of it as an absolutely essential thing for us as humans to do. It’s something so basic to our human operating system – body, mind, soul – and spirit – that without it we fail to function properly. And the science backs this up. 

© Alexandra Noel 2026. All rights reserved.

Reclaiming women’s voices

| flexanoel
Minnie Driver as Sarah in The Faithful: Women of the Bible, with Jeffrey Donovan as Abraham.
From The Faithful: Women of the Bible by Fox TV

“On 12 April, the annual Olivier Awards at the Royal Albert Hall, gathered stars of stage (and screen) to celebrate standout contributions to theatre over the past year. Presenting the award for ‘Best Actress in a Supporting Role’ was Minnie Driver.

It felt poignant: she currently stars in The Faithful: Women of the Bible, a six-episode Fox mini-series which reimagines well-known biblical stories from a female perspective, and makes women the central characters.” Read more at Woman Alive…

Be better, be Punk

| flexanoel
London punk 1970s - 50 years of punk music
From Museum of Youth Culture on Instagram.

“At the last General Election, I spoiled my vote. In the booth at my local polling station, I quietly pressed a stubby pencil into the ballot paper and wrote ‘BE BETTER’ across all the boxes. When I threw open the curtain, I was met with quizzical looks; a feeling of anarchy was burning in my heart. I felt so good. It was one small act of resistance against a political class I felt kept letting people down. I wanted them to be better, I believed they could be. But how?

50 years ago, there was a real troublemaker in town. One that dared to defy both the Establishment – and established thinking. Bursting onto the music scene in 1976; Punk was a musical force. Its anarchic energy and bold attitude bumped up against everything, to change the cultural landscape forever.” Read more at Seen and Unseen…

The echo of ‘Blue Lines’

Massive Attack's Blue Lines at 35 - part of the Bristol Sound.
| flexanoel

Massive Attack’s debut album Blue Lines is 35. Wow.

Blue Lines is one of those albums that shaped my taste in music. As a teenager, Trip-hop just grabbed me and inspired me, together with the whole ‘Bristol Sound’ that Blue Lines embodied. It was a sound I felt I knew already from the music I had been into from a young age but it had never been imagined quite like this. It had all the influences I loved and it had that propulsive beat. Plus plenty of heart and soul. It had something to say too, it wasn’t neutral – I felt it stood for something important.

It would end up inspiring me beyond just listening to the music. At 18 I moved to Bristol for university – in large part because of the Bristol Sound and the whole Bristol music scene. I wanted to be part of it all. And I was, both as a music-lover exploring the music scene at club nights and gigs, and later as a musician – in a small way – playing local gigs at venues on the Bristol ‘circuit’. I’d often see Bristol’s musicians, including members of Massive Attack, around the city – but that’s just Bristol for you.  

BBC6 Music have been covering Blue Lines’ anniversary and the legacy of this album. Listening to their ‘Deep Dive into Blue Lines‘ documentary on BBC Sounds I was reminded that Punk (along with Reggae, Dub and sound-system culture) hugely influenced Massive Attack’s sound, and the approach of a whole generation of Bristol musicians. In Cameron McVey’s words (who together with Neneh Cherry urged Massive Attack into the studio to record): “everyone I know from our generation in the Bristol scene got the first impetus from Punk to actually ‘have a go’. For me Massive Attack is a continuation of that smash and grab ethos of Punk where you take ideas and ideals from right, left and centre [and] mash them around into a weird kind of montage”. Punk’s influence cannot be underestimated – its DIY approach gave people such a sense of permission – and without that we wouldn’t have so much of the music and culture we’ve enjoyed over the last 50 years.

Up to the present day the sound of Bristol is influenced by a sense of resistance. Even though the music now differs from the ‘Bristol Sound’ of the 90s and noughties it carries this spirit within it. It is the sound of Bristol – quite literally.You can read more about the Bristol music scene: from Trip-hop to post-Punk and everything in between, (including the Punk that preceded it) in this piece I wrote on evolving the Bristol Sound. The common thread running through it all is Bristol’s spirit of resistance, which cannot be divorced from its music. Time and place – and the people involved with all of their own experiences – are critical. You wouldn’t have Trip-hop or the ‘Bristol Sound at all; were it not for when it all occurred and where – a collision of influences and people and experiences. It tells the story of the past and present, of a particular place and time – all distilled in and through the music.

© Alexandra Noel 2026. All rights reserved.

The healing power of the arts

A woman painting a picture as a way to find healing through the arts and creativity.
| flexanoel

“A new book, Art Cure by Daisy Fancourt, explains why engagement in the arts can actually improve health outcomes as well as contribute to our overall wellbeing. Dr Fancourt is Professor of Psychobiology and Epidemiology at University College London, and has built up a body of evidence from scientific studies over several decades to show that creativity and the arts do our bodies and minds serious good.” Read more at Woman Alive magazine…

What’s behind the Manosphere?

| flexanoel
Louis Theroux

“Louis Theroux’s documentary Inside the Manosphere sheds an uncomfortable light on the male influencers known for disseminating misogynistic content across social media channels, podcasts and websites. Its main proponents include figures like Andrew Tate, as well as a whole host of others who are just as notorious, at least within the Manosphere itself. Drawing heavily on the film The Matrix for its central idea, this inspires the term ‘red-pilled’, which means to wake up to the realities of the world as the Manosphere sees them. Namely, that men are oppressed by women and therefore unable to succeed within this paradigm.” Read more at Woman Alive magazine…

Creativity is in the (genetic) code

| flexanoel

Our DNA tells us what it means to be human.

If you read my previous post you will already know that I’ve been reading a lot of James Baldwin lately. And that one of the reasons his writing resonates with me is because it feels like music; specifically like jazz – which he said intentionally shaped his style. You can feel it in his cadence and phrasing; the sense of improvisation giving it an energy and freshness that continues to play across the decades and inform our present moment.

It was therefore, serendipitous (or maybe just algorithmic) when – shortly after I wrote it – I came across an article from the Institute of Art and Ideas (the people behind HowTheLightGetsIn Festival), on how music and creativity are in our very DNA. The article by molecular biologist Ewa Grzybowska, sets out how the existing paradigm for how DNA works (established by Crick and Watson), has been largely superseded in recent years. 

A DNA helix with music notes and a treble clef coming out of it illustrated an article by Alex Noel, writer and digital marketer.
Composite image by author.

The Science Bit

She explains that the established understanding – that DNA codes only for well-ordered, well-structured proteins is now basically redundant. And rather than a machine-like, linear, ‘1+1=2’ process (where one gene produces one structure which has one function), it is in fact something more akin to improvisation. While DNA sequences code for proteins, there are also non-coding sequences. This ‘superfluous’ genetic material was initially thought to be ‘junk DNA’ (even though this would have been jarringly inefficient for any cell to have), until its vital function was unearthed. It gets transcribed into non-coding RNA molecules which have separate functions from the RNAs involved in making the proteins themselves. And which operate as a “vast pool [of RNA]…involved in the regulation of gene expression” both before and after the DNA itself is transcribed. This, Grzybowska says, opens up the “vast new planes” of regulation and is responsible for this paradigm shift in how DNA is now understood. Meanwhile, they also found that some proteins can change their function, effectively moonlighting in other tasks; while others can change their structure, folding differently despite retaining the same genetic sequence. And then there are proteins with no stable structure at all – completely disordered, able to shape-shift according to their functionality. DNA is therefore less a blueprint and more a text to be interpreted.

What it all means

In other words, genetic material and proteins in a cell are agile; able to adapt and respond to changes in the wider environment. And rather than a production line, cell activity is “fluid, improvisational, and brimming with creative possibility”. Our DNA operates more like a live group of jazz musicians riffing and responding to each other and to what’s happening in the room.

It feels helpful to consider this when our present moment is forcing us more and more, to define what it is to be human, especially as we reckon with AI. But being human, may well come down to some very basic biological facts – the fundamentals, rather than anything high-minded or philosophical. If music and creativity are in fact coded into our very cells, what does that mean for our overall operating system as human beings? And therefore, how we can operate it well? Encoded in our DNA is this essence of creativity, immutably printed into our cells. More than that, it forms a responsive, collaborative and improvisational operating system which makes creativity central to our very lives and existence.

Creativity and being our most human

Recent studies, and books such as Art Cure by Daisy Fancourt, lend weight to the fact that we can only hack the human operating system so far. One thing we can’t get around is our need to create – to make things. Art, and creativity, in all its forms – is good for us. It is good for our basic humanity – our minds, bodies and spirits. A particularly powerful dynamic happens when we fulfil a creative idea and make it real ourselves, it might be taking a simple action, or making a drawing, painting, a piece of writing or sculpture, or anything else we might call “something we created”. When we create something with our own hands, whether it’s a paper aeroplane or an oil painting – there is an unmistakeable sense of exhilaration that accompanies that hand-eye-brain connection. And when we’re totally absorbed by it, giving it our full attention. But if we outsource our creativity entirely – both in terms of our thinking and our creative execution, to something that does it ‘for’ us, where does that leave us? We also risk missing out on the process of collaboration: the satisfaction of co-creating with others, and the joyful connection that can bring.

We need to ask ourselves what exactly are we gaining? And more critically, what are we losing? We may gain in productivity and output, but this can soon become a tyranny in itself. Sales pitches I’ve seen from AI companies are often based on a promise that their products will win us back valuable time, but this is a fallacy. Instead they drive more and more productivity. At a recent event I attended, several entrepreneurs declaimed the power of using AI agents to run parts of their businesses. Only to also confess that they were now working double their original hours, rather than using the time they’d won back for their own leisure or to be with their families. In one case, a founder said with a hollow laugh, that as a result of using AI, his 80 hour work week was now more like 160 hours.

There are already strong suggestions that AI can limit creativity and homogenise thought, if you’re in the habit of outsourcing those things to it. Though it may be wildly convenient to have the work done for you, without any of the struggle inherent in doing the work ourselves, we might be losing something more essential to our humanity in the process, injuring our capacities for genuine originality and human ingenuity. For something to feel worthwhile it often needs to cost us something – that it took some effort on our part. It’s that effort which intrinsically connects us to it. And it’s in our essential nature to create, we’re wired to make things, whether we think of ourselves as creative or not. It’s right there in our biology – in our very cells and DNA: that being human is having the ability to say: “I made that” with 100% conviction.

© Alexandra Noel 2026 All right reserved.