Mess is Part of the Method

[Abbie Shores]

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Table of Contents

• Introduction: The Myth of the Tidy Creative
• The Desk That Tells a Story
• Flour in the Toaster: A Kitchen Case Study
• Chaos as Catalyst
• The Secret Logic of Mess
• Permission to Be Untidy
• Closing Thoughts

Introduction: The Myth of the Tidy Creative

There is a persistent notion that the truly dedicated creative lives amid spotless surfaces, neatly sharpened pencils, colour‑coded notebooks, and immaculate shelving. It photographs beautifully. It also bears little resemblance to the daily reality of many artists and writers, where inspiration arrives wearing muddy boots and dumps itself across every available flat surface. In practice, our studios and studies look less like design catalogues and more like working ecosystems: papers in mid‑migration, brushes sunbathing in the washing‑up bowl, and notes perched at jaunty angles waiting to be rediscovered.

The truth is simple: creative work often thrives in the midst of disorder. What seems chaotic to an outsider can be fertile ground for discovery—a space where unexpected connections and new ideas emerge without asking permission.

The Desk That Tells a Story

A confession, then: my own desk is one of the most untidy you are likely to encounter. On certain days there isn’t quite enough clear real estate to set down a sketch pad, yet I always know where things are. My work desk is no different—scattered papers, half‑written notes, a ruler hiding under last week’s ideas, and a mug negotiating precarious diplomatic relations with a pile of envelopes. My clothes drawers? Let us say they are alive with possibility. To a casual visitor, it is all a muddle. To me, it is my muddle.

This baffling arrangement has its own order. I can reach instinctively for the scrap I scribbled on Tuesday, or the half‑finished drawing that has slipped between pages. What appears to be bedlam is, in fact, a live map of my process. Mess in the creative life is not the same as destructive chaos; it is a kind of ordered disorder—a rhythm only the maker hears.

Flour in the Toaster: A Kitchen Case Study

I bake every day—bread, cake, or biscuits—and when I do, the kitchen becomes a hive of purposeful chaos. Flour develops surprising athleticism and makes a running leap into the toaster. The cutlery drawer mysteriously acquires chocolate chips (they like it there; it’s cosy). Measuring spoons elope with the cinnamon, and the tea towel goes on a sabbatical I did not approve.

To an onlooker, it is mayhem; to me, it is choreography. Everything is happening at once because everything belongs to the same creative moment: proving dough while butter softens, swapping trays like a stage‑hand during a quick change, scribbling a note for a poem as the timer beeps. The mess is not a mistake—it is momentum you can see. The kitchen wears the day’s thinking on its sleeves in dustings of icing sugar and small avalanches of oats.

And here is the parallel worth naming: whether I am painting, writing, or baking, the surface clutter mirrors the inner whirl where choices are tested and remade in real time. The result—warm bread, a finished page, a sketch with breath in it—emerges through the commotion, not in spite of it.

Chaos as Catalyst

Creative practice is rarely linear. A painting does not simply progress from blank canvas to masterpiece in tidy stages; a story does not stroll politely from beginning to end without doubling back for snacks. There are false starts, abandoned drafts, sudden detours, and the occasional magnificent wrong turn that reveals a better road altogether. In this sense, the mess on our desks—and in our kitchens—reflects the inner workings of our imagination.

A stray sketch may spark an entirely new project. An old note unearthed from beneath a pile might arrive at precisely the right hour. Even the clutter itself can act as stimulus, nudging the mind to make connections it might otherwise ignore. Chaos becomes a catalyst: a reminder that art grows as much from accident as from intention.

The Secret Logic of Mess

Of course, there is a threshold. Genuine overwhelm—the point where clutter paralyses rather than inspires—is something different. Yet even then, the “mess” often has a secret logic invisible to anyone but the creator. Think of it as a personal filing system that refuses to wear a tie. It is highly contextual and strangely efficient: the half‑used sketchbook marks the place where an idea paused for breath; the leaning tower of reference books is stacked in the order you met them.

This can be utterly baffling to partners, friends, or colleagues who cannot imagine how you find anything at all. But that is because it is not their order—it is yours. It reflects the way your brain holds and organises information. If your desk, studio, or kitchen looks more like a lively conversation than a filing cabinet, consider the possibility that you are simply working in your native dialect.

Permission to Be Untidy

The danger lies in comparing our behind‑the‑scenes reality to the curated images we scroll past online. We imagine that “real artists” live in pristine studios, when in truth most are probably working in conditions far closer to our own. Giving yourself permission to embrace a degree of disorder can be profoundly liberating. It acknowledges that creativity is an untidy business by nature: ideas spill over, overlap, and tangle; the physical space simply reflects that energy.

If you do reach a moment when the muddle stops you from working at all, by all means clear a small patch of desk, reshuffle a drawer, or invite the toaster to a flour‑free future. Do it gently, knowing that tidying is only one part of the process—not the gold standard of artistic virtue. Your worth is not measured in labelled boxes.

Mess is not the enemy of creativity; it is often its companion. The paint‑splattered desk, the pile of half‑finished drafts, the kitchen that looks as if it has been baking since breakfast—all of these are testaments to a life in motion, a mind engaged, a process unfolding. If your own creative spaces are more muddle than minimalist, take heart. You are not failing. You are simply working in your own way, guided by your own rhythm, making sense of your own “strange order”.

After all, art itself is rarely tidy. Why should the places it is born be any different?

Read the full article: https://ourartsmagazine.com/blog/mess-is-part-of-the-method/

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Source: Our Arts Magazine

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