Lately, I’ve found myself deep in research mode—not just for a project, but for my soul. I’ve been going through a creative rebirth, the kind that doesn’t just ask you to reinvent yourself, but to remember who you were before the noise. It led me somewhere unexpected: the 1980s.
It’s the decade I was born in, but I never fully explored what was happening in the culture when I arrived. Now, with a more discerning eye and an ache to understand the root of creative resistance today, I began tracing the pulse of that era—and I was floored by what I found.
The Parallels Are Uncanny
The 1980s were electric and unnerving. Society was shifting under the weight of capitalism, systemic injustice, and global uncertainty. Sounds familiar, right? But what struck me most was that during all of this, creativity didn’t die—it got louder.
In fact, it fought back.
Artists didn’t just create to be seen—they created to survive. To be heard. To spark connection. To scream the truth in a world that was becoming increasingly curated and controlled.
That urgency? That raw beauty in not being polished? I see it again now, in our own moment in time.
Rediscovering the Artists Who Spoke Before Me
In my research, I came across artists who weren’t just talented, they were prophetic. Lorraine O’Grady, for example, used performance art as protest—walking the streets with signs that read,
“Black Art Must Take More Risks.” She forced the world to question why certain voices were left out of the mainstream narrative.
Then there was Keith Haring, who painted on subways and sidewalks, creating art that pulsed with life and resistance. He refused to be boxed in by galleries. He wanted everyone to have access to creativity.
And of course, Jean-Michel Basquiat.
Basquiat was more than an artist—he was a bridge between the seen and unseen. He painted the truth with urgency, chaos, and divine precision. He took street culture and made it undeniable. He didn’t explain himself. He existed loudly, even when society tried to shrink him.
Now, I get it.
I used to admire Basquiat for his style, but now I admire him for his survival. For his unapologetic voice. For proving that the personal, the political, and the artistic could all live on one canvas—tangled, raw, and honest.
So Why Does This Matter Now?
Because we’re in another cultural moment where creativity is being choked out—by algorithms, by overwhelm, by survival mode. Many of us are making content instead of making art. We’re being told to shrink, to conform, to stay palatable. But the 1980s taught me something simple:
Creativity is resistance.
Not in a performative way, but in a deeply human way. Art is how we tell the truth when words are censored. It’s how we remember who we are before the world told us who to be. It’s how we heal.
So yes, I’ve been researching. But I’ve also been remembering. And I want to invite you to do the same.
You Don’t Need to Be an Artist to Reclaim This
You just need to be willing to create something that feels like yours again. A journal entry. A sketch. A moment of stillness. A question you were once afraid to ask yourself.
This rebirth I’m going through? It’s not just personal. It’s cultural. And I know I’m not alone.
Whether you’re a CEO, a teacher, a mother, or a multi-hyphenate creative—we are all trying to remember how to make space for our own voice again. Maybe the 1980s don’t just belong to history. Maybe they belong to us—right now, as a blueprint.
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Did you grow up in the 80s or early 90s? What art or culture moment shaped you the most—and are you seeing it differently now?
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With resilience and grace,
Kristen