I work on words, mostly, toward them being poetry or short

P. J. Harvey, a voice both fierce and haunting, once confessed: “I work on words, mostly, toward them being poetry or short stories, and then some of those become songs. They all find their place in the world, but they all start off in the same place. I’m always painting and drawing as well, and it’s an ongoing creative assignment.” These words are not merely a description of her craft, but a testimony to the eternal nature of creativity itself: that all art begins as a seed, and from that seed, many branches grow.

The meaning is luminous: the act of creation is not rigid, but fluid. A single phrase may be born as poetry, then travel into a story, and later transform into the lyrics of a song. A sketch on paper may evolve into a painting, or remain only as a memory, yet still it carries truth. Harvey reminds us that art is not confined to form—it is a current of energy, flowing through words, sound, and image, taking the shape it must in order to live.

The ancients knew this well. The poet Hesiod sang of the Muses, daughters of memory, who inspired not only poetry, but song, dance, and history itself. To the Greeks, creativity was one river with many streams. The bard might sing one day, inscribe another, or carve in stone on another. Harvey’s practice is an echo of that ancient truth: that all artistic acts are siblings, sharing a common root. The place in the world each piece finds is determined not by the artist’s will alone, but by the life of the work itself.

History too offers its witness. Leonardo da Vinci wrote in notebooks, drew endlessly, painted masterpieces, and sketched inventions that would not be built for centuries. To him, the work of art and the work of science, the sketch and the story, were not separate tasks but one great creative assignment—to explore, to give form, to discover. The genius of Leonardo was not in limiting himself, but in allowing creation to take any form it wished. P. J. Harvey’s words live in that same lineage, a reminder that art must remain expansive and unchained.

Her wisdom also speaks to the persistence of creation. By calling it an ongoing assignment, she affirms that art is never truly finished. A poem may lie dormant, only to become a lyric years later. A half-forgotten drawing may inspire a new song. Creativity is not a single act, but a lifelong conversation with the self, with the world, with the mysteries that stir beneath the surface of life. To create is to accept that the task is never done, and that this is not a burden, but a gift.

The lesson is clear: do not confine your creativity to one form or fear that your art must be perfect before it lives. Begin with words, with sketches, with fragments. Let them grow into what they must be—poetry, stories, music, or paintings. Trust that each act will find its place in the world. The artist is not the dictator of form, but the midwife of expression. Your only duty is to keep working, to keep shaping, to keep creating.

Practical action follows naturally. Keep a notebook where words may rest until they become something greater. Keep sketches, melodies, fragments, for they may return in another form. Do not despise the beginnings, for they are sacred. Approach your creativity as an assignment not from the world, but from your own soul. And know this: the task never ends, but neither does the joy.

Thus, remember the wisdom of P. J. Harvey: all art begins in the same place, but each work finds its own path, its own form, its own place in the world. To live as a creator is to honor this flow, to surrender to the great current of imagination. It is to labor not for applause, but for the deep, sustaining joy of bringing forth what was hidden, and setting it free.