Memento Mori

July 30, 2025

Memento mori. Remember that you will die. Not as a morbid whisper, but as a vivid, urgent reminder pulsing beneath the surface of each day. For artists, those strange, brave souls who dare to shape the formless into something seen, felt, and remembered, this ancient phrase is more than philosophical. It is a call to arms. Tomorrow isn’t promised, not to any of us. And in that fragile, terrifying truth lies the greatest gift: today.

How many ideas have we buried beneath the weight of hesitation? How many sketches, songs, films, or poems have we let wilt because we told ourselves there would be time later? But later is not guaranteed. The muse is fleeting, and time is a currency we can never save, only spend. And so we must spend it with intention. Paint the canvas, even if it’s rough. Write the chapter, even if it’s not perfect. Record the demo. Build the installation. Begin the thing that scares you. Begin the thing that excites you. Begin.

Each morning is a blank page. Each nightfall, a final punctuation mark. What will you inscribe in the space between? We tend to romanticize the artist who waits for inspiration, but that myth is a luxury we can’t afford. Real creativity is not passive, it is a daily practice, a discipline, a decision. It asks us to show up even when the well feels dry. It demands we push back against doubt and perfectionism and make something anyway. And it rewards us with momentum, with meaning, with the quiet satisfaction that comes from living aligned with what matters most.

To live with purpose is to live urgently. Not frantically, but with clarity. When we remember our time is finite, we stop squandering it on fear. We stop waiting for permission. We start creating the art we want to see in the world, not the art we think we’re supposed to make, not what’s trending or safe or marketable. The real stuff. The vulnerable stuff. The work that scares you a little because it’s true.

Each stroke, each word, each decision to make something instead of postponing it, this is how we honor the brief, miraculous chance we have. Not by dreaming about what we might do one day, but by doing something, anything, today. Just one step. One sketch. One sentence. One experiment. These tiny acts accumulate. And suddenly, you’re not just thinking about your art, you’re living it. Becoming it.

So remember: memento mori. Not to depress, but to awaken. This is it. This day. This hour. Make it count.