The kaupapa for this issue, Inhale I Exhale, had us thinking about the different moments we experience while creating art. It seems like it’s not often that we reflect on this. Sometimes the realities of living and surviving as a creative make it feel like there’s no way to change the pace. You know the go go go, what’s next, what can I tick off the To Do List kind of vibez. This self-reflection had us considering some of our own unhealthy, and at other times necessary, work habits.

On the other hand, recently, there’s been a real surge in the popularity of maramataka Māori in mainstream culture, and more emphasis on being in tune and connected to Papatūānuku in our mahi. Which made us wonder whether there might be a time for some things and a time for other things – and what those moments of inhale and exhale really mean and do for our creative practice.

For this piece, we delved into our moments of inhale and exhale to unlock our rhythms of creativity and share them with you.

Ana McAllister

At the moment, my mahi is split into two groups – the kaupapa vs The Kaupapa. Creative relaxing mahi (the inhale) and hard-core activist mahi (the exhale). They both inform one another; they both depend on one another. The activism mahi can be exhausting, frustrating and painful, leaving my metaphorical cup empty. That’s why I must refill that cup with positive creative things, beautiful things that I can make with my own two hands.

It’s all about balance nē? Whakarite, to balance by equivalent. Sometimes when the activism mahi is too much, the only way to balance it is with a plateful of KFC and a trashy TV show, followed by an orgasm. Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you I meditate or exercise. Sometimes I barely even wash my face. But I say, as creatives, sometimes we just need to give each other a break. Try some balance. If that doesn’t work, try some pleasure.

Sherry Zhang

I think the most mindless things are the most important part of the inhale. My pores are always open, like in a hot steamy shower, to intake things. Fuck any concept of high art or low art. When I’m mindlessly scrolling on TikTok for hours in my bed in the mornings, I'm thinking. When I’m walking to my local Asian supermarket, patting the melons and trying to predict which capsicum is the crunchiest, that’s all part of the process. Playing Articulate with my flatmates in the kitchen or shutting myself in my room to wank? Yeah, like Ana said, it’s part of the process.

The exhale is when I’m on an adrenaline buzz on all the deadlines I’ve overcommitted myself to. It’s the frantic Zoom calls and jittering feet. It’s listening to one song on repeat, entering a pseudo-meditative state, until I finish a piece.

But it’s also important to close the pores. That’s the cold shower part. And that’s something I struggle with. I'm a bit of a floating-head ghost girl when I’m writing. And even after I’ve wrapped up a project. My friends will remind me to be more present, go outside for some sun, and feed the mantra of ‘head blank no thoughts’ back to me (which might I add is my 2021 New Year’s resolution, and it’s brought me nothing but joy!).

I tend to overwork as a coping mechanism when things are out of sync in other parts of my life (idk, or like in a nationwide lockdown), and I've definitely had to confront this because basing my self-worth on the capital I can produce rather than deal with my anxieties? Gross!

Lana Lopesi

If I’m honest, the transition period between my exhale and inhale is usually marked with a crash-and-burn type scenario. I have learned a lot since having burnt out, spiralled, and confronted my mental health in real ways, but the lesson of how to end a big work period without ending up feeling like a sack of potatoes and sleeping for a couple days hasn’t quite sunk in yet.

In part, I give a lot to my work, and a lot of myself lives within my writing and research, and I like it that way. It makes it meaningful. But it also means that I’m dealing with big things and issues daily, trying to find my way through them. And you can’t be part-time with that; it necessarily becomes a kind of obsession. Like an intellectual affair, sustained by adrenaline.

Once upon a time I used to write myself off as a way to unwind, until I realised it looked more like a drinking problem than a way to rejuvenate. Now I do boring-people shit, like watch reality TV – only full series allowed – self-isolate in true introverted style, and dream up the next big project that will see me start the cycle again. I think I need help. Or sleep. I can’t be sure which.

Faith Wilson

Ataria Sharman

The last big exhale I had was the launch of our Te Kore Formless Potentialissue of The Pantograph Punch. To put it in context, I edited so many pieces of writing in the week leading up to our launch that I had pain in my computer mouse hand, and I was microdosing on chai tea and coffee so I could ‘edit just one more piece’. I’m slightly dramatising (which, as a fiction writer, I quite like to do).

I was fortunate to have the support of our fantastic team as well. Lana edited and uploaded pieces for me, and Sherry went through and checked the standfirsts after I admitted that I just didn’t have the energy to do a good job and ‘they’re probably not that great’. It’s essential in that exhale moment to ask for help and have people around who’ll support you.

Although the exhale can sometimes be tiring and maybe a drag, I love a good inhale. After the ‘big launch’, I sent out a couple of emails thanking everyone involved. Then I closed down my computer and did some yoga. I took my dog for a walk. I made myself a bed in the lounge. I binge-watched the High School Musical television series (inspired by Olivia Rodrigo’s new album in our Matariki Playlist).

This continued for about a week. And it took at least two for me to feel like I did before the big exhale. But that’s all part of the fun. I can’t really relax when I’ve done nothing. It feels kind of unproductive. There’s nothing better (to me) than relaxing after you’ve put your all into something, sitting back and letting it breathe in the world.

Feature image: Sherry Zhang. Illustration by Marc Conaco