"The artist’s way" by Julia Cameron and its deprivation exercise
My experiences with the renowned “creative recovery” book, the detox from external content, and a proposal for adapting it to the digital age.
During a beautiful vacation in San Martín de los Andes, I walked into a bookstore looking for “Steal Like an Artist” by Austin Kleon, one I remembered from my eternal list of pending reads, but they didn’t have it. While browsing, my girlfriend spotted this book, “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron, and I recognized it as another one I had bookmarked during endless afternoons lost on the internet. It felt like a perfect moment for a book like that, so I took it with me. In this piece, I’ll share some of my experiences with the book and one chapter in particular: The infamous Chapter 4 and its “Reading Deprivation” exercise.
The photos accompanying this post are from that same trip, in February 2025, taken with my Ricoh GRII.
To go along with this post (and the next couple of weeks), I’ve put together a Spotify playlist with 10 full, diverse albums (it’ll always be 10 from now on, and the list will carry the post number) and a full live show on YouTube.
Snarky Puppy - Empire Central (2023)
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL52RKVKBFM32idIYCqZZHDaCNuO96oUia
What “The artist way” is about
It only took me a few minutes to realize this isn’t a book to read—it’s a book to do. In short, the book consists of 12 chapters to be read one per week, each with exercises and activities. Alongside those, it includes recurring practices that stay the same:
Morning Pages consist of writing three hand-written pages of whatever comes to your mind, ideally first thing in the morning. Like a journal, but with more direction and less structure. This should be done daily.
The Artist Date is a moment we set aside for ourselves to do something playful and/or nurturing. Going for a walk somewhere new, visiting a museum, making a childhood favorite dish, drawing a cartoon of your dog, organizing your rock collection, giving your left knee a beauty treatment—whatever. This should happen at least once a week.
Riding that wave of motivation, I bought a handmade notebook with illustrations of local wildlife to start doing the exercises once I was back in Buenos Aires. For the rest of the trip, I just skimmed through the book to get a feel for what was coming. Once home, I properly restarted it—treating it like a sort of workshop, complete with exercises and prompts.
By the way, I bought the notebook at a place called VO.CO, where we ended up chatting for a while with the owner. He told us he and his wife had moved there from Rosario (the other end of our massive country, for those reading from other latitudes). They left everything behind for that southern artist dream—she illustrates and designs, he handles the business side and does some photography. It’s hard to vacation in a place like that and not daydream about moving there, and Nani and I had just been talking about that. That conversation turned out to be the first of many “synchronicities” I’d experience—the kind the book talks about—and I hadn’t even started reading it yet.
For someone like me, who basically lives inside a computer for both work and hobbies, doing the pages on paper is essential. It puts me in a different mindset, gets me out of my comfort zone, and makes me navigate lesser-traveled paths in my head. In fact, this very paragraph is coming straight out of a Morning Pages interruption—written almost in one go, stream-of-consciousness style, with background music playing—which for me is the best way to create, or at least the one that comes most naturally.
In my regular life, the only thing I write on paper is the grocery list—everything else is digital ink—so you can imagine my surprise when I ran out of ink in a pen I had bought specifically for the pages and exercises. I think it’s the first time in my entire adult life that I’ve worn out a writing instrument.
One of the goals of the Morning Pages, done right after waking up and letting words flow freely, is to silence the "Censor"—the representation of both imposed and self-imposed social mandates that prevent us from questioning our own habits and mental structures. “Telling the superego to fuck off a little,” we could say in strict Freudian dialect. Bringing intention to pleasure, enjoying moments a little more, staying open and permeable to creative play—these are other goals that begin to emerge as the chapters go by.
There’s not a single time I’ve done the pages without ending up adding something to Google Keep—a newsletter draft idea, a phrase, a song trigger, a little loose thread to pull on later. As a way to initiate that fundamental conversation with myself, it works like a charm. While I do have the habit of noting down interesting ideas, I don’t usually sit down to write just for the sake of it, and this kind of forces it.
The concept I struggled with the most was "God", which is fundamental in the book, as—I'll try to summarize this very briefly—that driving force to which you give in so it can give back to you, the source of what you create and the one that guides your hand and your mind with things you didn’t even know were there. The author is deeply religious; I’m not, at all. And although she says that if we don’t believe in the Catholic and Western version, we can think of God as any higher force, I still found it hard to visualize it as “the universe” or “nature” or something like that. What eventually made the most sense to me was thinking of that God as something that came to me a few days ago: “the version of me I’d like to be and in some way already am in a future or alternate timeline.” A God in my own image, or “My creative will,” you could also call it. I came into the book skeptical and resisting this idea, but by Chapter 5 I was totally on board—unable to deny the author’s ability to anticipate the exact processes I was going through, and to describe events and patterns that were way beyond mere coincidences. So I decided to reevaluate the concept and landed on this sacrilegious and egocentric interpretation. If it works for you, it’s yours.
The whole book has a slightly cringe tone and can be hard to read—especially if, like me, you don’t really get along with this so-called God… But if you truly let yourself go, which is what I recommend, some of the experiences and activities proposed in the book can be incredibly moving. Natalia Lafourcade, Alicia Keys, Martin Scorsese, Emma Watson, Pete Townshend, Liv Tyler, Reese Witherspoon, Olivia Rodrigo—these are just some of the artists who say they’ve incorporated Morning Pages into their routine and consider the book a major influence on their own artist’s way. And I have no choice but to add Nacho Dramis to that illustrious list (?)—and I’m only halfway through.
Focus is a random frecuency newsletter written by Nacho Dramis. Subscribe to get it free in your email. If you enjoy the content and find it useful, you can make a financial contribution to support the project through Cafecito (Argentina) or PayPal (Worldwide). You can also send it to someone you love (or hate) or share it on social media, which helps me a lot. Making this quality content for free and ad-free takes a lot of time and effort!
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The “Reading Deprivation” exercise
There’s one exercise in particular I want to talk about, which is in Chapter 4. Cameron calls it “Reading Deprivation” and proposes going a week without consuming “things made by others”: books, magazines, radio, TV, film, etc. The first thing to consider is that the book was originally published in 1992. The edition I found—with a few updates—is from 2002, and it’s all based on classes the author had been teaching in person long before that. The world was a different place—back then, the internet either didn’t exist or was something you’d “go to” occasionally, not something constantly pouring itself into your life. I find it ironic and a little sad that what the author once called “distractions to creativity,” like listening to a record or reading a book, are things I now see as almost sacred refuges, even privileges, in today’s world.
It’s crystal clear to me—and probably to you too—that what distracts me from what I should be doing with my time and mind isn’t a book or an album, but the automated consumption of social media and various online content. That’s why I decided to adapt the rules of this exercise, which felt a bit outdated in its original form, to my specific needs—where Instagram and YouTube now occupy the space that used to belong to radio and TV. If you take on "The artist’s way", I recommend using these rules, or others you find online (there’s quite a bit of debate about it), or creating your own—just be careful not to fool yourself and make sure you're tackling the problem at the right front line. These were my rules:
ALLOWED: Music, books, Rick Rubin’s podcast, courses I’d already bought on online platforms (especially if they’re on Domestika, where you can get an extra discount using the code NACHODRAMIS), posts from people I follow on Substack.
NOT ALLOWED: Watching football (soccer) or other sports, Instagram, Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, playing video games, watching series and movies.
EXCEPTIONS: The UEFA Europa League final that just happened to fall right in the middle. The last few episodes we had left to finish The Resident with Nani. Instagram and YouTube for specific work-related searches or personal creations.
In short, yes, I did whatever the hell I wanted, but hey, it’s my book and I’ll read it how I want. No, seriously, I felt this was a reasonable way to adapt the exercise to the digital age and to my life, without turning it into a pointless torture — but still activating the mechanisms it’s supposed to.
It took me ages to do it, I postponed reading the next chapters for over a month, until I finally had the courage to start the “detox.” When I finally did, I noticed very real addiction-like behaviors — to the point that I had to remove the social media shortcuts because I’d click them mechanically without even realizing. By the way, Cameron mentions she had issues with alcohol and overcame them through the well-known 12-step AA program, and this book’s “rehab for your inner artist” just happens to last 12 weeks. As I read, I found many parallels between substance addiction and the pathological behaviors that block our creativity, which helped me a lot to keep going — your humble narrator has some history in that department and is about to celebrate 3 years clean.
Just like the manual warns, I was irritable, angry, unpredictable. I’d almost say I was losing my mind, daydreaming, my head totally volatile — like the gray, numbing fog of everyday boredom had suddenly lifted, but someone hit play on twenty Chrome tabs inside my brain. Like teleporting from a nap next to a purring air-conditioner to a jam-packed subway car during rush hour.
As days passed, my neurons started finding new routes to fire their lovely synapses. The morning pages come out faster and deeper than before — like everything is more… “available.” I finished pending courses. I finished reading books. I moved forward with projects. I made music, alone and with friends. I wrote a ton. I did “weird” stuff with my partner, like painting with watercolors, going places we don’t usually go, doing an intensive tasting of different mandarin varieties, etc. (Don’t be pervs, I wasn’t talking about that kind of weird stuff.) I don’t know if I’m more productive, but when I “waste time,” I waste it with a sense of direction, doing things I consider useful — and I no longer end the day thinking “what the fuck did I even do today, it’s already 1 a.m.” I mean, if you’re reading this, it means I finally published something after more than six months of silence on a newsletter that was meant to come out biweekly or monthly. That’s not nothing.
What am I taking away from all this?
Today marks the end of my detox week, and my plan is to return to a less derailed version of normal. To set specific times to consume certain types of content, kind of like when I was a kid. Say, one hour of social media, three times a week, and focusing on posting more than consuming. YouTube during meals — and picking what I actually want to watch instead of the crap I default to when I do anything. No more phone in the bathroom — book, like it’s 1998. Also doubles as a fan if the battle gets intense. Will I stick to it? No idea. But the beauty and the curse of writing this publicly is that I can always reread it and feel like a dumbass if I fail.
“The only good thing about an adult is that no one can tell you not to have ice cream for dinner”, my friend and student Mai told me recently. Thing is, when you’ve been having ice cream for 3 out of 4 meals, it starts to get a little unsustainable. Again — addictive behavior, hey how are ya.
Now the big question: if I go on IG for an hour three times a week like I’m hitting up the cybercafé 25 years ago, what do I do about Stories that vanish in 24 hours, the band and small business updates I care about, and all that stuff? Simple: I just miss them, never to see them, lost in time forever. People will tell me when I see them. If it’s important, they’ll tell me through another channel. End of story. Let’s be clear: if the sender of a message, in this day and age where technology allows — more than ever in human history — for the eternal preservation of everything we say (especially for those of us who actually want to say things), still chooses to make that message last only 24 hours and demands I be there at the exact right moment or else miss it forever, then that Very Important Message can shove itself where the sun don’t shine — and so can the platform it lives on. Dissecting the filthy mechanisms of FOMO (“Fear Of Missing Out”), the marketing paradigm of absence and scarcity, disposable info and disconnected communication — all that starts at home. If you’re gonna call me a commie, let this text serve as my Manifesto (?).
Sorry, a slightly psychopathic 19th-century Luddite hijacked the keyboard for a second. Moving on.
Some of the insights people usually get from this book had already hit me a while ago. It would’ve been the perfect book for me 10 or 15 years ago, but the truth is, back then, I wouldn’t have read it. The brain’s a weird beast. It’s hard to recommend this book broadly because it’s not for everyone or for just any moment — but if in those small introspective moments you feel that gut-punch of having taken a wrong turn somewhere, like your bitter adult life is breaking your childhood self’s heart, and while reading this you found yourself wondering when was the last time you truly did something for your own joy, or why you gave up those painting classes you loved as a kid — give it a shot. You might be surprised. I mean, how much longer are you gonna keep putting yourself off?
As for me, the next chapter is all about our relationship with money — and yes, I’m terrified, but also excited, because it’s one of the big monsters I need to face. The exercises are getting more demanding, both in time and mental effort. It’s hard to get started, but totally worth it. Every process that involves closing old wounds is like that.
This post turned out ridiculously long — probably twice the length of my longest one so far lol. My plan going forward is to publish shorter pieces, more often. We’ll see. If you made it this far: thank you. Sharing this on your social networks or sending it directly to someone who might find it helpful really helps me keep chasing my most ambitious dreams — like eating a few times a day or sleeping somewhere with a roof and walls.
P.S.: Since we’re talking about fighting disconnected communication — I have a very important launch coming up this June 24th about it. More on that soon.
Focus is a random frecuency newsletter written by Nacho Dramis. Subscribe to get it free in your email. If you enjoy the content and find it useful, you can make a financial contribution to support the project through Cafecito (Argentina) or PayPal (Worldwide). You can also send it to someone you love (or hate) or share it on social media, which helps me a lot. Making this quality content for free and ad-free takes a lot of time and effort!
Another way to support the project is by purchasing prints and various items with my photos in my international store on RedBubble. I don't have a store for Argentina yet, but I hope to solve that soon.
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Great read, thanks for sharing.