Make What You Feel, Not What You Can Explain

Don’t think your way through art—feel it.

Ray Bradbury’s 1947 Royal KMM from the American Writer’s Museum

There’s a sign Ray Bradbury kept above his typewriter for 25 years. It said:

“Don’t think.”

If you’re anything like me, that probably sounds a little backwards at first. But Bradbury—author of Fahrenheit 451 and The Martian Chronicles—was onto something that hits home every time I sit down to write a song or start a new idea: Thinking won’t save your art. Feeling will.

Bradbury says, “You must never think at the typewriter. You must feel.”

He’s not saying throw your brain out the window. But he is saying there’s a time for thinking—and it’s not when you’re in the middle of making something real.

Because here’s the trap:
You start out with something raw and honest—some line that catches you off guard—and then your mind kicks in:

Is this too much? Too weird? Too personal?

Before you know it, the magic’s gone.

“What you’re trying to do as a creative person is surprise yourself, find out who you really are, and try not to lie.”

That hits home for me.

Me and my piano 2025.

And I think about how many times I’ve tried to outsmart the creative process instead of just letting it move through me.

It’s also one of the reasons I return again and again to the acoustic piano to write my songs.

There is something just real and grounding about the physical instrument.

The vibrations of the sound coming off the strings and the creak of the pedals keep me feeling something.

David Byrne stopped making sense and felt a whole lotta something.

Stop Making Sense

The film and album Stop Making Sense by Talking Heads is a masterpiece, and worth re-watching if you haven’t recently. To me, this art feels like it's discovering itself in real time. David Byrne is up there moving in strange, angular ways, delivering lyrics that don’t always “make sense” in a linear or analytical way—but somehow, they feel truer than most popular music of the time.

If we pivot to the blues, thinking isn’t the point at all.

Blues artists bend guitar strings, play crunchy notes, or push their voice slightly past pitch—not because it’s technically correct, but because the feeling demands it.

Technical correctness is how we learn, practice, and integrate music into our bodies.
But feeling? That’s what makes it real. That’s what makes it resonate.

Take a listen to Robert Johnson’s opening line of Crossroads and tell me he’s not feeling something!

Living is Not Thinking

Let’s go back to Bradbury again:

“At the typewriter, you should be living. It should be a living experience.”

Same goes for the piano. Or the mic. Or the canvas.

When it’s working, you’re not performing—you’re being. You’re not editing. You’re exposing.

Bradbury had a simple exercise to tap into this:

“Make lists of things that you hate and things that you love. Write about these intensely.”

That’s it. Start there. The stuff that makes you feel the most—lean into that. Let it come out messy. Loud. Quiet. Whatever it needs to be.

Then later—after it’s out—you can look at it. Shape it. Sand it down or build it up. But if you start by overthinking, it’ll never even make it out of your chest.

“Thinking is to be a corrective in our life. It’s not supposed to be the center of our life.”

In other words: don’t try to think your way into the truth.

Feel your way there first.

So if you’re stuck, if you're second-guessing, or if you’re trying to make it perfect before it’s even real—

Try this instead:

Make what you feel. Not what you can explain.

Let the thinking come later.

Let the truth come first.

If you have a bit more time, here’s Ray Bradbury in his own words talking about all of the above.

Please Let me know what you feel about these ideas or share it with a fellow artist.