Keeping the Engine Running: How David Clovers Stays Creative When the Projects Pause

There's this weird pressure in the creative world to always be in the middle of something big. A project, a launch, a collaboration, a release. And when you're not — when you're in that quiet stretch between things — it can feel like you're falling behind. Like everyone else is out there making moves while you're just... waiting.

For David Clovers, those in-between periods used to carry that same anxiety. But over time, something shifted. Those gaps stopped feeling like interruptions and started feeling like infrastructure — the hidden work that makes the visible work possible.

Here's an honest look at the habits, routines, and mindset shifts that keep the creative engine running, even when there's no curtain call in sight.

The Myth of Waiting for Inspiration

Let's just get this out of the way: waiting for inspiration is a luxury that working artists can't really afford.

Inspiration is great when it shows up. It's electric, it's energizing, and it can push a project somewhere unexpected. But if your creative output depends on that feeling arriving on its own schedule, you're going to have a lot of unproductive weeks.

The more sustainable approach — the one that actually keeps momentum alive between bigger projects — is treating creativity like a practice rather than an event. That means showing up regularly, even when the spark isn't there, and trusting that the act of working will eventually generate its own energy.

For David, this looks like keeping a consistent daily creative window. Not always a long one — sometimes it's forty-five minutes first thing in the morning before the rest of the day takes over. But it's protected time, and it's non-negotiable. The work that comes out of it isn't always good. That's not the point. The point is staying in the habit of making.

Small Projects Keep the Muscles Warm

One of the most practical strategies for maintaining momentum between major projects is intentionally taking on smaller, lower-stakes creative work.

When you're between big things, it's tempting to treat that time as pure rest. And rest is genuinely important — we'll get to that. But there's a difference between rest and creative stagnation, and small projects are one of the best ways to stay on the right side of that line.

For a multi-discipline artist like David Clovers, this might mean picking up a short-form project in a completely different medium than whatever the last big effort was. If the previous project was performance-heavy, maybe this is the time to spend a few weeks writing. If the last stretch was all about visual work, maybe there's a musical idea worth sketching out. These low-pressure explorations aren't meant to become anything in particular — they're just ways to keep the creative conversation going internally.

And sometimes, unexpectedly, a small side project turns into something real. But that's a bonus, not the goal.

Community Isn't a Networking Strategy — It's a Lifeline

Creative isolation is one of the sneakiest momentum killers there is. It doesn't announce itself. It just slowly makes everything feel heavier and less worthwhile.

Staying connected to other artists — not for networking purposes, but for genuine creative exchange — is something David treats as a core part of the practice, not an optional add-on. This means regular conversations with collaborators, checking in on what peers are working on, showing up for other people's openings and performances and releases.

There's something that happens when you're around people who are actively making things. It's contagious in the best way. Even if your own work is in a quiet phase, being around creative energy keeps your own from going completely dormant.

For US-based artists especially, the temptation to go fully remote and self-contained is real — we tend to romanticize the lone genius working in isolation. But the most consistently productive artists are almost always deeply embedded in communities of other makers. The energy flows both ways.

Turning Downtime Into Research Mode

Here's a reframe that's made a real difference: instead of treating the space between projects as downtime, treat it as research time.

This means actively consuming the kind of work that feeds your own creativity — not passively scrolling, but intentionally engaging. Going to shows. Reading books you've been putting off. Visiting galleries or catching a film that's been on your radar. Listening to records all the way through instead of just queuing up a playlist.

This kind of deep engagement with other people's creative work does two things. It fills the tank, giving you new material to think with when you get back to your own projects. And it reminds you why you got into this in the first place — which is genuinely useful when motivation is low.

David keeps a running list of things to explore during these stretches. Books, artists, places, ideas. It's not a to-do list with deadlines — it's more like a menu. Something to reach for when the creative appetite is there but the direction isn't clear yet.

Rest Is Part of the Work

This one sounds obvious, but it's worth saying plainly: actual rest — not distracted rest, not productive rest, just genuine downtime — is part of what makes sustained creative output possible.

The hustle narrative in American creative culture can make rest feel like failure. But the artists who burn out are almost always the ones who never gave themselves permission to fully stop. The ones who keep going year after year are the ones who figured out how to recharge without guilt.

For David, rest looks different depending on the season. Sometimes it's travel. Sometimes it's spending time with people who have nothing to do with the creative industry. Sometimes it's just a few days of doing genuinely nothing particularly ambitious. The specifics don't matter as much as the intention: this is not wasted time. This is maintenance.

The In-Between Is Where Identity Gets Clarified

Here's the bigger picture takeaway from all of this: the periods between major projects are actually where a lot of the most important work on your identity as an artist happens.

When you're in the middle of a big project, you're executing. You're making decisions quickly, you're moving toward a defined goal, you're in production mode. But in the quieter stretches, you get to ask the bigger questions. What do I actually want to make next? What am I tired of? What am I curious about that I haven't had time to explore? What kind of artist do I want to be in the next chapter?

Those questions don't get answered in a single sitting. They get answered slowly, through the small daily practices, the conversations with collaborators, the research and rest and low-stakes experimentation.

So if you're in one of those in-between moments right now — between projects, between phases, between versions of yourself — don't rush it. There's real work happening, even if it doesn't look like much from the outside.