Because Creativity - Making Monsters with Wake Lloire

A journey of magic, monsters and creative connection

Dear Creatives, welcome to the sixth Because Creativity guest post, with

Wake Lloire

.

Wake is a brilliant creative spirit who finds joy in the unexpected. A non-binary queer parent and community animator, they’re someone who brings wonder into everything they touch, whether it’s writing, faerie gardening, or savouring macarons. They also have a knack for making strange and delightful lists, and their approach to creativity is nothing short of inspiring.

Wake share’s their story of discovering art through the creation of monsters, each one a reflection of joy, curiosity, and the powerful connections that grow when we open our creative spaces to others. It captures the essence of what it means to embrace imperfection and the unique, often messy process of making art.

I love Wake’s story, it touched my heart deeply and I am glad to be able to share it with you. It is a beautiful reminder that art can find us in the most unexpected ways.

It began as a small personal rebellion. I wanted to make art but I wasn’t an artist. I had dabbled. I had taken classes. I had painted. I watched YouTube videos, and yelled angrily at the universe about how hard perspective was while trying to draw a chair.

On my kitchen table was the modelling clay I’d found on sale, and the eyes I’d been making for my felted bog witches, and the rocks I’d bought my kids for April Jewel’s Day. 

…and my first monster was born. At first he didn’t have horns, but when I asked my partner, Rylyn, if they would make something to complete my monster’s “look” they took the request very seriously.

This picture below was of my first monster.

I loved him. His hopeful face. His apprehension about being in a world that was quite built for him. 

I realized that I couldn’t leave him to exist alone in the world. That he needed a community of monsters. So I continued to make them, for me, for him and to chase away the nagging doubt that told me I was not an artist. 

The community grew. They sat on my piano facing the sun, and would make me giggle at dawn every day in that quiet place between night and having to do all the things.

I could tell how I was feeling by which monster attracted my attention in the morning. They were always there to listen to my grumbling, or my excitement about the day.

Then one day I thought, why don’t I help other people make their own monsters?

So I brought the idea with me to the gentle creative community space that I facilitated called Curious & Kind. Anyone who came into the space could make a monster with me. At no cost. I wanted people to be able to feel the joy of creating something without the pressure of it having to be perfect. Monsters aren’t perfect. They are what they are.

People came. They created strange dioramas and often, instead of taking them home they asked if they could leave them on the walls for other people to see. 

I remember one 9 year old boy insisting on hanging his until he could bring his mom back to see his art in “the gallery”. She came a few weeks later, his mother looked intently at the glow-in-the-dark cat-monster he’d made, they’d driven an hour just to see it. The awe on her face and the joy in his, it made my heart do a dance I didn’t know it still had in it. 

…and soon the walls of my space were FILLED with monsters. Made by toddlers, kids, teenagers, and to my surprise…the adults wanted to play too. A veritable gallery of monster joy.

When finally curious & Kind had to close in 2023 to due rising rents, people came to collect their monsters, and take them home to have new lives on their walls. 

But one of the young humans who had made that space their home, coming every day for a year to help me make art and community…they said something very profound during a party we had for their 19th birthday, the day we found out we’d have to close. 

They were sitting on a picnic bench outside while we all contemplated the end of something beautiful, surrounded by people of all ages and they said “Curious & Kind isn’t a building, it isn’t a place, it’s us.” Everyone cheered. Like in the movies. In that moment I knew that all of the time we’d spent creating, it had changed us. I looked around at the community that had grown up and out of this thing we’d built.

In our year and a half in that space we made hundreds of monsters, and so much art. I felt so grateful that I hadn’t kept monster-making to myself.

And in that time I…we…had discovered something incredible…that we were all of us…artists. 

Heart,

Wake

Wake, thank you so much for sharing your beautiful story with us. Your words touched my heart deeply, and I found myself moved to tears by the vulnerability, joy, and sense of wonder that you poured into your journey. The way you’ve embraced creativity, imperfection, and community is truly inspiring, and it reminds me of why we create in the first place, to connect, to heal, and to celebrate all the messy, magical parts of life. I’m so grateful to have had the chance to share your story with others.

Thank you for being such a bright and brave creative soul.

You can read more of Wake’s writing here:

My 11-year-old son, Thomas, has been creating his own collection of monsters over the summer holidays. They now sit on his bookshelf, arranged in their own mini diorama.

And so, added to my (ever growing) creative bucket list, is a monster diorama of my very own, to perhaps give me a glimpse into how I’m feeling each day and provide a space for both my grumbling and excitement, much like Wake’s monsters.

Bye for now,