For the first few years of my career, I didn’t have a creative philosophy. I had a collection of anxieties, insecurities, and a desperate desire to please. My guiding principle was whatever I thought the client wanted to hear, or whatever the latest tech influencer on Twitter said was the "right way" to do things.
The result was a portfolio of technically competent but creatively soulless work. I was a ship without a rudder, turning with every new wave of trends and client feedback. It was exhausting, and the work felt hollow.
A philosophy isn't some lofty academic exercise. It's a compass. It's the set of principles you turn to when the map is confusing and the "right answer" isn't obvious. It's what allows you to make decisions with intention, not just reaction. My compass was forged in the fire of mistakes and missed opportunities. Here are the principles that guide me now.
On Craft: The Work Itself
This is the foundation. Before you can have a sustainable career or a collaborative community, the work has to have integrity.
1. Art and Technology Are Equal Partners: I spent years seeing these as master and servant. Either the tech was just there to serve the art, or the art was just a flashy demo for the tech. I was wrong. The most powerful work happens at the intersection, where the two disciplines inform and elevate each other. Technology without art is a solution without a soul. Art without technology is a voice without its full range. I now treat my code editor like a sketchbook and my artistic concepts with engineering rigor.
2. Craft Over Cleverness: My ego loves clever solutions—complex algorithms, obscure frameworks, the kind of thing that makes other developers nod in appreciation. But I've learned that audiences and clients don't experience your methods; they experience the outcome. A simple, robust solution that just works and feels right is always better than a complex, brittle one, no matter how clever it is. My goal is to make the work feel like magic to the user, not to show off the complexity of the spell.
3. Constraints Are a Feature, Not a Bug: The blank canvas is a lie. "You can do anything" is the most paralyzing phrase in the creative process. True freedom is born from limits. A three-color palette forces you to be brilliant with composition. A fixed budget inspires ingenious problem-solving. A tight deadline demands clarity and focus. I now intentionally set constraints for every project—technical, aesthetic, and temporal. They are the frame that makes the painting possible.
On Process: How the Work Gets Done
A brilliant outcome from a toxic process is not a success; it's a tragedy. How we work is as important as what we make.
4. Sustainability Over Intensity: I used to worship at the altar of hustle culture. The 70-hour weeks, the all-nighters, the "sleep when you're dead" mentality. It nearly broke me. I now design my work life for the marathon, not the sprint. A sustainable pace, managed energy, and prioritizing rest aren't signs of weakness; they are the prerequisites for a long and fruitful creative life. The best work comes from a well-rested mind, not a burned-out one.
5. Process Over Product: We're conditioned to focus only on the final deliverable. But a single great product that leaves behind a depleted team and a trail of broken relationships is a failure. I've learned to fall in love with the process. Is it collaborative? Is it joyful? Are we learning? Are we treating each other with respect? If the process is healthy, a stream of great products will inevitably follow. If the process is broken, even a successful product feels like a fluke.
6. Collaboration Over Competition: The scarcity mindset is a trap. It tells you that another person's success is your failure. It encourages you to hoard knowledge and see your peers as rivals. I call bullshit. My most significant breakthroughs and my best projects have all come from community—from sharing knowledge, asking for help, and celebrating the success of others. A rising tide lifts all boats. Your community is your greatest asset, not your competition.
On Purpose: Why the Work Matters
This is the final, and most important, layer. It’s the "why" that fuels the "what" and the "how."
7. Teach What You Learn: My entire career is built on the shoulders of giants who shared their knowledge freely—through open-source code, tutorials, and patient answers on forums. To hoard what I've learned would be to betray that legacy. Sharing my process, open-sourcing my tools, and teaching my techniques isn't just an act of generosity; it's a responsibility. It's how we ensure the next generation can start from our shoulders, not from scratch.
8. "I Don't Know Yet" is a Superpower: For years, I was terrified of these three words. Now, I embrace them. Admitting "I don't know" isn't a confession of weakness; it's a declaration of your intent to learn. It builds trust with clients far more than false confidence ever could. It opens the door for collaboration. And it keeps your ego in check, allowing you to stay curious and humble—the two most essential traits for anyone in a constantly evolving field.
9. Meaning Over Metrics: It's easy to get seduced by the numbers—likes, page views, engagement rates. But these are vanity metrics. They measure attention, not impact. I've learned to ruthlessly interrogate my motives. Is this project optimizing a number, or is it creating genuine value for a human being? Is it beautiful? Is it helpful? Does it spark a new thought or feeling? The work that has brought me the most long-term satisfaction and success is always the work that aimed for meaning, not just metrics.
These principles aren't rules; they are lenses. They help me focus when things get blurry. They don't provide all the answers, but they help me ask the right questions. What's your compass? What are the principles you're willing to bet your career on?
Knowing the answer to that is the most important creative act of all.