01/09/2026
I think my creativity skyrocketed when I stopped trying to make things for everyone.
For a long time, I thought being a successful maker meant creating things that other people would like.
Which sounds sensible, doesn’t it?
But somewhere along the way, I realised I was spending so much energy thinking about what other people might want that I wasn’t leaving much room for my own creativity.
Would people like this colour?
Would they understand this symbolism?
Would this be too unusual?
Would someone actually buy it?
And the more I tried to answer those questions before I’d even made the thing, the more I found myself editing the idea before it had a chance to become anything.
Eventually, I started doing something different.
I stopped trying to make for everyone.
Instead, I started asking:
Does this feel like Solar Crone?
Does it interest me?
Does the symbolism mean something to me?
Do I want to spend hours making it?
Would I be excited to see it sitting on someone’s altar or being part of their ceremony?
And something changed.
I became more experimental.
I made stranger things.
I followed ideas further.
I started making things simply because I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
And, perhaps most importantly, I started creating from a much more honest place.
I’m not trying to make objects that everyone will love.
I’m trying to make objects that feel unmistakably Solar Crone.
And I think that’s actually much more interesting.
Because if you make for everyone, you can end up making something that doesn’t really belong to anyone.
But when you make something with a strong point of view, the right person can look at it and think:
“That’s mine.”
That’s the kind of connection I want my work to have.