Five Years of The Conscious Creative.

Over five years ago, I wrote a book because something in my work wasn’t sitting right.

On paper, everything looked like it was working. I was a creative director at a global firm. I had great clients. The work was recognized. I was building the kind of career I thought I wanted.

But there was a gap growing between what I believed and what I was creating. Not all the time, but often enough that it became hard to ignore. The work was effective, sometimes even fun. But it carried a weight I couldn’t deny. It just wasn’t aligned.

The Conscious Creative came out of that tension. It’s the book I wish had existed when I was struggling with my role in selling cars, phones, and countless plastic-laden consumer goods contributing to a culture of excess.

It was never meant to offer answers. It was, and still is, an invitation for anyone feeling that same tension to start asking better questions and to begin, however imperfectly, to act on them.

Paying attention to friction

One of the most enduring ideas in the book is simple: pay attention when something feels off. Our minds and bodies are often the first to register misalignment. The challenge is noticing, and taking it seriously.

That moment matters. When a brief lands and you hesitate. When a story feels extractive. When the message is clean but the truth is more complicated. When speed starts to take precedence over care.

In today’s work, that instinct is under pressure. Creative is expected to move quickly and perform across more channels, more audiences, and more expectations than it ever has. There is less space to question and reflect, and more incentive to resolve and move on.

But the friction we learn to ignore is often the signal. It points to what needs closer attention.

The work is learning to stay with that feeling long enough to understand what it is asking of you.

From principles to practice

The book was never meant to live at the level of theory. It is a set of practices I call actions.

Interrogate who holds power in the room, and who does not.
Ask who benefits from the work, and who may be excluded or harmed.
Question the default narrative, especially when it feels too easy.
Build time for reflection into the process, even when timelines are tight.
Design with communities, not simply for them.

These ideas aren’t abstract. They show up in the decisions we make every day, often in small and easily overlooked ways.

Choosing not to centre a donor when the story belongs elsewhere.
Rewriting language that reinforces harmful assumptions.
Advocating for accessibility as a baseline, not an afterthought.
Slowing down a process that risks becoming extractive.

Most of this work is not visible. It happens in conversations, in moments of pushback, in decisions where the easier path is set aside for a more responsible one.

What stays with you

Over the past five years, the most meaningful part of the book has not been recognition. It has been the responses and feedback from readers.

Recently, I received an email with the subject line, “Your book makes me feel seen.”

It came from a multidisciplinary designer in Toronto trying to build a creative life that aligns with her values. Her path has taken her through architecture, film, therapy, community work, and design. She is trying to understand what her work is for and how to shape a practice that reflects that.

That question continues to surface in different forms, from different people, at different stages of their careers.

It remains the centre of the work.

What has changed

There is more language now. More openness. More willingness to talk about ethics, power, and responsibility in creative work.

There is also more scrutiny. Audiences are paying closer attention. Organizations are being asked to account for the stories they tell and the systems they participate in.

The expectation that creative work carries responsibility is no longer implicit. It is visible.

What has not changed is the lack of a clear path through it. This is still a practice that requires judgment, reflection, and a willingness to make imperfect decisions with care.

Building a practice at Intents & Purposes

Intents & Purposes was shaped directly by these ideas. The goal was not to step outside the industry, but to practice within it with more intention.

We design processes that allow space for reflection, not only production.
We build teams deliberately, bringing in the right mix of perspectives for the work at hand.
We create opportunities for co-creation where lived experience should guide the outcome.
We question briefs, interrogate assumptions, and look beyond the deliverable to the broader system the work sits within.

Just as importantly, we try to ensure that how the work is made aligns with what the work is saying.

This is ongoing. It requires constant attention, cultivation, and care. It’s the foundation of the practice.

Still practicing

If the book has had an impact, it is not because it provided a clear framework to follow. It offered language. A way to recognize when something does not sit right and to take that instinct seriously.

Five years on, the questions are still here.

The difference is a deeper understanding of what it means to act on them.