how to write a narrative essay thesis statement

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How to Write a Thesis for a Narrative Essay

Last Updated: February 26, 2024 Fact Checked

This article was co-authored by Alicia Cook . Alicia Cook is a Professional Writer based in Newark, New Jersey. With over 12 years of experience, Alicia specializes in poetry and uses her platform to advocate for families affected by addiction and to fight for breaking the stigma against addiction and mental illness. She holds a BA in English and Journalism from Georgian Court University and an MBA from Saint Peter’s University. Alicia is a bestselling poet with Andrews McMeel Publishing and her work has been featured in numerous media outlets including the NY Post, CNN, USA Today, the HuffPost, the LA Times, American Songwriter Magazine, and Bustle. She was named by Teen Vogue as one of the 10 social media poets to know and her poetry mixtape, “Stuff I’ve Been Feeling Lately” was a finalist in the 2016 Goodreads Choice Awards. There are 7 references cited in this article, which can be found at the bottom of the page. This article has been fact-checked, ensuring the accuracy of any cited facts and confirming the authority of its sources. This article has been viewed 105,809 times.

In a narrative essay, your thesis will be a bit different than in an argumentative or explanatory paper. A narrative essay is basically you writing a story for the reader. The purpose of a narrative essay is to make a certain point, using personal experiences or life events to convey your main point or theme. [1] X Trustworthy Source Purdue Online Writing Lab Trusted resource for writing and citation guidelines Go to source However, just as in a standard paper, your thesis will still appear in the introduction of your narrative essay.

Part 1: Preparing to Write the Thesis

• Come up with a topic that is important to you and that you feel you can talk about in a personal way.

• Another way to find a personal event is to look through your old social media posts, as they often chronicle important or meaningful events in your life.

• Remembering the details of the event through your five senses will also help to trigger other details or images you may have forgotten.
• For example, maybe you remember the taste of coconut after your grandmother's funeral, which will then help you remember that you all ate your grandmother's favorite coconut cake at the gathering after the funeral. You can then try to find that recipe and use it as a way to jog other memories of your grandmother.

Part 2: Creating Your Thesis

• For example: “In this essay, I will discuss the issue of grief by discuss my grandmother's sickness, discuss my grandmother's death, talk about what happened afterwards.”
• Adjust your first attempt so it is grammatically correct: “In this essay, I will discuss the issue of grief by discussing my grandmother's sickness, my grandmother's death, and what happened afterward.”

• You may want to create a thesis that is a bit more sophisticated and less stilted by removing the more formal phrase, “I will discuss”.
• For example: “Grief affects everyone's life at one point or another, and it certainly has affected mine; when my grandmother became sick and passed away, I had to learn how to deal with the aftermath of her death.”

• Avoid packing too many ideas into one sentence. Your thesis should help ease the reader into your essay, not confuse them.

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• ↑ https://owl.purdue.edu/owl/general_writing/academic_writing/essay_writing/narrative_essays.html
• ↑ https://writingcenter.unc.edu/tips-and-tools/brainstorming/
• ↑ https://www.grammarly.com/blog/narrative-writing/
• ↑ https://www.indeed.com/career-advice/career-development/how-to-write-narrative-essay
• ↑ http://writingcenter.unc.edu/handouts/thesis-statements/
• ↑ https://owl.purdue.edu/owl/general_writing/the_writing_process/thesis_statement_tips.html
• ↑ https://writing.wisc.edu/handbook/process/thesis/

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Thesis Statement for Narrative Essay

In a narrative essay, the journey of your story is pivotal, but it’s the thesis statement that gives your tale its essence and purpose. Serving as a guidepost, the thesis captures the core message or emotion, ensuring readers are primed for what’s to come. Whether you’re narrating a personal experience or weaving a fictional tale, your thesis should be clear, evocative, and compelling. Dive in to explore examples, discover writing techniques, and imbibe tips to craft the perfect narrative essay thesis.

What is a Narrative Essay Thesis Statement? – Definition

A narrative essay thesis statement is a concise summary or main point of your personal story or experience. Unlike argumentative or analytical thesis statements, it doesn’t necessarily present an argument or a point of debate. Instead, it sets the tone for the narrative and provides a glimpse into the lesson, theme, or insight the story intends to convey. Essentially, it captures the essence of your narrative and gives readers an idea of what to expect.

What is the Best Thesis Statement Example for Narrative Essay?

While “best” is subjective and can vary based on the specific narrative, a compelling example might be:

“Despite the biting cold and fatigue, reaching the mountain’s summit at sunrise illuminated not just the world below, but also a truth: challenges, no matter how insurmountable, can be conquered with perseverance and a dash of courage.”

This statement provides a hint about the narrative’s setting (mountain summit at sunrise) and its central theme (overcoming challenges through perseverance and courage).

100 Thesis Statement Examples for Narrative Essay

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• “The summer of ’09 wasn’t about the places I went, but the journey of self-discovery I embarked on.”
• “In the midst of city lights, I found solace not in people but in the night’s embrace.”
• “The relentless waves on that fateful day taught me about nature’s might and the fragility of life.”
• “Grandma’s tales, woven with age-old wisdom, became my compass in life’s unpredictable journey.”
• “Amidst the hustle of the market, I learned that life’s most profound lessons can come from unexpected places.”
• “The old treehouse was more than wood and nails; it was a testament to childhood dreams and boundless imagination.”
• “Lost in a foreign land, I discovered the universal language of kindness and smiles.”
• “The train journey painted a tapestry of landscapes, emotions, and fleeting encounters.”
• “Under the autumn sky, I found that letting go can be as beautiful as holding on.”
• “The melody of mom’s lullaby was my anchor in stormy nights and sunny days alike.”
• “A chance encounter in a coffee shop served as a reminder of the serendipities life often throws our way.”
• “As leaves crunched underfoot in the forest, I felt the weight of the world lift off my shoulders.”
• “Through the pages of my childhood diary, I journeyed back to dreams forgotten and hopes untarnished.”
• “In the quiet corridors of the museum, art whispered tales of ages gone and worlds unseen.”
• “The mountain’s shadow at dusk taught me that even in darkness, there’s an inherent light waiting to shine.”
• “At the crossroads of choices, I found that destiny is but a collaboration between chance and decision.”
• “Amongst the ruins of ancient cities, I felt the pulse of time and the stories etched in stone.”
• “The carnival’s lights and sounds were a dance of joy, chaos, and the spectrum of human emotions.”
• “In the heart of winter, I learned that endings often herald new beginnings.”
• “The winding path through the meadow was a reminder that life’s journeys are seldom straight.”
• “By the lakeside, with ripples as companions, I understood the profoundness of simple moments.”
• “In the silence of the library, words spoke louder, echoing tales and truths of generations.”
• “The chrysalis’s metamorphosis mirrored my own transformation – from doubt to self-belief.”
• “As sand slipped through my fingers, I grasped the fleeting nature of time.”
• “The orchestra’s crescendo was a celebration of unity, diversity, and the magic of coming together.”
• “Within the walls of my childhood home, memories played in vivid colors and comforting echoes.”
• “The pathway lit by fireflies was an enchanting journey through nature’s wonders.”
• “On the city’s outskirts, the countryside taught me about life’s simple pleasures and unadulterated joys.”
• “The ocean’s horizon was an emblem of endless possibilities and adventures yet to unfold.”
• “Amidst the symphony of raindrops, I found rhythm, solace, and life’s refreshing melodies.”
• “In the tapestry of the bustling bazaar, every thread wove a story of hopes, dreams, and daily triumphs.”
• “Racing against the wind on that hilltop, I felt an exhilarating freedom and the weightlessness of being.”
• “Beneath the canopy of stars, I was a mere speck, yet infinitely connected to the vast universe.”
• “The gentle hum of the countryside at dawn brought lessons of patience and the beauty of the mundane.”
• “As snowflakes adorned the earth, I was reminded of nature’s ability to transform the familiar into wonder.”
• “Locked in a dance with my shadow, I confronted my fears and emerged stronger.”
• “Every stroke of my paintbrush on canvas was a step towards understanding my inner chaos and colors.”
• “The aroma from grandma’s kitchen wasn’t just about food, but a mix of tradition, love, and cherished memories.”
• “Navigating the city’s labyrinthine alleys, I discovered hidden gems and facets of my own adaptability.”
• “With every sunset on the beach, I learned about endings, reflections, and the promise of tomorrow.”
• “Amidst the pages of an old book, I embarked on journeys to realms unknown and feelings unexplored.”
• “The echo in the valley wasn’t mere sound; it was nature’s way of teaching me about resonance and reactions.”
• “In the theater’s dim light, the play unraveled not just a story but facets of human emotions and complexities.”
• “On the rollercoaster, as I soared and plunged, I experienced the highs and lows of life in mere minutes.”
• “Gazing into the campfire’s flames, I saw tales of passion, change, and the cyclical nature of existence.”
• “The footsteps on a snow-clad path were more than impressions; they were my journey’s evolving narrative.”
• “In the ruins of an old castle, I felt the weight of history and the stories that walls can whisper.”
• “The kaleidoscope wasn’t just a toy, but a lesson on perspective and the ever-changing patterns of life.”
• “Aboard the night train, every passing landscape and shadow spoke of transitions and the journey of life.”
• “The empty theater, with its echoing silence, taught me about presence, absence, and the spaces in between.”
• “Gazing at my reflection in the serene lake, I pondered on identity, change, and the depths beneath the surface.”
• “The forgotten trail in the forest was a testament to nature’s resilience and life’s unexpected detours.”
• “On the pottery wheel, molding clay, I understood the balance of control, creativity, and surrender.”
• “Within the confines of a photograph, I found a world of memories, emotions, and frozen moments.”
• “Beneath the city’s neon lights, I discovered a mosaic of dreams, struggles, and undying hopes.
• “Sailing on the tranquil sea, each wave whispered tales of depth, vastness, and the mysteries of the deep.”
• “The aroma of the first rain on parched earth wasn’t just a scent, but a renewal of life’s promises.”
• “Through the corridors of my old school, I journeyed back in time, reliving lessons beyond textbooks.”
• “The meandering river, with its twists and turns, mirrored life’s unpredictability and the beauty of going with the flow.”
• “The intricate dance of fireflies on a summer night showcased nature’s synchronicity and the magic of small wonders.”
• “In the heart of the desert, amidst endless sands, I realized the value of persistence and the oasis of hope.”
• “Each note from the old piano was more than a sound; it was an echo of love, memories, and bygone days.”
• “Scaling the urban walls, the graffiti wasn’t mere paint; it was a voice, a rebellion, and a canvas of urban tales.”
• “The ancient bridge, standing tall against time, was a testament to endurance, connections, and bridging divides.”
• “Beneath the wizened banyan tree, I found tales of time, roots of wisdom, and the shade of legacy.”
• “The labyrinth of mirrors in the carnival wasn’t just a maze but a reflection on perspectives, realities, and self-discovery.”
• “On the cobbled streets of the old town, every stone had a story, an echo of footsteps from a time long gone.”
• “The spectrum of autumn leaves was not just a display of colors but a lesson in change, acceptance, and renewal.”
• “The cocoon, in its silent transformation, taught me about growth, patience, and the wings of change.”
• “In the stillness of the frozen lake, I saw beauty in pauses, depths in calm, and the strength beneath the surface.”
• “The mosaic on the cathedral floor wasn’t just art; it was a confluence of faith, history, and countless footprints.”
• “The whispering winds atop the cliff carried tales of freedom, infinity, and the wild dance of nature.”
• “The diary, with its faded pages, was a portal to youthful dreams, heartaches, and the purity of first experiences.”
• “Amidst the bustling market square, I discerned life’s barter of dreams, efforts, and the currency of human connections.”
• “The silhouette of birds at dusk was a painting of transitions, homeward journeys, and the cyclic rhythm of days.
• “Walking through the quiet library halls, I felt a silent dialogue with countless authors, ideas, and epochs gone by.”
• “The symphony of the city, from honks to hushed whispers, was an orchestra of life’s chaos and harmonies.”
• “Each footprint on the moonlit beach spoke of transient moments, eternal tides, and the dance of time.”
• “The annual rings on the old tree stump bore witness to seasons, storms, and the silent growth of years.”
• “With every strike of the blacksmith’s hammer, metal sang a song of transformation, will, and fiery passion.”
• “The abandoned mansion, with its cobwebbed chandeliers, whispered tales of opulence, time’s decay, and forgotten tales.”
• “The tapestry of constellations in the night sky wasn’t just stars; it was a map of dreams, myths, and cosmic wonder.”
• “Amidst the pages of a handwritten letter, I found not just words, but heartbeats, distance, and undying bonds.”
• “The vintage carousel, with its painted horses, spun tales of childhood, nostalgia, and the cycles of joy.”
• “On the fog-covered moors, every misty silhouette held a mystery, an allure of the unknown, and nature’s veiled beauty.”
• “The keys of the old typewriter were more than letters; they were conduits of emotions, stories, and a bygone era’s charm.”
• “In the quiet of the woods, every rustling leaf and chirping cricket sang a lullaby of nature’s embrace and serenades.”
• “The tapestries in the old hall weren’t just decor; they were woven tales of valor, love, and historical tapestry.”
• “The chessboard, in its monochrome squares, was a battlefield of strategies, patience, and life’s checkmates.”
• “Amid the hustle of the train station, every departure and arrival was a chapter of hellos, goodbyes, and life’s journeys.”
• “The blooming lotus in the muck was not just flora; it epitomized resilience, beauty in adversity, and nature’s wisdom.”
• “The street musician, with his soulful tunes, strummed stories of dreams, hustle, and the universal language of music.”
• “Gazing at the distant mountains, I saw challenges, majesty, and the alluring call of horizons yet explored.”
• “The hourglass, with its fleeting sands, was a silent reminder of time’s passage, moments grasped, and the inevitability of change.”
• “In the rhythm of the heartbeat, I heard life’s cadence, fragility, and the unyielding pulse of existence.
• “The echoing chime of the ancient bell tower wasn’t just a sound; it was a call to remembrance, history, and moments that once were.”
• “The cascade of water in the hidden waterfall narrated tales of nature’s might, hidden gems, and the music of wilderness.”
• “As petals unfurled in the first bloom of spring, I saw life’s rebirth, new beginnings, and the eternal cycle of existence.”
• “Amidst the ruins of a forgotten citadel, I felt the palpable presence of erstwhile grandeur, time’s passage, and stories etched in stone.”
• “The winding pathways of the old garden maze weren’t just hedges; they symbolized life’s puzzles, choices, and the thrill of discovery.

Crafting narrative essay thesis statements is an art of encapsulating vast experiences, emotions, and lessons into a singular, guiding sentence. Each statement becomes the beacon, illuminating the depths of the tale, ensuring that readers are anchored and deeply engaged, from the first word to the last.

Thesis Statement Examples for Personal Narrative Essay

Narrative essays centered around personal experiences often dive deep into emotions, lessons, and realizations. A Good thesis statement acts as a snapshot of the core emotion or takeaway, allowing readers a quick glimpse into the writer’s soulful journey.

• “In my quest for my family roots, I unearthed more than lineage; I discovered stories that defined generations.”
• “Living in four countries in five years taught me resilience, adaptability, and the universal language of kindness.”
• “Adopting Luna wasn’t just about getting a pet; it was a lesson in love, responsibility, and understanding life through feline eyes.”
• “The summer of ’89 wasn’t just a season; it was my initiation into the world of rock music, rebellion, and teenage epiphanies.”
• “Learning to dance was never just about the steps; it was my journey of embracing imperfections and finding rhythm in chaos.”
• “As a caregiver to my grandmother, I realized that roles reverse, and sometimes, love means becoming a parent to your parent.”
• “Backpacking solo taught me more about self-reliance, the beauty of fleeting encounters, and the silent revelations in solitude.”
• “Battling an illness wasn’t just a physical challenge; it was an emotional odyssey of fears, hope, and rediscovering inner strength.”
• “Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro wasn’t just about reaching the summit; it was a metaphorical ascent of confronting my fears and limitations.”
• “Building my first robot was not just an academic project; it was a dance of creativity, failures, and the magic of invention.”

Thesis Statement Examples for Narrative Essay Writing

Narrative essay writing captures moments, stories, or experiences with a wider scope, often resonating with universal truths. The Strong thesis statement must encapsulate the essence, laying down the central theme or emotion the narrative seeks to convey.

• “The city’s heartbeat at midnight is more than nightlife; it’s an orchestra of dreams, hustlers, and silent wishes under the stars.”
• “The forest, with its myriad sounds, isn’t just nature’s realm; it’s a symphony of life, balance, and unspoken tales.”
• “A potter’s wheel doesn’t just shape clay; it’s a dance of hands, earth, and the beautiful journey of creation.”
• “Festivals in a multicultural neighborhood aren’t just about celebrations; they’re a tapestry of traditions, unity in diversity, and the magic of shared joys.”
• “The old bookstore, with its musty pages, wasn’t just a shop; it was a treasure trove of histories, fantasies, and timeless conversations.”
• “Watching a total solar eclipse isn’t just an astronomical event; it’s a humbling spectacle of cosmic alignments, darkness, and ethereal light.”
• “A farmer’s day isn’t just about toil; it’s a testament to patience, harmony with earth, and the silent prayer for bounty.”
• “Ancient monuments aren’t just stone and art; they are timekeepers, storytellers, and guardians of civilizations long gone.”
• “Migratory birds, with their seasonal journeys, don’t just traverse distances; they weave a tale of instinct, survival, and the incredible navigational wonders of nature.”
• “The vibrant hues of a sunset aren’t merely a visual delight; they paint the sky with the day’s adieu, promises of tomorrow, and the cyclical dance of time.

How do you write a thesis for a narrative essay? – Step by Step Guide

• Identify the Central Theme or Message: Before you write your thesis, ask yourself: what is the main point or message I want to convey through my narrative essay?
• Be Precise: A thesis statement should be a concise sentence or two that clearly outlines the main point or message of your essay. Avoid unnecessary words or overly complex sentences.
• Position Appropriately: Although narrative essays are flexible, it’s common to place the thesis statement at the end of the introduction, setting the scene for the narrative to unfold.
• Connect Emotionally: Given that narrative essays often delve into personal experiences, it’s important for your thesis to evoke emotion or a sense of anticipation in the reader.
• Ensure It’s Debatable: Even though it’s a narrative essay, your thesis should still be debatable. This doesn’t mean it should be controversial, but rather it should encourage readers to think or feel a certain way.
• Revise as Needed: As you develop your narrative, you might find your focus shifting slightly. Make sure to adjust your thesis accordingly to ensure it aligns with the content of your essay.
• Seek Feedback: Share your thesis with peers or mentors to get their perspective. Sometimes, an outsider’s view can provide clarity.

Can a narrative essay have a thesis statement?

Absolutely! While narrative essays primarily tell a story or share an experience, a thesis statement offers readers a preview of the essay’s main theme or message. It provides direction and sets the tone for the entire narrative. Even though it’s not argumentative in nature, a thesis in a narrative essay effectively conveys the essay’s purpose or the writer’s reason for telling that particular story. It serves as an anchor, ensuring the narrative remains centered on its core message.

Tips for Writing a Personal Essay Thesis Statement

• Introspect: Before you begin, spend some time introspecting. Understand the main emotion, lesson, or realization you want to convey. This will become the foundation of your thesis.
• Be Authentic: Personal essays are about real experiences and feelings. Ensure your thesis genuinely represents your thoughts and isn’t something you believe readers will want to hear.
• Use Active Voice: Active voice makes your statement sound assertive and clear. This clarity is essential for readers to grasp the main idea immediately.
• Avoid Clichés: While it can be tempting to use commonly accepted phrases or ideas, originality will make your thesis and essay more memorable.
• Stay Relevant: Ensure your thesis is directly relevant to the personal narrative you’re sharing. Every part of your essay should reflect or relate back to the thesis.
• Seek Clarity: A good thesis is not about using highfalutin words. It’s about being clear and precise, ensuring readers instantly understand the essay’s central theme.
• Test Your Thesis: Before finalizing, ask yourself: “If someone reads only my thesis statement, will they understand the crux of my personal essay?” If the answer is yes, you’re on the right track.

Thesis Statement Generator for Narrative Essay

Text prompt

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Write a Thesis Statement for Narrative Essay on a transformative travel experience.

Create a Thesis Statement for Narrative Essay about overcoming a significant obstacle.

How to Write a Thesis for a Narrative Essay

Amy sterling casil, 25 jun 2018.

Although narrative essays tell a story, the events of the story on their own aren't enough to compose a narrative essay. All narrative essays should have a point, a point that is often best communicated in a thesis sentence. The Santa Barbara City College Writing Center advises students to set the scene and provide a "hook" to get the reader's attention. Depending on the type of narrative you're sharing with the reader, the thesis sentence could offer a lesson learned, identify a theme or simply start the story with the first event.

Explore this article

• Scene Setting
• Lessons Learned

1 Scene Setting

Set the scene for readers by letting them know relevant details of the the who, what, where and and where of your essay. For example, if you are assigned to write a narrative about a physical challenge, an effective thesis sentence would look at your personal reason for sharing the essay's story. Looking at what is unique about the story you tell in your essay is crucial part of setting the scene. An opener might be, "My father teaching me how to swim the summer I turned 8 made me appreciate my dad's patience and willingness to spend time with me."

The best "hook" for readers is appropriate to the story you are sharing in your narrative essay. An honest "hook" is always effective as a thesis sentence. One way to start an essay is with a related quote that engages the reader or makes them laugh in some way. Relating to the father-son bicycle story, a potential quote hook could be the Desmond Tutu quote, “Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime. Teach a man to cycle and he will realize fishing is stupid and boring."

Include the underlying essay theme in your thesis sentence. For example, if you are writing a narrative about a great one-day trip you took with friends, the thesis could be, "Spending time with close friends gives memories that can last forever, even if the trip is just one day." Condense the main idea(s) of your narrative into a few sentences that support your theme.

4 Lessons Learned

Many narrative essay assignments ask students to write the story of an experience where they learned a valuable lesson. The thesis sentence for these types of narratives should include the lesson or moral of the story. For example, a thesis for an essay about how you responded to peer pressure could be, "I learned that I shouldn't do whatever my friends wanted me to do the night I got caught driving without a license."

• 1 Purdue Online Writing Lab: Tips and Examples for Writing Thesis Statements
• 2 New York Times: Climber Still Seeks Larger Meaning in His Epic Escape
• 3 WeLoveCycling Magazine: 10 Motivational Cycling Quotes From Famous People

About the Author

Amy Sterling Casil is an award-winning writer with a Master of Fine Arts in creative writing from Chapman University in Orange, Calif. She is a professional author and college writing teacher, and has published 20 nonfiction books for schools and libraries.

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What is a Personal Narrative?

Definition of Narrative Statement

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The Ultimate Narrative Essay Guide for Beginners

A narrative essay tells a story in chronological order, with an introduction that introduces the characters and sets the scene. Then a series of events leads to a climax or turning point, and finally a resolution or reflection on the experience.

Speaking of which, are you in sixes and sevens about narrative essays? Don’t worry this ultimate expert guide will wipe out all your doubts. So let’s get started.

Table of Contents

Everything You Need to Know About Narrative Essay

What is a narrative essay.

When you go through a narrative essay definition, you would know that a narrative essay purpose is to tell a story. It’s all about sharing an experience or event and is different from other types of essays because it’s more focused on how the event made you feel or what you learned from it, rather than just presenting facts or an argument. Let’s explore more details on this interesting write-up and get to know how to write a narrative essay.

Elements of a Narrative Essay

Here’s a breakdown of the key elements of a narrative essay:

A narrative essay has a beginning, middle, and end. It builds up tension and excitement and then wraps things up in a neat package.

Real people, including the writer, often feature in personal narratives. Details of the characters and their thoughts, feelings, and actions can help readers to relate to the tale.

It’s really important to know when and where something happened so we can get a good idea of the context. Going into detail about what it looks like helps the reader to really feel like they’re part of the story.

Conflict or Challenge 

A story in a narrative essay usually involves some kind of conflict or challenge that moves the plot along. It could be something inside the character, like a personal battle, or something from outside, like an issue they have to face in the world.

Theme or Message

A narrative essay isn’t just about recounting an event – it’s about showing the impact it had on you and what you took away from it. It’s an opportunity to share your thoughts and feelings about the experience, and how it changed your outlook.

Emotional Impact

The author is trying to make the story they’re telling relatable, engaging, and memorable by using language and storytelling to evoke feelings in whoever’s reading it.

Narrative essays let writers have a blast telling stories about their own lives. It’s an opportunity to share insights and impart wisdom, or just have some fun with the reader. Descriptive language, sensory details, dialogue, and a great narrative voice are all essentials for making the story come alive.

The Purpose of a Narrative Essay

A narrative essay is more than just a story – it’s a way to share a meaningful, engaging, and relatable experience with the reader. Includes:

Sharing Personal Experience

Narrative essays are a great way for writers to share their personal experiences, feelings, thoughts, and reflections. It’s an opportunity to connect with readers and make them feel something.

Entertainment and Engagement

The essay attempts to keep the reader interested by using descriptive language, storytelling elements, and a powerful voice. It attempts to pull them in and make them feel involved by creating suspense, mystery, or an emotional connection.

Conveying a Message or Insight

Narrative essays are more than just a story – they aim to teach you something. They usually have a moral lesson, a new understanding, or a realization about life that the author gained from the experience.

Building Empathy and Understanding

By telling their stories, people can give others insight into different perspectives, feelings, and situations. Sharing these tales can create compassion in the reader and help broaden their knowledge of different life experiences.

Inspiration and Motivation

Stories about personal struggles, successes, and transformations can be really encouraging to people who are going through similar situations. It can provide them with hope and guidance, and let them know that they’re not alone.

Reflecting on Life’s Significance

These essays usually make you think about the importance of certain moments in life or the impact of certain experiences. They make you look deep within yourself and ponder on the things you learned or how you changed because of those events.

Demonstrating Writing Skills

Coming up with a gripping narrative essay takes serious writing chops, like vivid descriptions, powerful language, timing, and organization. It’s an opportunity for writers to show off their story-telling abilities.

Preserving Personal History

Sometimes narrative essays are used to record experiences and special moments that have an emotional resonance. They can be used to preserve individual memories or for future generations to look back on.

Cultural and Societal Exploration

Personal stories can look at cultural or social aspects, giving us an insight into customs, opinions, or social interactions seen through someone’s own experience.

Format of a Narrative Essay

Narrative essays are quite flexible in terms of format, which allows the writer to tell a story in a creative and compelling way. Here’s a quick breakdown of the narrative essay format, along with some examples:

Introduction

Set the scene and introduce the story.

Engage the reader and establish the tone of the narrative.

Hook: Start with a captivating opening line to grab the reader’s attention. For instance:

Example:  “The scorching sun beat down on us as we trekked through the desert, our water supply dwindling.”

Background Information: Provide necessary context or background without giving away the entire story.

Example:  “It was the summer of 2015 when I embarked on a life-changing journey to…”

Thesis Statement or Narrative Purpose

Present the main idea or the central message of the essay.

Offer a glimpse of what the reader can expect from the narrative.

Thesis Statement: This isn’t as rigid as in other essays but can be a sentence summarizing the essence of the story.

Example:  “Little did I know, that seemingly ordinary hike would teach me invaluable lessons about resilience and friendship.”

Body Paragraphs

Present the sequence of events in chronological order.

Develop characters, setting, conflict, and resolution.

Story Progression: Describe events in the order they occurred, focusing on details that evoke emotions and create vivid imagery.

Example: Detail the trek through the desert, the challenges faced, interactions with fellow hikers, and the pivotal moments.

Character Development: Introduce characters and their roles in the story. Show their emotions, thoughts, and actions.

Example: Describe how each character reacted to the dwindling water supply and supported each other through adversity.

Dialogue and Interactions: Use dialogue to bring the story to life and reveal character personalities.

Example: “Sarah handed me her last bottle of water, saying, ‘We’re in this together.'”

Reach the peak of the story, the moment of highest tension or significance.

Turning Point: Highlight the most crucial moment or realization in the narrative.

Example:  “As the sun dipped below the horizon and hope seemed lost, a distant sound caught our attention—the rescue team’s helicopters.”

Provide closure to the story.

Reflect on the significance of the experience and its impact.

Reflection: Summarize the key lessons learned or insights gained from the experience.

Example: “That hike taught me the true meaning of resilience and the invaluable support of friendship in challenging times.”

Closing Thought: End with a memorable line that reinforces the narrative’s message or leaves a lasting impression.

Example: “As we boarded the helicopters, I knew this adventure would forever be etched in my heart.”

Example Summary:

Imagine a narrative about surviving a challenging hike through the desert, emphasizing the bonds formed and lessons learned. The narrative essay structure might look like starting with an engaging scene, narrating the hardships faced, showcasing the characters’ resilience, and culminating in a powerful realization about friendship and endurance.

Different Types of Narrative Essays

There are a bunch of different types of narrative essays – each one focuses on different elements of storytelling and has its own purpose. Here’s a breakdown of the narrative essay types and what they mean.

Personal Narrative

Description: Tells a personal story or experience from the writer’s life.

Purpose: Reflects on personal growth, lessons learned, or significant moments.

Example of Narrative Essay Types:

Topic: “The Day I Conquered My Fear of Public Speaking”

Focus: Details the experience, emotions, and eventual triumph over a fear of public speaking during a pivotal event.

Descriptive Narrative

Description: Emphasizes vivid details and sensory imagery.

Purpose: Creates a sensory experience, painting a vivid picture for the reader.

Topic: “A Walk Through the Enchanted Forest”

Focus: Paints a detailed picture of the sights, sounds, smells, and feelings experienced during a walk through a mystical forest.

Autobiographical Narrative

Description: Chronicles significant events or moments from the writer’s life.

Purpose: Provides insights into the writer’s life, experiences, and growth.

Topic: “Lessons from My Childhood: How My Grandmother Shaped Who I Am”

Focus: Explores pivotal moments and lessons learned from interactions with a significant family member.

Experiential Narrative

Description: Relays experiences beyond the writer’s personal life.

Purpose: Shares experiences, travels, or events from a broader perspective.

Topic: “Volunteering in a Remote Village: A Journey of Empathy”

Focus: Chronicles the writer’s volunteering experience, highlighting interactions with a community and personal growth.

Literary Narrative

Description: Incorporates literary elements like symbolism, allegory, or thematic explorations.

Purpose: Uses storytelling for deeper explorations of themes or concepts.

Topic: “The Symbolism of the Red Door: A Journey Through Change”

Focus: Uses a red door as a symbol, exploring its significance in the narrator’s life and the theme of transition.

Historical Narrative

Description: Recounts historical events or periods through a personal lens.

Purpose: Presents history through personal experiences or perspectives.

Topic: “A Grandfather’s Tales: Living Through the Great Depression”

Focus: Shares personal stories from a family member who lived through a historical era, offering insights into that period.

Digital or Multimedia Narrative

Description: Incorporates multimedia elements like images, videos, or audio to tell a story.

Purpose: Explores storytelling through various digital platforms or formats.

Topic: “A Travel Diary: Exploring Europe Through Vlogs”

Focus: Combines video clips, photos, and personal narration to document a travel experience.

How to Choose a Topic for Your Narrative Essay?

Selecting a compelling topic for your narrative essay is crucial as it sets the stage for your storytelling. Choosing a boring topic is one of the narrative essay mistakes to avoid . Here’s a detailed guide on how to choose the right topic:

Reflect on Personal Experiences

• Significant Moments:

Moments that had a profound impact on your life or shaped your perspective.

Example: A moment of triumph, overcoming a fear, a life-changing decision, or an unforgettable experience.

• Emotional Resonance:

Events that evoke strong emotions or feelings.

Example: Joy, fear, sadness, excitement, or moments of realization.

• Lessons Learned:

Experiences that taught you valuable lessons or brought about personal growth.

Example: Challenges that led to personal development, shifts in mindset, or newfound insights.

Explore Unique Perspectives

• Uncommon Experiences:

Unique or unconventional experiences that might captivate the reader’s interest.

Example: Unusual travels, interactions with different cultures, or uncommon hobbies.

• Different Points of View:

Stories from others’ perspectives that impacted you deeply.

Example: A family member’s story, a friend’s experience, or a historical event from a personal lens.

Focus on Specific Themes or Concepts

• Themes or Concepts of Interest:

Themes or ideas you want to explore through storytelling.

Example: Friendship, resilience, identity, cultural diversity, or personal transformation.

• Symbolism or Metaphor:

Using symbols or metaphors as the core of your narrative.

Example: Exploring the symbolism of an object or a place in relation to a broader theme.

Consider Your Audience and Purpose

• Relevance to Your Audience:

Topics that resonate with your audience’s interests or experiences.

Example: Choose a relatable theme or experience that your readers might connect with emotionally.

• Impact or Message:

What message or insight do you want to convey through your story?

Example: Choose a topic that aligns with the message or lesson you aim to impart to your readers.

Brainstorm and Evaluate Ideas

• Free Writing or Mind Mapping:

Process: Write down all potential ideas without filtering. Mind maps or free-writing exercises can help generate diverse ideas.

• Evaluate Feasibility:

The depth of the story, the availability of vivid details, and your personal connection to the topic.

Imagine you’re considering topics for a narrative essay. You reflect on your experiences and decide to explore the topic of “Overcoming Stage Fright: How a School Play Changed My Perspective.” This topic resonates because it involves a significant challenge you faced and the personal growth it brought about.

Narrative Essay Topics

50 easy narrative essay topics.

• Learning to Ride a Bike
• My First Day of School
• A Surprise Birthday Party
• The Day I Got Lost
• Visiting a Haunted House
• An Encounter with a Wild Animal
• My Favorite Childhood Toy
• The Best Vacation I Ever Had
• An Unforgettable Family Gathering
• Conquering a Fear of Heights
• A Special Gift I Received
• Moving to a New City
• The Most Memorable Meal
• Getting Caught in a Rainstorm
• An Act of Kindness I Witnessed
• The First Time I Cooked a Meal
• My Experience with a New Hobby
• The Day I Met My Best Friend
• A Hike in the Mountains
• Learning a New Language
• An Embarrassing Moment
• Dealing with a Bully
• My First Job Interview
• A Sporting Event I Attended
• The Scariest Dream I Had
• Helping a Stranger
• The Joy of Achieving a Goal
• A Road Trip Adventure
• Overcoming a Personal Challenge
• The Significance of a Family Tradition
• An Unusual Pet I Owned
• A Misunderstanding with a Friend
• Exploring an Abandoned Building
• My Favorite Book and Why
• The Impact of a Role Model
• A Cultural Celebration I Participated In
• A Valuable Lesson from a Teacher
• A Trip to the Zoo
• An Unplanned Adventure
• Volunteering Experience
• A Moment of Forgiveness
• A Decision I Regretted
• A Special Talent I Have
• The Importance of Family Traditions
• The Thrill of Performing on Stage
• A Moment of Sudden Inspiration
• The Meaning of Home
• Learning to Play a Musical Instrument
• A Childhood Memory at the Park
• Witnessing a Beautiful Sunset

Narrative Essay Topics for College Students

• Discovering a New Passion
• Overcoming Academic Challenges
• Navigating Cultural Differences
• Embracing Independence: Moving Away from Home
• Exploring Career Aspirations
• Coping with Stress in College
• The Impact of a Mentor in My Life
• Balancing Work and Studies
• Facing a Fear of Public Speaking
• Exploring a Semester Abroad
• The Evolution of My Study Habits
• Volunteering Experience That Changed My Perspective
• The Role of Technology in Education
• Finding Balance: Social Life vs. Academics
• Learning a New Skill Outside the Classroom
• Reflecting on Freshman Year Challenges
• The Joys and Struggles of Group Projects
• My Experience with Internship or Work Placement
• Challenges of Time Management in College
• Redefining Success Beyond Grades
• The Influence of Literature on My Thinking
• The Impact of Social Media on College Life
• Overcoming Procrastination
• Lessons from a Leadership Role
• Exploring Diversity on Campus
• Exploring Passion for Environmental Conservation
• An Eye-Opening Course That Changed My Perspective
• Living with Roommates: Challenges and Lessons
• The Significance of Extracurricular Activities
• The Influence of a Professor on My Academic Journey
• Discussing Mental Health in College
• The Evolution of My Career Goals
• Confronting Personal Biases Through Education
• The Experience of Attending a Conference or Symposium
• Challenges Faced by Non-Native English Speakers in College
• The Impact of Traveling During Breaks
• Exploring Identity: Cultural or Personal
• The Impact of Music or Art on My Life
• Addressing Diversity in the Classroom
• Exploring Entrepreneurial Ambitions
• My Experience with Research Projects
• Overcoming Impostor Syndrome in College
• The Importance of Networking in College
• Finding Resilience During Tough Times
• The Impact of Global Issues on Local Perspectives
• The Influence of Family Expectations on Education
• Lessons from a Part-Time Job
• Exploring the College Sports Culture
• The Role of Technology in Modern Education
• The Journey of Self-Discovery Through Education

Narrative Essay Comparison

Narrative essay vs. descriptive essay.

Here’s our first narrative essay comparison! While both narrative and descriptive essays focus on vividly portraying a subject or an event, they differ in their primary objectives and approaches. Now, let’s delve into the nuances of comparison on narrative essays.

Narrative Essay:

Storytelling: Focuses on narrating a personal experience or event.

Chronological Order: Follows a structured timeline of events to tell a story.

Message or Lesson: Often includes a central message, moral, or lesson learned from the experience.

Engagement: Aims to captivate the reader through a compelling storyline and character development.

First-Person Perspective: Typically narrated from the writer’s point of view, using “I” and expressing personal emotions and thoughts.

Plot Development: Emphasizes a plot with a beginning, middle, climax, and resolution.

Character Development: Focuses on describing characters, their interactions, emotions, and growth.

Conflict or Challenge: Usually involves a central conflict or challenge that drives the narrative forward.

Dialogue: Incorporates conversations to bring characters and their interactions to life.

Reflection: Concludes with reflection or insight gained from the experience.

Descriptive Essay:

Vivid Description: Aims to vividly depict a person, place, object, or event.

Imagery and Details: Focuses on sensory details to create a vivid image in the reader’s mind.

Emotion through Description: Uses descriptive language to evoke emotions and engage the reader’s senses.

Painting a Picture: Creates a sensory-rich description allowing the reader to visualize the subject.

Imagery and Sensory Details: Focuses on providing rich sensory descriptions, using vivid language and adjectives.

Point of Focus: Concentrates on describing a specific subject or scene in detail.

Spatial Organization: Often employs spatial organization to describe from one area or aspect to another.

Objective Observations: Typically avoids the use of personal opinions or emotions; instead, the focus remains on providing a detailed and objective description.

Comparison:

Focus: Narrative essays emphasize storytelling, while descriptive essays focus on vividly describing a subject or scene.

Perspective: Narrative essays are often written from a first-person perspective, while descriptive essays may use a more objective viewpoint.

Purpose: Narrative essays aim to convey a message or lesson through a story, while descriptive essays aim to paint a detailed picture for the reader without necessarily conveying a specific message.

Narrative Essay vs. Argumentative Essay

The narrative essay and the argumentative essay serve distinct purposes and employ different approaches:

Engagement and Emotion: Aims to captivate the reader through a compelling story.

Reflective: Often includes reflection on the significance of the experience or lessons learned.

First-Person Perspective: Typically narrated from the writer’s point of view, sharing personal emotions and thoughts.

Plot Development: Emphasizes a storyline with a beginning, middle, climax, and resolution.

Message or Lesson: Conveys a central message, moral, or insight derived from the experience.

Argumentative Essay:

Persuasion and Argumentation: Aims to persuade the reader to adopt the writer’s viewpoint on a specific topic.

Logical Reasoning: Presents evidence, facts, and reasoning to support a particular argument or stance.

Debate and Counterarguments: Acknowledge opposing views and counter them with evidence and reasoning.

Thesis Statement: Includes a clear thesis statement that outlines the writer’s position on the topic.

Thesis and Evidence: Starts with a strong thesis statement and supports it with factual evidence, statistics, expert opinions, or logical reasoning.

Counterarguments: Addresses opposing viewpoints and provides rebuttals with evidence.

Logical Structure: Follows a logical structure with an introduction, body paragraphs presenting arguments and evidence, and a conclusion reaffirming the thesis.

Formal Language: Uses formal language and avoids personal anecdotes or emotional appeals.

Objective: Argumentative essays focus on presenting a logical argument supported by evidence, while narrative essays prioritize storytelling and personal reflection.

Purpose: Argumentative essays aim to persuade and convince the reader of a particular viewpoint, while narrative essays aim to engage, entertain, and share personal experiences.

Structure: Narrative essays follow a storytelling structure with character development and plot, while argumentative essays follow a more formal, structured approach with logical arguments and evidence.

In essence, while both essays involve writing and presenting information, the narrative essay focuses on sharing a personal experience, whereas the argumentative essay aims to persuade the audience by presenting a well-supported argument.

Narrative Essay vs. Personal Essay

While there can be an overlap between narrative and personal essays, they have distinctive characteristics:

Storytelling: Emphasizes recounting a specific experience or event in a structured narrative form.

Engagement through Story: Aims to engage the reader through a compelling story with characters, plot, and a central theme or message.

Reflective: Often includes reflection on the significance of the experience and the lessons learned.

First-Person Perspective: Typically narrated from the writer’s viewpoint, expressing personal emotions and thoughts.

Plot Development: Focuses on developing a storyline with a clear beginning, middle, climax, and resolution.

Character Development: Includes descriptions of characters, their interactions, emotions, and growth.

Central Message: Conveys a central message, moral, or insight derived from the experience.

Personal Essay:

Exploration of Ideas or Themes: Explores personal ideas, opinions, or reflections on a particular topic or subject.

Expression of Thoughts and Opinions: Expresses the writer’s thoughts, feelings, and perspectives on a specific subject matter.

Reflection and Introspection: Often involves self-reflection and introspection on personal experiences, beliefs, or values.

Varied Structure and Content: Can encompass various forms, including memoirs, personal anecdotes, or reflections on life experiences.

Flexibility in Structure: Allows for diverse structures and forms based on the writer’s intent, which could be narrative-like or more reflective.

Theme-Centric Writing: Focuses on exploring a central theme or idea, with personal anecdotes or experiences supporting and illustrating the theme.

Expressive Language: Utilizes descriptive and expressive language to convey personal perspectives, emotions, and opinions.

Focus: Narrative essays primarily focus on storytelling through a structured narrative, while personal essays encompass a broader range of personal expression, which can include storytelling but isn’t limited to it.

Structure: Narrative essays have a more structured plot development with characters and a clear sequence of events, while personal essays might adopt various structures, focusing more on personal reflection, ideas, or themes.

Intent: While both involve personal experiences, narrative essays emphasize telling a story with a message or lesson learned, while personal essays aim to explore personal thoughts, feelings, or opinions on a broader range of topics or themes.

A narrative essay is more than just telling a story. It’s also meant to engage the reader, get them thinking, and leave a lasting impact. Whether it’s to amuse, motivate, teach, or reflect, these essays are a great way to communicate with your audience. This interesting narrative essay guide was all about letting you understand the narrative essay, its importance, and how can you write one.

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When writers set down the facts of their lives into a compelling story , they’re writing a narrative essay. Personal narrative essays explore the events of the writer’s own life, and by crafting a nonfiction piece that resonates as storytelling, the essayist can uncover deeper truths in the world.

Narrative essays weave the author’s factual lived experiences into a compelling story.

So, what is a narrative essay? Whether you’re writing for college applications or literary journals , this article separates fact from fiction. We’ll look at how to write a narrative essay through a step-by-step process, including a look at narrative essay topics and outlines. We’ll also analyze some successful narrative essay examples.

Learn how to tell your story, your way. Let’s dive into this exciting genre!

What is a Narrative Essay?

The narrative essay is a branch of creative nonfiction . Also known as a personal essay, writers of this genre are tasked with telling honest stories about their lived experiences and, as a result, arriving at certain realizations about life.

Think of personal narrative essays as nonfiction short stories . While the essay and the short story rely on different writing techniques, they arrive at similar outcomes: a powerful story with an idea, theme , or moral that the reader can interpret for themselves.

Now, if you haven’t written a narrative essay before, you might associate the word “essay” with high school English class. Remember those tedious 5-paragraph essays we had to write, on the topic of some book we barely read, about subject matter that didn’t interest us?

Don’t worry—that’s not the kind of essay we’re talking about. The word essay comes from the French essayer , which means “to try.” That’s exactly what writing a narrative essay is: an attempt at organizing the real world into language—a journey of making meaning from the chaos of life.

Narrative essays work to surface meaning from lived experience.

Narrative Essay Example

A great narrative essay example is the piece “Flow” by Mary Oliver, which you can read for free in Google Books .

The essay dwells on, as Mary Oliver puts it, the fact that “we live in paradise.” At once both an ode to nature and an urge to love it fiercely, Oliver explores our place in the endless beauty of the world.

Throughout the essay, Oliver weaves in her thoughts about the world, from nature’s noble beauty to the question “What is the life I should live?” Yet these thoughts, however profound, are not the bulk of the essay. Rather, she arrives at these thoughts via anecdotes and observations: the migration of whales, the strings of fish at high tide, the inventive rescue of a spiny fish from the waterless shore, etc.

What is most profound about this essay, and perhaps most amusing, is that it ends with Oliver’s questions about how to live life. And yet, the stories she tells show us exactly how to live life: with care for the world; with admiration; with tenderness towards all of life and its superb, mysterious, seemingly-random beauty.

Such is the power of the narrative essay. By examining the random facts of our lives, we can come to great conclusions.

What do most essays have in common? Let’s look at the fundamentals of the essay, before diving into more narrative essay examples.

Narrative Essay Definition: 5 Fundamentals

The personal narrative essay has a lot of room for experimentation. We’ll dive into those opportunities in a bit, but no matter the form, most essays share these five fundamentals.

• Personal experience
• Meaning from chaos
• The use of literary devices

Let’s explore these fundamentals in depth.

All narrative essays have a thesis statement. However, this isn’t the formulaic thesis statement you had to write in school: you don’t need to map out your argument with painstaking specificity, you need merely to tell the reader what you’re writing about.

Take the aforementioned essay by Mary Oliver. Her thesis is this: “How can we not know that, already, we live in paradise?”

It’s a simple yet provocative statement. By posing her thesis as a question, she challenges us to consider why we might not treat this earth as paradise. She then delves into her own understanding of this paradise, providing relevant stories and insights as to how the earth should be treated.

Now, be careful with abstract statements like this. Mary Oliver is a master of language, so she’s capable of creating a thesis statement out of an abstract idea and building a beautiful essay. But concrete theses are also welcome: you should compel the reader forward with the central argument of your work, without confusing them or leading them astray.

You should compel the reader forward with the central argument of your work, without confusing them or leading them astray

2. Personal Experience

The personal narrative essay is, shockingly, about personal experience. But how do writers distill their experiences into meaningful stories?

There are a few techniques writers have at their disposal. Perhaps the most common of these techniques is called braiding . Rather than focusing on one continuous story, the writer can “braid” different stories, weaving in and out of different narratives and finding common threads between them. Often, the subject matter of the essay will require more than one anecdote as evidence, and braiding helps the author uphold their thesis while showing instead of telling .

Another important consideration is how you tell your story . Essayists should consider the same techniques that fiction writers use. Give ample consideration to your essay’s setting , word choice , point of view , and dramatic structure . The narrative essay is, after all, a narrative, so tell your story how it deserves to be told.

3. Meaning from Chaos

Life, I think we can agree, is chaotic. While we can trace the events of our lives through cause and effect, A leads to B leads to C, the truth is that so much of our lives are shaped through circumstances beyond our control.

The narrative essay is a way to reclaim some of that control. By distilling the facts of our lives into meaningful narratives, we can uncover deeper truths that we didn’t realize existed.

By distilling the facts of our lives into meaningful narratives, we can uncover deeper truths that we didn’t realize existed.

Consider the essay “ Only Daughter ” by Sandra Cisneros. It’s a brief read, but it covers a lot of different events: a lonesome childhood, countless moves, university education, and the trials and tribulations of a successful writing career.

Coupled with Cisneros’ musings on culture and gender roles, there’s a lot of life to distill in these three pages. Yet Cisneros does so masterfully. By organizing these life events around her thesis statement of being an only daughter, Cisneros finds meaning in the many disparate events she describes.

As you go about writing a narrative essay, you will eventually encounter moments of insight . Insight describes those “aha!” moments in the work—places in which you come to deeper realizations about your life, the lives of others, and the world at large.

Now, insight doesn’t need to be some massive, culture-transforming realization. Many moments of insight are found in small interactions and quiet moments.

For example, In the above essay by Sandra Cisneros, her moments of insight come from connecting her upbringing to her struggle as an only daughter. While her childhood was often lonely and disappointing, she realizes in hindsight that she’s lucky for that upbringing: it helped nurture her spirit as a writer, and it helped her pursue a career in writing. These moments of gratitude work as insight, allowing her to appreciate what once seemed like a burden.

When we reach the end of the essay, and Cisneros describes how she felt when her father read one of her stories, we see what this gratitude is building towards: love and acceptance for the life she chose.

5. Literary Devices

The personal narrative essay, as well as all forms of creative writing, uses its fair share of literary devices . These devices don’t need to be complex: you don’t need a sprawling extended metaphor or an intricate set of juxtapositions to make your essay compelling.

However, the occasional symbol or metaphor will certainly aid your story. In Mary Oliver’s essay “Flow,” the author uses literary devices to describe the magnificence of the ocean, calling it a “cauldron of changing greens and blues” and “the great palace of the earth.” These descriptions reinforce the deep beauty of the earth.

In Sandra Cisneros’ essay “Only Daughter,” the author employs different symbols to represent her father’s masculinity and sense of gender roles. At one point, she lists the few things he reads—sports journals, slasher magazines, and picture paperbacks, often depicting scenes of violence against women. These symbols represent the divide between her father’s gendered thinking and her own literary instincts.

More Narrative Essay Examples

Let’s take a look at a few more narrative essay examples. We’ll dissect each essay based on the five fundamentals listed above.

Narrative Essay Example: “Letting Go” by David Sedaris

Read “Letting Go” here in The New Yorker .

Sedaris’ essay dwells on the culture of cigarette smoking—how it starts, the world it builds, and the difficulties in quitting. Let’s analyze how this narrative essay example uses the five fundamentals of essay writing.

• Thesis: There isn’t an explicitly defined thesis, which is common for essays that are meant to be humorous or entertaining. However, this sentence is a plausible thesis statement: “It wasn’t the smoke but the smell of it that bothered me. In later years, I didn’t care so much, but at the time I found it depressing: the scent of neglect.”
• Personal Experience: Sedaris moves between many different anecdotes about smoking, from his family’s addiction to cigarettes to his own dependence. We learn about his moving around for cheaper smokes, his family’s struggle to quit, and the last cigarette he smoked in the Charles de Gaulle airport.
• Meaning from Chaos: Sedaris ties many disparate events together. We learn about his childhood and his smoking years, but these are interwoven with anecdotes about his family and friends. What emerges is a narrative about the allure of smoking.
• Insight: Two parts of this essay are especially poignant. One, when Sedaris describes his mother’s realization that smoking isn’t sophisticated, and soon quits her habit entirely. Two, when Sedaris is given the diseased lung of a chain smoker, and instead of thinking about his own lungs, he’s simply surprised at how heavy the lung is.
• Literary Devices: Throughout the essay, Sedaris demonstrates how the cigarette symbolizes neglect: neglect of one’s body, one’s space, and one’s self-presentation.

 Narrative Essay Example: “My Mother’s Tongue” by Zavi Kang Engles

Read “My Mother’s Tongue” here in The Rumpus .

Engles’ essay examines the dysphoria of growing up between two vastly different cultures and languages. By asserting the close bond between Korean language and culture, Engles explores the absurdities of growing up as a child of Korean immigrants. Let’s analyze how this narrative essay example uses the five fundamentals of essay writing.

• Thesis: Engles’ essay often comes back to her relationship with the Korean language, especially as it relates to other Korean speakers. This relationship is best highlighted when she writes “I glowed with [my mother’s] love, basked in the warm security of what I thought was a language between us. Perhaps this is why strangers asked for our photos, in an attempt to capture a secret world between two people.”This “secret world” forms the crux of her essay, charting not only how Korean-Americans might exist in relation to one another, but also how Engles’ language is strongly tied to her identity and homeland.
• Personal Experience: Engles writes about her childhood attachment to both English and Korean, her adolescent fallout with the Korean language, her experiences as “not American enough” in the United States and “not Korean enough” in Korea, and her experiences mourning in a Korean hospital.
• Meaning from Chaos: In addition to the above events, Engles ties in research about language and identity (also known as code switching ). Through language and identity, the essay charts the two different cultures that the author stands between, highlighting the dissonance between Western individualism and an Eastern sense of belonging.
• Insight: There are many examples of insight throughout this essay as the author explores how out of place she feels, torn between two countries. An especially poignant example comes from Engles’ experience in a Korean hospital, where she writes “I didn’t know how to mourn in this country.”
• Literary Devices: The essay frequently juxtaposes the languages and cultures of Korea and the United States. Additionally, the English language comes to symbolize Western individualism, while the Korean language comes to symbolize Eastern collectivism.

Narrative Essay Example: 3 Rules for Middle-Age Happiness by Deborah Copaken

Read “3 Rules for Middle-Age Happiness” here in The Atlantic .

Copaken’s essay explores her relationship to Nora Ephron, the screenwriter for When Harry Met Sally . Let’s analyze how this narrative essay example uses the five fundamentals of essay writing.

• Thesis: This essay hands us the thesis statement in its subtitle: “Gather friends and feed them, laugh in the face of calamity, and cut out all the things—people, jobs, body parts—that no longer serve you.”
• Personal Experience: Copaken weaves two different threads through this essay. One thread is her personal life, including a failing marriage, medical issues, and her attempts at building a happy family. The other is Copaken’s personal relationship to Ephron, whose advice coincides with many of the essay’s insights.
• Meaning from Chaos: This essay organizes its events chronologically. However, the main sense of organization is found in the title: many of the essayist’s problems can be perceived as middle-aged crises (family trouble, divorce, death of loved ones), but the solutions to those crises are simpler than one might realize.
• Insight: In writing this essay, Copaken explores her relationship to Ephron, as well as Copaken’s own relationship to her children. She ties these experiences together at the end, when she writes “The transmission of woes is a one-way street, from child to mother. A good mother doesn’t burden her children with her pain. She waits until it becomes so heavy, it either breaks her or kills her, whichever comes first.”
• Literary Devices: The literary devices in this article explore the author’s relationship to womanhood. She wonders if having a hysterectomy will make her “like less of a woman.” Also important is the fact that, when the author has her hysterectomy, her daughter has her first period. Copaken uses this to symbolize the passing of womanhood from mother to daughter, which helps bring her to the above insight.

How to Write a Narrative Essay in 5 Steps

No matter the length or subject matter, writing a narrative essay is as easy as these five steps.

1. Generating Narrative Essay Ideas

If you’re not sure what to write about, you’ll want to generate some narrative essay ideas. One way to do this is to look for writing prompts online: Reedsy adds new prompts to their site every week, and we also post writing prompts every Wednesday to our Facebook group .

Taking a step back, it helps to simply think about formative moments in your life. You might a great idea from answering one of these questions:

• When did something alter my worldview, personal philosophy, or political beliefs?
• Who has given me great advice, or helped me lead a better life?
• What moment of adversity did I overcome and grow stronger from?
• What is something that I believe to be very important, that I want other people to value as well?
• What life event of mine do I not yet fully understand?
• What is something I am constantly striving for?
• What is something I’ve taken for granted, but am now grateful for?

Finally, you might be interested in the advice at our article How to Come Up with Story Ideas . The article focuses on fiction writers, but essayists can certainly benefit from these tips as well.

2. Drafting a Narrative Essay Outline

Once you have an idea, you’ll want to flesh it out in a narrative essay outline.

Your outline can be as simple or as complex as you’d like, and it all depends on how long you intend your essay to be. A simple outline can include the following:

• Introduction—usually a relevant anecdote that excites or entices the reader.
• Event 1: What story will I use to uphold my argument?
• Analysis 1: How does this event serve as evidence for my thesis?
• Conclusion: How can I tie these events together? What do they reaffirm about my thesis? And what advice can I then impart on the reader, if any?

One thing that’s missing from this outline is insight. That’s because insight is often unplanned: you realize it as you write it, and the best insight comes naturally to the writer. However, if you already know the insight you plan on sharing, it will fit best within the analysis for your essay, and/or in the essay’s conclusion.

Insight is often unplanned: you realize it as you write it, and the best insight comes naturally to the writer.

Another thing that’s missing from this is research. If you plan on intertwining your essay with research (which many essayists should do!), consider adding that research as its own bullet point under each heading.

For a different, more fiction-oriented approach to outlining, check out our article How to Write a Story Outline .

3. Starting with a Story

Now, let’s tackle the hardest question: how to start a narrative essay?

Most narrative essays begin with a relevant story. You want to draw the reader in right away, offering something that surprises or interests them. And, since the essay is about you and your lived experiences, it makes sense to start your essay with a relevant anecdote.

Think about a story that’s relevant to your thesis, and experiment with ways to tell this story. You can start with a surprising bit of dialogue , an unusual situation you found yourself in, or a beautiful setting. You can also lead your essay with research or advice, but be sure to tie that in with an anecdote quickly, or else your reader might not know where your essay is going.

For examples of this, take a look at any of the narrative essay examples we’ve used in this article.

Theoretically, your thesis statement can go anywhere in the essay. You may have noticed in the previous examples that the thesis statement isn’t always explicit or immediate: sometimes it shows up towards the center of the essay, and sometimes it’s more implied than stated directly.

You can experiment with the placement of your thesis, but if you place your thesis later in the essay, make sure that everything before the thesis is intriguing to the reader. If the reader feels like the essay is directionless or boring, they won’t have a reason to reach your thesis, nor will they understand the argument you’re making.

4. Getting to the Core Truth

With an introduction and a thesis underway, continue writing about your experiences, arguments, and research. Be sure to follow the structure you’ve sketched in your outline, but feel free to deviate from this outline if something more natural occurs to you.

Along the way, you will end up explaining why your experiences matter to the reader. Here is where you can start generating insight. Insight can take the form of many things, but the focus is always to reach a core truth.

Insight might take the following forms:

• Realizations from connecting the different events in your life.
• Advice based on your lived mistakes and experiences.
• Moments where you change your ideas or personal philosophy.
• Richer understandings about life, love, a higher power, the universe, etc.

5. Relentless Editing

With a first draft of your narrative essay written, you can make your essay sparkle in the editing process.

Remember, a first draft doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to exist.

Remember, a first draft doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to exist. Here are some things to focus on in the editing process:

• Clarity: Does every argument make sense? Do my ideas flow logically? Are my stories clear and easy to follow?
• Structure: Does the procession of ideas make sense? Does everything uphold my thesis? Do my arguments benefit from the way they’re laid out in this essay?
• Style: Do the words flow when I read them? Do I have a good mix of long and short sentences? Have I omitted any needless words ?
• Literary Devices: Do I use devices like similes, metaphors, symbols, or juxtaposition? Do these devices help illustrate my ideas?
• Mechanics: Is every word spelled properly? Do I use the right punctuation? If I’m submitting this essay somewhere, does it follow the formatting guidelines?

Your essay can undergo any number of revisions before it’s ready. Above all, make sure that your narrative essay is easy to follow, every word you use matters, and that you come to a deeper understanding about your own life.

Above all, make sure that your narrative essay is easy to follow, every word you use matters, and that you come to a deeper understanding about your own life.

Next Steps for Narrative Essayists

When you have a completed essay, what’s next? You might be interested in submitting to some literary journals . Here’s 24 literary journals you can submit to—we hope you find a great home for your writing!

If you’re looking for additional feedback on your work, feel free to join our Facebook group . You can also take a look at our upcoming nonfiction courses , where you’ll learn the fundamentals of essay writing and make your story even more compelling.

Writing a narrative essay isn’t easy, but you’ll find that the practice can be very rewarding. You’ll learn about your lived experiences, come to deeper conclusions about your personal philosophies, and perhaps even challenge the way you approach life. So find some paper, choose a topic, and get writing—the world is waiting for your story!

Sean Glatch

Thanks for a superbly efficient and informative article…

We’re glad it was helpful, Mary!

Very helpful,, Thanks!!!

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5.3.3: Generating a Narrative Thesis

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Turning a Story into A Statement

For a narrative essay, your focus, or main idea, should illustrate the importance or significance of your related experience, whether personal or not. Ask yourself what the point of telling the story is. This is how you can start to pinpoint a thesis statement. Your narrative must have happened in the past, so how does writing about this intend to inform, persuade, or entertain your reader? How will you develop, people, and detail your narrative? What support will you show and how do you intend to order your story: chronologically, spatially, or emphatically?

Sample Thesis Statements From Narrative Essays

In fifth grade, I and my dignity took a tumble when I had a wardrobe malfunction in front of my entire class.

• This thesis statement would allow my essay to expand upon the event and how my reputation was affected. I could also explore my internal and external feelings after the embarrassment!

I had no blueprint for how to escape Damascus, but the fear I had for my children compelled me to figure it out as I went.

• This thesis statement shows that my essay will focus on the maneuvering the author experienced when escaping the Syrian war, which would be a harrowing—if not inspiring—narrative to read.

Narrative Essay

A narration is simply the telling of a story. Whenever someone recounts an event or tells a story, he or she is using narration. A narration essay recounts an event or tells a story to illustrate an idea. A narration essay may be entertaining or informative.

Five Basic Steps to Writing a Narrative Essay

• Purpose: Why are you telling the story? Every narration must have a point or purpose, usually to entertain or to inform.
• Context: You should establish the context of your narrative early in the essay. You can follow these basic guidelines: who, what, where, when.
• Point of View: A narrative essay may be written in the first-person (I) or third-person (he, she, it) point of view; do not use second person (you). If you were part of the action, the first-person provides the best perspective. If you are relating an event based upon other sources, use the third-person point of view. In some circumstances, you may be forced to choose the point of view (if, for example, you were a witness, but not a participant). Once you have decided upon a point of view, stay consistent with it.
• Details: Include enough details for clarity; however, select only the facts that are relevant.
• Organization: A narrative usually follows a chronological time line; however, you may find flashbacks a creative option as long as the narrative can be clearly followed by the reader. Most narratives are told in the past tense. You should keep tenses consistent.

Thesis Statements for Narrative Essays

To create a thesis statement, combine the claim and the supporting details in one sentence. The direction of your essay can change depending on the pattern in which you organize the supporting details.

Once you have drafted a narrative, it’s always a good idea to ask someone else to read it. And, of course, you yourself will want to review what you have written from the standpoint of a critical reader.

Questions to Keep in Mind When Checking a Narrative

PURPOSE AND AUDIENCE. Does the narrative serve the purpose it is intended to serve? Is it appropriate for its intended audience? Does it need any additional background information or definitions?

THE STORY. Does it consist mainly of actions and events? Do they constitute a plot, with a clear beginning, middle, and end? Is every action in the narrative necessary to the plot? Have any essential actions been left out?

THE POINT. Does the narrative have a clear point to make? What is it? Is it stated explicitly in a thesis? If not, should it be?

ORGANIZATION. Is the storyline easy to follow? Are the events in chronological order? Are there any unintentional lapses in chronology or verb tense? Are intentional deviations from chronology, such as flashbacks, clearly indicated?

TRANSITIONS. Are there clear transitions to help readers follow the sequence of events? Have you checked over each transition to see that it logically connects the adjoining parts of the narrative?

DIALOGUE AND POINT OF VIEW. If there is no dialogue in the narrative, would some direct speech help bring it to life? If there is dialogue, does it sound like real people talking? Is the narrative told from a consistent, plausible point of view?

DETAILS. Does the narrative include lots of concrete details, especially sensory details (visual, olfactory, tactile, and auditory)? Does it show as well as tell?  Can your reader imagine themselves there?

THE BEGINNING. Will the beginning of the narrative get the reader’s attention? How? How well does it set up what follows? How else might the narrative begin?

THE ENDING. How satisfying is it? What does it leave the reader thinking or feeling? How else might the narrative end?

Michael| 2018

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/.

Narrative Essay with Tips - a Detailed Guide

Defining What Is a Narrative Essay

We can explain a narrative essay definition as a piece of writing that tells a story. It's like a window into someone's life or a page torn from a diary. Similarly to a descriptive essay, a narrative essay tells a story, rather than make a claim and use evidence. It can be about anything – a personal experience, a childhood memory, a moment of triumph or defeat – as long as it's told in a way that captures the reader's imagination.

You might ask - 'which sentence most likely comes from a narrative essay?'. Let's take this for example: 'I could hear the waves crashing against the shore, their rhythm a soothing lullaby that carried me off to sleep.' You could even use such an opening for your essay when wondering how to start a narrative essay.

To further define a narrative essay, consider it storytelling with a purpose. The purpose of a narrative essay is not just to entertain but also to convey a message or lesson in first person. It's a way to share your experiences and insights with others and connect with your audience. Whether you're writing about your first love, a harrowing adventure, or a life-changing moment, your goal is to take the reader on a journey that will leave them feeling moved, inspired, or enlightened.

So if you're looking for a way to express yourself creatively and connect with others through your writing, try your hand at a narrative essay. Who knows – you might just discover a hidden talent for storytelling that you never knew you had!

Meanwhile, let's delve into the article to better understand this type of paper through our narrative essay examples, topic ideas, and tips on constructing a perfect essay.

Types of Narrative Essays

If you were wondering, 'what is a personal narrative essay?', know that narrative essays come in different forms, each with a unique structure and purpose. Regardless of the type of narrative essay, each aims to transport the reader to a different time and place and to create an emotional connection between the reader and the author's experiences. So, let's discuss each type in more detail:

• A personal narrative essay is based on one's unique experience or event. Personal narrative essay examples include a story about overcoming a fear or obstacle or reflecting on a particularly meaningful moment in one's life.
• A fictional narrative is a made-up story that still follows the basic elements of storytelling. Fictional narratives can take many forms, from science fiction to romance to historical fiction.
• A memoir is similar to personal narratives but focuses on a specific period or theme in a person's life. Memoirs might be centered around a particular relationship, a struggle with addiction, or a cultural identity. If you wish to describe your life in greater depth, you might look at how to write an autobiography .
• A literacy narrative essay explores the writer's experiences with literacy and how it has influenced their life. The essay typically tells a personal story about a significant moment or series of moments that impacted the writer's relationship with reading, writing, or communication.

You might also be interested in discovering ' HOW TO WRITE AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY '

Pros and Cons of Narrative Writing

Writing a narrative essay can be a powerful tool for self-expression and creative storytelling, but like any form of writing, it comes with its own set of pros and cons. Let's explore the pros and cons of narrative writing in more detail, helping you to decide whether it's the right writing style for your needs.

• It can be a powerful way to convey personal experiences and emotions.
• Allows for creative expression and unique voice
• Engages the reader through storytelling and vivid details
• It can be used to teach a lesson or convey a message.
• Offers an opportunity for self-reflection and growth
• It can be challenging to balance personal storytelling with the needs of the reader
• It may not be as effective for conveying factual information or arguments
• It may require vulnerability and sharing personal details that some writers may find uncomfortable
• It can be subjective, as the reader's interpretation of the narrative may vary

If sharing your personal stories is not your cup of tea, you can buy essays online from our expert writers, who will customize the paper to your particular writing style and tone.

20 Excellent Narrative Essay Topics and How to Choose One

Choosing a good topic among many narrative essay ideas can be challenging, but some tips can help you make the right choice. Here are some original and helpful tips on how to choose a good narrative essay topic:

• Consider your own experiences: One of the best sources of inspiration for a narrative essay is your own life experiences. Consider moments that have had a significant impact on you, whether they are positive or negative. For example, you could write about a memorable trip or a challenging experience you overcame.
• Choose a topic relevant to your audience: Consider your audience and their interests when choosing a narrative essay topic. If you're writing for a class, consider what topics might be relevant to the course material. If you're writing for a broader audience, consider what topics might be interesting or informative to them.
• Find inspiration in literature: Literature can be a great source of inspiration for a narrative essay. Consider the books or stories that have had an impact on you, and think about how you can incorporate elements of them into your own narrative. For example, you could start by using a title for narrative essay inspired by the themes of a favorite novel or short story.
• Focus on a specific moment or event: Most narrative essays tell a story, so it's important to focus on a specific moment or event. For example, you could write a short narrative essay about a conversation you had with a friend or a moment of realization while traveling.
• Experiment with different perspectives: Consider writing from different perspectives to add depth and complexity to your narrative. For example, you could write about the same event from multiple perspectives or explore the thoughts and feelings of a secondary character.
• Use writing prompts: Writing prompts can be a great source of inspiration if you struggle to develop a topic. Consider using a prompt related to a specific theme, such as love, loss, or growth.
• Choose a topic with rich sensory details: A good narrative essay should engage the senses and create a vivid picture in the reader's mind. Choose a topic with rich sensory details that you can use to create a vivid description. For example, you could write about a bustling city's sights, sounds, and smells.
• Choose a topic meaningful to you: Ultimately, the best narrative essays are meaningful to the writer. Choose a topic that resonates with you and that you feel passionate about. For example, you could write about a personal goal you achieved or a struggle you overcame.

Here are some good narrative essay topics for inspiration from our experts:

• A life-changing event that altered your perspective on the world
• The story of a personal accomplishment or achievement
• An experience that tested your resilience and strength
• A time when you faced a difficult decision and how you handled it
• A childhood memory that still holds meaning for you
• The impact of a significant person in your life
• A travel experience that taught you something new
• A story about a mistake or failure that ultimately led to growth and learning
• The first day of a new job or school
• The story of a family tradition or ritual that is meaningful to you
• A time when you had to confront a fear or phobia
• A memorable concert or music festival experience
• An experience that taught you the importance of communication or listening
• A story about a time when you had to stand up for what you believed in
• A time when you had to persevere through a challenging task or project
• A story about a significant cultural or societal event that impacted your life
• The impact of a book, movie, or other work of art on your life
• A time when you had to let go of something or someone important to you
• A memorable encounter with a stranger that left an impression on you
• The story of a personal hobby or interest that has enriched your life

Narrative Format and Structure

The narrative essay format and structure are essential elements of any good story. A well-structured narrative can engage readers, evoke emotions, and create lasting memories. Whether you're writing a personal essay or a work of fiction, the following guidelines on how to write a narrative essay can help you create a compelling paper:

• Introduction : The introduction sets the scene for your story and introduces your main characters and setting. It should also provide a hook to capture your reader's attention and make them want to keep reading. When unsure how to begin a narrative essay, describe the setting vividly or an intriguing question that draws the reader in.
• Plot : The plot is the sequence of events that make up your story. It should have a clear beginning, middle, and end, with each part building on the previous one. The plot should also have a clear conflict or problem the protagonist must overcome.
• Characters : Characters are the people who drive the story. They should be well-developed and have distinct personalities and motivations. The protagonist should have a clear goal or desire, and the antagonist should provide a challenge or obstacle to overcome.
• Setting : The setting is the time and place the story takes place. It should be well-described and help to create a mood or atmosphere that supports the story's themes.
• Dialogue : Dialogue is the conversation between characters. It should be realistic and help to reveal the characters' personalities and motivations. It can also help to move the plot forward.
• Climax : The climax is the highest tension or conflict point in the story. It should be the turning point that leads to resolving the conflict.
• Resolution : The resolution is the end of the story. It should provide a satisfying conclusion to the conflict and tie up any loose ends.

Following these guidelines, you can create a narrative essay structure that engages readers and leaves a lasting impression. Remember, a well-structured story can take readers on a journey and make them feel part of the action.

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Narrative Essay Outline

Here is a detailed narrative essay outline from our custom term paper writing :

Introduction

A. Hook: Start with an attention-grabbing statement, question, or anecdote that introduces the topic and draws the reader in. Example: 'The sun beat down on my skin as I stepped onto the stage, my heart pounding with nervous excitement.'

B. Background information: Provide context for the story, such as the setting or the characters involved. Example: 'I had been preparing for this moment for weeks, rehearsing my lines and perfecting my performance for the school play.'

C. Thesis statement: State the essay's main point and preview the events to come. Example: 'This experience taught me that taking risks and stepping outside my comfort zone can lead to unexpected rewards and personal growth.'

Body Paragraphs

A. First event: Describe the first event in the story, including details about the setting, characters, and actions. Example: 'As I delivered my first lines on stage, I felt a rush of adrenaline and a sense of pride in my hard work paying off.'

B. Second event: Describe the second event in the story, including how it builds on the first event and moves the story forward. Example: 'As the play progressed, I became more comfortable in my role and connecting with the other actors on stage.'

C. Turning point: Describe the turning point in the story, when something unexpected or significant changes the course of events. Example: 'In the final act, my character faced a difficult decision that required me to improvise and trust my instincts.'

D. Climax: Describe the story's climax, the highest tension or conflict point. Example: 'As the play reached its climax, I delivered my final lines with confidence and emotion, feeling a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment.'

A. Restate thesis: Summarize the essay's main point and how the events in the story support it. Example: 'Through this experience, I learned that taking risks and pushing past my comfort zone can lead to personal growth and unexpected rewards.'

B. Reflection: Reflect on the significance of the experience and what you learned from it. Example: 'Looking back, I realize that this experience not only taught me about acting and performance but also about the power of perseverance and self-belief.'

C. Call to action: if you're still wondering how to write an essay conclusion , consider ending it with a call to action or final thought that leaves the reader with something to consider or act on. Example: 'I encourage everyone to take risks and embrace new challenges because you never know what kind of amazing experiences and growth they may lead to.

You might also be interested in getting detailed info on ' HOW TO WRITE AN ESSAY CONCLUSION '

Narrative Essay Examples

Are you looking for inspiration for your next narrative essay? Look no further than our narrative essay example. Through vivid storytelling and personal reflections, this essay takes the reader on a journey of discovery and leaves them with a powerful lesson about the importance of compassion and empathy. Use this sample from our expert essay writer as a guide for crafting your own narrative essay, and let your unique voice and experiences shine through.

Narrative Essay Example for College

College professors search for the following qualities in their students:

• the ability to adapt to different situations,
• the ability to solve problems creatively,
• and the ability to learn from mistakes.

Your work must demonstrate these qualities, regardless of whether your narrative paper is a college application essay or a class assignment. Additionally, you want to demonstrate your character and creativity. Describe a situation where you have encountered a problem, tell the story of how you came up with a unique approach to solving it, and connect it to your field of interest. The narrative can be exciting and informative if you present it in such fashion.

Narrative Essay Example for High School

High school is all about showing that you can make mature choices. You accept the consequences of your actions and retrieve valuable life lessons. Think of an event in which you believe your actions were exemplary and made an adult choice. A personal narrative essay example will showcase the best of your abilities. Finally, use other sources to help you get the best results possible. Try searching for a sample narrative essay to see how others have approached it.

Final Words

So now that you know what is a narrative essay you might want to produce high-quality paper. For that let our team of experienced writers help. Our research paper writing service offers a range of professional writing services that cater to your unique needs and requirements, from narrative essays to medical personal statement , also offering dissertation help and more.

With our flexible pricing options and fast turnaround times, you can trust that you'll receive great value for your investment. Contact us today to learn more about how we can help you succeed in your academic writing journey. 

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What Is A Narrative Essay?

How to start a narrative essay, how to write a good narrative essay, related articles.

Jemma Kuster

Narrative Essay Thesis Statements: Tips and Examples

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Introduction

A narrative essay, put simply, is an essay that tells a story. Narrative essays are usually both creative and personal, which makes it difficult to know where to start and how to incorporate the traditional elements of essays that we might be more familiar with. 

When we think of essays in general, one important component is the thesis statement, which tells us the main idea or argument of an overall work. In a narrative essay, however, a thesis does not follow the same rules it does in other types of writing. A narrative essay thesis statement can do one or both of the following: (1) convey a theme, lesson, or main idea, or (2) introduce the action of the story you want to tell. 

How you write your thesis will depend on the purpose of your essay, any instructions or prompt you may have received, and what flows with your writing style. In most cases, when writing a narrative essay, you will be focusing on a single event or experience that was important to you. If your goal is to convey a lesson, theme, or moral from that experience, you might think about the following questions: 

• Why am I telling this story?
• What happened or changed in my life as a result of this event?
• What did I learn from this experience?
• What is the most important idea/lesson that I want my reader to take away after reading my essay?
• What point am I making with this, in general?

Once you have an idea of what you want to say, all that is left is to turn that thought into a thesis. Let’s take a closer look at some examples of narrative essay thesis statements to see how that works:

• Over the few months I spent with those mice, I learned that unexpected instructors can often have the most to teach us. 
• That single failing grade was enough to shift my perspective on personal responsibility. 
• Overcoming grief is a slow process that never truly ends, but confiding in the people in our lives can make it less painful. 

These statements tell us a main idea, lesson, or theme from their respective narrative. Still, it can be hard to understand how these sentences would fit into an essay when looking at them in isolation. Here are two examples from well-known narrative essays so you can see what thesis statements look like in actual paragraphs:

“I was less playing a particular kind of animal than enacting a form of wildness that I recognized in myself.” – From “The Wild, Sublime Body” by Melissa Febos, published in The Yale Review. The full essay can be accessed here.

“Beyond those things our culture might specialize in money, and celebrity, and natural beauty. These are not universal. You enjoy work and will love your grandchildren, and somewhere in there you die.” – From “This is the Life” by Annie Dillard, originally published in  Image: A Journal of the Arts and Religio n. The full essay can be accessed here.

Both of these excerpts convey the main idea of their respective essay. They are not extremely direct, but they give us a hint at what we should be taking away from these essays nonetheless.

But what about thesis statements that simply introduce the action of a story, or do that while telling us a theme or main idea? These can also be a great, flexible option for your writing. Here is another contextual example:

“I foresaw no particular problems or difficulties. I was as strong as a bull, in the prime, the pride, the high noon of life. I looked forward to the walk with assurance and pleasure.” – From “The Bull on the Mountain” by Oliver Sacks, published in The New York Review. The full essay can be accessed here.

Not only do these sentences introduce the story’s action (the narrator will soon begin to walk), but they also hint at an underlying message. We know immediately that the narrator’s assuredness and pride will likely come before a fall, even though it is not stated. 

Drafting a thesis statement is difficult, especially for a creative medium like a narrative essay. Remember that writing is a process of revision; you can always return to your “thesis” after you’ve written some or all of your essay. This may help you eliminate any awkwardness in how your thesis flows with the rest of your writing. You can also test for awkward or too-direct phrasing by reading the surrounding sentences out loud and making sure they sound natural in your voice.

Keep in mind that the examples here are not exhaustive; there are infinite ways to tell a compelling story, and it is up to you to find what works for your goals. Continuing to seek out and read other narrative essays can help you understand what makes them tick and how you can achieve similar things in your writing.

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Home / Guides / Writing Guides / Parts of a Paper / How to Write a Strong Thesis Statement

How to Write a Strong Thesis Statement

A thesis can be found in many places—a debate speech, a lawyer’s closing argument, even an advertisement. But the most common place for a thesis statement (and probably why you’re reading this article) is in an essay.

Whether you’re writing an argumentative paper, an informative essay, or a compare/contrast statement, you need a thesis. Without a thesis, your argument falls flat and your information is unfocused. Since a thesis is so important, it’s probably a good idea to look at some tips on how to put together a strong one.

Guide Overview

What is a “thesis statement” anyway.

• 2 categories of thesis statements: informative and persuasive
• 2 styles of thesis statements
• Formula for a strong argumentative thesis
• The qualities of a solid thesis statement (video)

You may have heard of something called a “thesis.” It’s what seniors commonly refer to as their final paper before graduation. That’s not what we’re talking about here. That type of thesis is a long, well-written paper that takes years to piece together.

Instead, we’re talking about a single sentence that ties together the main idea of any argument . In the context of student essays, it’s a statement that summarizes your topic and declares your position on it. This sentence can tell a reader whether your essay is something they want to read.

2 Categories of Thesis Statements: Informative and Persuasive

Just as there are different types of essays, there are different types of thesis statements. The thesis should match the essay.

For example, with an informative essay, you should compose an informative thesis (rather than argumentative). You want to declare your intentions in this essay and guide the reader to the conclusion that you reach.

To make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, you must procure the ingredients, find a knife, and spread the condiments.

This thesis showed the reader the topic (a type of sandwich) and the direction the essay will take (describing how the sandwich is made).

Most other types of essays, whether compare/contrast, argumentative, or narrative, have thesis statements that take a position and argue it. In other words, unless your purpose is simply to inform, your thesis is considered persuasive. A persuasive thesis usually contains an opinion and the reason why your opinion is true.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are the best type of sandwich because they are versatile, easy to make, and taste good.

In this persuasive thesis statement, you see that I state my opinion (the best type of sandwich), which means I have chosen a stance. Next, I explain that my opinion is correct with several key reasons. This persuasive type of thesis can be used in any essay that contains the writer’s opinion, including, as I mentioned above, compare/contrast essays, narrative essays, and so on.

2 Styles of Thesis Statements

Just as there are two different types of thesis statements (informative and persuasive), there are two basic styles you can use.

The first style uses a list of two or more points . This style of thesis is perfect for a brief essay that contains only two or three body paragraphs. This basic five-paragraph essay is typical of middle and high school assignments.

C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia series is one of the richest works of the 20th century because it offers an escape from reality, teaches readers to have faith even when they don’t understand, and contains a host of vibrant characters.

In the above persuasive thesis, you can see my opinion about Narnia followed by three clear reasons. This thesis is perfect for setting up a tidy five-paragraph essay.

In college, five paragraph essays become few and far between as essay length gets longer. Can you imagine having only five paragraphs in a six-page paper? For a longer essay, you need a thesis statement that is more versatile. Instead of listing two or three distinct points, a thesis can list one overarching point that all body paragraphs tie into.

Good vs. evil is the main theme of Lewis’s Narnia series, as is made clear through the struggles the main characters face in each book.

In this thesis, I have made a claim about the theme in Narnia followed by my reasoning. The broader scope of this thesis allows me to write about each of the series’ seven novels. I am no longer limited in how many body paragraphs I can logically use.

Formula for a Strong Argumentative Thesis

One thing I find that is helpful for students is having a clear template. While students rarely end up with a thesis that follows this exact wording, the following template creates a good starting point:

___________ is true because of ___________, ___________, and ___________.

Conversely, the formula for a thesis with only one point might follow this template:

___________________ is true because of _____________________.

Students usually end up using different terminology than simply “because,” but having a template is always helpful to get the creative juices flowing.

The Qualities of a Solid Thesis Statement

When composing a thesis, you must consider not only the format, but other qualities like length, position in the essay, and how strong the argument is.

Length: A thesis statement can be short or long, depending on how many points it mentions. Typically, however, it is only one concise sentence. It does contain at least two clauses, usually an independent clause (the opinion) and a dependent clause (the reasons). You probably should aim for a single sentence that is at least two lines, or about 30 to 40 words long.

Position: A thesis statement always belongs at the beginning of an essay. This is because it is a sentence that tells the reader what the writer is going to discuss. Teachers will have different preferences for the precise location of the thesis, but a good rule of thumb is in the introduction paragraph, within the last two or three sentences.

Strength: Finally, for a persuasive thesis to be strong, it needs to be arguable. This means that the statement is not obvious, and it is not something that everyone agrees is true.

Example of weak thesis:

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are easy to make because it just takes three ingredients.

Most people would agree that PB&J is one of the easiest sandwiches in the American lunch repertoire.

Example of a stronger thesis:

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are fun to eat because they always slide around.

This is more arguable because there are plenty of folks who might think a PB&J is messy or slimy rather than fun.

Composing a thesis statement does take a bit more thought than many other parts of an essay. However, because a thesis statement can contain an entire argument in just a few words, it is worth taking the extra time to compose this sentence. It can direct your research and your argument so that your essay is tight, focused, and makes readers think.

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How to write a narrative essay [Updated 2023]

A narrative essay is an opportunity to flex your creative muscles and craft a compelling story. In this blog post, we define what a narrative essay is and provide strategies and examples for writing one.

What is a narrative essay?

Similarly to a descriptive essay or a reflective essay, a narrative essay asks you to tell a story, rather than make an argument and present evidence. Most narrative essays describe a real, personal experience from your own life (for example, the story of your first big success).

Alternately, your narrative essay might focus on an imagined experience (for example, how your life would be if you had been born into different circumstances). While you don’t need to present a thesis statement or scholarly evidence, a narrative essay still needs to be well-structured and clearly organized so that the reader can follow your story.

When you might be asked to write a narrative essay

Although less popular than argumentative essays or expository essays, narrative essays are relatively common in high school and college writing classes.

The same techniques that you would use to write a college essay as part of a college or scholarship application are applicable to narrative essays, as well. In fact, the Common App that many students use to apply to multiple colleges asks you to submit a narrative essay.

How to choose a topic for a narrative essay

When you are asked to write a narrative essay, a topic may be assigned to you or you may be able to choose your own. With an assigned topic, the prompt will likely fall into one of two categories: specific or open-ended.

Examples of specific prompts:

• Write about the last vacation you took.
• Write about your final year of middle school.

Examples of open-ended prompts:

• Write about a time when you felt all hope was lost.
• Write about a brief, seemingly insignificant event that ended up having a big impact on your life.

A narrative essay tells a story and all good stories are centered on a conflict of some sort. Experiences with unexpected obstacles, twists, or turns make for much more compelling essays and reveal more about your character and views on life.

If you’re writing a narrative essay as part of an admissions application, remember that the people reviewing your essay will be looking at it to gain a sense of not just your writing ability, but who you are as a person.

In these cases, it’s wise to choose a topic and experience from your life that demonstrates the qualities that the prompt is looking for, such as resilience, perseverance, the ability to stay calm under pressure, etc.

It’s also important to remember that your choice of topic is just a starting point. Many students find that they arrive at new ideas and insights as they write their first draft, so the final form of your essay may have a different focus than the one you started with.

How to outline and format a narrative essay

Even though you’re not advancing an argument or proving a point of view, a narrative essay still needs to have a coherent structure. Your reader has to be able to follow you as you tell the story and to figure out the larger point that you’re making.

You’ll be evaluated on is your handling of the topic and how you structure your essay. Even though a narrative essay doesn’t use the same structure as other essay types, you should still sketch out a loose outline so you can tell your story in a clear and compelling way.

To outline a narrative essay, you’ll want to determine:

• how your story will start
• what points or specifics that you want to cover
• how your story will end
• what pace and tone you will use

In the vast majority of cases, a narrative essay should be written in the first-person, using “I.” Also, most narrative essays will follow typical formatting guidelines, so you should choose a readable font like Times New Roman in size 11 or 12. Double-space your paragraphs and use 1” margins.

To get your creative wheels turning, consider how your story compares to archetypes and famous historical and literary figures both past and present. Weave these comparisons into your essay to improve the quality of your writing and connect your personal experience to a larger context.

How to write a narrative essay

Writing a narrative essay can sometimes be a challenge for students who typically write argumentative essays or research papers in a formal, objective style. To give you a better sense of how you can write a narrative essay, here is a short example of an essay in response to the prompt, “Write about an experience that challenged your view of yourself.”

Narrative essay example

Even as a child, I always had what people might call a reserved personality. It was sometimes framed as a positive (“Sarah is a good listener”) and at other times it was put in less-than-admiring terms (“Sarah is withdrawn and not very talkative”). It was the latter kind of comments that caused me to see my introverted nature as a drawback and as something I should work to eliminate. That is, until I joined my high school’s student council.

The first paragraph, or introduction, sets up the context, establishing the situation and introducing the meaningful event upon which the essay will focus.

The other four students making up the council were very outspoken and enthusiastic. I enjoyed being around them, and I often agreed with their ideas. However, when it came to overhauling our school’s recycling plan, we butted heads. When I spoke up and offered a different point of view, one of my fellow student council members launched into a speech, advocating for her point of view. As her voice filled the room, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. I wondered if I should try to match her tone, volume, and assertiveness as a way to be heard. But I just couldn’t do it—it’s not my way, and it never has been. For a fleeting moment, I felt defeated. But then, something in me shifted.

In this paragraph, the writer goes into greater depth about how her existing thinking brought her to this point.

I reminded myself that my view was valid and deserved to be heard. So I waited. I let my fellow council member speak her piece and when she was finished, I deliberately waited a few moments before calmly stating my case. I chose my words well, and I spoke them succinctly. Just because I’m not a big talker doesn’t mean I’m not a big thinker. I thought of the quotation “still waters run deep” and I tried to embody that. The effect on the room was palpable. People listened. And I hadn’t had to shout my point to be heard.

This paragraph demonstrates the turn in the story, the moment when everything changed. The use of the quotation “still waters run deep” imbues the story with a dash of poetry and emotion.

We eventually reached a compromise on the matter and concluded the student council meeting. Our council supervisor came to me afterward and said: “You handled that so well, with such grace and poise. I was very impressed.” Her words in that moment changed me. I realized that a bombastic nature isn't necessarily a powerful one. There is power in quiet, too. This experience taught me to view my reserved personality not as a character flaw, but as a strength.

The final paragraph, or conclusion, closes with a statement about the significance of this event and how it ended up changing the writer in a meaningful way.

Narrative essay writing tips

1. pick a meaningful story that has a conflict and a clear “moral.”.

If you’re able to choose your own topic, pick a story that has meaning and that reveals how you became the person your are today. In other words, write a narrative with a clear “moral” that you can connect with your main points.

2. Use an outline to arrange the structure of your story and organize your main points.

Although a narrative essay is different from argumentative essays, it’s still beneficial to construct an outline so that your story is well-structured and organized. Note how you want to start and end your story, and what points you want to make to tie everything together.

3. Be clear, concise, concrete, and correct in your writing.

You should use descriptive writing in your narrative essay, but don’t overdo it. Use clear, concise, and correct language and grammar throughout. Additionally, make concrete points that reinforce the main idea of your narrative.

4. Ask a friend or family member to proofread your essay.

No matter what kind of writing you’re doing, you should always plan to proofread and revise. To ensure that your narrative essay is coherent and interesting, ask a friend or family member to read over your paper. This is especially important if your essay is responding to a prompt. It helps to have another person check to make sure that you’ve fully responded to the prompt or question.

Frequently Asked Questions about narrative essays

A narrative essay, like any essay, has three main parts: an introduction, a body and a conclusion. Structuring and outlining your essay before you start writing will help you write a clear story that your readers can follow.

The first paragraph of your essay, or introduction, sets up the context, establishing the situation and introducing the meaningful event upon which the essay will focus.

In the vast majority of cases, a narrative essay should be written in the first-person, using “I.”

The 4 main types of essays are the argumentative essay, narrative essay, exploratory essay, and expository essay. You may be asked to write different types of essays at different points in your education.

Most narrative essays will be around five paragraphs, or more, depending on the topic and requirements. Make sure to check in with your instructor about the guidelines for your essay. If you’re writing a narrative essay for a college application, pay close attention to word or page count requirements.

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Narrative Thesis Statement

A narrative thesis statement is a statement having the central idea of your narrative essay. It sets the direction and focus of the story.

Introduction

Table of Contents

A narrative thesis statement is a statement having the central idea of your narrative essay . It sets the direction and focus of the story, making the readers go through the author’s experiences and intentions even before reading the essay.

Whether a narrative thesis statement is reflective, descriptive, or persuasive, it captures the essence of the narrative. It may reflect the personal growth or resilience of the writer as seen in the examples of overcoming childhood challenges in some stories.

In fact, a narrative essay thesis statement comprises the core message and the narrative trajectory of the story or the essay, inviting the readers to a captivating journey the author shows through this statement.

Type of Narrative Thesis Statement

However, the type of the narrative thesis statement depends on the type of essay, topic, context, and above all the assignment type. Here are some types of narrative thesis statement examples generally written in composition courses.

These types of narrative thesis statements provide different approaches to storytelling, focusing on personal growth and reflection though the objective could be to inform, teach or even persuade the readers.

Elements of a Narrative Thesis Statement

• Clear and Concise: A narrative thesis statement should be succinctly articulated, presenting the central theme or focus of the narrative in a straightforward manner.
• Reflective or Descriptive : It should offer a glimpse into the content, reflecting its key aspects or describing the journey readers are about to take.
• Personal Perspective: Often, a narrative thesis reflects the author’s perspective, conveying his/her emotions, experiences, or insights into events.
• Provide Roadmap to the Essay: The thesis serves as a roadmap, outlining the main events or ideas that the narrative will explore, and guiding readers through the structure of the essay.
• Coherence and Unity: A good thesis statement ensures that various elements of the narrative are connected and contribute to a unified whole, creating coherence.
• Engaging the Readers: An effective thesis captivates readers’ interest by offering a glimpse of the intrigue of the narrative, encouraging them to delve further into the story.
• May Contain a Persuasive Element: In some cases, a narrative thesis might incorporate a persuasive element, aiming to influence readers’ perspectives or evoke particular emotions.

Process/Steps of Writing a Narrative Thesis Statement

1. understand the purpose and scope:.

• Clarify the purpose of your narrative essay or story.
• Determine what you want to convey or explore through your narrative.
• Consider the scope of your narrative.
• Decide whether you will focus on a specific event, time, or some broader theme.

2. Reflect on Personal Experiences or Choose a Descriptive Setting:

• If your narrative will be reflective, reflect on some personal experiences that taught you a valuable lesson.
• If you go for a descriptive narrative, choose a compelling setting that can serve as a background to your story.

3. Identify the Main Theme or Message:

• Determine the main theme or message
• What do you want your readers to take away from your story?

4. Brainstorm Key Points and Ideas:

• Engage in brainstorming to generate key points, events, or experiences
• Consider the chronological order or logical progression

5. Write a Clear and Concise Statement:

• Summarize your chosen theme, personal experiences, or descriptive setting
• Ensure that your thesis statement effectively communicates the central idea

6. Revise and Refine:

• Review your narrative thesis statement and evaluate its effectiveness
• Revise and refine the statement as needed to enhance its clarity, coherence, and impact.

Remember, the process of writing a narrative thesis statement is iterative and repetitive. It may require multiple revisions to write a final statement that is comprehensive, coherent and cohesive.

Examples of Narrative Thesis Statements and Details

Suggested readings.

• Hadiani, Dini. “The Students’Difficulties In Writing Thesis Statement.” Semantik 2.1 (2017): 80-86.
• Miller, Ryan T., and Silvia Pessoa. “Where Is Your Thesis Statement and What Happened to Your Topic Sentences? Identifying Organizational Challenges in Undergraduate Student Argumentative Writing.” TESOL Journal 7.4 (2016): 847-873.
• Moore, Kathleen, and Susie Lan Cassel. Techniques for College Writing: The Thesis Statement and Beyond . Cengage Learning, 2010.

More from Essay Writing:

• Expository Thesis Statement
• Background Information

Related posts:

• Essay Writing, Objectives, and Key Terms in Essay Writing
• Essay Type-3
• Informative Thesis Statement

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Tips and Examples for Writing Thesis Statements

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Tips for Writing Your Thesis Statement

1. Determine what kind of paper you are writing:

• An analytical paper breaks down an issue or an idea into its component parts, evaluates the issue or idea, and presents this breakdown and evaluation to the audience.
• An expository (explanatory) paper explains something to the audience.
• An argumentative paper makes a claim about a topic and justifies this claim with specific evidence. The claim could be an opinion, a policy proposal, an evaluation, a cause-and-effect statement, or an interpretation. The goal of the argumentative paper is to convince the audience that the claim is true based on the evidence provided.

If you are writing a text that does not fall under these three categories (e.g., a narrative), a thesis statement somewhere in the first paragraph could still be helpful to your reader.

2. Your thesis statement should be specific—it should cover only what you will discuss in your paper and should be supported with specific evidence.

3. The thesis statement usually appears at the end of the first paragraph of a paper.

4. Your topic may change as you write, so you may need to revise your thesis statement to reflect exactly what you have discussed in the paper.

Thesis Statement Examples

Example of an analytical thesis statement:

The paper that follows should:

• Explain the analysis of the college admission process
• Explain the challenge facing admissions counselors

Example of an expository (explanatory) thesis statement:

• Explain how students spend their time studying, attending class, and socializing with peers

Example of an argumentative thesis statement:

• Present an argument and give evidence to support the claim that students should pursue community projects before entering college

The Art of Narrative

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How to Write a Narrative Essay: Step by Step

A narrative essay is a captivating form of storytelling that allows writers to convey personal experiences or fictional tales in a compelling manner. Whether recounting real-life events or weaving imaginative narratives, the essence of a narrative essay lies in its ability to entertain, inform, or persuade the reader. Let’s learn how to write a narrative essay!

What is a Narrative Essay?

A narrative essay is a form of writing that conveys a story, whether fictional or based on authentic experiences. It allows the writer to share a sequence of events, weaving together the plot, characters, setting, and theme elements. The primary purpose of a narrative essay can vary, as it can aim to entertain, inform, or persuade the reader.

The writer often draws inspiration from personal experiences or observations when writing a narrative essay. It is an opportunity for the writer to share a slice of their life, explore their emotions, and connect with the reader on a personal level. The story can revolve around a specific event, a journey, a turning point, or a significant relationship in the writer’s life.

The structure of a narrative essay typically follows the traditional narrative arc, beginning with an engaging introduction that establishes the setting, introduces the main characters, and hints at the central conflict or theme. The body paragraphs gradually unravel the story, presenting events chronologically or employing flashbacks and foreshadowing techniques to create suspense. The writer uses vivid language, imagery, and sensory details to immerse the reader in the story and evoke emotions.

The writer’s style is crucial in crafting a captivating narrative essay. To enhance the storytelling experience, they may employ different narrative techniques, such as dialogue, incorporating symbolism, or alternating between first-person and third-person perspectives. Using literary devices and figurative language adds depth and richness to the writing, helping the writer convey complex emotions and create a lasting impression on the reader.

In terms of purpose, a narrative essay can be written to entertain the reader by providing an engaging and enjoyable story. It can also be informative by sharing knowledge or experiences that educate or enlighten the reader. Additionally, a narrative essay can aim to persuade the reader by presenting a particular viewpoint or argument, using storytelling to convey a message or influence the reader’s thoughts and emotions.

Narrative essays offer writers a versatile and compelling way to connect with their audience. They allow writers to explore the human experience, share their perspectives, and evoke emotions in the reader. Whether it’s a personal anecdote, a historical account, or a work of fiction, a well-crafted narrative essay can transport the reader to different worlds, inspire reflection, and leave a lasting impact.

Features of a Narrative Essay

A narrative essay is a type of essay that tells a story or recounts a sequence of events from the author’s personal experiences or imagination. Here are some key features of a narrative essay:

• Storytelling: The essay is structured around a central story or narrative thread. Writers may base their narrative on real-life experiences, anecdotes, or fictional events.
• Point of View : The narrative is usually told in the first person, using “I” to convey the author’s personal involvement or observation in the events described.
• Plot: Like any story, a narrative essay typically has a beginning, middle, and end. It may include exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution.
• Characters: The essay may feature characters who play roles within the narrative. These characters could be real people, fictional creations, or even representations of abstract concepts.
• Descriptive language often engages the reader and creates a vivid picture of the events. This includes sensory details such as sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and textures.
• Dialogue: Dialogue can add authenticity and bring characters to life. It helps advance the plot and reveal character traits or motivations.
• Conflict: A narrative essay often involves some form of conflict or tension, whether internal (within the protagonist) or external (between characters or with external circumstances). Resolving this conflict is often central to the narrative’s arc.
• Theme: Narrative essays primarily tell a story but may also explore broader themes or ideas. These themes could include love, friendship, loss, resilience, growth, or any other topic relevant to the narrative.
• Emotional Impact: Effective narrative essays evoke emotions in the reader, whether it’s joy, sadness, excitement, empathy, or reflection. This emotional connection helps to make the story memorable and impactful.
• Reflection or Moral: Many narrative essays conclude with a reflection or insight gained from the experiences. This reflection offers a lesson learned, a moral drawn from the story, or a deeper understanding of the events described.

A narrative essay aims to entertain, inform, and sometimes even persuade the reader by presenting a compelling story with a clear narrative arc and emotional resonance.

How to write a Narrative Essay Thesis Statement: 

Writing a thesis statement for a narrative essay involves summarizing the main point or theme of the story you will tell. Here’s how to craft a strong thesis statement for a narrative essay:

• Identify the Main Theme or Message : Reflect on the central idea or lesson that your narrative essay will convey. This theme could be a personal experience that taught you something valuable, a moment of realization, or a significant event in your life.
• Consider the Narrative Arc: Consider the key events and turning points in your story. What is the journey or trajectory of your narrative? Your thesis statement should capture the essence of this narrative arc.
• Be Specific and Concise: Your thesis statement should clearly state the main point of your narrative essay in a single sentence. Avoid vague language or overly general statements.
• Make it Relevant: Your thesis statement should directly relate to the story you’re telling. It should capture the unique perspective or insight that your narrative offers.
• Use Action Verbs and Descriptive Language: Infuse your thesis statement with vivid language that conveys the energy and emotion of your narrative. This language will help grab the reader’s attention and set the tone for your essay.
• Provide a Preview: Your thesis statement can also hint at the direction of your essay and what readers can expect to learn or experience by reading it.

Here’s an example of a thesis statement for a narrative essay about a transformative travel experience:

Narrative Essay Thesis Statement Example: 

“Through the challenges of navigating unfamiliar cultures and confronting my preconceptions, my journey to Orlando taught me the true meaning of resilience, empathy, and cultural understanding.”

This thesis statement succinctly summarizes the central theme (personal growth through travel), previews the narrative arc (challenges and lessons learned), and provides insight into the story’s significance.

How to Write a Narrative Essay Step by Step: 

Writing a narrative essay involves several steps to convey your story and engage your readers effectively. Here’s a step-by-step guide to help you write a narrative essay:

• Choose a Topic : Choose a personal experience or event to narrate. It could be a significant moment in your life, a memorable trip, a challenging situation you overcame, or any other story that has impacted you.
• Brainstorm Details: Take some time to brainstorm the details of your chosen topic. Consider the characters involved, the setting, the sequence of events, and any significant dialogue or interactions.
• Outline Your Narrative : Create an outline to organize your thoughts and plan the structure of your essay. Include an introduction, body paragraphs, and a conclusion. Outline the main events of your story and any key points you want to emphasize.
• Write a Compelling Introduction: Begin your essay with a strong hook that grabs the reader’s attention and introduces your narrative’s main idea or theme. Provide some background information to set the context for your story, and end your introduction with a clear thesis statement.
• Develop the Body Paragraphs: In the body of your essay, narrate the events of your story in chronological order. Use descriptive language to paint a vivid picture for your readers and bring your story to life. Include details that engage your audience’s senses and emotions.
• Include Dialogue and Reflection: Incorporate dialogue to add realism and depth to your narrative. Use quotation marks to indicate when characters are speaking. Additionally, intersperse moments of reflection throughout your essay to provide insight into your thoughts and feelings at different points in the story.
• Maintain Narrative Flow: Your narrative should flow smoothly from one event to the next. Use transitional phrases and sentences to connect your ideas and guide your readers through the story.
• Create a Memorable Conclusion: End your essay with a conclusion that ties up any loose ends and leaves a lasting impression on your readers. Reflect on the events’ significance and reiterate your narrative’s central message or lesson.
• Revise and Edit: Once you’ve written a draft of your narrative essay, take the time to revise and edit it. Check for grammar and punctuation errors, clarify confusing passages, and refine your language for clarity and impact. Consider seeking feedback from peers or instructors to improve your essay further.
• Finalize Your Essay: After making revisions, read through your essay to ensure it meets your standards. Make any necessary changes, and then finalize your narrative essay for submission or publication.

By following these steps, you can effectively write a compelling narrative essay that captures the attention of your readers and communicates your story with clarity and impact.

Learn how to write a Prose Poem!

How to write a Narrative Essay Conclusion: 

Writing a conclusion for a narrative essay involves wrapping up the story you’ve told while leaving a lasting impression on your readers. Here’s a step-by-step guide on how to write a narrative essay conclusion:

• Revisit the Thesis Statement: Start your conclusion by revisiting your essay’s thesis statement or central idea. Remind your readers of the central theme or message that your narrative has explored.
• Summarize the Journey: Briefly summarize the events and experiences you’ve narrated throughout your essay. Highlight the key moments that contributed to the story’s development and the characters involved.
• Reflect on the Significance: Consider the significance of your story. Consider your narrative about the human experience, personal growth, or the broader context of the events described.
• Offer Insight or Reflection: Share your personal insights or reflections on the narrative’s events. Discuss what you’ve learned, how you’ve changed, or any new perspectives you’ve gained as a result of the experiences you’ve described.
• Provide Closure: Resolve any unresolved conflicts or questions to offer closure to your narrative. Tie up loose ends and ensure that your readers feel a sense of completion at the end of the essay.
• End with Impact: End your conclusion with a memorable statement or thought-provoking insight that leaves a lasting impression on your readers. Consider how you want your audience to feel or what message you want them to take away from your narrative.
• Maintain Consistency: Ensure that your conclusion’s tone and style match the rest of your essay. Maintain consistency in your voice and narrative style to provide a cohesive reading experience.
• Avoid Introducing New Information: In your conclusion, avoid introducing new information or events. Instead, wrap up the story you’ve already told and reinforce its significance.
• Keep it Concise: Your conclusion should be concise, clear, and to the point, avoiding unnecessary repetition or wordiness.

To craft a captivating conclusion for your narrative essay, follow these steps. This will allow you to effectively wrap up your story and leave a lasting impact on your readers:

Narrative Essay Outline: 

Here’s a basic outline structure for a narrative essay:

I. Introduction

A. Hook : Start with an attention-grabbing opening sentence or anecdote that sets the stage for your story.

B. Background Information: Provide some context or background information to orient your readers to the narrative.

C. Thesis Statement: Present your narrative essay’s main idea or theme.

II. Body Paragraphs

A. First Event : Describe the first event or experience in your narrative. Use descriptive language to create a vivid picture for your readers.

1. Introduction of Characters/Setting: Introduce any relevant characters or the setting where the event occurs.

2. Description of Events: Provide a detailed description of what happens during this event.

3. Reflection: Reflect on the event’s significance and impact on the narrative and characters.

(Continue pattern for subsequent events) 

III. Climax

A. Build-up: Describe the peak of the narrative, where tension or conflict reaches its highest point.

B. Resolution: Describe how the conflict is resolved or how the story reaches its climax.

C. Reflection: Reflect on the significance of the climax and its impact on the narrative and characters.

IV. Conclusion

A. Summary: Summarize the key events and moments of your narrative.

B. Restate: Restate your thesis and how it relates to your overall narrative.

C. Closing Statement: End with a memorable closing statement or insight that leaves a lasting impression on your readers.

If you want to write a narrative essay that will have your readers hooked from the start, this outline is your go-to guide. It’s like a solid foundation that you can build on and customize to fit your assignment or the unique details of your story. It’s all about structuring your essay in a way that keeps your readers engaged from beginning to end. 

Download your Narrative Essay Example PDF 

Narrative essay example: .

Title: A Day at the Amusement Park

Introduction:

It was a sunny Saturday morning when my family and I decided to spend the day at the local amusement park. The excitement was palpable as we packed our bags with sunscreen, snacks, and anticipation. Little did I know this day would be filled with thrills, laughter, and a few surprises.

Body Paragraph 1:

As soon as we arrived at the amusement park, I could hear the sounds of joyful screams and carnival music filling the air. We started our day by hopping on the roller coaster, where the adrenaline rush left me breathless. The wind whipped through my hair as we soared through loops and twists, and for a moment, I felt like I was flying.

Body Paragraph 2:

Next, we ventured to the water park section of the amusement park to cool off from the summer heat. The lazy river provided a relaxing escape, allowing us to float along peacefully while soaking up the sun. We also dared to tackle the towering water slides, plunging into the refreshing pools below with exhilarating splashes.

Body Paragraph 3:

As the day progressed, we explored the various attractions and games scattered throughout the park. From carnival games to arcade challenges, there was no shortage of entertainment to keep us occupied. We laughed and competed with each other, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

Body Paragraph 4:

However, our day took an unexpected turn when we stumbled upon a magician’s performance near the main stage. Mesmerized by his illusions and sleight of hand, we eagerly volunteered to participate in his act. I’ll never forget the look of amazement on my family’s faces as he made objects disappear and reappear before our very eyes.

Conclusion:

As the sun began to set on our day at the amusement park, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the unforgettable experiences we shared together. From the heart-pounding rides to the magical moments, each memory forever holds a special place in my heart. As we made our way home, tired but content, I knew that this day would be one that I would cherish forever.

Learn how to write conclusion!

Download your Narrative Essay Example PDF

Tips on How to Write a Narrative Essay

• Choose a Compelling Story: Select a personal experience, event, or memory that is meaningful and has the potential to resonate with your readers.
• Identify the Theme or Message: Determine the central theme or message you want to convey through your narrative and ensure that it is woven throughout the essay.
• Create a Strong Narrative Arc: Your story should have a clear beginning, middle, and end. The beginning should introduce the setting, characters, and conflict; the middle should develop the plot and build tension; and the end should resolve the conflict and leave a lasting impression.
• Use Descriptive Language: Engage the senses of your readers by using vivid and descriptive language that brings the story to life. Paint a picture in their minds and immerse them in the narrative.
• Develop Memorable Characters: Create relatable and well-developed characters that readers can empathize with—flesh out their personalities, motivations, and conflicts.
• Show, Don’t Tell: Instead of simply stating facts or emotions, use sensory details and actions to show readers what is happening. This will make the story more immersive and believable.
• Maintain Narrative Consistency: Your narrative’s tone, style, and point of view should remain consistent throughout the essay. Avoid sudden shifts that may confuse or disengage your readers.
• Incorporate Dialogue: Use dialogue to add realism and depth to your narrative. Dialogue can reveal character traits, advance the plot, and create tension.
• Pace Yourself: Control the pacing of your narrative to create suspense and build anticipation. Vary the length and intensity of your paragraphs to maintain reader interest.
• Proofread and Revise: After writing your first draft, proofread and revise your essay. Check for grammar, spelling, and punctuation errors. Polish your language and refine your ideas to enhance the overall quality of your narrative.

How to Write a Narrative Essay with Dialogue 

Writing a narrative essay with dialogue can add depth and authenticity to your story, allowing your readers to feel more immersed in the narrative. Here are some tips on how to effectively incorporate dialogue into your narrative essay:

Check out our definitive guide to dialogue!

• Set the Scene: Before introducing dialogue, provide some context to set the scene for your readers. Describe the setting, introduce the characters involved, and establish the mood or atmosphere of the scene.
• Use Quotation Marks: When writing dialogue, enclose the spoken words within double quotation marks (” “). This helps to distinguish dialogue from other narrative elements clearly.
• Attribute Dialogue Appropriately: Use dialogue tags to attribute spoken words to specific characters. Common dialogue tags include “said,” “asked,” “replied,” “responded,” etc. For example:
• “I can’t wait to go to the beach,” said Sarah excitedly.
• “What time are we leaving?” asked Mark.
• Punctuate Dialogue Correctly: When writing dialogue, pay attention to punctuation rules. Place commas or periods inside the quotation marks, and use a comma, question mark, or exclamation point to end the dialogue before the closing quotation mark.
• “I love this movie,” she said.
• “Are you coming with us?” he asked.
• “Stop right there!” shouted the officer.
• Show, Don’t Tell: Use dialogue to reveal character traits, emotions, and relationships. Instead of telling the reader how a character feels, show it through their words and interactions with others.
• “I’m so nervous,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
• “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back,” he reassured her.
• Keep Dialogue Natural: Write dialogue that sounds natural and reflects how people actually speak. Avoid overly formal or stilted language, and use contractions and colloquialisms to make the dialogue more realistic.
• “I can’t believe you did that!” instead of “I cannot believe you did that!”
• Use Dialogue to Advance the Plot: Use dialogue to move the story forward and convey important information or developments. Dialogue can reveal plot points, conflicts, resolutions, or character motivations.
• “I saw him leave the party with someone else,” she whispered to her friend, her eyes wide with shock.
• Edit and Revise: After writing your narrative essay with dialogue, carefully review and revise it to ensure 

A narrative essay is a powerful form of storytelling that can entertain, inform, or persuade readers. Its unique features, such as storytelling, point of view, plot, characters, descriptive language, conflict, theme, emotional impact, and reflection or moral, can create a memorable and impactful experience for the reader. 

By following the step-by-step guide for crafting a narrative essay thesis statement and writing your essay, you can create a compelling narrative that effectively conveys your story and engages your readers. So, go ahead and start writing your narrative essay, and let your story inspire, educate, and entertain your readers. It flows smoothly and serves its purpose within the story. Check for consistency, clarity, and relevance.

Purdue OWL – Narrative Essays

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ICE SPICE's First LP

From debuts to do-overs, what it means to start an artistic life — at any age

Letter From the Editor

Clockwise from top left: Ice Spice, Sky Lakota-Lynch, Meg Stalter, Tyla, Sarah Pidgeon and Titus Kaphar.

T’s Culture issue looks at artistic beginnings in all their forms.

By Hanya Yanagihara

The First Stroke

Artemisia Gentileschi’s “Susanna and the Elders” (1610).

Why, even as they progress in their practices, all artists remain perpetual beginners.

By Aatish Taseer

Tracy Chapman (right).

Lester Cohen/Getty Images

Musicians, writers and others on the work that started it all for them — and on what, if anything, they’d change about it now.

Interviews by Lovia Gyarkye and Nicole Acheampong

When These Two First Worked Together

Marc Jacobs and Cindy Sherman.

Love, spats, splits and enduring affinity: creative partnerships that have stood the test of time.

Interviews by Ella Riley-Adams, Nick Haramis, Nicole Acheampong, Julia Halperin and Coco Romack

Begin Again

Jordi Roca.

Video by Anna Bosch Miralpeix

What it’s like to make new art after many years or amid new challenges — or to change careers completely.

Interviews by Michael Snyder, M.H. Miller and Emily Lordi

When the Beginning Is Also the End

Miguel Adrover.

Catarina Osório de Castro

People who found great creative success in one field — before life took them in a totally different direction.

By John Wogan and M.H. Miller

J u v e n i l i a

Do Ho Suh’s “Tiger Mask” (1971).

Courtesy of the artist © Do Ho Suh

What artists see when they look back at work they made in their youth.

Interviews by Julia Halperin, Kate Guadagnino and Juan A. Ramírez

A first album, a first restaurant, a first time on Broadway: Ten debuts happening right now.

Interviews by Juan A. Ramírez and Emily Lordi

How It Begins

Jenny Holzer.

Photographs by Nicholas Calcott

The very first steps, whether you’re an actor getting into character or an artist presenting the survey of your life’s work.

Interviews by Laura May Todd

The Beginners’ Hall of Fame

Tabboo!’s “Lavender Garden” (2023).

Courtesy of the artist, Karma and Gordon Robichaux

Six people who found a new creative calling later in life — or for whom recognition was long overdue.

By Jason Chen

Advice on Beginning

Kim Gordon.

Laura Levine/Corbis, via Getty Images

Ten creative minds on how to start, pivot and productively procrastinate.

Interviews by Kate Guadagnino

Courtesy of Joseph Dirand Architecture

We asked 80 artists and other creative people to tell us what they’re starting right now or hope to start very soon.

T’s Culture Issue: Beginners.

An exploration of artistic beginnings in all their forms.

There’s a reason all of us — magazine editors in particular, perhaps, but not only us — love an artistic debut. It’s not just that those releasing their first album, book or movie, or having their first gallery exhibit or Broadway show, are usually young; it’s that they embody that most delicious and evanescent of qualities: promise. Any painter could be the next Rothko or Basquiat; any singer could be the next Joni or Aretha. There the new artist sits, poised between our expectations and their unwritten reality. Becoming emotionally invested in an untested creative life is like becoming financially invested in an exciting new company — should they (or it) work, the reward is not just theirs but ours. “See?” we tell ourselves. “We knew it all along.”

But the real test of being an artist isn’t the first album, book, movie or Broadway show, as significant as those accomplishments are. It’s what happens after. All artists know that living a true creative life means facing an endless series of beginnings: It’s starting over after setbacks; it’s pushing forward through doubt and despair; it’s trying again when someone tells you no; it’s slogging ahead when no one seems to like or care about what you make; it’s ignoring the voice inside you that tells you to stop; it’s striving and failing, again and again and again. There is no point of complete security, no award or recognition that bestows total confidence — a life in art means that, to some degree, you’re starting anew every day. As the novelist Andrew Holleran tells T, “Writing is basically unconscious, and you don’t get any smarter about it. Imagine a brain surgeon who didn’t learn from each operation? We’d be horrified. But when you sit down to write, you’re always wondering how to do it.”

On the covers, clockwise from top left: ICE SPICE wears a Burberry dress, $2,290, burberry.com ; Graff necklace, price on request, graff.com ; and her own earrings and ring. Photographed by Shikeith. Styled by Ian Bradley. Makeup by Karina Milan at the Wall Group. SKY LAKOTA-LYNCH wears a Canali coat, $3,060, canali.com ; and a Bode jacket, $1,080, bode.com . Photographed by Shikeith. Styled by Delphine Danhier. Hair by Tsuki at Streeters. Makeup by Jamal Scott for YSL Beauty. MEG STALTER . Photographed by Shikeith. Styled by Delphine Danhier. Hair by Tiago Goya at Home Agency using Oribe. Makeup by Holly Silius at R3-MGMT. TYLA wears a Ferragamo top, $1,190, and earrings, $730, ferragamo.com . Photographed by Shikeith. Styled by Sasha Kelly. Hair by Christina “Tina” Trammell. Makeup by Jamal Scott for YSL Beauty. SARAH PIDGEON wears a Gucci dress, $24,500, gucci.com . Photographed by Shikeith. Styled by Delphine Danhier. Hair by Tsuki at Streeters. Makeup by Jamal Scott for YSL Beauty. TITUS KAPHAR wears a Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello coat, $4,900, ysl.com . Photographed by Shikeith. Styled by Delphine Danhier. Hair by Tsuki at Streeters. Makeup by Jamal Scott for YSL Beauty.

In this issue, we look at what it means for an artist to begin, from actual debuts (such as Sky Lakota-Lynch, one of our cover stars, who’s appearing this spring in “The Outsiders,” his first original Broadway role) to do-overs (such as Jon Bon Jovi, about to embark on tour after throat surgery and a 40-year career, or the cabaret performer turned visual artist Justin Vivian Bond). And though the artists who appear in these pages are all different, they share a spirit of generosity: It’s no easy thing to give voice to your dreams and insecurities, much less to do so publicly. Their collective perseverance — a mix of dogged determination and wild hope — is a reminder for all of us that a creative life, that all life, takes nerve. It takes humility. It takes a kind of arrogance that sees you through the most barren periods.

And by the way: You don’t need to be young to lead a creative life. All you have to do is start. Start — and then never stop.

On March 12, as we were readying this issue to go to press, one of our colleagues, Carter Love, T’s senior photography editor, died. He was 41.

Being a good photo editor demands taste and a sense of coordination. For a fashion or celebrity shoot, they, along with the creative director and style director, assemble teams: the photographer, of course, but also the stylist, models, hair and makeup artists and set designers. For a travel story, the photo editor selects and hires the fixer, the photographer, the location scout, the translator and the transportation. Once on set, a photo editor stays until the very end of the shoot, even if the shoot goes all day. Carter worked on these — and many other — kinds of stories, often simultaneously; in this issue alone, he produced a dozen images, from the portrait of the longtime collaborators Cindy Sherman and Marc Jacobs to the picture of the fashion designer turned photographer Miguel Adrover.

Along with his native senses of taste and coordination, Carter was — crucially — able to laugh at the absurdities, the unexpected little (and not-so-little) disasters that inevitably arise during a shoot, no matter how thorough the planning: rain on a day when sun was predicted; equipment stuck in customs; a subject’s last-minute cancellation. He had a big laugh, resonant and full, which everyone in the office could hear; at work parties, he sometimes broke into song. In addition to his big laugh, he had a big voice. He was tall and wiry and quick moving, with magnificent red hair — I’d often look up from my desk and see his head and torso streaking across the top of the cubicle walls, hurrying off somewhere.

One of Carter’s most used phrases was “absolutely.” Could I see more options from this shoot? “Absolutely.” Could I have a list of the talent that had already confirmed? “Absolutely.” Thanks, Carter, for this new information. “Absolutely.”

Barely a week after his death, that word keeps beating in my head. Will we always ask ourselves why he had to die? Absolutely. Were we lucky to work with him? Absolutely. Will we miss him? Absolutely. Absolutely. Absolutely.

Digital production and design: Danny DeBelius, Amy Fang, Chris Littlewood, Coco Romack, Carla Valdivia Nakatani and Jamie Sims.

ONE EVENING 17 years ago, V.S. Naipaul came to dinner at my flat in Delhi. The writer, who had become something of a mentor to me, was transfixed by a painting I had bought a few years before. It was a self-portrait, over 7 feet tall and 5 feet wide. “I find it hypnotic,” Naipaul said, filing away spoonfuls of yellow dal. Observing the beauty of the hand clasped (as if in horror) over the mouth, the thumb livid against the dark hollows of the eyes, he added of the artist, “This is someone who has really seen, who has gone back again and again to see.”

Listen to this article, read by Neil Shah

I was at the beginning of my writing career, using my first advances to collect a few works of art. It was thrilling to have someone with as discerning an eye as Naipaul’s — “the brilliant noticer,” in the words of the literary critic James Wood — approve of “How Did You Sleep?” (2002), but it also made me sad. Its creator, Zack, who’d been a close friend at Amherst College in Massachusetts in the late 1990s, had recently given up painting, and “How Did You Sleep?” had become a symbol to me of the precarity of what it means to get started as an artist.

The Italian artist Artemisia Gentileschi was 17 in 1610 when she painted “Susanna and the Elders” (above). She went on to be the 17th century’s most accomplished female painter.

Zack, now 43, was of a mixed-race background from Topeka, Kan. After struggling with feelings of inferiority in our first year related to his public school education, he taught himself to paint from scratch. I would visit him and watch as he, dressed in paint-stained khakis and New Balance sneakers, toiled away at the self-portraits that were his trademark. He was a model to me of artistic labor and discipline, even if those early paintings were painfully amateurish.

Then, in our last semester, having been abroad a while, I entered Fayerweather Hall for the art department’s end-of-year show and saw “How Did You Sleep?” I was dumbstruck. I’m not sure I would’ve even been able to recognize it as Zack’s work — so prodigious had been his development as a painter — if it hadn’t been a self-portrait. Painted in the wake of 9/11, it showed the artist in a blue shirt with an expression of prophetic terror, as if watching a disaster foretold. I remember wanting to own it because it was proof, like none I had ever had before, that there really did exist such a thing in the world as raw talent. I persuaded Zack to sell it to me. The painting followed me from Amherst to my first job in New York, and on to London and Delhi.

By the time Naipaul saw it, Zack was working in strategic and financial communications in New York and no longer painting — “Every notary bears within him the debris of a poet,” Gustave Flaubert tells us. “My new job is intense,” Zack had written to say. “It’ll be good for a few years, but it’s not a career.” But neither was art; and Zack, who works as a researcher at Google now, was my first fearful example of how that mythical thing we call talent is real, and how talent alone isn’t enough.

IT WASN’T MY intention to start an essay about artistic beginnings with a story of artistic death. I love those romantic tales of creative daring and breakthrough: the English travel writer and novelist Bruce Chatwin quitting his job at The Sunday Times of London’s magazine with a simple telegram that read, “Have gone to Patagonia”; or, more dramatically, Paul Gauguin abandoning his wife, kids and job as a salesman to pursue his dream of being a painter. I love the improbability of the lives that could not have been: Salman Rushdie, the adman; W. Somerset Maugham, the doctor; the director Kathryn Bigelow, renovating dilapidated apartments in New York with the then-obscure composer Philip Glass. I remember Arundhati Roy teaching my mother and aunt aerobics in the basement of the Taj Palace Hotel in New Delhi before going on to win the Booker Prize for her debut novel, “The God of Small Things” (1997). It’s exhilarating to see destiny pick those who could but only have been artists out of the mundanity of their lives and light the way to a life of vocation.

I’m especially moved by those first moments of validation by which an artist comes out to himself, as it were. Consider Joseph Conrad in his mid-30s, working aboard the ship Torrens, with the manuscript of his first novel, “Almayer’s Folly” (1895). It had acquired, he writes in “A Personal Record” (1912), “a faded look and an ancient, yellowish complexion.” At sea, Conrad met his first reader, Jacques, a “young Cambridge man.” “Well, what do you say?” Conrad, brimming with anxiety, asked his new friend. “Is it worth finishing?” “ ‘Distinctly,’ he answered, in his sedate, veiled voice,” Conrad recalls years later, “and then coughed a little.” With that one word, Jacques, who was soon to be carried away by a fatal cold, had given a seafaring Polish exile a vital nod of encouragement. “The purpose instilled into me by his simple and final ‘Distinctly,’” writes Conrad, one of literature’s late bloomers (he was 38 when he published his first novel), “remained dormant, yet alive to await its opportunity.”

This quiet admission to oneself, as sacred as the vows of priesthood, of wanting to undertake the creative life is a necessary step; but like talent, it’s not enough. To be an artist is not a private act but a public one. No artist is born into a vacuum, or later speaks into one. They are as much a product of the society they emerge from as a response to it. Nor is artistic expression all spirit, all feeling. As Naipaul has frequently noted, writers require a complex edifice of interlocking parts — an infrastructure, if you will — to thrive. More broadly speaking, all successful artists rely on a network of critics, journals and newspapers, a discerning audience, bookshops and concert halls and galleries — which is generations in the making, presupposing certain values, certain economic and political realities. The Ukrainian-born novelist Clarice Lispector came of age in the Brazil of the 1920s. At 13, she “consciously claimed the desire to write,” as her biographer Benjamin Moser quotes her in “Why This World” (2009), but no sooner had she claimed her destiny than she felt herself in a void. The idea of vocation had been instilled in her, but that didn’t mean she knew how to proceed. “Writing was always difficult for me,” Lispector once wrote, “even though I had begun with what is known as vocation. Vocation is different from talent. One can have vocation and not talent; one can be called and not know how to go.”

Lispector had both vocation and talent, but what makes any artist’s first steps so tentative is that the path forward is narrower than we imagine. We come into the world believing we can be a great many things (and for a great many this is true) but, for those destined to be artists, the creative choices they make are almost as limited as the choice of being an artist itself. Maugham wanted to demystify the impulse that had him give up medicine to answer his calling as a novelist. “I am a writer as I might have been a doctor or a lawyer,” he writes in “The Summing Up,” his 1938 literary memoir, but, soon after that, despite himself, Maugham stumbles on that aspect of the artistic life that eludes banalization, for it’s truly mysterious — namely, the bond between the artist and his subject. “Though the whole world,” writes Maugham, “with everyone in it and all its sights and events, is your material, you yourself can only deal with what corresponds to some secret spring in your own nature.” 

“Vanitas Still Life” (circa 1665-70) by Jan van Kessel the Elder, who was from a long line of celebrated Flemish painters — Pieter Bruegel the Elder was his great-grandfather — and was perhaps destined to be an artist.

It’s this, the inexorability of the correspondence between an artist and the world, that gives those first steps their magical quality. It represents a rebirth so profound that it can often entail the killing off of a former self. One of my literary heroes, the writer Rebecca West — the author of that magisterial work of travel, inquiry and sympathy “Black Lamb and Grey Falcon: A Journey Through Yugoslavia” (1940) — was abandoned (as I was) by her father as a child. In late Victorian England, it left her with an exaggerated regard for what were seen as male qualities, as well as the need to compensate for their absence. “Men, she felt,” writes J.R. Hammond in “H.G. Wells and Rebecca West” (1991), his biography of their romantic and literary relationship, “should be strong and dependable; deep inside herself she sensed they were not to be trusted.” These gendered dynamics were surely at work as West, first making her way in the world at age 20, sloughed off the softer given name of Cissie Fairfield to adopt, as a pseudonym, the name of the spirited protagonist of Henrik Ibsen’s play “Rosmersholm” (1886).

No artist is without this set of special circumstances. They are the ground from which the need for expression arises. The path forward comes upon the artist-in-waiting with the power of certain mathematical proofs, elegant, inevitable, at once simple and inscrutable. “Falling in love for the first time and getting started as a writer,” my friend the writer Karan Mahajan, 39, the author of the novels “Family Planning” (2008) and “The Association of Small Bombs” (2016), replied by email when I asked him what it had been like for him, “both things happened at once for me. Suddenly, I had my material, and it encompassed all aspects of my life: my childhood in Delhi; immigration to the United States as a student; a future decided by plane journeys. I could love myself as the other loved me.”

For the Pakistani-born American painter Salman Toor, 40, the moment when, he says, “something vital clicked into place” meant that he suddenly found himself in “a direct relationship” between the things he was thinking and talking about every day and the paintings he was at work on. “In 2016,” he says, “I did a few paintings out of a need to be completely honest with myself. I wanted to illustrate the stories I was bursting to tell. A lot of these stories were about coming out and showing the excitement, anxieties and challenges of belonging to multiple cultures and living a cute little life in the East Village.”

The date surprised me. I had been aware of Toor’s work for almost a decade before this moment. To me, he was the painter of a certain kind of South Asian disquiet. No one captured the massive cultural and economic disparities of my life in Delhi (and his in Lahore) like Toor. Upon scenes of revelry and privilege — a party, a picnic, a rich westernized couple frolicking out of doors with a glass of wine and an iPhone — he would, in the form of servants in the background looking on, introduce an element of unease that hinted at the fragility of the societies we lived in. But quite unbeknown to me, Toor’s life in New York had opened up a new vein of material. To put it another way, he had begun again. And this is what we tend to forget: In the careers of certain artists, those who make big, varied bodies of work in which different strands of their experience are subsumed, the business of beginning, and beginning again, never ceases. Each new beginning brings with it all the uncertainty and blankness of the first. Experience might protect such an artist from forcing what’s clearly not working, but that core anxiety of not knowing if one will create again always remains. “Do not worry,” Hemingway would console himself, “you have always written before and you will write now.”

WHAT CONSTITUTES A beginning? In the common conception, it’s the first book, the first album, the first show at a major gallery. Yet an artist has myriad private ways in which they mark moments of true breakthrough. My childhood friend the sitarist and composer Anoushka Shankar, 42, regards her fourth album as her first. She had grown up under the influence of her mighty father, Ravi Shankar, the man credited with having introduced Indian classical music to the West. Every artist struggles with what the literary critic Harold Bloom has called the anxiety of influence but, in Anoushka’s case, it was even more pronounced. As she told me, Ravi Shankar was “my guru, my teacher, my father.” It was he who had composed her first three albums.

Ravi, before he went on to become the greatest sitarist of his generation, had been part of a dance troupe led by his brother Uday, which caused a sensation in the Europe and America of the 1930s. “Hindu thought, alive, authentic, in flesh and bone, in sound, gesture and spirit,” is how the French mystic René Daumal describes the Shankar troupe in his book “Rasa” (1982), but Ravi was conflicted. He eventually broke with the troupe and dedicated himself entirely to the sitar. “He had a real directional shift that I didn’t have,” Anoushka says. Her beginnings, though she was six decades younger than her father, were in a sense more traditional. They entailed the surprise of finding newness within tradition. “I think my journey,” she says, “was more progressively finding how the thing that was in front of me — the sitar, namely — the thing that had been given to me, could be my outlet, could be my voice.” 

A coda to this intergenerational tale of artistic beginnings is the story of Anoushka’s half sister, Norah Jones, who spent years of her childhood estranged from her father and grew up in Texas with her American mother. At a time when both Anoushka and I were discovering our half siblings, I remember going to see Norah play at little-known clubs on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. She was staking claim to what felt like a genetic destiny in music, though in a tradition entirely different from that of her father and sister. I don’t know if I’ve ever witnessed beginnings as meager and transformational as these for, not long after, Norah’s debut album, “Come Away With Me” (2002), was released; it went on to win five Grammys, sell 30 million copies and all but save the piracy-shattered music industry.

We live in a society that prizes the individual above all else but, in the art of premodern Europe and classical India, to begin as an artist didn’t necessarily entail breaking with tradition, nor was it given to every artist to be original. “Raphael was adept at this,” writes Rachel Cusk in her travel memoir “The Last Supper: A Summer in Italy” (2009), in which she describes the Italian Renaissance painter’s relationship to his first guru, Perugino. Raphael had become so good at imitating Perugino, Cusk tells us, that the copies of his master’s work were indistinguishable from the originals. The art of pastiche, of inhaling the influence of an older admired artist so completely that it enters your soul, exists today, too. The South African writer J.M. Coetzee’s early works owe a huge debt to Samuel Beckett, as Rushdie’s do to Gabriel García Márquez and Thomas Pynchon’s to James Joyce. The difference in the modern era is that influence is something we must shrug off in order to become our own people, yet not everyone can. Cusk deals very movingly with Raphael’s quest (and ultimate failure) to be his own man. In a field crowded with giants such as Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci, he “retreated behind the mask of humility, never to come out again.” But far from this being his downfall as an artist, it, too, was a kind of beginning. “In the end,” writes Cusk, “his borrowing of such greatness amounted to greatness itself. Not everyone who sees a Michelangelo can go off and paint a Michelangelo.”

THERE ARE SO many ways to begin. I said it wasn’t my intention to open with a story of artistic death, but I never explained why I did. The reason is that after six books, and 20 years after writing my first publishable sentences, stamina, endurance and the ability to stay the course have come to mean at least as much to me as that first raw efflorescence of talent. If Zack’s story acquired the force of parable for me, it was because it showed me the vanity of our preoccupation with talent. Many with fewer gifts who are yet more steadfast go on to have brilliant careers as artists. There’s an undeniable mystery in why some among us become artists, but there’s a greater mystery to me still in those who survive the vicissitudes of creative life, leaving behind bodies of work through which there runs an arc of growth as sublime as the vaulting of a Gothic cathedral.

A true artist always brings something new into the world. A new color, a new complexion, a new way of looking — a “new kind of beauty,” to use Marcel Proust’s phrase for the special distinctiveness he felt that Fyodor Dostoyevsky had brought to literature. We make the mistake of thinking of that newness as an externality, a scaffolding, a mere matter of style. But in fact, the originality we detect on the surface is an emanation from the birth of a new idea. It’s something far more radical, far more unnerving, than we are prepared to accept. Real artists bring about real rupture. We want to domesticate the discomfort that makes us feel but, deep down, we know the old rules no longer apply; and for one fleeting moment, our world, with us in it, is laid bare, transfigured by the imagination of someone who has dared to see it anew.

Read by Neil Shah. Narration produced by Emma Kehlbeck. Engineered by Quinton Kamara

Amy Tan , 72, writer, on “The Joy Luck Club” (1989)

Tan with her mother, Daisy Tan, in San Francisco in 1989. The author’s 11th book, “The Backyard Bird Chronicles,” a collection of illustrated essays, is out this month.

Robert Foothorap

I was a business writer [of marketing materials for companies and brochures for their employees] in the mid-1980s and, even though I was successful, I was unhappy. I wasn’t doing anything meaningful. Writing fiction allowed me, through subterfuge, to access emotional realms that I hadn’t explored before. When you write your first novel, you tend to include a lot of autobiographical elements. “The Joy Luck Club” [about the lives of four Chinese immigrant women and their American-born daughters] became deeply personal without my knowing it. I wasn’t consciously writing about racism or generational divides, even though that’s exactly what I was writing about. At that time [Tan was 37 when the book came out], I was just trying to find a story.

Courtesy of Putnam © 1989 Gretchen Schields. Photo by Joshua Scott

People got all kinds of things out of it. They said it saved their marriage or helped their relationships. I felt wonderful about that, but I couldn’t take credit. I didn’t intend to write a book that was going to improve people’s lives. That would’ve been a noble pursuit but, to do that, I’d have had to come up with a book that was very different — less spontaneous and honest. Without a doubt, what made me proudest was that my mother read it. She wasn’t proficient in English, but she understood it more than anybody else. — L.G.

Avril Lavigne , 39, musician, on “Let Go” (2002)

Lavigne at a recording studio in Cologne, Germany, in 2002. The musician’s new tour, “Avril Lavigne: The Greatest Hits,” begins next month.

Fryderyk Gabowicz/Picture Alliance/Getty Images

I remember going into the studio and people trying to tell me what to do or how my music should be, but I knew what I wanted to create. “Let Go” reflects how I felt as a young girl coming into the music industry. I was 15 when I got signed and 16 when I made that album. I had all this angst and rebellion, and I wanted to be expressive in that tone. But the adults around me kept delivering cheesy song ideas, and I wasn’t feeling the way people were playing the guitar. It was all too light and fluffy; that’s the stuff that made me run.

Courtesy of Sony Music Entertainment and Avril Lavigne

When I went to Los Angeles and connected with [the album’s co-writers Lauren Christy, Graham Edwards and Scott Spock of] the Matrix and Clif Magness, they were way cooler and more open-minded. Lauren and I spent a lot of time together. I sat with her in the backyard on a picnic blanket writing “Complicated”; we really connected. I was finally understood. The production was a little poppy for me. If I had to redo the album today, I’d tweak some things here and there production-wise and apply some of my experience from the past 20 years. Still, the important songs like “Sk8er Boi” and “Complicated” rocked enough — they had the live guitar and drums — and “I’m With You” wasn’t too polished. On songs like “Unwanted” and “Losing Grip,” we really went all the way — no holding back. — L.G.

Chloë Sevigny , 49, actress, on “Kids” (1995)

Sevigny at the Jersey Shore in 1995. The actress, who has appeared in over 50 features, recently shot “Bonjour Tristesse,” an upcoming adaptation of the 1954 Françoise Sagan novel.

From left: Lila Lee-Morrison; © Shining Excalibur Pictures/courtesy of Everett Collection

© Shining Excalibur Pictures/Courtesy of Everett Collection

I still find the marketing around “Kids” [about a day in the life of some wayward New York City teenagers] a little outrageous: “The most shocking film of the year!” “A must-see!” But it worked. A lot of us making it thought of it as a cautionary tale, but so many kids have come up to me and said, “That’s why I moved to New York. I wanted to live that life.” I was an amateur [at 19, when I made the film]. I knew the cinematographer, Eric Alan Edwards. He’d shot [Gus Van Sant’s 1991 movie] “My Own Private Idaho,” and I thought the acting in that was impeccable. I trusted that if something [in my performance] was false, he’d say something. I don’t know why, but I just gave myself over to [Edwards and the director, Larry Clark]; I trusted that they wanted to get to the truth of things.

The hardest scene for me to shoot was when [my character, 15-year-old Jennie] is at the clinic receiving information that she’d contracted H.I.V. I thought, “How does one even begin to try to act that?” I was very tentative. If I were to approach that scene now, I think I’d have the confidence to try more things — one take crying, others doing this and that. At the time, I was trying to be as real as I thought I could be on camera with a crew around me.

I’m surprised that “Kids” is still making such an impact, but I’m also not. Afterward, I thought, “OK, this set a bar. These are the kinds of people I want to work with.” — N.A.

King, the author of over 70 books, with his wife, Tabitha, and their children (from left) Joe, Owen and Naomi at their house in Orrington, Maine, in 1979. His next book, a short-story collection titled “You Like It Darker,” will be published in May.

James Leonard

Stephen King , 76, writer, on “Carrie” (1974)

One of my rules about writing is similar to a rule in [the card game] Hearts: If it’s laid, it’s played. I have a tendency not to go back and reread things, particularly with “Carrie” [a horror novel about a bullied high school student capable of telekinesis]. I’m afraid of how naïve it may be, how much it might be the work of a very young writer. It’s like when you’re a kid and you don’t know how to behave. You look back on certain things and say, “I shouldn’t have grabbed that,” or, “That wasn’t polite.” I don’t want to go back and see that my shirttail was untucked or my fly was unzipped.

Courtesy of Doubleday. Photo by Joshua Scott

I’d change a lot. It would have a little more depth when it came to the characters. Remember, it started as a short story. I had this idea about a girl with paranormal powers who was going to get revenge on the girls who made fun of her. It was too long for the markets that I had in mind, and I didn’t know very much about girls anyway, particularly girls’ gym classes and locker rooms, so I threw the story away. My wife fished it out of the trash, uncrumpled the pages, looked at it and said, “This is pretty good. I’ll help you.” It’s a very short book, way under 300 pages. Also, there are pejoratives that were common then that I wouldn’t use now, even though they’re realistic and come out of the mouths of characters we don’t like. On the whole, I must’ve done a fairly good job because the book was published [when I was 26] and [in 1976] they made a movie out of it.

One of the things I think about a lot was that my mother got to read it. She had cancer at that point and died before any of my other books were published. Because of “Carrie,” I had a chance to take care of her and get her in a hospice. By then we had the money, otherwise we would’ve been out of luck. — L.G.

Holleran in Florida in the 1980s. Three of the author’s five novels, including “Dancer From the Dance,” were republished in paperback this past December.

From left: Lee Calvin Yeomans, courtesy of Andrew Holleran; Ian Dickson/Shutterstock

Ian Dickson/Shutterstock

Andrew Holleran , 79, writer, on “Dancer From the Dance” (1978)

“Dancer” has had a life of its own, which I could’ve never predicted. I wrote the book at my parents’ house in Florida one winter [when I was 33]. It was going to be the last book I ever wrote, because I’d been writing for 10 years after graduating from an M.F.A. program and had only had one story published in a magazine. I said to myself, “You have to stop now and go to law school.” Luckily, the book came out of me very quickly and, in retrospect, became a description of six years I’d spent in New York. It was very easy because I’d obviously touched something that mattered to me.

I’ve never reread “Dancer” [about gay life in 1970s New York] so, while I’m sure that if I did, I’d revise, revise, revise, I can’t imagine changing any of it. The campy style of the letters that frame the book is probably outdated, which is a shame since I love camp.

I’ve learned since then that writing is basically unconscious, and you don’t get any smarter about it. Imagine a brain surgeon who didn’t learn from each operation? We’d be horrified. But when you sit down to write, you’re always wondering how to do it. — L.G.

Harry and Stein, of the rock band Blondie, in the U.K. in 1977. Stein’s memoir, “Under a Rock,” will be published in June.

From left: Jeff Gilbert/Alamy Stock Photo; CBW/Alamy Stock Photo

CBW/Alamy Stock Photo

Debbie Harry , 78, and Chris Stein , 74, musicians, on “Blondie” (1976)

Debbie Harry: We recorded “Blondie” [when Harry was 30 and Stein was 25] in a studio used by jazz musicians, and there wasn’t a lot of fancy recording technique. It was a different era. I think the fact that the album wasn’t overproduced gives it a kind of timelessness. We still perform some of those songs. Every once in a while, we drag up “X Offender” and “Rip Her to Shreds.”

Our music wasn’t just about one style or sound; we had songs that expressed different feelings and attitudes in music. A lot of things, like “Man Overboard” [a danceable heartbreak track], we really didn’t pull off the way I think Chris wanted to, but it’s there.

Chris Stein: That song would’ve worked fantastic with a dembow beat [but I wasn’t introduced to reggaeton until years later]. If I were to change anything about the album, it’d have more to do with the production than what we were slapping on the tape. Generally, we’d just go in and do a bunch of takes, pick the best one, throw some stuff on it and that was pretty much it. There was hardly any overdubbing. We learned so much from the producer Mike Chapman a couple of years later — the difference between “Blondie” and our later albums was like night and day.

Still, I like “Blondie.” It represents how we felt at the time and what was happening to us. When I look back on it, I think of the whole downtown milieu and a period in New York that I don’t know if anyone thought we’d be talking about 50 years later. — L.G.

Smith at her mother’s home in northwest London in 2000. The author’s sixth novel, “The Fraud,” was published last year.

Courtesy of William Morrow. Photo by Joshua Scott

Zadie Smith , 48, writer, on “White Teeth” (2000)

I love the joy in my novel “White Teeth” [a multigenerational story of race and identity among the residents of London’s Willesden neighborhood], even though I haven’t picked it up in 25 years. Back then [Smith was 24 when the book came out], I was trying to write about people; I was interested in the interpersonal above all else. The people in the neighborhood I came from were always described in a manner of pathology, and I was trying to explain that we weren’t pathological. I was always writing around this kind of elephant in the room, which is what you know people have already assumed about your characters. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve had to do less of that because I’ve got company. There are so many writers from so many countries, particularly in West Africa, [that] I wanted to see as a child.

Courtesy of Penguin Random House

I’ve become more interested in power lately. I’m very aware of being like the Ancient Mariner, that the structures I’m talking about that made life not always pathological have vanished. The conditions of the characters in “White Teeth” — their decent health care, their reasonable housing, their free university education — are gone. I’m still on the side of joy, but the question is, what kind of structures allow people to experience it. As I’ve gotten older, I write about them not out of nostalgia but out of political urgency. — L.G.

Left: a mock-up of Lin’s 493-foot Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Right: Lin with her parents, Julia Chang Lin and Henry Huan Lin, at her Yale graduation in 1981. The designer’s 44th sculpture, for the Obama Presidential Center in Chicago, is scheduled to be completed next year.

Courtesy of Maya Lin (2)

Lin with her parents, Julia Chang Lin and Henry Huan Lin, at her Yale graduation in 1981. The designer’s 44th sculpture, for the Obama Presidential Center in Chicago, is scheduled to be completed next year.

Courtesy of Maya Lin

Maya Lin , 64, sculptor, on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial (1982) in Washington, D.C.

It was a battle to keep the Vietnam Veterans Memorial simple and spare. I was moved by World War I memorials built by the French and British. They offered a much more realistic and sobering look at the high price of war, which is human life. When I went to the site [of what would become the monument] on Thanksgiving break [in 1980, when I was 20 and in my junior year at Yale], I felt a need to cut the earth and open it up. The structure isn’t so much an object inserted into the earth; it’s the earth itself being polished like a geode. I considered everything, even the walkway, which was put in to intentionally separate the wall from the ground. If you put the granite sidewalk all the way up against the wall, it would no longer be a polished geode — it’d be a curb. I put grass there. But no one could have predicted how popular it would be, so people trampled the grass and it died.

A year or two after the memorial was built, unbeknown to me, the architects of record worked with [the National] Park Service to put in [Belgian blocks on either side of the granite path]. That needs to be rethought because it’s an ugly detail. They’re out of scale. It drives me crazy every time I see it. — L.G.

Chapman with the producer David Kershenbaum at a Los Angeles recording studio in 1987. The musician’s debut album will be reissued on vinyl this summer to mark its 35th anniversary.

From left: Lester Cohen/Getty Images; courtesy of Elektra Records

Courtesy of Elektra Records

Tracy Chapman , 60, musician, on “Tracy Chapman” (1988)

I had this notion when I first started writing songs that to respect the muse — or whatever source of inspiration brought me to put pen to paper — I shouldn’t do any editing. The first thing that came to me was meant to be. “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution,” which I wrote when I was 16, emerged from that mind-set. It was one of those songs that came out in one sitting. It’s a very forceful declaration.

A song like “Fast Car,” which I wrote when I was maybe 22, wasn’t a very long process, but it reflected a different strategy about songwriting. It was more about revelation, sharing a story about a person and the changes happening in their life. I made edits to “Fast Car.” I definitely changed words and lines. I’m too embarrassed to tell you exactly what, but it was the verse that starts “See, my old man’s got a problem.” Let’s just say that there was something else there.

In some ways, writing a song is about asking and answering questions: “Who is this character, why are they doing this and where is the story going?” When I was young, I thought all these questions could be answered with the first iteration of the song. I’m not as enamored with this idea that the very first thing that comes to mind is what I have to remain committed to. — L.G.

Jewel , 49, musician, on “Pieces of You” (1995)

Jewel at the musician Neil Young’s private studio in Northern California in 1994. An immersive exhibit of the singer-songwriter’s work will open at the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Ark., in May.

Courtesy of the Jewel Kilcher Archive and Bershaw Archival Management

What’s important to me about “Pieces of You” is that I made an honest album. I liked [the writers] Charles Bukowski and Anaïs Nin because they told the truth about themselves, and it wasn’t always pretty. With my work, my goal was to be just as honest. “Pieces of You” wasn’t more developed than I was — I didn’t know how to play with a band, and I didn’t choose a producer who’d make me sound slicker or lend their experience to make me sound more polished. I wanted it to be a snapshot of who I was [between 16 and 19]: inexperienced, emotionally charged and trying to figure life out.

Courtesy of Craft Recordings and Jewel

Writing was medicine for me. I had extreme anxiety, panic attacks and agoraphobia. I wrote songs to calm myself down and to help me fall asleep at night. I never wrote them thinking I’d have a career. There wasn’t really a craft — it was more about what comforted me, what suited me, what interested me to think and write about. I was an avid reader, and a lot of my writing took after Flannery O’Connor, [John] Steinbeck and [Anton] Chekhov, like short stories put to music.

I remember writing at that age that I didn’t want my music to be my best work of art — I wanted my life to be my best work of art. I take music seriously, but I take that promise to myself more seriously. — L.G.

These interviews have been edited and condensed.

JANE FONDA AND LILY TOMLIN, ACTRESSES Have co-starred in three films and a TV show, from “9 to 5” (1980) to “80 for Brady” (2023).

Video by Kurt Collins

JANE FONDA: It was 1978, and I heard that Lily Tomlin was performing in a [one-woman] show called “Appearing Nitely” in Los Angeles. I don’t know how many characters she played, but she embodied them all so fully. I was smitten. I went backstage to meet her. At the time, I was in the process of developing “9 to 5” [the 1980 comedy about a trio of female office workers who overthrow the company’s sexist boss] and, as I was driving home, I thought, “I don’t want to be in a movie about secretaries unless Lily Tomlin is in it.”

LILY TOMLIN: She swept in backstage with a big cape on. We couldn’t believe it — this was Jane Fonda! For a couple of years, I’d worn a hairdo from “Klute” [the 1971 thriller for which Fonda won an Oscar], but I didn’t have it when she showed up that day. I was like, “Why did I drop my ‘Klute’ hairdo at this propitious time?”

J.F.: It took a good year to convince Lily and Dolly [Parton, the film’s other lead] to do the movie. It’s not that they weren’t interested, but it was very difficult. Why was it so difficult, Lily?

L.T.: I think I was that way about everything.

From left: Fonda, 86, and Tomlin, 84, photographed at Hubble Studio in Boyle Heights, Los Angeles, on Jan. 29, 2024.

Kanya Iwana

J.F.: You are that way about everything: “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not right for the part.” You do that every time. But it was your idea to get Colin Higgins to direct and to cast Dabney Coleman [as the boss]. You should’ve been the one producing it! My only decision was to make the movie, because one of my close friends, [the former director of the U.S. Department of Labor Women’s Bureau] Karen Nussbaum, would tell me stories about organizing women office workers and what they had to go through.

L.T.: I thought I had some lines that were hitting you over the head with the joke. Yet when the movie was released, those lines got the biggest response from the audience.

J.F.: Both of us got a kick out of Dolly’s innocence. When she showed up the first day, she’d memorized the entire script. And then the day that Dolly sang —

L.T.: Oh, that was a glorious moment.

J.F.: She used her long nails like a washboard and started to sing, “Working 9 to 5. …” Lily and I looked at each other and we knew: “This is it — we’ve got an anthem.” But I think my favorite shooting experiences were when we had the dead body in the back of the car. We went to the Apple Pan [a diner in Los Angeles] because Dolly wanted to get a cheeseburger, remember?

L.T.: Everybody would tell stories about their life, and we just fell in love with each other.

J.F.: Our worlds are so different. Our backgrounds are so different. Our senses of comedy — I mean, I don’t really have one.

L.T.: Jane was so earnest. She felt so passionate about every activist problem that she was trying to solve. It was inspiring and endearing.

J.F.: Since then, we’ve done seven seasons of [the Netflix TV series] “Grace and Frankie” [which ran from 2015 to 2022]. Ten days after we wrapped, we started a movie that we both like a lot called “Moving On.” When that came out [in 2023], I was interested in the reviews — almost every one of them talked about our chemistry. And it was like, “Well, maybe we should always work together.” — E.R.A.

Fonda: Hair: Jonathan Hanousek at Exclusive Artists Management. Makeup: David Deleon at Allyson Spiegelman Management. Tomlin: Hair: Darrell Redleaf Fielder at Aim Artists Agency. Makeup: Shelley Rucker at Aim Artists Agency. On-set producer: Joy Thomas. Photo assistant: Jeremy Eric Sinclair. Digital tech: Aron Norman

MARC JACOBS, FASHION DESIGNER, AND CINDY SHERMAN, ARTIST Have collaborated on multiple projects for the Marc Jacobs brand, from a 2005 photo book to the spring 2024 campaign.

From left: Jacobs, 61, and Sherman, 70, photographed at Go Studios in Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan, on March 5, 2024.

MARC JACOBS: In 2004, I reached out to ask if you’d [be in a Marc Jacobs campaign]. I knew your work very well, and I knew that you’d done an ad in 1984 for [the French fashion brand] Dorothée Bis. That made me think, “Maybe she’d do this with us.” I was a little intimidated about asking.

CINDY SHERMAN: I was so intimidated that you’d asked. I remember thinking, “I’m going to bring a bunch of wigs and makeup.” It was just me for a few shots, but then [the German photographer] Juergen [Teller] got playful and started putting himself in the pictures. He gradually shaved parts of his face and head. He’d started the shoot with a full head of hair and beard; by the end, he was completely bald with no facial hair at all.

M.J.: I wasn’t there, but I got calls from Juergen saying, “It’s [expletive] excellent, it’s [expletive] excellent.” He says that when he’s really excited. You created some hilarious characters. There was one where you were both older, sitting on a bench.

C.S.: Rifling through a big bag.

M.J.: That image became a billboard on Melrose [Avenue in Los Angeles]. It was great because fashion campaigns like that didn’t exist back then. Nobody would’ve ever said, “ That’s our ad,” because it wasn’t exactly selling clothes or bags. But it was exciting.

C.S.: What’s funny is that you’d asked me, a year or two ago during Covid, to do something — I don’t even remember what it was. I’d gained a bit of weight, so I was self-conscious and kept turning you down. [For the 2024 campaign I ended up doing] some of the outfits were a little tight. The people assisting me said, “We can fix that.” And I said, “No, no, it’s [perfect for] the character.” I guess I could’ve thought of someone who was trying to hide, but I decided, “No, she seems like she could just let it all hang out in her leather pants.” How do you feel when you see different types of women wearing your pieces or putting them together in unusual ways?

M.J.: It’s the ultimate validation. Of all the stuff that exists out there, they’re spending their money on something I’ve made. How about you with collectors?

C.S.: Sometimes it’s a little weird. I remember an early series of horizontal pictures that I called “The Centerfolds” (1981) — I thought they were kind of disturbing, but some collector said, “I have that one hanging over my bed because it’s so sexy.” And I’m thinking, “Ugh, I don’t want to know that.” But you can’t control what happens to a piece.

M.J.: Or what other people see in it. Feedback is part of the equation. It’s like, “I’m not just doing this for me. I need you.” — E.R.A.

Production: Prodn. Hair: Tsuki at Streeters. Makeup assistant: Nanase. Photo assistants: John Temones, Tony Jarum, Logan Khidekel

CARLOS NAZARIO, STYLIST, AND WILLY CHAVARRIA, FASHION DESIGNER Have worked together on three collections since 2022.

From left: Nazario, 36, and Chavarria, 56, photographed at Chavarria’s studio in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, on March 18, 2024.

Emiliano Granado

WILLY CHAVARRIA: Carlos and I would see each other at Calvin Klein [Nazario has styled for the brand; Chavarria was its senior vice president of design from 2021 until 2023], but our first formal meeting was lunch at the Odeon. Like Truman Capote’s swans, we had salads and talked about water and weight loss.

CARLOS NAZARIO: It wasn’t like we were meeting to discuss a project. That sort of evolved organically.

W.C.: I was terrified to ask you to work with me. I remember texting to [see] if you’d style my [fall 2023] show. Do you know what you said? “I thought you’d never ask.”

C.N.: Willy’s work spoke to me in such a profound way. There was such a similarity — if not in aesthetic, definitely in intention. A lot of brands lack depth and a soul. I’m Afro-Latino. I grew up in New York with a certain relationship to how one presents themselves to the world, what glamour means and looks like and how it’s communicated. I was always intrigued by how Willy’s designs encompassed all those things.

W.C.: [The way we collaborate] is so natural and unpretentious. We end up telling a story that we feel good about.

C.N.: Every relationship between a stylist and designer is unique. Some designers require a lot more — from research to manufacturing and the show. Others want you to come in right at the end and say, “Let’s put that on this model.” With Willy, our conversations prior to my first day were conceptual. We talked about what he wanted it to feel like, rather than what he wanted it to look like.

W.C.: For that first show together, we wanted the cast — all people of color, many of them queer and trans — to feel elevated and empowered. Marlon [Taylor-Wiles, the show’s movement director] was going to have the models look down at the guests.

C.N.: At the rehearsal, we were like, “Maybe it’s a bit creepy.” I wasn’t uncomfortable [giving my opinion] because Willy’s such an easy person to talk to. But anytime you’re coming into a space where everyone has clearly defined roles, you feel like a stepparent. You’re a bit like, “Do I discipline the daughter? Do I tell her the skirt’s too short?” I didn’t want to overstep, but I also wanted to make my presence worth it. As we got more comfortable [with each other], we got more comfortable trying things.

W.C.: The next season, we took more risks. We wanted it to feel refined and elegant, but we also wanted to inject a youthfulness.

C.N.: At a lot of [brands], it’s like, “This season, everything’s a miniskirt. If your thighs aren’t great, see you in the fall!” Willy’s casting allows for a very broad vision in terms of what the styling can do: You’ll have someone like me, who’s 5-foot-4 [Nazario walked in the fall 2024 show], and then you’ll have someone who’s 6-foot-4.

W.C.: You’ll have a woman in her late 50s and a 17-year-old boy.

C.N.: Everyone from twinks to daddies. If you tried to dress everyone the same, it’d be a disaster.

W.C.: I can suggest something that you don’t like, and you’ll say, “Let’s go with it. Let’s see.” And I’ll do the same. I’ve worked with stylists who will deliberate over the positioning of a hat for hours. The stress level is so intense, it kills the moment. Having the freedom [to experiment reflects] a levity we want the brand to have. You know, we address serious subjects, like human rights, inclusion …

C.N.: Self-identity. But if we’re stressed, everyone’s stressed. We try to keep it light, but we also understand the weight of the responsibility. It’s rare that you work with people who understand what you’re feeling and what you want to convey. And I think our trust lies in that. — N.H.

Photo assistants: Eamon Colbert, Jordan Zuppa

MINK STOLE, ACTRESS, AND JOHN WATERS, FILMMAKER Have worked together on almost every one of his movies since “Roman Candles” (1967), including “Pink Flamingos” (1972), “Hairspray” (1988) and “A Dirty Shame” (2004).

Video by Melody Melamed

MINK STOLE: John, I’ve just been told your conference line is charging me a penny a minute.

JOHN WATERS: Oh, c’mon. I’ve been using it for 20 years. It’s never said that.

M.S.: It’s fine. I can handle it.

T: How did you two first meet?

J.W.: Mink also grew up in Baltimore, although I was friends with her older sister Mary, who now goes by Sique. My memory’s that we met in Provincetown, Mass., right before doing my second movie [the 1967 short] “Roman Candles” [in which Stole plays a party guest who gets spanked]. She was looking to go bad and found the right crowd. Prescott Townsend, one of the first gay radicals, allowed us to live in a tree fort he’d made.

M.S.: That was the summer I got introduced to homosexuality.

J.W.: Did we take acid that summer?

M.S.: I kind of think we did, yeah.

J.W.: And then we took it again 50 years later. My mother always used to say, “Don’t tell young people to take drugs.” But I’m not — I’m telling old people to. Anyway, we shot “Roman Candles” partly at my parents’ house and, oddly enough, a decade later, you filmed a big scene at that same house, in my parents’ bedroom, when you played [the delusional housewife] Peggy Gravel in “Desperate Living” [1977].

From left: Stole, 76, and Waters, 77, photographed, respectively, at Edge Studios in Mid-Wilshire, Los Angeles, on Feb. 4, 2024, and at Waters’s home in Tuscany-Canterbury, Baltimore, on March 7, 2024.

Melody Melamed

M.S.: We threw a baseball through a window and kind of trashed the place. Your mom was a sport.

J.W.: So was yours. Mink and I were arrested [along with three other members of the crew] for conspiracy to commit indecent exposure while making [the 1969 film] “Mondo Trasho.” It was in the paper. They printed your poor mother’s address.

M.S.: We were acquitted.

J.W.: We’d been filming a scene at Johns Hopkins University with [the actor and drag performer] Divine, in full makeup and a gold lamé top with matching toreador pants, in a 1959 red Cadillac convertible with the top down in November. I never asked permission [to shoot]. The police came and we all ran. The fact that we got caught and Divine escaped didn’t say a lot for the Baltimore police. Mink played an escaped mental patient; she did a nude tap dance.

M.S.: I’d get upset when the press would call us unprofessional because, although it was true that not one of us had ever taken an acting lesson, we were incredibly professional. And none of it was ad-libbed. John wouldn’t have tolerated that. He knew every comma, every “and,” every “but.”

J.W.: What’s that French term for people who go crazy when they’re together?

M.S.: “Folie à something”?

J.W.: “Folie à famille.” Everybody chipped in, and we just went for it.

T: Mink, were there any scenes you refused to shoot?

M.S.: Before we started filming “Pink Flamingos” [1972, in which Stole plays the proprietor of a black-market baby ring], John very casually said, “Will you set your hair on fire?” And I said, “Yes, that’ll look great on film.” But then as the moment approached, I panicked.

J.W.: I was on pot when I thought of that.

M.S.: It would’ve been great, except that I’d be bald today. I think that’s the only thing I ever refused to do.

T: What’ve you learned from each other?

M.S.: In the early films, we all acted largely. We spoke in italics. In the later ones, when I’d start to behave that way, John would say, “Take it down.” I was shocked [the first time he said it].

J.W.: When we made those early movies, I was influenced by the theater of the ridiculous — by cruelty, shouting and craziness. It wasn’t them overacting, it was me telling them to overact.

M.S.: I have enormous respect for John, and John for me. Aside from the fact that I love him dearly, I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t met him.

J.W.: And we’ve never had the same boyfriend.

M.S.: Or wanted the same boyfriend.

J.W.: Mink and I have been through a lot together. We’ve fought, we’ve made up. I don’t trust people who don’t have old friends. For me, they outlast family. Mink and I are even going to be buried together in the same graveyard. We call it Disgraceland. — N.H.

Waters: Makeup: Cheryl Pickles Kinion. Photo assistants: Daniel Garton, Ashley Poole

COBY KENNEDY AND HANK WILLIS THOMAS, ARTISTS Have spent three decades collaborating on public art installations and community-focused projects, including 2023’s “Reach,” a more than 2,700-pound fiberglass-and-resin sculpture at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport of two hands nearly touching.

From left: Kennedy, 47, and Thomas, 48, photographed at Thomas’s studio in East Williamsburg, Brooklyn, on Feb. 28, 2024.

D’Angelo Lovell Williams

COBY KENNEDY: We met on a collaboration, actually. It was the summer of 1992.

HANK WILLIS THOMAS: I’d been recruited to work with Coby to renovate the darkroom at Howard University [in Washington, D.C.], where his father [Winston Kennedy] was the chair of the art program. We were in high school. Building a darkroom when you don’t really know how — that’s kind of the way we’ve always worked. Back then, Coby was a street writer.

C.K.: A graffiti writer, in the parlance of our times. My graffiti and school crews melded into this conglomerate [called] the Earthbound Homies.

H.W.T.: This was [during the] peak ’90s hip-hop days. The group was [made up of] all these young, primarily Black artists. I wasn’t one of them, I was a documenter.

C.K.: Hank was in museum studies, while the rest of us were in visual arts. He was very quiet and observant. It felt like he was always regarding you.

H.W.T.: The core of our relationship has been fostering opportunities for others to interlace their practices. The Wide Awakes [their most recent art collective, named after a progressive group that supported Abraham Lincoln during the 1860 presidential election] took off in my old studio in December 2019.

C.K.: We were trying to plug into society and see how we could influence it. When 2020 happened — the pandemic, the lockdown, the insurrection — we really hit the accelerator with it.

H.W.T.: I’d call the Wide Awakes our first public collaboration. But then again, 2016 is when “Reach” [their sculpture at Chicago’s O’Hare airport] first started. We’re excited to have it be one of the largest public acknowledgments of something we’ve been doing for 30 years.

C.K.: In our collaborations, we kind of fill in each other’s gaps.

H.W.T.: As a conceptual artist, I have great ideas — a lot of them. Coby, who has a history as an industrial designer and animator, is the bridge between the proposal and how it happens. With virtually every one of my public sculptures, he’s done all the initial concepting. He’s always had this ability to see what others are thinking. We also have different tastes.

C.K.: And they’re sometimes at odds with each other, which is one of the best parts [of our working relationship], because I’d hate for both of us to be middle ground.

H.W.T.: Coby has a very clear, singular vision, while I create art through consensus. I want to make a statement [so I’m often asking others], “What do you think about it?” I envy Coby’s talent. But I also think not having his talent gives me a reliance on other people, which is helpful in the context of making public art.

C.K.: I know that he’ll tell me the truth about anything I come up with, and he knows that if I have to talk trash about one of his ideas, I’ll talk trash about it.

H.W.T.: As much as I’d like Coby to think like me, then he wouldn’t be him and I wouldn’t be me. We allow each other to be who we are. — N.A.

INGAR DRAGSET AND MICHAEL ELMGREEN, ARTISTS Have worked as the duo Elmgreen & Dragset on more than 90 solo shows and site-specific installations, including a 2005 replica of a Prada store near Marfa, Texas, since 1995.

From left: Dragset, 54, and Elmgreen, 62, photographed at their studio in Neukölln, Berlin, on Feb. 7, 2024.

Julia Sellmann

INGAR DRAGSET: We met at After Dark, the only gay club at the time in Copenhagen, in 1994. I was 24 and Michael was 32. I thought he looked amazing — he had this Dennis Rodman-style hair that was bleached with baroque black patterns on it. We both had big Dr. Martens boots and were much grungier than the rest of the crowd.

MICHAEL ELMGREEN: The club was a classic disco — a lot of blown-out hair and Gloria Gaynor. It wasn’t difficult to spot each other.

I.D.: We got more than a little tipsy. When we both started to walk home, we realized that we lived not only in the same neighborhood but in the same building. That was the beginning of our 10-year romantic relationship. The artistic collaboration started eight months later, a little bit by accident. I was doing theater at the time.

M.E.: I was writing poetry and experimenting with texts that would morph in front of people’s eyes on IBM computers. To my surprise, I was considered a visual artist.

I.D.: Michael got invited to do an exhibition in Stockholm. He had the idea of creating abstract pets that people could cuddle, but he didn’t know how to make them. And I said, “Well, I’m good at knitting.” So that’s how the collaboration started.

M.E.: The Swedes are, as we know, a bit stiff; they were terrified about interacting with the artwork. So we were sitting in [opposite] corners with these knitted pets, cuddling them, and people thought it was a performance.

I.D.: That accidental performance inspired us to do more. The next one was a piece where I was furiously knitting at one end of a very long white cloth while Michael was unraveling everything from the other end. That should tell you a bit about our partnership.

M.E.: When we were coupled, we were almost the same size in clothes, so we even shared socks, we shared bank accounts, all our friends.

I.D.: We had one email account, one cellphone.

M.E.: Starting a new chapter after we split up was like meeting again, workwise. We had separate lives for some hours of the day. Suddenly, you could bring in exciting things that the other hadn’t experienced.

I.D.: It was a very difficult time. We put most things on hold, but we had one exhibition that would’ve been hard to cancel: a solo show at Tate Modern [in London]. In a big room with a window overlooking the Thames, we added another windowpane and, in between the panes, we had an animatronic but very realistic-looking sparrow that seemed to be gasping for life and flapping its wings, and nobody could help it.

M.E.: I think the beauty of it all was that we dared to stop being boyfriends because we knew we wouldn’t lose each other. Today, it’d be impossible to say who came up with what idea. It’s not two half authorships. It’s like this imaginary third persona in between us that we feed — an invisible genius kid who’s much, much younger, brighter and more charming than either of us. He’s creating the artworks. — J.H.

BOBBI SALVÖR MENUEZ, ACTOR, AND MICHAEL BAILEY-GATES, ARTIST Have collaborated on dozens of performances and photography projects throughout their decade-long friendship.

From left: Menuez, 30, and Bailey-Gates, 30, photographed at Smashbox Studios in Culver City, Calif., on Feb. 1, 2024.

BOBBI SALVÖR MENUEZ: I curated a 2014 show at [the Brooklyn exhibition space] Muddguts that was part of a series in which I invited people who didn’t always make performance work to create something in a performance context. We’d been in a group show together before and had mutual friends, and I was excited about the work I was seeing Michael make.

MICHAEL BAILEY-GATES: It was me, Bobbi and maybe two or three other people. I had this party trick of being able to talk really fast, like an auctioneer. When I said certain phrases, one of them would stand up, and another would scream at the top of their lungs or throw an object at someone.

B.S.M.: It felt like the beginning of us making things together on the fly. We both had this down-to-get-into-it energy that was well matched.

M.B.G.: We shared an urgency to make work come to life. Sometimes it’s as simple as being a body for another person. I’ve been the lead in Bobbi’s performances, and I’ve been in the background, lying on a floor covered in red paint. Performance art in New York at the time was about executing an idea without a lot of money. These days, I don’t go into a shoot thinking we’re performing, but it’s very much that: The camera is the audience looking back at us.

B.S.M.: Michael has this ability to see the kaleidoscopic possibility of someone’s self- expression. Around 2018, I was out as nonbinary to my close friends and finding my new name. I took a break from auditions and started working part-time as a substitute teacher. When a film I’d shot the year before got into [the 2019] Sundance [Film Festival], it was an invitation to step back into the spotlight. I’d shaved my head and was nervous about that formal, public coming- out moment. It just felt so cringe. I went to Los Angeles before going to Sundance and made some pictures with Michael that were only for us. Those were the first images of Bobbi that entered the world.

M.B.G.: I never want to make a picture of somebody that’s not reflective of them. I’ve chosen in my practice to always focus on a small group of friends, and those collaborations are the grounding force of my work. Without them, what would my pictures be? They’d be something less precious. — C.R.

Makeup: Zenia Jaeger at Streeters using Submission Beauty. Hair assistant: Drew Martin. Production: Resin Projects. Photo assistants: Michael Preman, Jack Buster

Humberto Leon, restaurateur and creative director

Leon, 48, photographed at his restaurant Chifa in Los Angeles on Dec. 14, 2023.

Ryan James Caruthers

Then: The co-founder, with Carol Lim, of Opening Ceremony, the influential New York clothing store established in 2002; the co-creative director of the French fashion house Kenzo between 2011 and 2019.

Now: Co-runs three restaurants in Los Angeles — Chifa, Monarch and Arroz & Fun.

In 1975, the year I was born, my mom opened a restaurant in Lima — my mom’s from Hong Kong, my dad from Peru — and so I’ve always thought of a meal as a way to learn and to meet new people. In 2020, I’d recently quit Kenzo and sold Opening Ceremony. My sisters and brother-in-law were in the midst of changes of their own, and we’d always wanted to tell my mom’s story. So we decided to open a restaurant together in Eagle Rock, the Los Angeles neighborhood where my family first lived when we immigrated to the United States in the late ’70s. We named it Chifa, after my mom’s place in Lima, and based the menu on a similar mix of classic Peruvian dishes like lomo saltado (beef stir fry) and anticucho (meat skewers) and Chinese home cooking — though my brother-in-law, the chef John Liu, has added some of his Taiwanese family’s culinary staples, too.

Starting anything new is scary, and I didn’t have the confidence to do so until the pandemic, which gave me time to try new ideas. (I also wrote a screenplay and a script for a TV show.) I tried to channel the intuition [I’d brought to Opening Ceremony] into other fields. I realized that what I’d done with the store was ultimately about the fond memories people had of the place rather than any specific product. Food does something similar: It creates conversations and memories.

I had the same feeling when I opened the store: “Will anyone show up?” We’d built Opening Ceremony from the ground up — no ads, only word of mouth — and that experience lent itself to launching Chifa, as well as Monarch and Arroz & Fun [our second and third restaurants, which opened last year in the Arcadia and Lincoln Heights neighborhoods, respectively]. In many ways, I’m bringing the same sensibility to the restaurants that I brought to Opening Ceremony: They’re places where you can discover new things. We aren’t aiming for formality or perfection. If anything, part of the experience is dropping your fork and noticing the cool terrazzo floor or really looking at the flatware, which we made with the designer Izabel Lam. As a person who shops and eats a lot, I want to be excited, to feel that nervousness of trying something new. — M.S.

Nick Cave, musician, writer and artist

Cave, 66, photographed at his studio near his home in Brighton, England, on Jan. 29, 2024.

Then: Rose to prominence with his post-punk band the Bad Seeds, formed in Melbourne, Australia, in 1983; became one of rock’s most celebrated lyricists and performers.

Now: Makes ceramics at a studio close to his home on the south coast of England, and his first major solo show, “ The Devil — A Life ,” is on view now through May 11 at Xavier Hufkens gallery in Brussels. Will release a new record with the Bad Seeds later this year.

I learned early on that the grand designs you have in life don’t always pan out. Starting in secondary school, I wanted to be a painter. I went to art school [for university in 1976] and, to my horror, failed my second year. At the same time, my first band [the Boys Next Door, which eventually became the Birthday Party] was starting to do well in the underground scene in Melbourne. I was much more interested in painting — I did figurative work that often referenced myself — but I’d failed, so I carried on with the band.

I started making ceramics during the pandemic. I collect Victorian Staffordshire-style figurines, the sort of thing an English grandmother might have on her mantelpiece, and one day I thought, “I could make these.” I found I was really swept up by clay. I struggle hugely with writing songs — not the music, but the lyrics. They never feel good enough. Mostly it’s all doubt and despair. But I don’t think I’ve felt more pleasure than I have when pulling a piece out of the kiln and looking at something I’ve made with my hands.

At some point, I had an idea to make a devil, mostly because I wanted to paint a figure in a fiery red glaze. I made one devil and then others, and eventually they began to tell a story. In the beginning, there’s a sort of lightheartedness about this wicked little guy: In his youth, he’s embedded in the world and in love with it. But then he kills his child, and [the figures] get dark and desperate. Later, he becomes remorseful and dies a terrible death. And in the end he’s forgiven by his child.

The death of a child is obviously very important to me because two of my own children have died. [Cave’s son Arthur died in 2015 at age 15. His oldest son, Jethro, died in 2022 at age 31.] And the works were saying something very powerful to me about my unfolding situation in life, something that my songs didn’t really talk about. I found that I could look at this poor devil in a pool of tears, with his lost child extending his hand to him, as a kind of meditation on my own place in the world and find a way that I — or we or whoever — may live a life. — M.H.M.

Jordi Roca, pastry chef

Roca, 45, photographed at Rocambolesc Gelateria in Girona, Spain, on March 13, 2024.

Anna Bosch Miralpeix

Then: Joined the restaurant El Celler de Can Roca — founded in 1986 by his brothers, Joan and Josep, in Girona, Spain — in 1997, becoming head pastry chef in 2000.

Now: After starting his own gelateria chain, Rocambolesc, in Girona with his wife, Alejandra Rivas, in 2012, and being diagnosed with a rare neurological disorder four years later, opened an outpost of the gelateria in Houston in 2022 with a neurodiverse team.

When I first started to lose my voice, it didn’t have much of an effect on my creative process in the kitchen. I had to learn to interact more through gesture, but I could still speak during quieter moments. That was around 2016, when I was giving a lot of interviews. It was a period in my career when I needed to speak but, instead, was a time of introspection. Once I got the diagnosis — I have an unusual expression of spasmodic dysphonia [a neurological disorder that causes spasms in the voice box] — it meant I could finally move forward. Now I think of this as just part of who I am.

The idea to open a U.S. branch of Rocambolesc, the gelateria, which has five locations in Spain, came a year or so before this. In 2015, when we were [hosting] cooking events around the world for Celler de Can Roca, we met our business partner Ignacio Torres in Houston. He has family members with autism, and having a place that would hire people with autism and Down syndrome was part of his idea from the beginning. By the time we opened Rocambolesc in Houston in 2022, we’d already had experiences in Celler de Can Roca with team members who had neurological differences. But staffing a project with a neurodiverse team was a huge personal gamble taken by Ignacio and his wife, Isabel, to transform the stigmas around neurodivergence in the United States. The project’s really been embraced in Houston. We have staff who’ve been with us right from the beginning. Of course, my own difficulties have given me a deeper empathy with people who can’t always express themselves in the way they might like. But what I’ve learned — especially through this project — is that we all live in the same world. There’re just many ways to see it. — M.S.

Cassi Namoda, painter

Namoda, 35, photographed with paintings in progress at her studio in Biella, Italy, on Feb. 25, 2024.

Claudia Gori

Then: A visual artist known for her spare yet color-rich depictions of contemporary African people and landscapes who was last based in the Berkshires region of Massachusetts.

Now: Living in Biella, in the Piedmont region of northern Italy, where she’s working in a new studio and preparing to become a mother.

Biella has a beautiful, fantastical landscape — you have a backdrop of the snowcapped Alps, but there are also palm trees, beeches, pines and cypresses. It’s an easier flight to my family in Mozambique [than from the United States]. And we’re a 10-minute drive away from my husband’s family.

I found an incredible studio where I can visualize having my child and making magnificent work. The commercial art world is a masculine environment. But this is my own world. There’s a large kitchen with big windows and an amazing chef’s oven, so there can be lunches. I’ll put in a daybed because I know I need naps. There’ll be a baby corner, with a crib and maybe some safe paints. I’m really into self-preservation and embracing femininity.

My life before was very utilitarian. Some days, I’d get to the studio early and be there until 3 or 4 a.m., eating popcorn and puffing on a cigarette. The child has already forced me to have a healthier balance with work. But I have these dreams about me before [there was] this new spirit in me. It’s not a somber or sad thing, like, “Oh, I wish I was Cassi in Tambacounda, Senegal, plein-air painting in the field.” But I’m remembering that person.

I finally got into the Italian health care system, which has been a nightmare. It’s not superfriendly to foreigners. Meanwhile, I’m preparing for a solo exhibition in September and a museum show opening in December. In my head I’m like, “The baby’s coming really soon, I don’t really have a doctor, I’m still setting up my studio and I have a 53-foot-long cargo container with all of my belongings arriving on Monday!”

There are large works to start but, with this heavy belly, I can’t balance on a ladder. I might bring the canvases down to the floor and rest them on bricks. I’m visiting a softer, more romantic side. The world’s in a dark place; why not make something beautiful? I’m seeing flamingo pink and yellow and sandy tones. It’s soft and rosy. I don’t think it’s because I’m having a girl — the sex of the baby is a surprise — but that’s how I’m feeling right now. — E.L.

Jon Bon Jovi, musician and singer-songwriter

Bon Jovi, 62, photographed at his restaurant JBJ Soul Kitchen in Red Bank, N.J., on March 1, 2024.

Sebastian Sabal-Bruce

Then: Co-founded the rock band Bon Jovi in Sayreville, N.J., in 1983. Began experiencing vocal difficulties in 2014.

Now: Is recovering from throat surgery, a process depicted, among other things, in the docuseries “Thank You, Goodnight: The Bon Jovi Story,” out this month. Will release a new album, “Forever,” with the band in June.

My problems started about a decade ago. In 2013, we had the number one tour in the world, and I was great for 100-plus shows. But in 2014, I wasn’t really making any music, which was hard psychologically. Then some of the recordings and shows we did, especially after 2017, were challenging — my range seemed to have narrowed and it was becoming difficult to sing consistently. But none of the professionals I saw could figure it out.

In March 2022, a doctor in Philadelphia explained that one of my vocal cords was atrophying. I thought I could get my voice back in shape if I just did enough shows, so I went back on the road. But it was a struggle. Finally, that June, I had an implant put [inside the cartilage of my larynx] to bring my [vocal folds] together. There was no singing at all for the first six weeks. Then I started speech therapy. I have rehab four times a week. But I’m still not sure what to expect. Yesterday when I was rehearsing with the band, I had a rough go with the song “Limitless” from the album “2020” [released by the group that same year]. I said, “Guys, I only ever sang this song when I was broken. I don’t know how to sing it not broken.” If I had the word “lay,” I’d put an “E” on the end of it to try to push it up to pitch: “layeee.” But right after that, I popped the high notes on [our 1986 hit] “Livin’ on a Prayer.”

This new album’s much more of a collaborative record than the ones I’ve made in the past. It’s a celebration of my accepting any and all input and acts of kindness. It’s not been a good decade. It’s not been easy to not be the best guy in the band; it’s not easy to be the worst. It’s humbling but I don’t mind the humility. I just want my tools back. Yesterday, I pressed the point-of-no-return button and said yes, in theory, to a handful of possible shows abroad for the summer, the first ones since the spring of 2022. I’m not an applause junkie. I do it because I love to write a song and play it for people. If I have all my tools, it’ll be a joy. — E.L.

Grooming: Loraine Abeles

Titus Kaphar, artist

Kaphar, 47, photographed at his studio in New Haven, Conn., on Feb. 22, 2024.

Artwork, from left: Titus Kaphar, “I Knew,” 2023 © Titus Kaphar; Titus Kaphar, “Do You Want It Back?” 2023 © Titus Kaphar; Titus Kaphar, “Some Things Can’t Be Worked Out on Canvas,” 2023 © Titus Kaphar

Then: An artist whose works, which often confront family history and the experience of being Black in America, are in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, among other institutions.

Now: Wrote and directed his first feature-length film, “Exhibiting Forgiveness,” which premiered at Sundance in January. Paintings Kaphar made for the film (pictured above) will be shown at Gagosian in Beverly Hills in September.

“Exhibiting Forgiveness” started as a series of paintings — in particular, with one of a burning lawn mower. It didn’t take long to realize that what I was doing wasn’t best processed with paintings alone. [The film focuses on a successful artist, Tarrell, played by André Holland, who struggles to deal with the reappearance of his estranged, abusive father, La’Ron, played by John Earl Jelks, who’d force Tarrell to perform grueling manual labor as a child.] The power of painting’s often the absences: what’s not there, what’s implicit. You don’t know what happened before and you don’t know what will happen after. In film, you have an opportunity for elaboration.

I’ve tried hard not to read reviews of the film, though a friend sent me one. It was positive but what [the critic] wrote at the end, I’ll never forget. He said, “But I can’t say this film is entertaining.” [ Laughs. ] With film, some of us expect entertainment, to have a great time. And that response does frame the way we distinguish film from painting. As a painter, I don’t stand in front of [Pablo Picasso’s] “Guernica” and go, “This isn’t entertaining!” I didn’t approach filmmaking as anything different from painting. I wanted the film to be a painting in motion. The way I make decisions in the studio, about how to follow my intuition or instincts, or how to lay out a composition, was the same process I used on set. The difference is I had an extraordinary cinematographer and cast of actors to help me realize the paintings in my head.

At its essence, “Exhibiting Forgiveness” is about generational healing. I took on this project because I wanted to have a conversation with my children about the world I grew up in, which is so different from the world they’ve grown up in. And I think making the film helped resolve something within me. The revelation I had is that I can’t make my father out as the villain in my mind. He’s a victim of violence himself. And even though [he] created challenges for me, I’ve never wondered whether or not he loved me. — M.H.M.

Bárbara Sánchez-Kane, artist

Sánchez-Kane, 36, photographed at his studio (the artist uses she/her and he/him pronouns interchangeably) in Mexico City on Jan. 22, 2024.

Ana Topoleanu. Artwork, clockwise from left: Bárbara Sánchez-Kane, “La Diegada,” 2016, courtesy of the artist and Estudio Sánchez-Kane; Bárbara Sánchez-Kane, “Tragic Stages,” 2023, courtesy of the artist and Estudio Sánchez-Kane; Bárbara Sánchez-Kane, “Moctezuma’s Revenge,” 2017, performance by Sierva M, courtesy of the artist and Estudio Sánchez-Kane, photo: Karla Ximena

Then: The designer of Sánchez-Kane, the genderless clothing brand she founded in Mérida, Mexico, in 2016.

Now: An artist working with painting, sculpture and performance — while still running the label.

One of my first shows in a museum was at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles in 2017. The curators invited me to present a collection from my fashion line that I’d shown in New York, and I said, “No, but maybe I can do a performance.” There’s a kind of freedom in making wearable sculptures because, in the end, clothing has to be ergonomic: The jacket I made with boxing gloves has an opening for your hands so you can eat a burger. But for the ICA show, I created a pair of transparent plastic pants with a metal frame that made them almost impossible to walk in. And last year, for my first New York solo exhibition, at Kurimanzutto gallery, I made a piece from 1,170 black plastic belts that was so big and heavy, I had to break it into parts to show it. I remember reading an article by the queer theorist Jack Halberstam on the work of the artist Gordon Matta-Clark, who would [create] windows in structures where they shouldn’t be. For me, the work is like that: opening windows that give you a different way of seeing what’s in front of you.

I started as an industrial engineer first and then became a fashion designer, but I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter what you’ve studied or haven’t. When I feel like the worst sculptor, I think, “Well, at least I’m a good designer.” And when I feel like a great sculptor, I might look at [the clothes in my studio] and think, “Those terrible [expletive] trousers!” Expanding into other fields is a way to embrace yourself. All we have is our imagination, which allows us to create things: objects, garments, skins that we wear when we go out into the world. I’m not saying they’ll save us, but maybe they can help us navigate the transition to another universe. — M.S.

Miguel Adrover, 58, Calonge, Majorca

The former fashion designer Miguel Adrover, now a full-time photographer, photographed at home on Majorca, Spain, on Jan. 8, 2024.

The provocative Spanish fashion designer, who had a New York-based clothing line, put a sheep on the runway and made a coat out of the ticking from the gay icon Quentin Crisp’s discarded mattress. He left the industry over a decade ago.

I started my own line in 1999 in New York, where I had been living in the East Village since 1991, and shut it down in 2005 and left the city. In 2012, I [returned] to present one runway show, which I called Out of My Mind. It was made up of personal garments I’d repurposed. I was 46. 

I’d been trying to find a way out of this unsustainable industry, this imaginary fantasy that fashion creates. My collections dealt with social justice, environmental consciousness and diversity before those topics became mainstream, and some seasons I didn’t sell anything. I never had a sugar daddy, and I invested everything I made back into the company. 

I miss New York a lot. I’m homesick for it, but it isn’t the same city, and fashion is very different, too — it feels inauthentic and disconnected from reality. When I was doing consulting and research for Alexander McQueen [in the mid-90s], we had no money. But the energy was amazing. When you don’t have money, that’s when you’re most creative. Now all of these big companies have so much money that it feels like a different world. [Still] I’d love to have the chance to put on one last presentation, one last show to express how I feel today and how I see the world right now. 

When I left New York, I decided to come to Majorca, where my parents have a farm. I started doing photography accidentally; I had no knowledge of cameras, every day was a process of me learning something totally on my own. There was a 300-year-old well on the property with no water inside, and I realized it could be my studio. It’s kind of like a basement; light comes from a little window high above. It reminds me of my apartment in New York. It’s where I develop my [projects]. I use things that surround me: tulips and rose bushes, fruit trees, a tropical garden, chickens. 

When I got here, I didn’t have a team [as I did in fashion], and one of the challenges was being surrounded by people who don’t care about what I did or what I’m doing. Photography was the ideal thing to do because I don’t need anybody, I can do it on my own. I don’t have any models; I started working with mannequins and, for many years, I collected them on eBay or from secondhand stores on the island. [I decided] I’d rather not use models — when you photograph human beings, they’re pretending or acting, and I was running away from that.

It’s been nine years since I found photography, and I’m really happy. I have a monograph coming out later this year. The photographs are like my biography. I’ve developed my style in photography and I have a creative language. Fashion was the platform I once used, but the soul inside me is the same. — interview by J.W.

Ralph Ellison, writer, circa 1913-94

Ralph Ellison, the author of the 1952 novel “Invisible Man,” in June 1957 during his fellowship at the American Academy in Rome.

James Whitmore/The Life Picture Collection/Shutterstock

Ralph Ellison spent seven years writing his only completed novel, “Invisible Man,” and its publication in 1952, when he was in his late 30s, not only catapulted him to literary fame but made him nothing less than a spokesperson for postwar America. His contemporary Norman Mailer would write of him that at his best, “He writes so perfectly that one can never forget the experience of reading him.” “Invisible Man,” a surreal picaresque that follows an unnamed Black protagonist — “a man of substance, of flesh and bone,” Ellison writes — as he travels through a country full of people who “refuse to see me,” is a book of such remarkable confidence that Ellison’s career, in later years, became mired in questions of what next? Ellison, a prolific writer of essays, reviews and criticism, worked for years on a follow-up, suffering one setback when a 1967 house fire destroyed portions of his manuscript. When he died in 1994, he left behind thousands of pages of drafts, fragments and unfinished tangents. Ellison’s literary executor and longtime friend, John F. Callahan, tried to edit the material down into a “single, coherent narrative,” as he put it, and published the result, called “Juneteenth,” in 1999; the New York Times critic Michiko Kakutani called it “disappointingly provisional and incomplete.” Ellison often struggled with writing. He once likened his second novel to a “bad case of constipation” and, in a 1958 letter to his friend the author Saul Bellow, Ellison wrote, “I’ve got a natural writer’s block as big as the Ritz and as stubborn as a grease spot on a gabardine suit.” — M.H.M.

Charles Laughton, actor and director, 1899-1962

The actor turned director Charles Laughton with the actress Sally Jane Bruce on the set of “The Night of the Hunter” (1955).

Everett Collection

Born in the last year of the 19th century, Charles Laughton left his family’s successful hotel business at the age of 26 to study acting at the Royal Academy of Arts in London. What he lacked in movie star looks — the critic J. Hoberman described him as “coarse-featured, overweight and slovenly” — he made up for in talent. Following a successful stage career in London’s West End, he turned to film, making a name for himself as a versatile character actor in the 1930s and ’40s. In 1955, at the age of 55, he made his most indelible contribution to his craft, directing “The Night of the Hunter,” a film noir so dark it easily passes today as horror. (William Friedkin, the director of 1973’s “The Exorcist,” described it as “one of the scariest films ever made.”) Robert Mitchum plays a terrifying ex-convict posing as a preacher and stalking the children of his former cellmate in order to find a hidden fortune. While casting Lillian Gish in the role of the children’s caretaker, Laughton told the actress about his disappointment in audiences’ lack of attention for movies, how they “slump down with their heads back, or eat candy and popcorn. I want them to sit up straight again,” he said. Though now often ranked among the greatest American movies, “The Night of the Hunter” — released just a few years before Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho” (1960) made the psychological thriller into a marketable genre — was a commercial flop. Reviews were mixed; The New York Times’s Bosley Crowther called it “a weird and intriguing endeavor.” Years later, Terry Sanders, a second-unit director of the film, wrote that “the rejection by critics and the indifference of audiences hit [Laughton] hard and crushed his spirit. It wasn’t just disappointment he felt, it was utter and deeply debilitating devastation.” He never directed a second movie. — M.H.M.

Willis Alan Ramsey, 73, Loveland, Colo.

The singer-songwriter Willis Alan Ramsey, photographed at Sam’s Town Point bar in Austin, Texas, on March 14, 2024.

Caleb Santiago Alvarado

The singer-songwriter Willis Alan Ramsey, originally from Alabama, released his self-titled debut album in 1972, becoming a forebear of the alt-country genre. Jimmy Buffett and Lyle Lovett became devoted fans. More than 50 years later, Ramsey still hasn’t completed his second album.

I started trying to write songs around 1968. My first song was just awful, but I got better over time. I dropped out of college twice, the second time in 1970, from the University of Texas [at Austin], after discovering a folk club where I became an opening act for $5 a night. Those were golden, halcyon days in Austin filled with sunshine and margaritas and very little traffic. That fall, I left to begin performing at colleges around the country. I was briefly back in Austin to play at U.T. and, somehow, during two days there, I’d managed to play for Gregg Allman and Leon Russell, two of the most influential musicians of that decade. They both gave me their cards and said to look them up if I ever made it their way. [I went to Los Angeles] and recorded a demo at Skyhill, Leon’s personal home studio, and he basically offered me the moon to sign with his new label, Shelter Records [which folded in 1981]. I’d just turned 20. Over the next year, I recorded my first and only album to ever be released [“Willis Alan Ramsey,” often known as the Green Album for its green cover].

I finished the record when I was 21. I was just a kid. Leon gave me my career, to the extent that I’ve had one [but the reason I never released another record was also] Leon’s fault. He told me that if I signed with Shelter, he’d show me the studio and how it worked, and he did. I immediately wanted to learn everything I could about the recording process. I used seven studios and three rhythm sections [to make the record]. I was given carte blanche. The budget was 85 grand. I could do it for 200 grand [now], but I can’t do it any cheaper. I’d need to rehearse every musician. And my songs are all over the place. I get bored doing one particular style.

I’m the most frustrated recording artist you’ve probably ever met in your life. But I still feel I’ll figure something out. I’ve always been optimistic. I’ve got at least three more records of material. I’m pretty tough on myself in terms of writing, and I’m very attached to what I’ve written. I just haven’t been able to get a deal that’d work for me. I mean, the world works, you know? I think the key is just to work with the world. — interview by M.H.M.

Photo assistant: Sergio Flores

Harper Lee, writer, 1926-2016

The writer Harper Lee in her hometown, Monroeville, Ala., in 1961, the same year that her debut novel, “To Kill a Mockingbird,” won the Pulitzer Prize.

Donald Uhrbrock/Getty Images

“I sort of hoped someone would like it well enough to give me encouragement,” Harper Lee said in a 1964 radio interview, describing her low expectations for her 1960 debut, “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Instead, her novel, about a lawyer in the fictional town of Maycomb, Ala. (a stand-in for the writer’s hometown, Monroeville), who defends a Black man from a false accusation of rape by a white woman, became one of the biggest literary sensations of its era. Lee, who worked as an airline reservations agent in New York for a few years before quitting (with friends’ financial support) to work on her writing, won the Pulitzer Prize in 1961; two years later, a film adaptation starring Gregory Peck won three Academy Awards. “To Kill a Mockingbird” would go on to sell tens of millions of copies and become a fixture of high school English classes.

Lee had a hard time with her sudden fame. After that radio interview in 1964, she mostly avoided the press and, as the years and decades passed without a second novel, Lee continued to guard her privacy, albeit regularly attending the Methodist Church in Monroeville and occasionally visiting the local high school during lessons about her work. The year before she died at age 89 in 2016, a previously unknown novel, “Go Set a Watchman,” which had been written before “To Kill a Mockingbird,” appeared to tepid reviews and claims that Lee, by then largely deaf and blind following a stroke, had been manipulated into releasing subpar work. Controversy aside, even just the announcement of a lost novel reignited interest in Lee’s lone masterpiece; at that point, sales of “To Kill a Mockingbird” in trade paperback nearly tripled. — M.H.M.

Luc Tuymans, 65, visual artist

Luc Tuymans, “Mijn Grote Vakantie” (1967).

Courtesy of the artist and David Zwirner. Photo: Alex Salinas

When I was 7 or 8, we had to make drawings for school about our summer holidays. I was completely intrigued by the people gathering the garbage outside of our house in Antwerp [Belgium] — their truck, their dress code. During a summer day, I took out my colored pencils. I wrote underneath the drawing, “My Big Vacation.”

It came across as fairly cynical: My big vacation was garbage. It wasn’t meant that way. I really was intrigued by this operation. [Looking at it now] I’m amazed that there’s this perspective already in it. The teacher didn’t believe I made the drawing and took me by the ear to the blackboard to do it again in front of the class.

I’d been bullied a lot as a kid. I was extremely shy. Drawing was a way out, in a sense. I’d draw people who came to visit my parents and, at the end of the year, when exams were done, I’d make drawings for the whole class — whatever they wanted. I always had a ballpoint pen and a piece of paper with me, and people would gather around me while I was drawing, sometimes 20 to 30 of them. The kids were happy to have a drawing, but it didn’t really change the bullying pattern.

I saved most of my [childhood] drawings and gave them to my nephew. Unluckily, he lost them. This is virtually the only one that survived, and I gave it to my wife as a present.

It’s quite interesting to see the size of things — the difference between the houses and the people — and most of all, the idea of space that was already in the drawing. [If I were to redraw this today] it’d be a bit more meticulous, more worked out. But it’s an indication of things that would come later. My skepticism is embedded in this drawing without my doing that consciously — this quite specific, sardonic sense of humor. When I found it again, I had to laugh very, very hard. — J.H.

Do Ho Suh, 62, visual artist

Do Ho Suh, “Tiger Mask” (1971).

This drawing is based on a Japanese anime character, Tiger Mask, that was really popular in the ’70s. Back in those days, Korean TV broadcast Japanese anime in black and white. Everybody at school watched. The character is a pro wrestler who puts on a tiger mask to disguise his identity. I drew the mask directly from the anime. I was probably 9.

Once my friends saw it, they all wanted one. Demand for tiger masks became much greater than supply. Some of the rich kids wanted to trade their Japanese pencils — which had graphics or custom characters on the surface — and colorful erasers for a drawing. My parents couldn’t afford those things, and they weren’t available in Korea. The kids’ parents must have traveled to Japan, which was quite rare back then, and brought them back. [Eventually] I had a box full of those pencils, but I didn’t have the guts to actually use them. The pencils are untouched; the erasers are dried out. For some reason, my mom kept them all these years. — J.H.

Niki Nakayama, 49, chef and Restaurant owner

Tonkatsu is a Japanese home-style staple. It’s a breaded, deep-fried pork cutlet — “ton” means “pork” and “katsu” is a sort of translation of “cutlet” — and it was my absolute favorite food when I was a kid. When my mom made tonkatsu, she’d have my sister and me do the breading, and we really bonded over that. It helped me understand family. We’d set up in the dining room and dredge the cutlets in flour, dip them into the egg wash, cover them with dried breadcrumbs and stack them high on paper plates that we’d bring in to my mother to fry up. Our kitchen had high countertops, and I can remember her standing at the stove in these three-inch platform clogs she’d wear to be a little taller. 

I loved seeing how something became something else — it felt like unraveling magic. One day when I was about 9, I came home from school and got the brilliant idea to make my own [but with chicken]. I grabbed some drumsticks from the freezer, did the breading and, while standing on a stool, dipped them in hot oil. (I never admitted this to my mom.) When they turned the color they were supposed to, I was so proud. I bit into one and it was still frozen. That was my first shock of “I can’t believe I didn’t make [this thing] the way I imagined it would be.”

Anytime I was in Japan, especially in my 20s, my friends there would ask what subarashii gochiso, or “the best thing one could possibly eat,” was for me. I’d say tonkatsu, and they’d be like, “What?!,” because it’s such a simple dish — it was like asking for a sandwich. It isn’t the sort of thing I specialize in at my restaurant [N/Naka in Los Angeles], and I don’t have it often anymore because, as I age, I’m trying to eat lighter, but I still associate it with deliciousness and with happiness. Ever since childhood, I’ve thought of food as being about coming together and cooking as an expression of care and love. Having been on the receiving end of that, I do the work that I do to try to make people happy. — K.G.

Marina Abramović, 77, performance artist

Marina Abramović, “Truck Accident (I)” (1963).

© Marina Abramović/Courtesy of the Marina Abramović Archives/ARS, 2024

When I was a teenager in Communist Yugoslavia, there were these ugly green trucks that weighed so much, they often fell over. I started taking photographs of them and trying to paint them at home. But that wasn’t enough for me, so I bought some toy cars and left them on the highway to see if the real trucks would smash them; they were always untouched. I was fascinated by car crashes. Then when I was 17 or 18 years old, I painted the big car smashed and the little car protected — the idea that innocence survives everything.

My mother studied art history, and I was always going to museums. When I was a baby, my first words weren’t “mama” or “papa”; they were “El Greco.” I had my first exhibition at a youth center when I was 14. They mostly had group shows, but I made so much work that I had my own show. I always say I was jealous of Mozart because he started at 5.

I didn’t know then that painting wasn’t my ultimate goal. It takes a long time to realize who you are. I remember the incredible joy of going into my studio — an extra space in my family’s apartment — with my little cup of Turkish coffee. I would be so much in the dream of painting that I’d accidentally drink turpentine instead of the coffee.

Though I wasn’t aware of it [until recently], this crash represents the energy that I’d create in my early performances: two bodies running toward each other, crashing into each other and making this blurry image. My research today is about the body and how to create a field in which you aren’t afraid of pain, of dying, of limits. When you’re young, you don’t see the straight line but, [looking back] it all seems so logical. — J.H.

Deborah Roberts, 61, visual artist

Deborah Roberts, “James” (1982).

Courtesy of the artist

I used to do a lot of drawings of people at church or kids in the neighborhood. I made this when I was 19, of this boy who came by to play with my brothers. My mother threw most of my drawings away. She had eight children; she couldn’t have all that stuff piling up.

[With that many siblings] you only get attention when you’re sick. But I got a lot of attention for drawing. I was the best artist in my school. The teacher would ask me, “What grade would you want?” I’d say, “I want an A+.” I had a big head. Then I went to the gifted and talented program with high school art students from all over Austin, Texas. I wasn’t the best anymore, but it just made me work harder. That’s where I was first introduced to the work of Henry Ossawa Tanner [one of the first African American painters to achieve international fame, in the early 20th century]. I didn’t even know there were Black artists. We didn’t have the internet or access to museums. We were poor.

I’d ride a small yellow bus to a community college to meet in a special room for the three-hour art class. Eventually, I became the best student in that class, at least in my head. They didn’t ask me what grade I wanted, but I still got an A.

If I were doing it now, I’d blend that hair into the wood better. I wouldn’t have light sources coming from two different areas. But if you look at my collages today, my whole idea’s about seeing people as humans, as children, as vulnerable. I think this is a very vulnerable piece. — J.H.

David Henry Hwang, 66, playwright

David Henry Hwang, manuscript of “Only Three Generations” (1968).

Courtesy of David Henry Hwang. Photo: Lance Brewer

I was about 10 years old, and my maternal grandmother got sick and it looked like she might be close to the end. I remember feeling that that’d be quite tragic — not only would I lose my grandmother but she also happened to be the family historian. I was one of those kids who, for whatever reason, was always really interested in hearing about family history. 

I was born and raised in Los Angeles, but my mom grew up in the Philippines, where my maternal grandparents still lived, so I asked my parents if I could spend a summer there. I went and collected what we’d now call oral histories from my grandmother on cassette tapes, then came back and compiled them into a 60-page family history, “Only Three Generations,” which was [photocopied] and distributed to my family members. Then in the early aughts, someone — my uncle, I think — went and printed two or three dozen copies as a bound version.

I wasn’t someone who felt [that] writing was my calling. I didn’t do another major writing project until I got to college and started writing plays, so I find it interesting that the one time I took on [something] like this was to contextualize myself in a historical framework. That’s consistent with what I’ve done as an adult: sometimes being at sea about who I am and looking at history to gain a sense of self.

The [history] starts with my great-great-grandfather, then the second [part]’s about my great-grandfather and then the third section’s about my grandmother’s generation. I [used] their real names. I think I was trying to be fairly accurate, as opposed to when it later became the basis of my [1996] play “Golden Child.” There’s a lot more liberty taken there. When we did the play on Broadway, my grandmother was still alive and came to see the show. She was supportive of it, but I feel like she liked this version better. — J.A.R.

Ice Spice wears a Balenciaga jacket, $2,150, balenciaga.com; Norma Kamali dress, $350, normakamali.com; Graff cross necklace, $14,000, graff.com; Alexander McQueen shoes, $1,150, alexandermcqueen.com; stylist’s own tights; and her own jewelry. Photographed at a private home in Los Angeles on Feb. 6, 2024.

Photograph by Shikeith. Styled by Ian Bradley

Name: Ice Spice Profession: Rapper Age: 24

Debuting in: Her first full-length album, “Y2K,” titled after her birth date — Jan. 1, 2000 — which comes out this year.

What she’s excited about: “Going on tour. I can’t wait to see my fans up close and personal and really interact with them — interacting with fans online can be a little overwhelming. All their profile pictures are of me. It feels like a bunch of me’s talking back: It’s weird. Especially when it’s pictures I’ve never seen or don’t remember.”

What she’s nervous about: “I don’t even want to put out that energy. People don’t need to know what I’m nervous about.”

How she works in the studio: “If I was already dressed up and cute, that’d produce a different vibe — but for the most part I like to be really comfortable. I need inspiration around me, too, so I’ll have stacks of money sitting next to the mic. Or I have a bunch of stickers of, like, boobs and butts, stuff like that. They’re drawings, though — I don’t just have porn in my studio.”

How it’s gotten easier since making her EP: “When I was working on [2023’s] ‘Like ..?,’ I was stressed out because I had no idea how the next song was going to come out. Each time, I was like, ‘How am I going to make another song that’s good?’ But then it happened, and then it happened again and again so, after that, I was like, ‘OK, making music is really fun.’ As long as I’m having fun, it’s going to sound fun — and I’m going to be happy with it.” — J.A.R.

Production: Resin Projects. Makeup: Karina Milan at the Wall Group

Katigbak, photographed at Lincoln Center Theater in Manhattan on Feb. 2, 2024.

Jennifer Livingston

Name: Mia Katigbak Profession: Actress and co-founder of NAATCO Age: 69

Debuting in: Lincoln Center Theater’s revival of Anton Chekhov’s “Uncle Vanya” (1899), opening this month.

What she’s excited about: “My character, Marina [the central family’s maid], infantilizes everyone. Everything is falling apart around her, but she’s like, ‘Aren’t the old ways better?’ There are a lot of possibilities in that — without getting too metaphorical about the state of Russia, politically and socially.” 

What she’s nervous about: “There’s always going to be that common nervousness of ‘I’m going to mess up,’ but somebody brought to my attention that NAATCO [the National Asian American Theatre Company, which was founded in 1989] has done quite a lot of Chekhov; I didn’t even realize it, and I chose all of them. What I find fabulous about Chekhov is that there are sad situations but also human comedy. You have to find the funny if you’re in dire straits, otherwise you’ll slit your wrists.”

How she feels about having her Broadway debut after five decades on the New York stage: “You live long enough, [expletive] happens. I’d kind of figured, ‘Maybe I’m not Broadway material.’ Usually, when Asians get cast, it’s a musical, and I’m not a singer-dancer, so it was never necessarily going to be a goal. I’m a little bit more realistic: I recently got a text [with a photo of the ‘Uncle Vanya’ ad] from a colleague who said, ‘Look at Miss Fancy Pants,’ and I’m like, ‘I’m just a working stiff.’”

How she reinterprets classics: “From the get-go, the point of NAATCO was to ask people to open their vistas in terms of ‘how, what, by whom, for whom’ in theater. We tackled the Western classics first — William Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ (1600) and Thornton Wilder’s ‘Our Town’ (1938) — and my only caveat was not to change them to Asian settings. I remember the first couple of years, maybe decades, people always used to ask, ‘Oh, you’re doing Shakespeare! Are you going to set it in Japan?’ Which isn’t bad, but it’s not the only way to do it. Reception was mixed; there was criticism from both Asian and non-Asian audiences. When we started to do new work — with Michael Golamco’s ‘Cowboy Versus Samurai’ in 2005 — it became a redefinition of what immigrant stories were. Most of the time, the work’s thought of as only one thing, so that was something to figure out. But you can say that about all good theater: It’s asking you to receive something in a different way.” — J.A.R.

Smith, photographed at Rambert School of Ballet and Contemporary Dance in the London suburb of Twickenham on Feb. 14, 2024.

Andrea Urbez

Name: Arielle Smith Profession: Choreographer Age: 27

Debuting in: A reimagined “Carmen,” based on the French writer Prosper Mérimée’s 1845 novella about a Roma woman in southern Spain, which Smith has set instead in Cuba for the version (of the same name) she’s choreographing that premieres at San Francisco Ballet this month.

What she’s excited about: “As a performer, I trained in classical ballet but then went into contemporary dance — the reason I fell out of love with ballet was that the female roles didn’t feel empowering. Not that I needed to be empowered all the time, but every story was dictated by the relationship a woman has to a man. So when Tamara [Rojo, the company’s artistic director] approached me, my first thought was, ‘How could we justify another “Carmen”?’ I wondered how the story would change if one of her lovers was a woman. Musically it’s also not the same — we’ve got a new score from the Mexican Cuban composer Arturo O’Farrill [departing from the French composer Georges Bizet’s 1875 opera], so it’s quite a leap from where it was birthed.”

What she’s nervous about: “I don’t see the point in telling a story again the same way, so that’s one element I’m not nervous about ... but I’m about everything else. The challenge is trying to tell an intimate story in a big space. To make this piece well, it has to move people in some way, and that’s what I’m anxious to get across — for people to feel something.”

How she’s translating the Spanish-set story to Cuba: “Bizet wasn’t Spanish, [so] I thought it’d be more interesting to mainly hear Cuban sounds. I’m Cuban; Tamara’s Spanish; and [the Uruguayan fashion designer] Gabriela Hearst is our costume designer. It’s a full Latinx team, but we’re all different. And this is a universal story that’s not driven by geography. It’s not set on a certain road in Havana but in the soul of these people. I’m not trying to overly examine Cuba. It’s about who I am, as a person who happens to be Cuban, and what my voice contributes.” — J.A.R.

Photo assistant: Callum Su

Pidgeon, photographed at Playwrights Horizons in Manhattan on March 10, 2024.

Sean Donnola

Name: Sarah Pidgeon Profession: Actor Age: 27

Debuting in: “Stereophonic,” a new play by David Adjmi with music by Will Butler (formerly of the indie-rock band Arcade Fire), which transfers to Broadway this month following a run at Playwrights Horizons, where it premiered last fall — that production was Pidgeon’s New York stage debut.

What she’s excited about: “This story [about a fictional band’s interpersonal struggles while recording an album in the 1970s] talks about relationships and what one has to sacrifice to make art. New York’s full of artists, and I’m excited to hear what types of conversations people have after seeing the show.”

What she’s nervous about: “The transition to the Golden Theatre. Singing’s so vulnerable. It’s one thing to mess up in front of 200 people, another to mess up in front of four times that many. Off Broadway, we’d have instruments [accidentally] break down halfway through a scene, and we’d have to figure out how to make it feel authentic.”

How she created her character, Diana, one of the band’s lead singers: “Diana’s not looking to other people to give her an example — she’s not following some blueprint. Her band’s waiting for her to make that next great song, and she gets commodified really fast. I can’t say the same for myself, but I’m [also not dealing with being] a woman in [rock in] the 1970s.”

How she settled into the three-hour play’s slowed-down, naturalistic rhythms: “Our director, Daniel Aukin, kept talking about a documentary feel. I think the design of the play — of hearing overlapping conversations — is [very] fly-on-the-wall. Because of its realism, it can evoke the feeling of a film. There’s this sense that it’s not necessarily a performance when we’re doing these shows; it’s not showy. It’s this thrill of being able to keep things private while also recognizing there’re people in the audience two feet away from you. As an actor, you really feel the tension.” — J.A.R.

Hair: Tsuki at Streeters. Makeup: Monica Alvarez at See Management

Olujobi (third from left), at the Public Theater in Manhattan on March 9, 2024, along with (from left) the “Jordans” actor Naomi Lorrain, the director Whitney White and the actors Brontë England-Nelson, Kate Walsh, Ryan Spahn, Toby Onwumere, Meg Steedle, Matthew Russell and Brian Muller.

Video by David Chow

Name: Ife Olujobi Profession: Playwright Age: 29

Debuting in: “Jordans,” her first fully staged production, opening this month at New York’s Public Theater under the direction of Whitney White. The play is about a 20-something woman named Jordan (Naomi Lorrain), the only Black employee at a creative studio, whose office life is upended when her boss hires another Jordan (Toby Onwumere), who’s also Black, to be the company’s director of culture. 

What she’s excited about: “For a while, this was that play everybody thought was great but nobody wanted to produce. I thought it’d just be a thing that ends up on the page: It’s such a crazy, visual play that lives in this imaginative space, with a lot of production elements. I’m excited to bring that to life — and have it be people’s introduction to me.”

What she’s nervous about: “Making a play that feels current — in the sense that I started writing it in 2018, did the first reading in 2019 and now we’re in 2024. The play addresses the idea of bringing people of color into a [professional] situation as a trend, not out of any genuine interest in them. It has to do with quote-unquote diversity in the workplace, and it feels like we’ve gone through three different cycles of that conversation since I started writing it. I’m trying to synthesize everything that we’ve been through in the past six years but not feel like I’m shaping the play to respond to these fluctuations.”

How she found her way to playwriting: “I was in the Public’s Emerging Writers Group in 2018, which was my introduction to theater. I was never a theater kid; film was my first love — I’d done my thesis in screenwriting. After I graduated [from New York University], I’d written a play, and I used that to get into the [playwriting] group. The idea for ‘Jordans’ came partly from my own experience post-grad of being fired three times in a row and being like, ‘What’s going on?’ I was also trying to express something about being the only Black person entering all these professional spaces.”

How the play’s surrealist tone came to be: “The main character gets coffee poured on her face in the first scene. For me, that was a big breaking open of the play: ‘This is the kind of world that she’s living in. What else can happen in this world?’ It has what we might call surreal elements, but I don’t always think about it that way because, within this play, everything is real. It’s not a dream.” — J.A.R.

Photo assistant: Serena Nappa. Digital tech: Zachary Smith. Production: Shay Johnson Studio

Kim, photographed at his restaurant, Noksu, in Manhattan on Jan. 15, 2024.

Daniel Terna

Name: Dae Kim Profession: Chef Age: 28

Debuting in: Noksu, the 14-seat tasting counter he’s run since last October below ground in Manhattan’s Herald Square, where he serves Korean-inflected dishes, including grilled mackerel with brown butter and squab with gochujang agrodolce.

What he’s excited about: “I had a feeling, during the pandemic, that something might change — like everyone had to start [again] from zero. Even three-star sous-chefs changed careers: They’ve stopped working in restaurants; they’re selling truffles or doing kitchen shows or TikToks. There was a gap, and I thought if I played up my Asian heritage and my French cooking background, someone would be looking for that. Then I met [the restaurant’s] owners, and they offered me this space in a Koreatown subway station.”

What he’s nervous about: “With restaurants, you prove yourself every day. There’s no tomorrow, no next week. I knew I had to have a tasting menu: I have a personal goal — I’m not telling anyone what it is — and, to reach that level, I think it can only be a tasting menu. I’m not enjoying cooking that much; it’s not a passion. This is my career. I don’t cook at home but, if I think about that goal, it makes me come to the restaurant.”

What he took from working at the New York restaurants Per Se and Silver Apricot: “I really thought, ‘What kind of person am I? What kind of cook? What’s my individualism?’ Working in fine dining is such an honor, but it’s their food. It’s not me. I started focusing on food that would represent who I was.”

How he’s handling everyone’s dietary restrictions: “Right now, we don’t accommodate, because we’re a small kitchen. But sometimes they can push you: If a guest can’t eat dairy, how do you make that sauce creamy without using milk? It requires more work, more thought, more team effort. It’s happened a couple of times, and we just freestyle.” — J.A.R.

Tyla wears an Alexander McQueen jacket $5,990, and shorts, $1,690, alexandermcqueen.com; and Prada shoes, $1,120, prada.com. Photographed at Issue Studio in Los Angeles on March 16, 2024.

Photograph by Shikeith. Styled by Sasha Kelly

Name: Tyla Profession: Singer-songwriter Age: 22

Debuting in: Her first full-length album, “Tyla,” released last month. It’s the product of more than two years of collaboration with writers and producers from around the world — and her first time traveling outside of South Africa (she grew up in Johannesburg). Together, they refined her sound, which she describes as “music that people can dance to: Afrobeats, pop, R&B and amapiano,” the last of which is syncopated electronic music that originated in South Africa in the 2010s.

What she’s excited about: “My first tour. My creative director, Thato Nzimande, and I have been speaking about this forever. I have Coachella coming up and, after sitting for so long with this music and all these ideas, I’m excited to see people’s reactions.”

What she’s nervous about: “I used to be very nervous about performing because all of this is very new and, once something’s on the internet, it’s saved forever. I don’t want to look at it years from now and be cringing . I’m a perfectionist but, as an artist, you’re never going to be happy with everything all the time. That’s something I had to learn — how to let go.”

How she synthesizes South African and American influences: “I love the sound of amapiano production, with the log drum and the shakers and the drops. But I’ve also always wanted to be a chart-topper like Michael Jackson and Britney Spears and now SZA, except I wanted to do it with my sound [her first hit, “Water,” debuted on the Billboard Hot 100 in October]. Obviously, people believe, ‘Oh, I have to make just pop.’ But that’s boring to me. I want to sell what I know and love.”

Why South African music has global appeal: “People say they can feel it, and that’s cool because we feel it. It’s very spiritual to us; it’s a genre we feel in our bodies. All these amapiano dance moves that everyone does, it’s not even dancers that come up with these moves — it’s just random people, drunk uncles in the corners of clubs. It’s organic, and I think people are looking for that genuine vibe.” — E.L.

Production: Shay Johnson Studio. Hair: Christina “Tina” Trammell. Makeup: Jamal Scott for YSL Beauty

Peck (near center, in a black shirt), photographed at the Park Avenue Armory in Manhattan on Feb. 27, 2024, along with (top row, from left) the “Illinoise” musicians Kathy Halvorson and Jessica Tsang, the dancer Craig Salstein, the musician Brett Parnell, the dancers Byron Tittle and Christine Flores, the musician Kyra Sims, the dancer Robbie Fairchild, the musician Daniel Freedman, the vocalist Shara Nova, the music arranger and orchestrator Timo Andres and the music director Nathan Koci; (middle row, from left) the vocalist Elijah Lyons, the dancer Ahmad Simmons, the vocalist Tasha Viets-VanLear, the dancers Ricky Ubeda and Kara Chan, the writer Jackie Sibblies Drury and the associate music director Sean Peter Forte; (bottom row, from left) the musician Domenica Fossati and the dancers Jeanette Delgado, Ben Cook, Alejandro Vargas and Rachel Lockhart.

Video by Jason Schmidt

Name: Justin Peck Profession: Director and choreographer Age: 36

Debuting in: “Illinoise,” the first stage musical he’s directing, which opens this month on Broadway after a run last month at the Park Avenue Armory. Based on the singer-songwriter Sufjan Stevens’s 2005 indie-folk album, “Illinois,” the show was also conceived and choreographed by Peck, who collaborated on its narrative with the playwright Jackie Sibblies Drury.

What he’s excited about: “The ‘Illinois’ song cycle [in which every track relates to the Midwestern state] is one of the great albums of the last 20 years: [Sufjan] didn’t have a recording studio; he’d find a musician up in [New York’s] Washington Heights and record a violin part without realizing what it was going to be part of — he’d run all over, assembling [bits]. I’ve had a long collaboration with him [Peck has based six ballets on Stevens’s music, beginning with “Year of the Rabbit” for New York City Ballet in 2012], so it feels full circle, having discovered that album as a teenager.”

What he’s nervous about: “It’s not a conventional musical; it lives between genres. It’s framed as a gathering around a campfire, being intoxicated by the heat … a campfire beckons storytelling. We enter into the worlds of these people sharing stories on an evening in the wilderness. That’s a difficult thing for managing audience expectations. One of the most challenging parts is trying to tell a full story without words. There are lyrics, but even the lyrics have a sense of poetry to them. They’re not literal.”

How he brought on board his collaborator Jackie Sibblies Drury: “Sufjan was involved early in developing the musical arrangements but has been relatively hands-off [since being diagnosed with Guillain-Barré syndrome, an autoimmune disorder, last year] and wasn’t in a place where he wanted to go back to that time in his life. I needed a storytelling partner. Jackie told me how much she loved the album; when she moved to Chicago, she and her then boyfriend listened to it on the road there. A lot of these songs resonated with both of us at a coming-of-age time in our lives, and that’s part of our approach: intimate and personal.” — J.A.R.

Production: Shay Johnson Studio. Photo assistants: Shinobu Mochizuki, Tom Rauner. Digital tech: Kyle Knodell

Stella, photographed at Fannie Mae Dees Park in Nashville on March 7, 2024.

Stacy Kranitz

Name: Maisy Stella Profession: Actress and singer Age: 20

Debuting in: “My Old Ass,” a coming-of-age comedy in which her character, Elliott, a young woman leaving her small Canadian hometown for college, meets her 39-year-old self, played by Aubrey Plaza, while tripping on mushrooms. In theaters this August, it’s Stella’s first movie — and her first acting project since spending much of the past decade on the TV series “Nashville” (2012-18), in which she played a country star’s singer daughter.

What she’s excited about: “Being reintroduced in a way that feels true to me. I was a baby when ‘Nashville’ started; it’s hard to have people see you as a character for so many years. You have to be careful with the next thing you do, especially after you take a break [to finish high school], and I wanted to be represented in a way that felt genuine and pushed me in the direction I wanted to go. I thought a project like this would come 10 years down the line, if ever.”

What she’s nervous about: “I think I confuse anticipation with anxiety. I just feel general anticipation all the time, whether it’s about a date this weekend or this movie coming out; it’s that feeling that something’s about to happen. In my body, I might confuse it with nerves, but there are happy and cozy feelings, as well, so it levels out.”

How she collaborated with the writer-director Megan Park on her dialogue: “I watch a lot of young adult shows and think, ‘Oh my God, we sound so dumb. We don’t talk like that.’ Not everything’s abbreviated and slang. Megan [who’s 37] knows how to write for Gen Z because she includes us in her process. She doesn’t have an ego and molds her characters to who’s playing them. We’d do scripted takes and then ‘fun runs,’ where we got to improv, and she’d add lines in the moment.”

What was it like creating the template for Plaza’s character: “You’d think Aubrey would’ve come first, but I was the first one attached to the film. In any other situation, it’d be me matching her, but I feel like Elliott is very similar to me so, when Aubrey and I met, I could feel her filming me with her eyes, trying to get a scope.” — J.A.R.

Hair and makeup: Laura Godwin

Lakota-Lynch (bottom row, in a white T-shirt), photographed at Open Jar Studios in Manhattan on Feb. 26, 2024, along with (top row, from left) the “Outsiders” composer Zach Chance, the choreographers Rick and Jeff Kuperman and the writer and composer Justin Levine; (middle row, from left) the actors Brent Comer, Jason Schmidt, Joshua Boone, Kevin William Paul and Dan Berry; (bottom row, from left) the actors Emma Pittman and Brody Grant, the director Danya Taymor, the writer Adam Rapp and the actor Daryl Tofa.

Justin French

Name: Sky Lakota-Lynch Profession: Actor Age: 32

Debuting in: “The Outsiders,” a new musical that opened this month and is based on S.E. Hinton’s 1967 novel about rival teen gangs. Lakota-Lynch plays Johnny Cade, a shy 16-year-old from an abusive home. He appeared in “Dear Evan Hansen” in 2018, but this is his first time originating a role on Broadway.

What he’s excited about: “I’ve been with the show for six years, and it finally feels fully baked. People are going to be expecting us to come out tap-dancing, but you have [the writer] Adam Rapp and [the director] Danya Taymor, and those people have never done a musical. It’s the ultimate place for an actor-singer. It’s truly a play with music [by Zach Chance and Jonathan Clay of the folk duo Jamestown Revival, and the songwriter Justin Levine], and I think it’s going to shock people.”

What he’s nervous about: “It’s going to be sad to eventually let Johnny go. I’m doing this on Broadway, but it’s like the period at the end of the sentence.”

The actor sings a snippet of James Taylor’s 1970 song “Fire and Rain.”

Video by Jordan Taylor Fuller

How he’s approaching playing a beloved character: “Johnny doesn’t have a lot of lines: He’s like an Edward Scissorhands [type] — I have to fill the space with energy. The cool thing about playing the character is that I got to imbue him with myself. I’m Native American and Black, and the story is set in Tulsa, Okla., where that’s [not uncommon]. My costume has Native American embroidery; my version of Johnny feels fully fleshed out. Of course, I stole things from Ralph [Macchio, who played the role in the 1983 Francis Ford Coppola film] and from the novel — it’s that fine line between tough and tender, but it’s tailored to me.” — J.A.R.

Production: Shay Johnson Studio. Photo assistant: Shen Williams-Cohen

Corrections: An earlier version of this article misquoted Ife Olujobi in a few instances. Olujobi said she worked at the Criterion Collection after she graduated from N.Y.U., not while she was in college. Separately, Olujobi said the play that she used to apply to the Public Theater’s Emerging Writers Workshop was a work she wrote during college, not “Jordans.” An earlier version of a picture caption with this article also misstated the location where Maisy Stella was photographed; it was Fannie Mae Dees Park in Nashville, not Percy Priest Lake Park.

Becoming a Character

The comedian and actress Meg Stalter, photographed at Smashbox Studios in Los Angeles on Jan. 24, 2024, tests a few moods in front of the camera.

Photographs by Shikeith. Styled by Delphine Danhier

The comedian and actress Meg Stalter, 33, started gaining attention on social media during the 2020 Covid-19 lockdowns when she posted absurd short-form videos playing different personae, like a Disney World team leader conducting an employee orientation. The following year, she had her TV debut on HBO’s “Hacks” as Kayla, a less than helpful assistant to a talent agent. Now she’s filming her first lead role on the new Netflix series “Too Much,” written and directed by Lena Dunham (and loosely based on Dunham’s life), in which she plays the workaholic Jessica, who responds to a breakup by moving to London.

I took so many improv classes when I first [was] doing comedy. It’s the starting point for me when I develop characters. During the pandemic, I’d do improv on Instagram Live every night. The theme would be “We’re going to Paris” or “We’re doing a women’s exercise class.” It was just me doing improv online by myself for hours. When I take on a role, I study the script and imagine if I had to improv a scene. “What would I add or take away? How’s this person different from me? What could I give to the character of my own personality?”

When I read the part of Kayla, I’d already met Paul [W. Downs, a co-creator of “Hacks”] at a stand-up show. [I found out later that] he had me in mind when he wrote the script. That was almost more nerve-racking: It was strange to think, “What if I lose this part to someone else but they were thinking of me in the first place?”

Kayla started as the assistant who comes in and says a crazy line. But in the third season of “Hacks,” she has more emotional scenes, which add another layer: When a character experiences a range of emotions, it makes the crazy stuff even funnier.

The comedian and actress tells a knock-knock joke.

At first when you get a script, you picture yourself in it and think, “Oh, well, she probably looks like me.” That changes the more you get to know the character. Lena [Dunham]’s been so open to talking through Jessica. She’ll say, “Tell me what you think about the hair,” and, “Tell me if there’re any outfits you don’t like.” She even made a playlist Jessica would listen to. There’s Avril Lavigne, Girlpool, Sabrina Carpenter. When I’m studying the script, I’ll play that in the background. Jessica’s into the dreamy side of London and Jane Austen. She’s a little girlie and wears a lot of pink. She wears [nightgowns] as actual dresses and things that’re a little bit too cute for work. I sent [the costume designer] Arielle [Cooper-Lethem] some dresses from Fashion Brand Company. They look like [they could be in an Austen adaptation] but modern and sexier. Like shirts with ribbons all over or matching sets made of lace. Everything’s kind of funny but also hot. It’s stuff I would’ve worn when I thought I was straight. I feel like Jessica’s the straight version of me.

It’s interesting to be playing a version of someone whose work I’ve admired for so long. I’ve rewatched [Dunham’s 2012-17 HBO series] “Girls” so many times. To have everything she’s written in my head but be told, “Just do it the way that you would do,” or, “This is all yours now,” it feels freeing. There’re some directors and writers who want you to say exactly what’s on paper.

When you’re in character in front of a camera, there’re certain things you can’t prepare for. I can research so much for a part — create memories for the character, talk through costume — but if it comes out differently [than what I imagined], that’s OK. It’s important to be able to let go and let the scene be what it is. Some people torture themselves after performing. They’re like, “I should’ve said this or that.” I really don’t do that. Once it’s out there, that’s what it’s supposed to be.

Stalter wears, from start: Versace dress, $1,990, versace.com ; and Alexander McQueen ring, $690, alexandermcqueen.com . Versace dress and headband, $325. Wray shirt, $185, wray.nyc ; Dolce & Gabbana dress, $2,095, dolcegabbana.com ; and Sophie Buhai earrings, $395, ssense.com .

Production: Resin Projects. Hair: Tiago Goya. Makeup: Holly Silius. Manicure: Pilar Lafargue

Making a Painting

The artist Roberto Gil de Montes, photographed at his studio in La Peñita, Mexico, on Feb. 13, 2024, painting “Man With Lizard Mask.”

Photographs by Nuria Lagarde

Since 2005, the painter Roberto Gil de Montes, 73, has lived and worked in the fishing village of La Peñita de Jaltemba north of Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific coast of Mexico. He was born in Guadalajara but moved as a teenager to Los Angeles, where he was active in the Chicano art movement. It wasn’t until he took part in the 2020 show “Siembra” at the gallery Kurimanzutto in Mexico City, though, that the art world took notice of his dreamlike Surrealist works. Next year, Gil de Montes will be the subject of a career survey at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

I live in a place where there’re no museums or galleries. I’m inspired by my surroundings — by the jungle, by the ocean. I often say there’s no better background than the ocean for painting. I have two studios: one at home, where I work on paper, and a painting studio in town near the ocean. Usually, I start at home on paper. I either sketch or use watercolor wash. If I’m going to do an oil painting, I go to the studio in town. Before I work, I might just sit around and look at books — I like [monographs about Henri] Matisse, [Paul] Cezanne, [Edouard] Manet. It’s sort of a meditation. A lot of times, an idea surges when I’m working on something already; other times, it might be a memory. Or a dream. The other day, I had a dream that I was taking a photo with my phone of a house on fire — but I was conscious that the house was a drawing. [When I woke up] I thought, “Well, I should do a painting of that.”

I’m very intrigued by how memory works and how the memory of something can trigger [a new idea]. [While putting together the career survey] I’ve revisited all of these old works of mine. Some I remember painting. Others I don’t remember at all. I’m 73 years old. I forget things, and then I start thinking, “Wow, this is interesting because if I’m working from memory and forgetting things, how’s that going to affect the work that I do? How can I explore that?” For instance, somebody sent me a painting they said was mine. I said, “No, I didn’t do that painting. I’m sorry,” only to find out that I’d signed the back. A lot of the ideas I’ve been working on come from the past. In the [2022] Venice Biennale, I had a painting [“Up,” 2021] of somebody hanging upside down or falling through the sky. That came [about] when I walked into the studio and noticed I had inadvertently put a painting upside down. I said, “Actually, that’ll make a good painting upside down.” I don’t know how other artists work. I’m very open to ideas.

Reimagining a Retrospective

The conceptual artist Jenny Holzer, photographed at her studio in upstate New York on Feb. 6, 2024, with LED text from her series “Survival” (1983-85), which will be on view at her exhibition at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum from May through September.

In 1989, the conceptual artist Jenny Holzer installed an LED scroll of aphorisms — “Abuse of power comes as no surprise” is among the most famous — on three of the six internal ramps of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York. It was part of her retrospective “Untitled (Selections From Truisms, Inflammatory Essays, the Living Series, the Survival Series, Under a Rock, Laments and Child Text).” Next month, Holzer, 73, will restage the work there as part of her show “Jenny Holzer: Light Line” (which will also include other pieces from her 50-plus-year career). But this time, the LED installation — which will display the original “Truisms” and other text series — will go all the way to the top.

I’m a self-loathing, slow study so [ahead of the 1989 retrospective at the Guggenheim] I had to walk and walk around and around and around the museum. It finally occurred to me, “Oh, around and around is the answer [to how the piece should be displayed].” I’m relieved I attended to what Frank Lloyd Wright did: The building is magnificently, utterly self-sufficient. It doesn’t necessarily need art, and it’s inclined to shrug it off at times.

As I was developing the new exhibition, I started walking the museum again — and not just the ramps. I went up and down the stairs a few thousand times. I went in the elevator, in assorted bathrooms, in nooks and crannies. And in those places, I put everything from the first diagrams I made in the ’70s on up to icky paintings made by A.I.

The conceptual artist discusses a sculpture by the artist Louise Bourgeois.

Video by Joshua Charow

If I have a specialty, and I’m not certain that I do, it’s installation. I like hunting and seeing. The first step is to go blank, with no preconceptions. And then, since it is visual art, using my eyes to see. Then that mysterious thing happens: Ideas come — when you’re lucky. Otherwise, you try again.

When I’m just trying to make a new artwork for anywhere, it’s adequate to lie on the couch with my eyes closed and wait for that pizza to arrive — the “art” pizza. But when I’m [fortunate enough] to be in a building like Wright’s Guggenheim, it’s — surprise, surprise — necessary for the body to be in the space. Alert, alive, all tentacles reaching out, all senses going. And on some level, being hopeful.

Photo assistant: Ece Yavuz

Adapting an Ibsen Play

For the second time, the playwright Amy Herzog, 45, has adapted a work by Henrik Ibsen. The first was “A Doll’s House” (1879), starring Jessica Chastain. Herzog’s latest staging, “An Enemy of the People” (1882), stars Jeremy Strong as Dr. Thomas Stockmann, a physician who is shunned for warning his town that its lucrative public baths are contaminated. Michael Imperioli plays his brother, Peter Stockmann, the mayor, who seeks to suppress Thomas’s findings.

When I begin an adaptation, I first read a few different translations of the play. Then I try to get those out of my head. For “A Doll’s House” and now “An Enemy of the People,” I’ve worked with a translator named Charlotte Barslund. She does a literal translation in English, which stays as close to the feeling and meaning of the original Norwegian as possible. I go through that line by line, translating it into my own words without making any big decisions. Once I have my first version, I start the bigger work of cutting. For “An Enemy of the People,” we cut three characters. I decided to cut the character of Katherine, Thomas Stockmann’s wife, after a lot of conversations with Sam [Gold, the play’s director and Herzog’s husband]. Her sections weren’t working; they were feeling really turgid. There’re sections that his daughter, Petra [played by Victoria Pedretti], could pick up if Katherine was gone.

What was remarkable about cutting Katherine was realizing how little had to change. The fact that you didn’t have to do major surgery on the play was one tell that cutting Katherine was a good idea. It gives Stockmann this recent terrible grief. It’s a particular grief when you’re a doctor, I think, to lose a spouse — to be the doctor who can’t save your loved ones. That spring loads the play as it begins: He’s reaching a place where he can have happiness again — [only] to be completely betrayed by his community and to lose everything he’s finally gained.

Ibsen wrote domestic psychological plays and social plays. “A Doll’s House” is the former and “An Enemy of the People” the latter. [When adapting “A Doll’s House”] I learned some pretty basic things about the mechanics of making it feel leaner and more modern. But other than that, it was shockingly different to translate them and humbling that he had plays that were so totally different inside of him. This play is bigger and rangier and even more relevant than “A Doll’s House.” It’s very timely — there’re a few headlines it brings up. One is climate change. I was reading a lot about scientists who weren’t listened to when they tried to sound the alarm years ago. I was also reading Naomi Klein’s [2023 memoir] “Doppelganger” and thinking about the way the body politic becomes sick. I try to do a lot of research before writing — I read a fair amount of Ibsen biographies — so there’s no single influence that’s too loud while I’m working. When I’m really doing the translation, I need quiet and cloistering. So there’d be gaps in my communication with [Jeremy] and everyone else. Then there’d be the moments, after reading a draft, when it was time to talk and become porous again.

Jeremy was the reason for the production. From the moment I began to work on “An Enemy of the People,” I knew who was playing Thomas Stockmann. I’ve known Jeremy since 1997, and I’ve seen a ton of his work, so his voice was influencing the way I adapted that character.

[Jeremy and Dr. Stockmann] are similar in that they both have a total commitment to what they believe in. Having someone in my life with that kind of devotion to his craft and to his storytelling means that I’m coming to [the character] with the texture of a real, contemporary person. Every few days, he sends me a poem or an article or something that’s meant something to him related to the play. He sent me the William Butler Yeats poem “A Coat.” The first three lines are “I made my song a coat / Covered with embroideries / Out of old mythologies.” There’s this incidental line in Ibsen’s original [script] that people often cut — but I didn’t, I love it — when Captain Horster [Dr. Stockmann’s loyal friend] makes his first entrance before you even see Dr. Stockmann, who says, “Hang your coat on that peg. Oh, you don’t wear an overcoat?” Captain Horster is this character who has no pretense and is an uncorrupted type of human. And Ibsen has him coatless at the beginning. So the idea of a coat and what it is to cover yourself has become an interesting thematic touch point for us.

Putting Up a Gallery Show

Since graduating from the Rhode Island School of Design in 1999, the visual artist Joe Bradley, 49, has made a habit of reinvention. His style continuously shifts, from mixed-media sculptures to line drawings to highly saturated large-scale canvases. His most recent exhibition of paintings opens this month at David Zwirner gallery in New York.

I tend to arrive at my studio [in Long Island City, Queens] around nine, turn the lights on, make a pot of coffee. Then, depending on what sort of stage the paintings are at, I’ll just start working. If it’s early on [in the piece], I’m much more active. When the paintings [begin] to come together, it’s a lot more about just looking and making little decisions to resolve things. I don’t have a real ritual. I don’t even have to be in any particular state of mind. If I’m distracted or depressed or happy or whatever, I just come in and see what happens.

I do begin with some practical decisions. I know how big the painting is going to be and what sort of surface I’m going to be working on. I know what the contour of [a show] will look like. I don’t make any sort of preparatory sketches — the paintings reveal themselves to me through the process of working on them. But the deadline [for the show] ends up being this organizing force. It’s the day your entire year revolves around, the time [by which] you know the paintings will have to be presentable and cohesive. It’s helpful to have that because, otherwise, you could keep things up in the air indefinitely.

When I paint today, I might be responding to a mark on the canvas that I made six weeks or six months ago. What I’m doing early in the process isn’t going to be available visually by the end — most of it’ll be painted out or it’ll disappear in the process. I lay traps or create little problems for myself to encounter. It’s almost like the uglier it gets in the early stages, the better the painting will be.

Building an Installation

The artist Suzanne Jackson, photographed at her Savannah, Ga., studio on Feb. 1, 2024, works on a piece that will eventually be installed on a terrace at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

Kendrick Brinson

The Savannah, Ga.-based artist Suzanne Jackson, 80, has worked as a dancer, a set and costume designer, a professor and a poet — but most notably as a painter. Jackson describes her ethereal compositions as “anti-canvases,” which she creates by building up layers of acrylic paint and at times found materials, including netting and produce bags. In 2025, she’ll display a selection of work from her six-decade career, along with a new site-specific installation, as part of a retrospective at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

I’m working on a commission for the fourth-floor terrace of [SFMoMA]. It’s an installation that’ll climb the walls of the terrace and partially fill the open space. My approach is quite different than if I were working on a painting in my studio: I have to think of it in an architectural or sculptural sense. There’re technical aspects, so I’ve been doing a lot of research in airports and from airplane windows, looking at large-scale structures that don’t fall down — things on the rooftops of buildings like windsocks or poles. This piece will be built from the ground up, unlike my other work that hangs from the walls or ceiling.

I don’t go looking for ideas. I just go into the studio and start painting. Now that I’m older and not teaching, I don’t have to do anything except paint. In the morning, I roam around the house. I do the laundry. I feed the cats. I look out the window and stare at nature. I have a big window at the end of my kitchen and can see tall trees and birds and animals and insects. I go through the studio to get to the kitchen from my bedroom, so sometimes I end up stopping and looking at work I’ve already done. There’s a lot of sitting and thinking and looking. Sometimes, I’ll turn on music — Charles Mingus and Eric Dolphy or Yo-Yo Ma. On Mondays and Fridays, it’s [the Savannah radio D.J. and jazz historian] Ike Carter’s show “Impressions.”

As the music flows, so does the paint — that’s a spiritual environment to be in. Other times, I’ll work in absolute silence. At the beginning, I explore. I’m never quite sure what’s going to happen. Usually, it comes spontaneously. One brushstroke leads to the next, and then it becomes another idea. I might think I have one idea when I start, but it often changes along the way to be something completely opposite. I’m just having a good time being a painter. That’s how I started, and it’s how I’m going to end.

Photo assistant: Dayna Anderson

Lorraine O’Grady,

89, new york city.

The multidisciplinary artist and critic, whose solo show at Mariane Ibrahim gallery in Chicago opens this month.

Lorraine O’Grady’s “Announcement Card 2 (Spike With Sword, Fighting)” (2020).

© Lorraine O’Grady/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York, courtesy of Mariane Ibrahim, Chicago, Paris, Mexico City

I thought I was going to be a writer. My family tells me that I made my first poem when I was a year and a half old: “I like mice because they’re nice.” [In my early 30s, after working for five years] as an intelligence analyst, I went to the Iowa Writers’ Workshop for fiction. I hadn’t really been reading fiction, though, so I wasn’t very good at writing it. I spent most of my second year there translating short stories written by my instructor [the Chilean novelist] José Donoso.

Growing up, I had all these exposures to beauty. I’d gone to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston as a child and seen [Paul] Gauguin’s “Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?,” a painting that continues to influence me. And my mother was a dress designer. She redid our house every six months. By the time I was 10, I basically had everything that I’m now working with in place, but I didn’t have the language. I didn’t get that language until the early 1970s, when I read [the critic and curator] Lucy Lippard’s “Six Years: The Dematerialization of the Art Object From 1966 to 1972.” [Then] I was ready. The ideas for my visual art already existed within my experience. I just hadn’t known they were art before.

A few years later, when I was in my early 40s, I had to have a biopsy of my breast. After — thank God, it was negative for cancer — I was thinking about what I could give my doctor as a thank-you present. Reading my copy of the Sunday New York Times, I saw a line in the sports pages about Julius Erving that said, “The doctor is operating again.” I said, “OK, this could be the start of something,” and I made a really good poem for my doctor [out of words clipped from the newspaper]. But when I finished the poem, I said, “This is too good to give to him.” Then I immediately started making newspaper poems for a project called “Cutting Out The New York Times.” I made one every week for 26 weeks. When I finished, I realized that I’d become a visual artist — or revealed that I was a visual artist. — interview by J.C.

Toni Morrison,

The author of 11 novels, including “Beloved,” “Sula” and “Song of Solomon.”

By the time Toni Morrison wrote “Beloved” (1987), her best-known novel, she’d worked for nearly two decades as a book editor. Her debut, “The Bluest Eye” (1970), was published when she was 39 and, while not a commercial success, was critically praised. She published three more books between 1973 and 1981 — including “Song of Solomon” — while still at her editing job.

Prior to going into publishing, Morrison — who had a master’s degree in American literature from Cornell University — spent nearly a decade teaching college English. After her divorce, she worked for a textbook division of Random House before joining Random House proper as its first Black female editor; there, she championed and published Black authors such as Angela Davis, June Jordan, Gayl Jones and Toni Cade Bambara. “I didn’t go to anything. I didn’t join anything,” she once said about the civil rights movement. “But I could make sure there was a published record of those who did march and did put themselves on the line.” All the while, Morrison was waking by dawn to write before heading into the office. She’d later describe those sessions as a form of liberation: “The writing was the real freedom because nobody told me what to do there. That was my world and my imagination. And all my life it’s been that way.”

For many years, Morrison considered her day job essential to her art. “I thrive on the urgency that doing more than one thing provides,” she once said. But the industry had its difficulties — the overwhelming whiteness, the increasing commercial demands — and she left her position in 1983. Four years later, at age 56, she published “Beloved.” In a preface to the 2004 edition of the book, she looks back on the rush of feelings she experienced following her last day at the job. “I was happy, free in a way I had never been, ever. It was the oddest sensation. Not ecstasy, not satisfaction, not a surfeit of pleasure or accomplishment. It was a purer delight, a rogue anticipation with certainty. Enter ‘Beloved.’”

65, New York City

The multidisciplinary artist and former drag performer, whose paintings are currently on view at the Dallas Contemporary art space and the MassArt Art Museum in Boston.

A 2023 acrylic on canvas by Tabboo! titled “Lavender Garden.”

My mother put me into an art class when I was 15 at the Worcester Art Museum, and then I went on to art school [at the Massachusetts College of Art and Design], where I majored in painting and fine art. I remember my first sale, to my aunt Julie. She wanted me to copy [Jean-François] Millet’s “The Gleaners.” I didn’t want to copy someone else’s stuff — I think one of the reasons I’m popular is that I’m very original — but I still did the painting, of course. It was a commission and I was being paid!

I started performing drag in nightclubs when I moved to New York in 1982, but I’ve always been painting, too. This isn’t something I just came up with, like, “Oh, I can’t get on ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race,’ I better start painting.” I had one-man shows and gallery exhibitions right after graduating from art school. Elton John and Gianni Versace bought my paintings. I don’t want anyone to have the impression — which certain people seem to — that I took up painting just because I stopped doing drag. I might be getting a bit more attention for it now, but I’ve always been doing it.

I usually get up at four in the morning. I feed my cat and then start painting. A lot of my paintings are sunrises. And I do sunsets and cityscapes. Or if it rains in a weird way, I’ll do a rain painting. It’s a very spiritual, meditative, private thing. There isn’t a day that goes by that I haven’t done something, and so my work gets better and better and better. And I must say, I’m a master of my craft now.

Sometimes a collector will ask, “Can we come over to the studio and watch you paint?” I tell them no. I usually do it naked. — interview by J.C.

Justin Vivian Bond,

60, new york city and the hudson valley, n.y..

The performer and multidisciplinary artist, whose work has been exhibited at Participant Inc. and the New Museum in New York City, and will be on view at Bill Arning Exhibitions in Kinderhook, N.Y., in May.

Justin Vivian Bond’s watercolor “Witch Eyes, by Viv, to Protect You From Evil Chodes: Lois” (2024).

When I was in high school, I was interested in visual art as well as music and acting, but I decided to major in theater in college because I thought it was a career that could get me out of Maryland and allow me to move to New York. I became a performer, and I’ve been doing cabaret for many years. In 2008, when I broke up my cabaret act Kiki and Herb, my rent was so cheap that I didn’t have to work as much. I started painting again, and it flows very naturally for me.

My watercolors are primarily portraits of people I know. I’ll ask them to pose for a photograph and then paint from that. I also make pseudo fan art, like my “Witch Eyes” series, which is based on iconic photographs of celebrities’ eyes. The wonderful thing about painting is that you have total control over it, if you’re lucky. Onstage, there’re so many variables. And with painting, you don’t have to be there [when people see your work]. I love being in front of an audience, but I don’t really love being among people. The pleasure for me is singing but, when the show’s over, I have to talk to a lot of people. I like all of them, but there’re too many, so it can be a little overwhelming. You don’t ever get to connect on a deeper level. The most satisfying times in my life have been when my shows have been installed and it’s the night before the opening. All of it’s exactly how I want it — the room, the lighting — and I just sit there and look and have this sense of utter satisfaction. — interview by J.C.

Wallace Stevens,

The poet, whose best known works include “The Emperor of Ice-Cream,” “The Snow Man” and “Anecdote of the Jar.”

Wallace Stevens never quit his day job. Though he had literary ambitions as a young man, serving as the editor of the Harvard Advocate as an undergraduate, he earned his degree from New York Law School and in 1916 joined the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company, where he remained, specializing in surety and fidelity claims, until his death, in 1955. Yet he was writing all the time: on his daily walk to work, at home in the evenings and sometimes in the office.

It wasn’t until 1914, when Stevens was 34, that his first post-college poems appeared in literary journals. He went on to publish seven volumes of poetry over the course of his lifetime. The first, “Harmonium,” released in 1923, sold fewer than 100 copies; the last, 1954’s “The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens,” won the Pulitzer Prize.

The themes of Stevens’s work — the affirming power of art and beauty, the sublime contained within the mundane — suggest one reason why he stuck with insurance law even as his artistic acclaim grew. His steady paycheck would have allowed writing to remain a purely creative act. In his essay “Surety and Fidelity Claims,” Stevens says of his insurance work, “You sign a lot of drafts. You see surprisingly few people. ... You don’t even see the country; you see law offices and hotel rooms.” Poetry, on the other hand — as he characterizes it in 1923’s “Of Modern Poetry” — “must be the finding of a satisfaction.” It was his livelihood, in the most artistic sense of the word.

Theaster Gates,

50, chicago.

The University of Chicago professor and multidisciplinary artist, whose solo shows at the Gagosian gallery in Le Bourget, France, and the Mori Art Museum in Tokyo open this month.

Theaster Gates’s sculptural work “Sweet Sanctuary, Your Embrace” (2023).

© Theaster Gates. Photo: © White Cube

In 2000, I took a job as the arts planner at the Chicago Transit Authority. There was so much new construction happening there, and my role was to appeal to the Federal Transit Administration for a portion of the transit money to be set aside for public art. In a way, it was like an M.B.A.: I managed $26 million over four or five years. My negotiating skills went through the roof.

I’d graduated from Iowa State [in 1995] with a degree in community and regional planning and then did a [post-baccalaureate] in religious studies and fine art at the University of Cape Town. After that, I spent time in Japan studying ceramics. So when I came to the C.T.A., my background incorporated both art and community and, every day, I was leaving there and going to my ceramics studio.

In 2005, I left the C.T.A. because I outgrew the position, and I stopped making pots because I couldn’t afford my studio. I started using more recycled materials in my work [such as wood pallets]. It was during this period that I was starting to combine my knowledge of minimalism and conceptual practices with my background in building and working with my dad, who was a roofer. Now buildings have kind of become my primary monuments, and the project management and team building that I learned at the C.T.A. are really evident in the way that I create.

I did a project at the New Museum [that opened in late 2022 and] was essentially an exhibition about mourning and loss. My father had died six months prior to the opening, and I didn’t have time to mourn his death or the deaths of dear friends like [the fashion designer] Virgil Abloh, my mentor [the Nigerian curator and art critic] Okwui Enwezor, [the author] bell hooks and [the film scholar] Robert Bird. The show grew out of a desire to grapple with my feelings and honor these people. The museum didn’t necessarily have the budget to do all of the things that I wanted to, so I had to figure out, “Are there poetic ways to articulate loss that don’t require substantial build-out, or big, fancy gestures or expensive audio equipment?”

Ultimately, I included Bird’s 9,500-volume library, and Virgil Abloh’s widow loaned me his yellow diamond-studded necklace. Those were moments when limitations built new friendships and more nuanced opportunities, and I feel like having been a planner’s what made me willing to pick up the phone and say, “Hey, would you be willing to collaborate with me?” — interview by J.C.

Remember That You’re Never Truly Equipped to Start Anything

As actors, we feel like we have to be ready, but I’d say you’re never ready. You’re not prepared for something you’ve never done before, so let go of that. This past year I did some symphony gigs for the first time, and it was incredible. It was better than being ready, because I just had to be new. — Ali Stroker, 36, actress and singer

Myha’la in season one of “Industry,” 2020.

Amanda Searle/HBO

Embrace Fear — but Come Prepared

I have the curse of perfectionism, and there’ve been so many projects where I’ve said, “I’m not right for that, so I’m not going to audition.” But that’s kind of lazy, so I’ve rewired my thinking: If something’s targeting some insecurity in me, why not take the opportunity to work on that thing? I used to avoid anything with an accent but now, if I got the call for “Bridgerton,” I’d feel confident enough to go for it. Definitely do your homework, though. With almost every trading scene in “Industry,” I’ve thought, “Nope, I’m not going to be able to get the words out.” I don’t sleep the night before, and I’m wrecked the next morning. Then everything pours out because I’ve come in prepared. Filming the first season of “Industry” in 2019 was the first time I’d been on a job longer than five days, the first time I’d worked out of the country, the first everything, and I was so nervous. Go toward things that scare you. — Myha’la, 28, actor  

Make Yourself Start

Deciding what’s a good idea is an ongoing battle. But you can only think about something for so long before you just have to try it. Someone once told me that when he makes a painting he likes, he’ll make another one with the same idea to see if it holds up and then another, which I thought was pretty good advice. Sometimes I force myself to go to my studio and start painting [Gordon initially set out to be a visual artist and started focusing more on her art practice about 25 years ago], even if I don’t have an idea. I like conceptual thinking, but I also like the physicality of painting. Usually that leads me to something and, even if it doesn’t — what am I going to do, sit around and watch movies all day? — Kim Gordon, 70, musician and visual artist

Put Yourself in Your Body — and Your Past

Sometimes painting can feel like this dream I have where I’m in the back of a moving car and I’m reaching over to the front seat to try to get control. That’s a nervous system in panic. There’s a grounding exercise I like to do where I jump and really feel my feet smack the floor — trying to get yourself back into your body’s part of the trick. And then I go, “Well, who’s dreaming?” If you can get there, you’re lucid in the dream, and that’s a good place to be. Still, feelings will come up that you don’t want. When I was working on this satyr painting, suddenly the satyr was my old friend Chris, who betrayed me when I was 18 to a group of guys who beat me up. I thought, “Why am I painting Chris? I don’t want to paint Chris.” I was in flow for a while but, when I hit this painting, I experienced self-doubt and thought, “People are going to think these paintings are awful.” Then I went on Instagram and liked one of his pictures. It felt like a weird, brave task. And he wrote to me and asked if he could call me, 26 years after ghosting me, and he apologized for 20 minutes. I cried and I think he probably cried, and I felt it all melt away. And then I went back to the painting. — TM Davy, 43, artist

Kim Gordon in 1990.

Laura Levine/Corbis via Getty Images

Psych Yourself Out

If things are too hard, something’s wrong, but you also have to embrace the awkward feelings. See if you can fool yourself — I used to get self-conscious about drawing when I was a teenager in an art class with a model, and the teacher said, “Don’t think of it as drawing. Think of it as designing the page.” That really loosened things up for me. It’s amazing what you can do if you pretend. — Kim Gordon

When people say they’re self-taught, it means they asked somebody else how they did it. When I began in folk music, I went to the clubs and I begged and borrowed and asked. [More recently, having taken up painting acrylics a little over a decade ago,] I was painting [Anthony] Fauci and couldn’t figure out how to do his glasses. I called an artist friend and she had all these tricks — “Don’t try to copy the photograph,” she told me, “just use dabs of paint here and there to give the impression of glass.” It didn’t take more than 45 minutes to learn how to put glasses on Fauci. Without her, I would’ve struggled for weeks trying to get it right. — Joan Baez, 83, singer-songwriter, activist, painter and author

Don’t Sweat the End — and Work on More Than One Thing at Once

Remember that the maker almost never knows exactly what they’re making in advance. The great works often appear when we’re aiming toward something completely different. Start as soon as you see a way in. I [also] find it helpful to work on multiple things at the same time. Not in the same moment but during the same general time period. The beauty is that different projects are at different stages, so you can avoid getting burned out on any one [thing]. We can step away, work on something else and come back with new eyes, as if we’re seeing it for the first time. Tunnel vision’s easy to fall into when working on a single project for a long period. We can end up getting lost in details nobody else will ever notice, while losing touch with the grand gesture of the work. — Rick Rubin, 61, music producer and author of “The Creative Act: A Way of Being”

Murray Hill in 1996.

Catherine McGann/Getty Images

Treat Procrastination as Productivity

There were certain things I couldn’t do during the [SAG-AFTRA] strike, but I did get a book deal. It’s called “Showbiz! My Unexpected Life as a Middle-Aged Man,” and I’ve got to get that done — by June 1st! I’m used to being onstage. When I’m sitting at my desk in my studio apartment, I procrastinate quite a bit, and I’m always asking myself, “Is this part of the creative process for me, or am I just making my life harder?” But I also procrastinate in productive ways. I go for a walk — in rehab, they taught us, “Move a muscle, change a thought.” Then I come back and put on jazz music. Doing that removes the blocks, probably because jazz is so much about improvisation and I’m at my core an improviser. Another thing I’ll do to light the match is turn to others’ work. I’ll watch Dean Martin videos or a documentary or old game shows. For this memoir, I’ve been reading memoirs by other people — Gary Gulman, Viola Davis, Maria Bamford, Leslie Jones, Aparna Nancherla — and not only does that awaken my creative senses, it triggers memories. — Murray Hill, 52, comedian, actor and writer

Be Comfortable With Discomfort

There was a time when [my] body was always ready, and when I had so many axes to grind and windmills to chase [that] something would come out. Now I can’t just depend on my body being there — that I’m going to bust a move and seduce — so I have to be a little more strategic: “What’s the idea? Does it serve anyone other than you?” I’m trying to reaffirm for myself that what I have left in me to say is worth saying. Doubt is always with us, and it burns like fire. But if I refuse to give up the mantle of being a creative artist, I’ve got to do something. [You might say] “Well, why don’t you just love a child? Why don’t you go work at a soup kitchen down the street?” Because I’m a self-involved son of a bitch. Procrastination says, “I don’t dare,” but can you live with yourself if you don’t? So how do you start? Terror. Guilt. Fear. All negatives to this generation of young people who don’t ever want to be uncomfortable, but the generation that formed me and my own generation had that feeling that you’re being pushed against and you’ve got to push back, because you’re not like them. As Martha Graham said to Agnes de Mille, “There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” I’ve got to believe that about myself, and the evidence is what I dare to do. — Bill T. Jones, 72, choreographer, director and dancer

If Your Work Goes Up in Flames, Don’t Fetishize the Ashes

One thing that eases the prospect of getting started is remembering that not everything you make needs to be for consumption or even to count as art. I recently spent nine months quietly making these works — mineral paint on cement slabs — and ended up throwing them all away because I decided they were too conventional. You’re not married to your old self, either. In 2013, there was an electrical fire at the studio I’d just moved into, and the building burned to the ground. I lost cartons of negatives and proof sheets that were over six feet tall, as well as photographs — stuff I’d made five, seven, 10, 15 years prior. Of course, it was traumatic and terrifying, but it was also freeing. Eventually I realized it was an opportunity for me to draw a line and stop making a certain kind of work. As artists, we think, “I got known for this type of thing,” or, “This is what everybody seems to like of mine.” A part of me felt, “I have to rebuild this person,” and then I thought, “Well, I don’t,” and I started something else. It was actually one of the most fruitful periods of my creative life. — Anthony Pearson, 55, painter, sculptor and photographer

Joan Baez in 1974.

David Redfern/Redferns via Getty Images

Practice Some Denial

When I was working on “Diamonds & Rust” (1975), I was at a low point of my career and I made a decision that I was going to concentrate on music and quit globe-trotting for different issues. I realized that the music needed my time and attention if it was going to be any good. Learning to live with the state of the world’s a daily practice. Everything we do, we do against the backdrop of global warming and fascism. I never dreamed I’d live in a world this chaotic and discouraging, and I’m overwhelmed but I’m also a great believer in denial — I think that’s where you have to be in order to create, or have fun or dance — providing that we set aside a certain amount of time to come out of denial and actually do something to help. — Joan Baez

Reject Fear. And Put Your Ego to Bed.

Last year, I went through what medical professionals would call a flop era. I’d had three years of the kind of lovely, psychotic busyness that has you hopping from job to job, just following green lights, but then everything went poof — the show I was working on got canceled; the financing for the film adaptation of my novel fell through. I’d been working on such personal things regarding sex and disability and, when those things ended or weren’t [well] received, I began to doubt myself. But then, you’re combating panic, and I started thinking really awful thoughts like, “Do I need to write a pilot where there’s a dead body?” Fear is the most poisonous thing to creativity. You can’t force it, and you have to listen to the work — it’ll tell you what it needs to be. Look at me getting all woo-woo, but it’s true. When you make a living off of writing, not every single project’s going to be from the depths of your soul, but I think there should always be some level of enjoyment. Starting over is really humbling, by the way. Knowing when to stop and when to start over requires giving your ego an Ambien. Real failure is letting your ego drive the bus of your life right off the cliff. — Ryan O’Connell, 37, writer and actor

Alice McDermott, 70, writer

There are three kinds of novels I’ve never taken to heart: science fiction, murder mysteries and novels about novelists. So I’ve decided to try my hand at each. If I fail, they’re probably not books I’d want to read anyway.

Thurston Moore, 65, musician and author

I’m putting the final touches on a new album, “Flow Critical Lucidity.” But after my memoir, “Sonic Life” (2023), came out, I realized my next mission was a novella, the working title of which is “Boomerang and Parsnip.” It concerns two madly in love youths in the wilds of Lower Manhattan circa 1981, and it’s wholly irreal, bordering on fantasy.

Courtesy of Samuel Delany

Samuel R. Delany, 82, writer

I’m writing a guidebook for a set of tarot cards I designed with the artist Lissanne Lake.

Susan Cianciolo, 54, visual artist

I’m preparing a solo exhibition that will open at Bridget Donahue gallery next month, so I’m making new works and curating older ones. It’ll definitely feature a book of my watercolor tree paintings, “Tell Me When You Hear My Heart Stop.”

Jenny Offill, 55, writer

I’m planning to start a band called Spacecrone. (I’ve stolen the name from a book of Ursula K. Le Guin essays.) It’ll be all female and 55-plus. Our faces will be made up like Ziggy Stardust, but we’ll wear sensible clothes and shoes. What’s kept me from starting it is that I can’t sing or play any instruments.

Alex Eagle, 40, creative director

We’re finessing our bag collection, which we’re trying to make as luxurious, but also as practical, as possible. And I’m planning to write a cookbook with my son Jack.

Jim Bennett/Wire Image, via Getty Images

Earl Sweatshirt, 30, rapper and producer

Making more music — it’s the one thing I always find myself coming back to, though every time I do, I have to overcome intense feelings of self-doubt. I also want to try stand-up, but I’m scared because there’s no music to hide behind. I don’t want dogs-playing-poker laughs, either. You know the [paintings] of dogs playing cards? Like, “Oh, it’s a rapper doing stand-up.”

Alex Da Corte, 43, visual artist

I’ve been writing an opera for some years now based on Marisol Escobar’s [assemblage] “The Party” (1965-66). It’s set at a time when the sun only shines for one day a year, and the players at the party are all wondering how to move forward while holding on to their pasts.

Danny Kaplan, 40, designer

While clay has been my faithful medium for years, I’ve lately been fueled to broaden the scope of my craft by embracing — and learning how to push the boundaries of — new materials like wood, metal and glass.

Kengo Kuma, 69, architect

Getting out of [Tokyo]. I’m doing my best to reduce the burden on big cities — I think humankind has reached a limit when it comes to congestion — and I’ve recently opened five satellite offices in places like Hokkaido and Okinawa.

Raul Lopez, 39, fashion designer, Luar

The thing I’m always meaning to restart is my video blog “Rags to Riches: Dining With the Fabbest Bitches,” an exploration of how food, fashion, music and art all connect.

Charles Burnett, 80, filmmaker

Right now I’m involved in the development of two films. The first, “Edwin’s Wedding,” is the story of two cousins, separated by the Namibian armed struggle with South Africa, who are both planning their weddings. The second, “Dark City,” also set in Namibia, is more of an emotional roller coaster about betrayal and vengeance told in the Hitchcockian mold.

Ludovic Nkoth, 29, visual artist

I’m looking to experiment outside the confines of the canvas — sculpture and video have always been lingering in the back of my head.

Elena Velez, 29, fashion designer

I want to start a series of salons to bring together great minds across multiple disciplines, while feeding the subculture that my work draws from.

Daniel Clowes, 63, cartoonist

I’ve always had the desire to do fakes of artworks I admire — to figure out how they were done, and so I could have otherwise unaffordable artwork hanging in my living room. Painting [with oil] is as frustrating and exhilarating as I remember it being when I was in art school 43 years ago, and my paintings look alarmingly not unlike the ones I did at 19.

Piero Lissoni, 67, architect and designer

I’ve started the design for several new buildings that will become government offices in Budapest. I’d like to start designing chairs, lights, skyscrapers, spacecraft. In truth, I’d like to start doing everything again.

Peter Paul Rubens’s “The Massacre of the Innocents” (circa 1610), Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto

Robert Longo, 71, visual artist

I’ve been struggling to figure out how best to make sense of the overwhelming images in the news, so I’m turning to the past. I’m working on two monumental charcoal drawings based on paintings [about war]: Peter Paul Rubens’s “The Massacre of the Innocents” (circa 1610) and Francisco de Goya’s “The Third of May 1808” (1814).

Gabriel Hendifar, 42, designer

I’m moving into a new apartment by myself after a series of long relationships. I’m excited to challenge my own ideas about how I want to live and to see how that affects the work of my design studio [Apparatus] as we begin our next collection.

Donna Huanca, 43, visual artist

I’m working on two solo exhibitions. One will be in a late 15th-century palazzo with underground vaulted rooms in Florence, Italy; the other in a modern white cube in Riga, Latvia. For years, I’ve tailored works to the architecture of their exhibition spaces, so I’m enjoying working within this duality.

Satoshi Kuwata, 40, fashion designer, Setchu

We’re about to start offering shoes. I’ve thought of the design. Now I just have to go to the factory and see them in real life.

Aaron Aujla, 38, and Ben Bloomstein, 36, designers, Green River Project

We’re starting a new collection of furniture based on offcuts from the studio that are finished with a modified piano lacquer. Hopefully, a suite of these pieces will be ready for exhibition by fall. We also have a commission we’re excited to start — a large sculptural fireplace made from three unique logs of rare wood.

Adrianne Lenker, 32, musician, Big Thief

I want to start learning how to paint. The few times I’ve tried it, I loved it but also felt daunted by all I needed to learn. I often think of my songs in terms of paintings. My grandmother Diane Lee’s an amazing watercolorist. Recently she gave me a lesson all about gray.

Melissa Cody’s “Power Up” (2023), courtesy of the artist and Garth Greenan Gallery, New York

Melissa Cody, 41, textile artist

I’m starting to create wall tapestries that incorporate my pre-existing designs, which were handwoven on a traditional Navajo/Diné loom, but these new works are highly detailed sampler compositions made on a digital Jacquard loom.

Josh Kline, 44, multidisciplinary artist

I’m working toward shooting my first feature film — a movie, not a project for the art world.

Sally Breer, 36, interior decorator

My husband and I have started building some structures on a property we own in upstate New York — he has a construction company in Los Angeles. We’re using locally sourced wood and are 80 percent done with a studio-guesthouse, a simple 14-by-18-foot box set on foundation screws, tucked into a pine forest. This is the first time we’re really working together as a design-build team. He’s started referring to it as our “art project.”

Eddie Martinez, 47, visual artist

I’m restarting a group of large-scale paintings for an exhibition at the Parrish Art Museum [in Water Mill, N.Y.] this summer. They’re each 12 feet tall and based on a drawing of a butterfly. The series is called “Bufly” since that’s how my son, Arthur, mispronounced “butterfly” when he was younger. I’d put the paintings aside while I finished my work for the Venice Biennale. Now I’m locked in the studio, painting like a nut!

Karin Dreijer, a.k.a. Fever Ray, 49, singer-songwriter

I’ve been thinking about learning to play the drums. They’ve always felt like a bit of a mystery to me.

Eric N. Mack, 36, visual artist

I’m starting to recharge in order to begin my next body of work. I journal, read, explore the Criterion Channel and get deep-tissue massages. I keep wishing I’d organize the fabrics in my studio.

Jenni Kayne, 41, fashion designer

We’re starting the next iteration of the Jenni Kayne Ranch [the brand’s former property in Santa Ynez, Calif., where she’d invite guests for yoga, dining and spa experiences], only this time we’re heading to upstate New York. We’re calling it the Jenni Kayne Farmhouse, and it’ll include a self-care sanctuary where slow living is a genuine ritual.

Christine Sun Kim, 43, multidisciplinary artist

I have a bit of an adverse reaction to people doing American Sign Language interpretations of popular songs on social media — they’re usually based entirely on the lyrics in English, when rhyming works differently in ASL. So I’ve been wanting to make a fully native ASL “music” video. One day.

Ellia Park, 40, restaurateur

I’ve started collaborating with the in-house designer at Atomix, one of the restaurants I run with my husband, Junghyun Park, on custom welcome cards for the guests that feature bespoke artwork.

Awol Erizku, 35, visual artist

Awol Erizku’s “Pharrell, SSENSE” (2021), from "Awol Erizku: Mystic Parallax" (Aperture, 2023), courtesy of the artist

I’m focused on my exhibition “Mystic Parallax,” opening in May in Bentonville, Ark. [which will include concerts and portraits of such people as Solange and Pharrell Williams]. What I never seem to get around to is archiving all of my negatives in the studio.

Jeremiah Brent, 39, interior designer

As I navigate the [effect of the] ever-so-saturated interior design algorithm, I’m challenging our team to expand the language we speak, diversifying design references by looking to the unexpected: playwrights, films, historians and science.

Vincent Van Duysen, 61, architect

I’m focusing on the 90th anniversary of [the Italian furniture company] Molteni & C. I’m also excited about our recent addition to the family — a black-and-tan dachshund called Vesta after the virgin goddess of the hearth and home.

Kwame Onwuachi, 34, chef

I’m working on launching a sparkling-water line — the proceeds of which will help bring clean water wells to African countries — and starting to write my third cookbook. I start everything I think of.

Larissa FastHorse, 52, playwright and choreographer

I’m adapting a beloved American musical — I can’t say which — into a TV series. Which is scary because, even though I just adapted “Peter Pan” for the stage, the TV process is the opposite: Instead of cutting down a three-hour musical, I have to add hours and hours of content. So it feels like beginning over and over again.

Peter Halley, 70, visual artist

I’ve started to paint watercolors. Now that I’ve reached 70, I thought it was about time. The images are arranged in a grid like on a comic book page, but the narrative’s asynchronous. They’re based on images of one of my cells exploding, an obsession I’ve had going all the way back to the ’80s.

Darren Bader, 46, conceptual artist

I want to start an art gallery called Post-Artist that regularly shows art but refuses to name who made it. No social media presence. I also want to do what Harmony Korine is doing, except with none of that content.

Jeff Tweedy, 56, musician, Wilco

I’m about to record an album of new music with my solo band, which isn’t really solo at all. I’m bringing my sons and the close friends and quasi family who’ve been playing with me live for the past 10 years or so into the studio. I’ve written songs that feel like they can be a vessel for all of our voices together: a miniature choir. There’s really no experience that compares to singing with other people. I think it tells us something about how to be in the world.

Charles Yu, 48, writer

I’m about to start promoting the “Interior Chinatown” series [based on Yu’s 2020 novel]. I’d like to get into music and service. My son’s a drummer, and he’s awakened some latent impulse in me. And my daughter and wife have been volunteering. I’m not exactly sure what’s been keeping me from either. I could say work, but I suspect the actual answer is nothing.

Elyanna, 22, singer-songwriter

I’d love to improve my Spanish. I visit my family in Chile at least once a year and, every time I fly back to L.A., I realize that I need to keep practicing.

Boots Riley, 53, filmmaker and musician

I’m getting ready to start filming a feature I wrote about a group of professional female shoplifters who find a device called a situational accelerator that heightens the conflict of anything they shoot it at. I also have a sci-fi adventure: a janky, lo-fi epic space funk opera. My dream is to use the same crew and shoot the two movies back to back in Oakland, Calif. [where I live]. That’s one thing about being 53 — I want to be able to spend more time with my kids.

Damien Maloney/The New York Times

Sable Elyse Smith, 37, visual artist

I’ve recently embarked on an operatic project. Yikes! MoMA invited me to make a sound piece that’ll open in July, and it’ll be a kind of prelude to a larger version. It’s titled “If You Unfolded Us.” It’s a queer love story and a coming-of-age story about two Black women.

Satoshi Kondo, 39, fashion designer, Issey Miyake

My latest experiment with washi , or traditional Japanese paper, is blending fibers extracted from the remaining fabrics of past clothing collections with the pulp mixture from which washi is made. It’s a way of playing with color and texture.

Laila Gohar, 35, chef and artist

Almost all of my work has used food as a medium and has therefore been ephemeral. Making work that isn’t — namely, sculptures — is an idea I’ve been toying with for a while, but I haven’t been able to jump into it yet. I once read something an artist said about how she thought male artists are more concerned with legacy than female artists, and that female artists are more comfortable creating ephemeral work. This rang true for me, but now I feel slightly more confident about making things that might outlive me.

Patricia Urquiola, 62, architect and designer

I was nominated [last year] as a member of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of San Fernando in Madrid, so now I’m writing the acceptance thesis, or discurso de ingreso . It’s an occasion to reflect on ideas — for example, I reread the philosopher Bruno Latour, who argues that design “is never a process that begins from scratch: To design is always to redesign.”

Luke Meier, 48, and Lucie Meier, 42, fashion designers, Jil Sander

We’ve started making some objects — glass and ceramics. We aren’t at all experienced in these fields, so it’s invigorating to play again.

Kevin Baker/Courtesy of Number 9 Films.

Marianne Elliott, 57, director

I’ve always wanted to do a film, but it requires so much time and theater is a hungry beast, so it’s eluded me until now: “The Salt Path,” starring Gillian Anderson, is based on a true story about a remarkable English couple [who embark on a 630-mile hike].

Samuel D. Hunter, 42, playwright

Last year, I was approached by Joe Mantello and Laurie Metcalf, who wanted someone to write a play for Joe to direct and Laurie to star in. I’d never met either of them but, if I had to pick one actor on earth to write a role for, it would be Laurie. “Little Bear Ridge Road,” a dark comedy about an estranged aunt and nephew who are forcibly reunited after the passing of a troubled family member, will go into rehearsals in May.

Thebe Magugu, 30, fashion designer

When I was 16, I began writing a novel, taking place between the small South African towns of Kimberley and Kuruman, that I’ve contributed to every year since. It currently sits as a huge slab of a book — around 80,000 words — and I’ve been meaning to rewrite and polish the earlier chapters. I’ve given myself the next 10 years [to finish the project]. It’ll be a gift I give to myself when I turn 40.

Misha Kahn, 34, designer and sculptor

I have an idea for this toothpaste project called Zaaams that’s expanded, of its own volition, into an entire cinematic universe. Sometimes an idea can grow so big that it’s unmanageable and nearly unstartable. Sometimes I’ll really start working on it, but I get overwhelmed by the seismic rift in society it would cause and feel dizzy. Crest, if you’re reading this, call me.

Nell Irvin Painter, 81, visual artist and writer

I’m way too old to be a beginner. I’m 81 and have already written and published a million (OK, 10) books. But a very different kind of project’s been tugging at me: something like an autobiographical Photoshop document with layers from different phases of my life in the 1960s and ’70s — spent in France, Ghana, the American South. I’d have to be myself at different ages.

Courtesy of Nell Irvin Painter

Sharon Van Etten, 43, singer-songwriter

In 2020, I became familiar with the work of Susan Burton, the founder of A New Way of Life, which provides formerly incarcerated women with the care and community they need to get their lives back on track, and was so moved by her story I asked my record label if it was OK to use money from my music video budget to produce a minidocumentary on the organization, “Home to Me.” I still have a lot to learn about filmmaking, but I think it’s the beginning of something beautiful.

Piet Oudolf, 79, garden designer

I’m starting the planting design for Calder Gardens, a new center dedicated to the work of the artist Alexander Calder in Philadelphia. I’m working on it with Herzog & de Meuron architects, and it’ll include a four-season garden that will evolve with the months. Early in the year, it’s about ephemerals (bulbs). Spring is when woodland flowers are important. Summer will be the high point of the prairie-inspired areas, and in fall and winter there’ll be seed heads and skeletons. I think a good, harmonious garden is like a piece of living art.

Rafael de Cárdenas, 49, designer

As a consummate shopper, I’ve always thought the best way to bring my interests together would be with a store — a lab for testing things out and creating a connoisseurship in the process. I’m thinking Over Our Heads (the second iteration of Edna’s Edibles in [the 1979-88 sitcom] “The Facts of Life”) meets Think Big! (a now-closed shop in SoHo) meets [the London gallery] Anthony d’Offay meets [the defunct clothing store] Charivari meets [the old nightclub] Palladium.

Gaetano Pesce, 84, architect and designer

I’m working on a possible collaboration with a jewelry company from Italy. I can’t say the name yet, but the pieces stand to be very innovative. Also, another collaboration with the perfume company Amouage inspired by time I spent in Oman’s Wadi Dawkah and the beautiful frankincense trees there.

John Cale, 82, musician and composer

Ever since I played viola in the National Youth Orchestra of Wales, I’ve been hypnotized by the thought of the discipline needed to conduct. My attention soon wandered — from John Cage to rock music. Now, 60 years on, it’s finally time.

Nona Hendryx, 79, interdisciplinary artist and musician

I’m working on the Dream Machine Experience, a magical 3-D environment that’ll be filled with music, sound, images and gamelike features. It’ll premiere at Lincoln Center this June. [My idea was] to create an imaginative world inspired by Afro-Futurism that encourages a wide, multigenerational audience to share.

Faye Toogood, 47, designer and visual artist

I’d like to develop a jewelry collection, but I haven’t. Is it because no one’s asked — no phone call from Tiffany! — or because I’m struggling to understand how adornment fits into our current world?

Freddie Ross Jr., a.k.a. Big Freedia, 46, musician

I’m recording a kids’ album and publishing a picture book for early readers. Much of my art is about language and the unique colloquialisms that we have in bounce culture. Children respond to its snappy rhymes and phrases.

Danzy Senna, 53, writer

Every time I write a novel, I think, “This is the most masochistic experience I’ve ever had — I’m going to quit this racket.” But I feel incomplete without this depressive object to feel beholden to. I just finished editing one book [“Colored Television”] and have the sinking feeling I’m about to start another.

Jackie Sibblies Drury, 42, playwright

I’m starting, hopefully in earnest, to write a play in collaboration with the director Sarah Benson inspired by action movies. We were intrigued by the problem of trying to put chase scenes or action sequences onstage, where it’s difficult to build momentum or suspense because in theater we have less control over the viewer’s eye, among other things. But hopefully the play will be about what it means to see ourselves in these macho cis men who often get hurt pretending to almost die for our entertainment — or something like that?

Lindsey Adelman, 55, designer

I’m putting together a digital archive of my work and ephemera — about 30 years’ worth — revisiting everything from the sculpture I made as a student at RISD to the paper lights David Weeks and I sold for $25 to datebooks where I scribbled notes about things I wished would come true and then did. I hope it’ll encourage others to start something. I want them to understand, “Oh, this was the first step … this beautiful, finished thing was inspired by a piece of garbage dangling from a streetlamp.”

Elizabeth Diller, 69, architect, Diller Scofidio + Renfro

David Wall/Getty Images

Since 2012, when my studio was doing research for a contemporary staging of Benjamin Britten’s chamber opera of Henry James’s “The Turn of the Screw,” I’ve been meaning to start a book about ghosts. While ghosts are a well-trod literary device, their visual representation on stage and screen also has a rich history that can be told through the lens of an architect. Despite the fact that ghosts transcend the laws of physics, they’re stubbornly site-specific — they live in walls, closets, attics and other marginal domestic settings, and they rarely stray from home.

David Oyelowo, 48, actor

Something that three friends and I are in the process of building and developing is a streaming platform that we launched last year called Mansa. The idea — born out of growing frustration with making things that I love and then having to use some kind of distribution mechanism where the decision makers are almost always people who don’t share my demographic — is Black culture for a global audience. Essentially, we started a tech company that intersects with our love of story and our need to create [pipelines] for people of color and beyond to be seen.

Franklin Sirmans, 55, museum director, Pérez Art Museum Miami

There’s a recurring exhibition that I’ve worked on with [the curator] Trevor Schoonmaker since 2006 called “The Beautiful Game” that consists of art about soccer. We do it every four years because of the World Cup, and I’m starting to get into the 2026 iteration. I’ve also been trying to finish a book of poems since I graduated college more than 30 years ago. But it’s happening. It’s not like you don’t write a good sentence every now and then.

Jamie Nares, 70, multidisciplinary artist

I’ve always loved this line of poetry [from the Irish poet John Anster’s loose translation of Goethe’s “Faust”] that goes, “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.” One thing I’ve begun recently is a revisiting of my 1977 performance “Desirium Probe,” for which I hooked myself up to a TV that the audience couldn’t see, and relayed what was happening onscreen through re-enactment. Now I’m going to do it with YouTube videos chosen at random from the wealth of rubbish and interesting stuff on there. And as a video, because I’m not as agile as I once was.

Joseph Dirand, 50, architect and designer

My firm has just started developing, with a French company called Zephalto, a prototype of the interiors for a hot-air balloon that will take travelers to the stratosphere, and the carbon footprint of the journey will be equivalent to that of the production of a pair of blue jeans. The balloon is transparent, so it’ll be almost as if you’re going up in a bubble of air — riders will see the curve of the earth. We’re designing three private cabins: sexy, organic cocoons that reference the ’60s and the dream of space, but are otherwise pretty minimal. The landscape is the star of the show.

Amaarae, 29, singer-songwriter

I’m working on the deluxe version of my 2023 album, “Fountain Baby.” The approach for the original album was very maximalist — I organized these camps all over the world and had a bunch of people come through to work on the music. Afterward, I felt underwhelmed — not by the project but by how I felt at the end of it all. [So] I stripped back everything so it’s just me and my home setup, trying ideas. Before, I was really lofty, but now my feet are touching grass a little bit.

Jennifer Egan, 61, writer

I’m starting a novel set in late 19th-century New York City. As always with my fiction, I have little idea of what will happen, which lends an element of peril to every project! Time and place are my portal into story, and I’m interested in a time when urban America was crowded and full of buildings we occupy today, yet the landscape beyond seemed almost infinite.

Carla Sozzani, 76, gallerist and retailer

Just as my partner, Kris Ruhs, and I revamped the then-unknown Corso Como area of Milan, we’re now putting our energy into the construction of a new studio for him, as well as the expansion of the Fondazione Sozzani [cultural center], both of which are in Bovisa, another old industrial neighborhood. I wanted to be an architect when I was young, but my father said, “No!”

Stephanie Goto, 47, architect

If my clients allow me to peel one eye away from their commissions, I’d like to dive deeper into the renovation of my own property in Connecticut, which includes the circa 1770 former home of Marilyn Monroe and a tobacco-and-milk barn that will house my studio.

Amalia Ulman, 35, visual artist and filmmaker

I’m beginning to write the script for my third feature film — probably my favorite part of the process, when I just need to close my eyes and see the film in my head. It’s the closest to a holiday because it feels like daydreaming.

Wim Wenders, 78, filmmaker

Several years ago, I started a project about the Swiss architect Peter Zumthor, who, along with others, designed the new Los Angeles County Museum of Art that’s being built now. The working title of the film is “The Secret of Places,” and it’s done in 3-D. My dream is to make a comedy one day. [ Laughs .] Seriously. [ Laughs again .] I’m working on it.

Wendy Red Star’s “Beaver That Stretches” (2023), © Wendy Red Star, courtesy of the artist and Sargents Daughters

Wendy Red Star, 43, visual artist

I’ve started highlighting Crow and Plateau women’s art history by making painted studies of parfleches, these 19th-century rawhide suitcases embellished with geometric designs. I’m learning so much about these women just by their mark making, but have only come across a few that have the name of the person who made it, so I’m titling my works by pulling women’s and girls’ names from the census records for the Crow tribe between 1885 and 1940.

Nick Ozemba, 32, and Felicia Hung, 33, designers, In Common With

Next month, we’re opening Quarters, a concept store and gathering space in TriBeCa that will feature our first furniture collection.

Bobbi Jene Smith, 40, dancer, choreographer and actress

My husband, Or Schraiber, and I are creating a work composed of solos for each dancer of L.A. Dance Project, where we’ve been residents for the past year and a half. We’ve had the unique opportunity to connect deeply with some of the dancers, and this — a gratitude poem for each of them — will be our culminating project. They’ll each be a few minutes long and characterized by physicality set against silence.

Editor’s note: The architect and designer Gaetano Pesce, whose comments are included in this piece, died on April 4 at age 84.

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