One of the themes of my year has been nurturing the parts of my brain that thrive in process, rather than product. I report and write every day on deadline, so I need ways to be creative and make stuff without feeling like I have to finish it. Plus, the more I make things with my hands, the less I doomscroll.
I should have known that poet, artist and “creativity whisperer” Stephanie Pruitt Gaines would have the answer. She opened The Creativity Bar in an unassuming strip mall in Donelson, at an intersection I drive through every time I head to Percy Priest Lake to paddleboard. Instead of driving by, I parked and headed to an awkward doorway under a big clock. Then I walked through the bright rainbow hallway into a large black-and-white room that was painted to look and feel like a giant coloring book … and I was the crayon. Immediately, I felt simultaneously energized and soothed. On Mondays through Thursdays from 4 to 8 p.m., Gaines holds a $10 Creative Happy Hour. Show up, grab a seat and talk to strangers while you draw, color, solve puzzles, make jewelry or do any manner of other creative pursuit with goodies from The Creativity Bar’s many bins and shelves of supplies. If you don’t want to talk to anyone else, you can flip a sign over on the table in front of you to request some solo focus time. (Imagine if cocktail bars had this!)
When Creative Happy Hour isn’t taking place, The Creativity Bar is open for semi-private parties, team-building and workshops (which Gaines calls “playshops”). Some are focused on making something such as earrings, while others, like R&B coloring night, are just about the creative vibes.
Everything at The Creativity Bar is for adults — not because the activities are inappropriate for those under 21, but because kids get myriad opportunities to play and create and color with low or no stakes. Gaines wants adults to have that same experience. I can’t tell you one single thing I made at Creative Happy Hour (one of them involved a pipe cleaner, I think). But it doesn’t feel like time wasted, and for that I am grateful.
—Margaret Littman
Contributor, Nashville Scene
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