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rafaela

Aug 24
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How to take a sabbatical day

By Career No Comments

From an early age, we’re told that work makes us stronger, healthier and more independent. That working is an honour, and gives us honour. The generation before ours sees work very differently: as a tool for survival, first and foremost. Burnout, “purpose” or “mission”, and certainly joy in work? Not part of the equation. Work was there to pay the bills and, depending on the profession, maybe help build a name.

Then along comes our generation (those of us born after 1970). With easier access to higher education, new ideas began to take hold: vocation, talent, preferences, job satisfaction, professional fulfilment. Suddenly, the thing that puts food on the table and pays the bills became something we devoted ourselves to with such intensity that the line between our professional selves and our personal selves started to blur.

Still, one belief lingers on: that working hard makes us better people and better professionals. We’ve become increasingly demanding of our careers and, at the same time, far less tolerant of idleness, downtime, or a slower pace of life.

One of my favourite creatives, Austrian-born designer Stefan Sagmeister, now based in New York, has long fascinated me. You might remember his exhibition The Happy Show at MAAT in Lisbon back in 2018. I loved it — not just because it was drenched in yellow (though that helped), but because I’d been following his work for years. The Happy Show came on the back of a documentary he made about happiness, The Happy Film. And The Happy Film only came about because Sagmeister took a sabbatical year to focus on personal projects. That’s right — every seven years, he takes a full year off purely to concentrate on his own interests.

He explained the whole process in a now-famous TED Talk, The Power of Time Off. And no, he doesn’t spend the year staring at the wall — he dives into personal projects and follows his curiosity. What struck me most about that talk was his conclusion: the work he produces during his sabbatical breathes new life into his practice, sparking fresh creativity, new skills, and new projects that feed straight back into his studio when he returns.

Of course, not all of us can afford to disappear from our jobs or businesses for a whole year — and very few Portuguese companies (or British ones, for that matter) offer unpaid sabbaticals to their staff. But there’s a low-cost alternative: the mini sabbatical. A day off purely for yourself. I take one every six months.

And I’ve learnt that a bit of structure helps. You’d be surprised how easy it is to fritter away a day doing nothing at all. Which is also necessary, by the way — but that’s a different article. Here’s what I tend to do with mine:

 

1. Clear the decks

I always like to do a little light work or tidying. By nature, I struggle to properly relax if there are loose ends hanging over me. Last year, on the morning of my first holiday, I spent hours clearing my personal inbox and hit zero for the first time in six years. I felt deeply relieved — and oddly accomplished.

 

2. Keep a masterlist of cultural/creative/curious things — and tick them off

Alongside your everyday to-do list, it helps to keep a “masterlist” of things you want to dive into when you have time: long reads, TED Talks you’ve bookmarked, magazines you bought and never opened. Dedicate a few hours to working through them. If they don’t spark anything anymore, delete them and move on.

 

3. Read books

I’ve noticed my own attention span shrinking, and books often end up gathering dust while I scroll or skim digital pieces. So I use these days to reclaim some slow reading time — phone out of reach — and sink into a book. I like to balance non-fiction (feeds the brain) with fiction (feeds the heart). Right now, I’m toggling between O Filho de Mil Homens by Valter Hugo Mãe and Becoming by Michelle Obama.

 

4. Work on a personal project

Something that’s been waiting for attention — like Yellow was, for three years. Or a hobby, or some creative side interest. Bonus points if it’s offline: our eyes deserve the break.

 

5. Get outside

Work traps us in loops: same commute, same people, same routines. Imagine, instead, having the freedom to, say, go to that restaurant you’ve always wanted to try (but can never get into on a weekend), wander down quieter streets, or just enjoy your city in the middle of a weekday. That little taste of freedom is priceless.

Taking a sabbatical day gives you creative breathing space that fuels weeks of more inspired, motivated work. It recharges you without needing a full holiday and gives your life a good airing. You come back more culturally in tune, clearer about your interests, and — crucially — with some badly needed personal time.

So — when are you taking your next sabbatical day?

Aug 04
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The best indie bookshops you can’t miss in Lisbon

By Culture No Comments

You know that feeling of walking into a place and, without quite knowing why, realising you could stay there all afternoon? For me, that happens in bookshops. Not the massive chains with endless queues and weak coffee. I mean the small, independent ones, where the books are handpicked and the atmosphere is a mix of silence and discovery.

Luckily, Lisbon has plenty of those. Places where you go in for a book and leave with a notebook, a conversation, maybe even an invitation to a launch. Here’s my personal map of seven independent bookshops that are far more than retail spaces: they’re pieces of the city with character, where literature collides with everyday life in unexpected ways.

1. Salted Books – English literature with a Lisbon accent

📍 Calçada Marquês de Abrantes 96, Santos

Salted Books feels like it came straight out of a dream. Owned by English writer Alex Holder, who swapped London for Lisbon and brought her cool, creative, very literary friends with her, it’s a place where English-language books sparkle a little brighter. And not just that: events, conversations, launches, and spontaneous gatherings pop up here as if scripted for an indie film.

The selection is modern and eclectic – plenty of contemporary fiction, illustrated books, and poetry I’d never seen anywhere else. There’s a communal table that invites slow reading, plus homemade cakes and tea. Ask Alex (or whoever’s around) what they’re reading — it’s almost impossible to leave without a new obsession.

2. Fable – Coffee, books and creativity in São Bento

📍 Rua dos Prazeres 10A, São Bento

Fable could easily be in Berlin or Copenhagen, but it’s tucked into one of Lisbon’s loveliest neighbourhoods: São Bento. I went for the books, stayed for the focaccia. Here, literature and food go hand in hand with design, indie magazines, and natural wines.

Fun fact: it’s where I host my monthly creativity book club. The little patio out back is a perfect hideout for introverted readers. Drop me a line if you’d like to join us — I promise you’ll leave with at least one new idea.

3. Palavra de Viajante – For those who can’t sit still (not even in books)

📍 Rua de São Bento 30, São Bento

I’m not sure if I found this bookshop or if it found me. Dedicated to travel literature, it’s full of guides, diaries, essays, and maps that pull you elsewhere. Every visit plants a new destination in my head (and adds more titles to my never-ending TBR list).

It’s the sort of place where daydreaming is encouraged, even if the backpack you’re packing is imaginary.

4. Ler Devagar – A cathedral for readers (and curious tourists)

📍 LX Factory, Rua Rodrigues de Faria 103, Alcântara

Yes, it’s photogenic. Yes, it’s been on every list. But Ler Devagar is still one of my favourites. It has it all: coffee, exhibitions, indie publishers, Nobel winners, and tucked-away poetry.

I like to wander in without a plan. Climb up to the mezzanine, sit with a random book, browse the quiet shelves. I’ve bought everything here, from novels to essays that shifted my perspective. It’s not just a bookshop. It’s an experience.

5. Tigre de Papel – A place where words carry intent

📍 Rua de Arroios 25, Arroios

Tigre de Papel doesn’t try to please everyone — and that’s exactly the point. It specialises in critical thought, literature that provokes, books that want to change something in whoever reads them. I walked in out of curiosity, stayed for the challenge.

They host launches, debates, and discussions that go beyond events — they’re exercises in citizenship. Here I discovered feminist authors, translators I admire, and books I’d never have found anywhere else. It’s a manifesto disguised as a bookshop.

6. Piena – Made in Italy works out every time

📍 new address

Why we need these bookshops

In a world where you can buy anything with two clicks, these bookshops remind us that books aren’t just products. They’re conversation starters, keys to other worlds, clues to who we are. Each of these seven spots has its own perspective, its own curation, its own way of resisting the rush.

When I think of the best version of Lisbon, I think of these places. And I’m grateful to live in a city where you can still leave the house without knowing what you’ll read, and come back with a book, an idea, and a new appetite for life.

Aug 04
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Blog - Stealing like an artist | Yellow Creative Studio

The art of stealing like an artist

By Culture One Comment

Great artists don’t copy, they steal.

It’s been attributed to Picasso (or was it T. S. Eliot? Or maybe Steve Jobs quoting them both?), either way, this sentence stuck with me ever since I’ve heard it for the first time, maybe a decade ago.

But what does it really mean to “steal like an artist”? And where do we draw the line between inspiration and plagiarism in creative work?

The myth of absolute originality

Let’s start by admitting something uncomfortable: pure originality is almost impossible.
Bad news for anyone who believes they’re entirely original. You’re probably not. And neither am I.

Our brains are constantly processing outside input, and inevitably, those influences combine to form what we later call “original ideas.” We’re essentially cognitive DJs, remixing everything we take in.

I once had a creative writing teacher who said: “There are only seven stories in the world, and we’re forever retelling them in different ways.” At the time I thought it was a cynical exaggeration. These days, I see the truth in it. The real question isn’t whether we’re influenced — it’s how we transform those influences into something with our own stamp on it.

As Austin Kleon puts it in Steal Like an Artist (yes, I borrowed the title of this article from him — intentionally and with full respect): “Nothing is original. So embrace influence, collect ideas, and mash them up with your own personality.”

Good theft vs bad theft

There’s a crucial difference between what I call transformative theft and plain old nicking someone else’s work. I see this all the time in content projects and marketing strategies I create for clients.

The bad thief:

  • Copies outright without changing a thing

  • Doesn’t understand the context of their references

  • Hides their sources of inspiration

  • Adds nothing new

The good thief:

  • Digs deep into multiple references

  • Understands the principles underneath

  • Openly acknowledges their influences

  • Transforms and recombines to create something fresh

Back in my corporate days, I’d often see “bad theft”: campaigns that were carbon copies of each other, with zero creative spark. The interesting ones, though, proudly showed their lineage of influences — but added a surprising, fresh perspective of their own.

My curiosity cabinet: a system for stealing well

Over the years, I’ve built what I affectionately call my “curiosity cabinet.” It’s essentially a personal library of ideas, techniques and inspirations that I collect meticulously. I use a mix of Milanote, MyMind and Notion to categorise everything (yes, I know, I should consolidate it all in one place — that’s on my to-do list this year):

  • Writing techniques: narrative structures, wordplay, stylistic devices

  • Visual strategies: composition, colour palettes, typefaces

  • Voices and tones: examples of communication that resonate

  • Conceptual ideas: philosophical approaches and mental frameworks

This isn’t just a passive archive. It’s an active transformation tool. When I start a new project, I dive in, combine and remix. The outcome is never a straight copy — it carries the DNA of my influences, but in a wholly new arrangement.

And just as important: I deliberately practise attribution. When an idea comes from a clear source, I acknowledge it. Not just out of ethics, but as a way of showing I’m part of a larger creative lineage.

Cultural appropriation: theft that shouldn’t happen

Of course, there are kinds of “theft” that are problematic and unethical. Cultural appropriation is one: lifting significant cultural elements, stripping them of context, or commercialising them without respect for their meaning.

As a creative, I make a conscious effort to research and understand the cultural background of what inspires me — to ask whether my adaptation honours or diminishes the original, and to seek out voices from that culture when it’s appropriate.

This isn’t about restricting creativity. It’s about enriching it with respect and awareness.

Building your own “museum of influences”

If you want to get better at stealing like an artist, here are a few practices that have helped me:

  • Keep an inspiration journal. Note down ideas, quotes, techniques that strike you — with sources. It can be a notebook or digital tools like Notion or Evernote.

  • Study deeply, not superficially. Don’t just look at the surface of the work you admire. Try to understand the choices, context, and techniques underneath — like breaking down a recipe to see why it works.

  • Mix unlikely influences. Some of the freshest ideas come from cross-pollination. What happens when you apply architectural principles to writing? Or culinary concepts to graphic design?

  • Practise deliberate remixing. Consciously select elements from different references and challenge yourself to combine them into something new — like a chef experimenting with unexpected fusions.

  • Be transparent about your influences. Crediting your sources doesn’t diminish your creativity. It shows erudition and honesty. It signals confidence, not insecurity.

From the anxiety of influence to the joy of transformation

The poet Harold Bloom wrote about the “anxiety of influence” — the fear that creators are doomed to remain shadows of the giants who came before them. But maybe it’s time to reframe that anxiety into celebration.

We’re all part of a vast creative conversation that stretches across time and space. Each contribution is both an echo and a new voice. When we embrace our influences and transform them with intention, honesty and respect, we’re not just “stealing like artists.”

We’re taking part in the grand dialogue of human creativity.

So tell me: what are your main influences? How do you transform them in your work? I’d love to hear how you steal creatively.

Apr 22
Love0

7 creativity books to read before you die

By Creative Life No Comments

Every now and then, a book comes along that’s more than just something to read: it’s a sort of creative reset button. They’re not necessarily bestsellers, nor the titles piled high in every bookshop window, but each of these has left a mark on my life (creative, and otherwise).

Some whispered new ideas, others taught me to breathe, and a few simply reminded me that chaos is part of the process too. Altogether, there are seven of them – with one unexpected bonus.

1. Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon

This little book is a proper anti-perfection manifesto. Kleon basically says: relax, nothing is original. Everything’s a remix, a collage, creative alchemy. And you know what? That’s fine. The trick is to steal like an artist – turn your influences into something so uniquely yours that nobody notices it’s “stolen”. Since reading it, I’ve been collecting ideas the way some people collect shells on the beach. Not to copy, but to combine in surprising ways. Result: more freedom, less drama.

It’s like having a secret drawer where I stash book quotes, magazine cut-outs, snippets of overheard café conversations (yes, I eavesdrop). Sooner or later, those scraps start ricocheting around in my head and, suddenly – bam: a new idea. One made of old bits, but with a fresh accent. Yours.

2. Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert

Gilbert writes about creativity as if it were an eccentric relative who pops by unannounced. We don’t control its arrival, but we can be ready when it shows up. The notion that ideas have a will of their own sounds mystical, but it’s oddly liberating. I learned to respect the timing of inspiration and to swap the weight of creative martyrdom for the playfulness of someone just messing about (seriously, of course).

It was this book that helped me stop treating creativity as an obligation to produce excellence. Instead, I began seeing my projects as conversations with something bigger, something that chose me to give an idea form. If I fail? So be it. The next idea might be kinder. And in the meantime, I can keep writing, tinkering with words, rolling up my sleeves. Fear doesn’t vanish – it just loses the steering wheel.

3. The Success Myth by Emma Gannon

This one could easily be called How to Stop Chasing Imaginary Medals. Gannon dismantles the idea that success is something serious, external, and measurable. For anyone creative, that’s a huge relief. Since then, I’ve started measuring success by my own ruler: am I enjoying the process? Am I learning? Then all good.

She also calls out that silent Instagram trap: the sense that everyone else has a neater, more linear, more inspiring life. Meanwhile, you’re knee-deep in a half-finished, half-failed project, with 27 tabs open and a cold cup of tea by your side. Gannon says: that’s fine. That’s success too. Because you’re living by your own standards, not someone else’s. Which frees up time, energy and – surprise – headspace to create with more authenticity.

4. The Multi-Hyphen Method by Emma Gannon

More Gannon, because she deserves it. This is the handbook for anyone with multiple passions who refuses to pick just one. She argues we can (and should) be many things at once: writer / translator / amateur singer-songwriter / wannabe barista. That’s not lack of focus, it’s creative wealth.

This book helped me stop trying to “fit” into a LinkedIn headline and start seeing my path as a creative ecosystem. I like to think my work feeds off what I live outside it. A brunch chat can spark a metaphor for an article. A comedy series might inspire the tone of a brand piece. And that’s fine. I don’t need to choose between creator or consumer, artist or technician. I can be all of it. Sometimes in the same day.

5. Show Your Work by Austin Kleon

Yes, he’s back again. This time to say: share what you do, even if it’s not finished. The idea of documenting the process instead of waiting for perfect changed everything for me. I began sharing the behind-the-scenes, the mistakes, the sketches. And surprise: people liked it. They related. Because nobody truly trusts someone who looks like they’ve got it all figured out.

Kleon shows that regular sharing builds community. And that growing an audience doesn’t have to be cynical or marketing-y. It can be generous. It can be fun. It can even be transformative – for the people watching, and for you, who start to look at your own process with a bit more tenderness.

6. The War of Art by Steven Pressfield

Pressfield introduces Resistance as creativity’s number-one villain. That inner voice saying “not now, just watch another reel.” His point is that the difference between amateur and pro is simple: pros turn up every day, even when they don’t feel like it. This is the book for anyone romanticising the creative process a bit too much. Spoiler: discipline is sexy.

It also taught me that creative block isn’t a sign of no talent – it’s usually fear. Fear of failure, mediocrity, indifference. But fear doesn’t pay the bills. And inspiration? It tends to visit those already working. Like a mate showing up mid-morning with coffee because they see you’re at your desk. A generous colleague who only appears once you’ve put the effort in.

7. Tiny Experiments by Anne-Laure Le Cunff

This book shatters the myth of the big, perfect project. Instead, it suggests small creative trials, a bit like playing scientist: test, fail quickly, learn. It’s light-hearted without being lightweight. Since applying it, my creativity has been more fluid and a lot less anxious.

Le Cunff argues for iterative creativity: make, test, tweak. That’s how you silence the paralysing perfectionism that stops you from starting. I began to see my days as little labs. Each post, each paragraph, each idea – all micro-experiments. The goal? To learn from every attempt. And occasionally, to strike gold without quite knowing how.

Bonus: Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

I haven’t finished it yet, but I’ve already fallen for the idea of flow: that state where time vanishes because you’re so absorbed in what you’re doing. Csikszentmihalyi explains the conditions: the right level of challenge, clear goals, instant feedback.

It sounds simple, but it’s a delicate balance. Too easy and you’re bored. Too hard and you’re frustrated. But when you hit it, it’s pure magic. One day I might organise my whole routine around this principle. Until then, I’ll take the small moments of flow between one notification and the next.

A living, moving library

These books are like mental talismans I carry around. I reread them, recommend them, bring them up over dinner. Not because they hold ultimate answers, but because they ask good questions. And because they remind me that creativity isn’t about being brilliant every single day, but about showing up, experimenting, sharing.

More than advice, they’re companions. When I sit down to write and everything feels muddled, there’s always a line that pulls the rug from under me – and with luck, a new idea. Because creating is exactly that: talking to those who came before, daring to say something different, and finding the courage to keep going even when the silence is louder than the words.

So – which creativity books have rattled your insides? The answer says a lot about who we are as creatives, and where we’re headed. Our personal libraries inevitably reflect our creative minds in constant motion. And with a bit of luck, they’ll never gather dust.

 

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