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Photo by Jaime Spaniol on Unsplash

August 5, 2026

Create Dangerously

July Edition

By Amalia Cotovan

4 min read

The Beam | MFL Newsletter

To create today is to create dangerously.

In 1957, Albert Camus made this speech to a crowd of students in Sweden, referencing the postwar mood in Europe. The artist's responsibility, he said, was not to pass blame from one person to the other, nor could any artist be passive and docile any longer in the fight for universal brotherhood and freedom.

I read this in a little book I picked up in a bookstore where I entered on a whim, not seriously thinking I was going to be spending any money that day. But the enduring heatwave and the post-job-interview daze herded me into the air-conditioned store and, well, the rest is history.

This short but striking line stayed with me as I finished reading the essay on the bus home. It struck me how true it still was. Writing, painting, singing today is a dangerous and provoking act. Not only does it stand against the age of AI and anti-art, but it's dangerous to ourselves, challenging our perception of ourselves and those around us.

If we want to make the world a better place, we have to take a look at ourselves and make a change.

Well, that was Michael Jackson. But the truth that runs through both quotes is the same.

This month, we are celebrating writers who took a look at themselves, their hopes and fears, and took the brave step in baring their innermost thoughts to the world.

⚓My Fair Lighthouse in July

We published 21 stories from 12 different writers.

On the theme of vulnerability, we published two poems this month that deal with the ocean! Bettina Sieber's "Nacre", and Mark Tulin's "Standing on Water" place the humble human at the force of the elements. The sea is a being that commands respect, that can give or take away. I personally find it empowering to feel so small compared to these vast forces, reminding me that there are things out there bigger than me and my problems.

There are aspects of life that can set off what feels like constant fights, against the world, or against ourselves. Sowshan's poem "It's really heavy, let me take a break" illustrates this struggle, of wanting to do our best, and at the same time, just wanting to rest. Paired with their second poem, "Grief is not about funerals", Sowshan exposes something about the human condition: the only way to keep going is to let ourselves stop sometimes.

To cap off the month, Stories Of A Cloud shared their journey of writing and self-publishing a collection of poetry. The ups and downs, but also the freedom they found in sharing their creativity with the world. Putting our work out there is the best way to use our talents.

🛡️Revolutionaries

Here are our favourites from July!

Amalia's Pick

eidolonsstuff's poem "My Medicine" said everything I've been realising about myself recently: how I tend to scroll endlessly with no real purpose, comparing myself to people who don't know or even care about me, while the real life world tends to get smaller and smaller. It's a push, that's for sure, to put my phone down and ask myself why I picked it up in the first place?

Why would I expose my eyes To the cruel, unforgiving light? Why do I need to displace my comfort If my comfort is found in ignorance?

My Medicine I'm told it gives me what I need

Willow's Pick

I hadn't heard the term "windfall" before reading Amalia's poem. Windfall fruits are fruits have fallen naturally from a tree onto the ground, likely due to wind or heavy rain. The image took me back to my childhood home, where there are apple, pear and plum trees planted in the backyard. It makes a great feast for the raccoons and deer passing by. Amalia's poem personifies nature itself, in all its vastness.

It's mine, you see — the house, the burrow I who see through red eyes that furrow I who scream and kick and bite and I overhead, in the wings of that kite

Windfall Apples I am not made of wants and needs

Readers' Pick

This month, readers and writers alike crowded around Mark Tulin's poem of a paddle-boarder atop a raging sea. "Standing on Water" explores the uneasy awe of being at the mercy of the elements, knowing that, with one wrong move, the water could be your end. But the beauty of the experience creates a new perspective.

A ride with no curfew, but a curling undertow.

There will be no rescue should one fall. Alone in the morning, the board becomes a life raft, mixed with fiberglass and epoxy.

Here is what readers had to say:

The mix of fear and awe of the ocean mixed with beauty are difficult to describe. It is easy to feel tempted to just lay there being swayed by the wave. Yet, there is a time to return to shore. I'm happy for you that you are brave enough as to enjoy the activity. — Pablo Pereyra

Pacific … Yea, right. She can be every bit as bitchy as the Atlantic in a nor'easter.

Nicely done, Mark. Nicely done. — Frederick Andrew

Thank you so much for this poem, Mark! It makes my nautical heart sing. 🤗 So glad your gym teacher was paying attention when you jumped off the diving board!! — Willow Schroeder

Standing on Water A paddle-boarder's respect and fear of the ocean

⚔️Features

This month, our featured stories came from a range of genres. From a personal history with Tango, to a charged poem about our addiction to screens and scrolling, to an ekphrastic short story based on an Australian painting.

📜New Recruits

This month, we welcomed two new members to our crew:

July-August's Pier 21 Prompt asks you to consider how art has affected you, whether your personal life, or your own creative output (or both!).

Art Begets Art Pier 21: July-August