- Jessica van Amerongen
- 2 min read
What does it mean to make something that matters?
I often ask myself this. Not to find a final answer, but to keep the question alive. Because for me, creativity is not a tool to impress. It’s a way to relate. To bring something into form that wasn’t there before, but maybe always existed in potential. A feeling. A memory. A pattern that needed to shift. A whisper that becomes visible through sound, story, image, or presence.
I’ve worked across many contexts: television, cultural programs, social impact events, festivals, classrooms, short films, ceremonies. I’ve managed chaos, budgets, egos, last-minute changes. I’ve also held spaces where people felt safe enough to cry, laugh, remember who they are. What stays with me, again and again, are not the milestones but the moments. The subtle, often invisible shifts in energy when something real happens.
That’s what I mean by creativity with impact. Not just the measurable outcome, but the relational ripple. The way a project can stir someone’s body memory, create recognition, plant a seed. The way a concert, a retreat, a short film, a conversation (if made with care) can shift a paradigm quietly.
It’s in the tension between concept and intuition. Between timelines and time loops. Between what we think we’re making and what wants to be made through us. That requires presence. It requires listening. Sometimes it means stepping forward with clarity. Sometimes it means stepping back with trust.
Creative work as commitment
It’s not about constant output. It’s about aligned intention. I’ve learned to ask:
Is this resonant?
Does it hold integrity across all layers: visual, sonic, emotional, contextual?
Am I using my skills to serve something I believe in, not just aesthetically, but ethically, spiritually, ecologically?
Whether I’m producing a concert in a monastery, coaching young makers, interviewing artists, or curating a program that amplifies underrepresented voices: I keep returning to why I do this.
Because I want to make space for stories that don’t shout but land.
Because I believe beauty can be a form of resistance.
Because presence is a political act.
It’s about relationship
With the audience. With the material. With the team. With yourself. And with the moment you’re in. Personally. Collectively. Historically.
Creativity with impact doesn’t chase trends. It tunes into what’s unfolding now, and dares to respond in a way that feels alive, grounded, and real.
And when we create from that place, I believe we don’t just make projects.
We make meaning.