The Art of Becoming: When Stories and Reality Collide
How Creativity Carves Meaning from Chaos and Why We Must Hold Space for Survivors
After submitting this post, I came across articles detailing deeply troubling accusations of sexual assault, rape, and trafficking against Neil Gaiman (featured in my original post) and his ex-wife Amanda Palmer. I want to be clear: I believe and support victims. These accusations are deeply troubling, and they bring up an important, ongoing conversation about how we engage with the work of creators accused of intimate crimes (#metoo).
I’ve considered taking down this post, but I’ve decided not to because erasing it doesn’t erase the reality of the crimes, and it doesn’t allow space for the harder, more necessary conversations. Instead, I want to acknowledge this, sit with the discomfort, and ask what accountability and justice look like—not just in this case but in all the ways harm is hidden, excused, or ignored.
I don’t have all the answers, but I know this: survivors matter more than any book, show, creative work, or post. If these allegations are new to you, I encourage you to read, reflect, and center the voices of those who have lived through them.
If you or someone you know needs support, here are resources:
National Sexual Assault Hotline: Call 800.656.HOPE (4673)
Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (Call or Text)
National Human Trafficking Hotline: 1-888-373-7888
As someone who engages deeply with ethical questions and cares about people, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that the hardest conversations are often the most important. I hope this can be one of them.
Laura
For transparency, I’m leaving my original post below.
The original Substack post begins here.
I often credit my first philosophy teacher for leading me to to ethics. But before I ever set foot in a philosophy classroom, I had already found my path—through art.
Laura’s First Art Show – Age 19
When I was 18, I met a boy who would later break my heart. He was older and seemed wise, yet we were both in college. He was an artist, and I aspired to be one. I met him in art class and couldn’t believe a college guy noticed me. He had a motorcycle, longer hair, and pulled tractors. Yep, that’s a thing country boys do—even in New Jersey.
He was a collector of things—mini-tractors and comic books topped the list. And my introduction to philosophy came not from a classroom, but from the comic books he adored.
After a year, a hasty proposal, and a tragic (cue 18-year-old perspective) breakup eight weeks later, he left me—without a reason. It was the final heartbreak in a string of losses: my parents’ divorce, my sister moving away, and the death of my cat. I searched for meaning in the wreckage. And I found it, not in a lecture hall or artist’s studio, but in the pages of a comic book he gave me.
Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman captured and comforted me from the first passage:
"Walk any path in Destiny's garden, and you will be forced to choose, not once but many times. The paths fork and divide. With each step you take through Destiny's garden, you make a choice; and every choice determines future paths...The paths diverge and branch and reconnect; some say not even Destiny himself truly knows where any will take you, where each twist and turn will lead." (The Sandman, Preludes & Nocturnes (The Sandman, #1) by Neil Gaiman)
My poor dark heart, which loved Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Thomas Hardy, had found another author to cherish. But it wasn’t just Destiny and his garden that fascinated me; it was the world and lives of the Endless (through Gaiman’s eyes): Death, Delirium, Desire, Despair, Destiny, Destruction, and Dream. They were my new companions—along with Tess and her sickly, dying son, aptly named Sorrow (from Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles). I didn’t realize it at the time, but The Sandman wasn’t just comforting me—it was shaping the way I saw the world. It was philosophy before I knew the word for it.
The Sandman builds unique stories where a family of beings known as the Endless rule over the concepts that define all life in the universe. - Collider
Self-Portrait in Black and White
By the time I turned 21, I had survived two car accidents that left me disabled. My ex-boyfriend struggled to see me in my injured state. A childhood crush refused to see me at all. By 22, I was an amputee candidate. My brother’s then-girlfriend told me that if she looked like me, she would have killed herself. By then, my broken heart was the least of my worries.
I told my favorite art instructor that my art was gone. She only smiled, gently but firmly.
"Your creativity isn’t in your hands," she said. "It’s in you."
I didn’t believe her. I thought she was overly optimistic, that she didn’t understand what I had lost. But six months later, using my non-dominant hand, I picked up a piece of charcoal and began to draw. That night, I understood, as I drew a self-portrait in black and white, wondering if I recognized myself in it.
Determined to Create
Within months, I needed a cane, too. I missed Christopher Reeve (Superman) at rehab by two weeks. I drove a car using one hand and a turn signal crossover. Grandpa called it an "oh-sh** knob" and said the boys would love it. They didn’t. But that didn’t matter. I wanted to paint, to draw, to feel like myself.
And I did. But my work—my artist’s tragedy—was on full display.
Years later, while searching for quotes to decorate my new office, I was reminded of the Endless once more.
I found this:
“And when things get tough, this is what you should do.
Make good art.
I'm serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it's all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn't matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.
Make it on the good days too.”
― Neil Gaiman, Make Good Art
I had always believed resilience helped me survive life’s hardships. But the truth is, it was always art. The act of creating and building, of designing or photographing, of painting or drawing—of philosophy and ethics, of startups and thought leadership.
Creation is an Act of Defiance
Life will be hard. But Gaiman is right—when it gets that way, make the good art that you can. No matter what kind, or whether it makes sense. The process matters more than the outcome.
And the work of a creative mind that won’t quiet? That’s how resilience finds its way into the world.
I found my quote for the wall, but also words to offer to you.
If I’m certain of one thing, it’s this: My art comes from the brokenness I see around me—it always has. Philosophy helps me make sense of the challenges, while art (whatever my form of creation) paints the picture for the rest of the world to understand.
One of my best friends once said he writes of demons (he does!), but that I find tragedy in the world and make it understood to others. I’m okay with that. In loss, I found the beginnings of me.
But I also learned something more important than philosophy, art, or the friends who could not see me.
What I needed most was an architect of my dreams.
In our sad and tragic world, I can offer you ethics and theory, art and words, a shoulder and comfort. But more than anything, I will tell you this:
Make art.
The kind that only you can give to the world.
Because through it all, time passes. And the hurt with it.
Creation, I’ve learned, is an act of defiance. It’s how we carve meaning out of suffering. And that’s where I found something Gaiman didn’t identify as part of the Endless—
Hope.
Hope is the last of the Endless. And the world feels her presence.
She also looks like you and me.
And Destiny? I walk his garden—whole, with my arm and heart intact, an architect by my side, and the rest of the Endless beside me.
Follow me wherever it feels right:
Looking Ahead: Find Me in 2025
I’m excited to be stepping into 2025 with incredible opportunities to connect with others and share insights on AI, ethics, and leadership at major conferences. If you happen to be in any of these places, I’d love to see you there!
Paris, March 2025: Celebrate International Women's Day with IDIAS Conferences. Join me as I collaborate with a global community dedicated to advancing women’s voices in tech.
Amsterdam, May 2025: I'm thrilled to chair the 2nd International Conference on Machine Learning and Artificial Intelligence, which will guide this global conversation on the future of AI ethics and human-centered approaches.
Biarritz, September 2025: I'll be presenting at a new conference (stay tuned for details!).. I’ll share my work and insights again on the global stage.
Keep an eye out for updates, and let’s connect if you’re in any of these cities!
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Thought that you might enjoy seeing this : on hope. https://www.earth.com/news/experts-identify-the-simple-emotion-that-gives-life-meaning-and-its-not-happiness/