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"I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather my spark burn out in a brilliant blaze than be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy, permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time." ~Jack London

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Creativity



My mother was always trying to encourage our creativity. "Let's draw," she offered one rainy afternoon. The three of us sat around the kitchen table, quiet and thoughtful, pencils dashing madly about our pages with ideas. My brother was always the stronger artist. He takes after my mother that way. I remember looking over to see his beautiful portrait of the bowl of fruit in the center of the table, the lines curved just so, the shading immaculate. I looked over at my mother's portrait of our cat, Jasper. A few strokes of her hand, and there he was, alarmingly lifelike and perfect, created from nothing. I cannot remember what I drew, but I remember feeling that heavy pit in my stomach of disappointment and jealousy. Why couldn't I do that?

I took two music classes in high school and therefore had no room in my schedule for art. It saddened me not to be able to do it all, but knowing I lacked talent anyway, I didn't fret too much about it. I had enough on my plate at the time. Art slipped away from me. I have not attempted to draw since middle school, have not dragged a paint soaked brush against a canvas, have not immersed my hands into the softness of clay. I have not felt that drive to create.

In my early teens, I took to making scrapbooks of celebrities. I would strip the pages of magazines my mother bought and cut each one out to fill the large blank pages of my scrapbook. They would fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces, each edge lined to another in just the right way. I liked the way it felt to cover those pages in faces, to produce something unique, to create something from nothing, just as my mother had done. I liked the way it made me feel artistic, despite the absence of any intrinsic ability. Eventually those pages became the wallpaper in my room.

I awoke this morning feeling inspired. I decided to sort through some of my collections of things -- cards, ticket stubs, photos, notes, articles and ads I have saved. At the bottom of everything, I found a sketch pad I had bought years ago and forgotten about. I decided it was time to put it to use, and so I began to cut and arrange and glue things onto those blank pages. I began to fill it with things I love, with pieces of myself. I began to create something from nothing.

About an hour into it, I realized that I was creating art. I realized that art, like life itself, is not so much about the destination as it is about the journey. It was so cathartic, combing through these little fragments of beauty I have collected along my path, combining them together, seeing a reflection of myself grow upon the page. I realized that art is a means of healing. It is a means of expression. It is a means of learning to love what we are capable of creating. I realized that having no real talent doesn't mean that I can't still participate.

Three days ago, I discovered etsy. It's been around forever. Most of my blogger friends use it, write about it, share pieces of themselves on it. I am only just now finding my way there.

I am so grateful to have opened its doors. I love the way it offers up this space to create, to connect, to inspire each of us to release the artist within ourselves. I love the way people have responded to its challenge to dig fearlessly into the depths of our souls and bring to the surface these tangible pieces of what we unearth there. I love the results of these searches, the way so many have found bright colors, wise words, beautiful pictures somewhere inside, the way they have so courageously brought them into being. I love what is being created here.

Using some birthday money, I bought myself this and this and this from Madelyn. And because she is a generous, beautiful soul, she offered to send me this as well. I am so eternally grateful. I am so in love with these pictures.

It surprised me to feel so connected to these photographs, to this art, to something I know so little about. It surprised me to discover that even if nothing tangible is ever made, even if nothing is created, there is still an artistic soul stirring somewhere deep inside.

4 comments:

meghan said...

wonderful!!

I could SO relate to this! My Dad and brother are both really talented artists. I always felt like I couldn't be one because my creations didn't look right. I do something like what you did today. I cut anything that appeals to me out of magazines/ books/ etc. and make collages in big hard back books. I never thought of it as art before - but you are right. It is!!

Oh do enjoy etsy! It can be VERY addictive!!

xo

Anonymous said...

To me it seems like one of the main features of creativity is that the source is unconscious. When it happens, it feels like a force in its own right, and the best you can do is cooperate as well as you can to let it do its thing.

Then, after the fact, there's plenty of conscious work to do - editing, if it's language. But for me, whenever I've written anything good, the primary source wasn't the part of my mind that deliberately fabricates things or thinks "Hmm, what if I did this..." or "I think that might be a good idea..."

Bethany Bassett said...

Happy, happy birthday! I love what you said about "an artistic soul stirring deep inside." I feel exactly the same. :)

Sky said...

I can identify so well with your post. I can't even do justice to stick men! I have a problem with spatial relationships, not to mention that I have no ability to create what I see. I have always thought it would be so delightful to be able to paint a beautiful landscape while sitting in the warm sunshine, to capture a particularly beautiful spot which brings me such joy. NO WAY! :(

I, too, have found some comfort in creating collage pieces...and am in the midst of making one right now for my husband. I am covering a wooden box (6"x10") with words and images cut out from periodicals, printing small copies of photographs he has created and pasting those, too, until all of the box is covered with things which have meaning to us. Then I will apply glue over the top of the whole thing, glue which dries transparent. I will apply several layers (one on top of the other after each layer dries). I may tint the last layer with a tiny amount of reddish-brown stain so that it has an "antiqued" look when it is done. I'll add a piece of velvet to the inside of the box for a finished look, and he can use it to store his valuables, whatever they may be.