Monday, September 12, 2011

The Silver Flow of Forever

I write this blog because I feel compelled to create and communicate. Creativity has always been a drive in me. I can't stop doing it any more that I could stop drinking or eating. Something lives in the wiring of  my brain that makes this so.

Still, tonight I don't fell much like writing Monday's post. Maybe it was the humid, overcast, Romantic-looking day. Maybe it was snuggling cozily under the blankets and reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to my youngest son that did it. It could be the hour I spent practicing "Recuerdos del Alahambra" on my guitar. Or maybe it was preparing for tomorrow's lesson on The Epic of Gilgamesh in one class and on Robert Bloch's "That Hell-bound Train" in another. I suppose it also could have been the few hours I spent reading the delightfully atmospheric, top-notch writing of George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones . . . Hell, it might have even been cutting the grass that did it.


Maybe sometimes the creative soul spends a day at the spa -- bathing in warm waters of relaxation -- and then feels it doesn't need to do anything grand, at least for awhile. Maybe, sometimes, training hard for the marathon we someday plan to run can give way to an unhurried walk in the woods -- a walk during which we feel no guilt for stopping, sitting on a rock and watching a stream's silver forever caress the smooth stones.

Goodnight, friends, whenever and wherever your nighttime comes . . .

11 comments:

  1. My husband was very sad the day that our oldest daughter mentioned to him that there was really no need to go on reading to her, she could manage on her own (mind you she was 26 at the time [no, she wasn't, I just put that in out of silliness]) - if it's a choice between blogging and lolling about with the infant, always go for the latter, because all too soon that option will be gone.

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  2. Z -- Lolling about, fortunately, is up pretty high on my list of favorite activities. Throw in a squishy, lovable liltle son, and it is a no brainer. The sad part is that I was hoping this would continue until at least 30 . . .

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  3. When I was an undergrad, my painting professor told me that there would be days on which I wanted to do anything but paint. This, he said, was normal and natural, and it was vitally important than I not paint on those days. He recommended workshop stuff (stretching canvases, building frames, &c.) as a suitable alternative.

    The same's true of writing though there are fewer workshop activities to fill up the time.

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  4. 'nora -- that is interesting. I often "putter" around my studio when I am not in the mood to write or record music. I organize instrument cables, dust, label discs. I always find that strangely satisfying. With writing, I guess, just sitting and thinking is one's workshop activity.

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  5. One of the most valuable lessons I walked away with from Art College was sometimes it is okay to do nothing at all.

    The brain, it seems, needs its down time and I have noticed that on days when I try to force creativity to hangout and do stuff with me we fight.

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  6. Ture enough, Merlyn. And I think, for those who really have the artistic calling, there is no danger of falling into complete non-productivity. The laziness limit will be reached and our brains will tell us that it is time to either get to work or be profoundly miserable.

    "when I try to force creativity to hangout and do stuff with me we fight" = awesome, by the way.

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  7. The worst thing about those uncreative days is the despondence of believing the dry spell will never end, even though we know, intellectually and from experience, that it always does.

    I use those troughs to houseclean. Imposing order on my cluttered life doesn't call back the creativity, but it does make me okay with its absence.

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  8. We humans, especially we creative ones, are certainly disposed toward worry. Likewise for me, too, Jeff -- little triumphs like organizing one's sock-drawer do tend to soothe.

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  9. I think all humans are comforted by anything that feels like a success - sometimes just falling into bed at the right time feels like a total success (when you've been up nights in a row planning for an unfamiliar curriculum, 10 o'clock feels so wonderful). Creatively, if isn't pulling her strings, I lay in bed, on a sofa, and just think; sometimes, I'm more productive without a pen or my laptop.

    Great post!

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  10. "I think all humans are comforted by anything that feels like a success"

    Well-put, indeed.

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