Creativity, Art & Inspiration
Have you ever written something that comes from within the recesses of your mind and has not been viewed before on the page?
Do you use your hands to fashion something from a pile of components and materials that never existed before?
Are you inspired to do something by all that is around: in the air, on the ground, in the water and in your heart and mind?
If so, then the creative gene within is alive.
The age of creation will never die.
From that first speck of dust which bonded with another and eventually formed this mortal coil that we call home to each word that lies on this page, the process is ongoing and eternal. An organic, shifting and continuous system that makes us what we are also pushes us forward, and we never tire of seeing what’s just over the horizon.
And I follow the path to the horizon although I never reach it. I try, and along the way meet many people from all walks of life, visit many great cities, see wondrous buildings and listen as the music moves me.
I see stories in the memories and images of the many paths I walk. My head sometimes knows that there is something in what I have encountered, yet there are times my heart is the leader.
A sentence of a newspaper, a word spoken by a person in a conversation, the way a woman smiles and laughs, the curve of the stone in an ancient amphitheatre, a song where the combination of the music and the lyrics evokes an emotional response, a sunset over an impressive skyline, night-time sounds in an empty city, early morning cups of tea where the only person alive appears to be me, regrets of decisions made which seemed correct at the time, a wish for times gone by, a desire to know what lies within my heart, a baby’s smile – these are some of the triggers, which by no means are all that move me, that spark off my creative process.
And that process begins as a tiny spark, flickering briefly into life. Sometimes that spark may flutter and die, never to live again; but more often than not, that spark catches some of the kindling, that upon closer inspection is a pile of words, and sets it alight.
What emerges from the fire which threatens to engulf everything I know is sometimes beautiful and poetic, sometimes hideous and twisted, sometimes a mixture of both; but whatever the combination, it can be said that it is art.
Art is subjective.
Art is beauty to one person and ugly to another.
Anything creative is art.
Deception is cruelty, and clarity is purity.
I’ve ruined things. I’ve hurt people. I’ve wasted time. I’ve nearly died – these are all true.
And I write to feel alive.
I create to get the demons out of my head, and I see beauty and wonder in all around me. Yet I also see horror and despair, and feel sad – but what can I do?
All I can do is take that inspiration, hope that the spark becomes much more and create something which moves someone else.