When I think of the words art, inspiration and creativity, I see purple construction paper letters hung up on the wall in a children’s classroom. I don’t truly connect them to anything I do. I’ve seen others talk about inspiration for things they’ve created. My mind doesn’t work that way. I feel I’m less than others because of this. Their works are art. Mine? Possibly only a product of madness. Things are certainly created by me but, it seems to come out of nowhere. My mind is a chaotic swirl of urges, pictures and words.
It starts with these little unexplained impulses, an image, or a few sentences. I might wake up one morning with an overpowering impulse to film goats. I have no idea what I’m going to do with this footage. It’s simply an inkling that nags at me and won’t let go until it is accomplished. Once it is done, I have a piece of something. I may not know what the next step is for months. I often have many elements going at one time, little bits of this and that in the waiting. There’s no ultimate direction or formulated plan only urges, words, images and steps towards something. My boyfriend or roommate may walk in to find me carefully arranging bananas in a circle around my dog, wearing a bloody wedding dress or painstakingly cutting out pictures of Leonard Nimoy’s head. My best friend may be greeted in email to a photoshopped image of him shopping with the Borg at Wal-mart in a pirate ensemble. I’m accustomed to odd reactions I get as I proudly proclaim “I made this!”. My elation with my finished product may only garner the response of “Uhm.” When I’m rewarded in my euphoria I’m always pleasantly surprised. In the end, positive or flummoxed the reactions don’t matter. I’m following an inner voice that can only be silenced one step at a time. I have to make these things because I have to. There’s no choice.
I don’t know what the rules are to anything, to art, to making films, to writing. I can’t seem to really absorb the details or want to like I should. It’s extraordinarily rare for me to know what is I’m making until it is done. Instead, I’m following breadcrumbs and assembling a patchwork of vague urges. Nothing influences me and everything inspires me all at once. I can’t trace the connections, not really. Things come when they come, usually when I’m off minding my own business. I may be listening to music, and I’ll dive off onto some mental path during the song. I can’t connect if it was a word, phrase or melody that grabbed me. I just know something did. On the other hand I may also be trimming the backside of a dog, which is hardly inspirational. There’s no rhyme or reason, only a need for action. Something comes out of the sky, zaps the little brunette and I go. It’s that simple.