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pjthompsonFrom the quote file:
"The world is made less of nouns than of verbs. It doesn't consist merely in objects and things; it is filled with useful, playful, and intriguing opportunities."
—James Hillman, The Soul's Code
Lately my life has certainly had a high verb count. Things are calmer this week, an eye in the storm. A hurry up and wait week.
Some days, though, my verbs are quite minimal: eat, sleep, read, watch—and a few other basic body verbs that really have no place in a public blog. Concentrated periods of inactivism are just as important as activism. Some days I have the need for serious sloth because most days, especially during the week, it feels like I'm burning the candle at both ends, even when I'm not crashing at work, doing rewrites, moving offices, etc., etc., ad nauseam.
Maybe that's an artist thing? No matter what art you're doing, even if you consider it a craft, I think artists have a tendency to never truly be inactive. The mind is always churning. Even when we're asleep, even when we're holding conversations on other topics, below the surface that other channel is working—like a vast aquifer, never still, always pushing slowly and infinitely towards the sea.
Maybe that's a me thing? I've talked to other artists/craftists, though, who have a similar duality, a feeling of things always pushing, of things moving even when we want them to stop, of ideas swimming and brewing and fermenting. I guess that's the need thing, the need to do art, the can't-live-without-it thing. In some ways it makes us (me) crazy, in other ways it makes us (me) sane.
I have an acquaintance who has a schizophrenic brother. She loves drawing parallels between his world and mine. False parallels, I hasten to add. She's fascinated by my process and the fact that characters are always alive in some part of my brain and that they take on a certain reality to me. Although unlike her brother, I can tell the difference between the things I create and consensus reality. Most days. :-) She doesn't understand the creative process, or at least not this deep need to do creative things. She thinks creativity is something you discover one day, like someone shows you how to sew and suddenly your hands know how to make astonishing quilts as if by magic. She laments not being creative and thinks that the reason she's not is that she's just never found the thing that will unlock her creativity. Maybe she's right, but from where I'm sitting, I think she's got it backwards. The creativity comes first, the vehicle for its expression comes second. Creativity is an activist process, not a passive one. It doesn't wait to be discovered. It's intrinsic and ongoing, insist, persistent—a good stopping off point on the road to the loony bin.
I don't think creative people are better human beings then other folks. Some of the most miserable, messed up people I know are highly creative; also some of the best people I know. Which is by way of saying that quality of personality, moral character, all that stuff, are separate issues. Creativity is just another aspect of being human.
Although it does feel like a divine fire sometimes when your brain is burning and your hand can't get the ideas down fast enough. I don't know what it is, frankly. But I do know certain aspects of it quite well: creativity is mostly about letting go and allowing, of getting out of the way and letting it flow through, about not second guessing and trying to control until the thing is well and truly outside of you and you can then enforce all the damned control and second-guessing your left brain is itching for. It's that flow that I live for, though. It's that great, non-judging activist plunge into the void that makes everything else worthwhile.
So, in that sense, maybe my acquaintance is right: she's never found the thing that allows her to let go of control and give herself permission. Maybe she doesn't lack creativity (because the egalitarian in me says everyone has some creative spark). Maybe she just can't let go. I don't know. I operate on faith and instinct. Analysis is always secondary, always a rewrite.
"The world is made less of nouns than of verbs. It doesn't consist merely in objects and things; it is filled with useful, playful, and intriguing opportunities."
—James Hillman, The Soul's Code
Lately my life has certainly had a high verb count. Things are calmer this week, an eye in the storm. A hurry up and wait week.
Some days, though, my verbs are quite minimal: eat, sleep, read, watch—and a few other basic body verbs that really have no place in a public blog. Concentrated periods of inactivism are just as important as activism. Some days I have the need for serious sloth because most days, especially during the week, it feels like I'm burning the candle at both ends, even when I'm not crashing at work, doing rewrites, moving offices, etc., etc., ad nauseam.
Maybe that's an artist thing? No matter what art you're doing, even if you consider it a craft, I think artists have a tendency to never truly be inactive. The mind is always churning. Even when we're asleep, even when we're holding conversations on other topics, below the surface that other channel is working—like a vast aquifer, never still, always pushing slowly and infinitely towards the sea.
Maybe that's a me thing? I've talked to other artists/craftists, though, who have a similar duality, a feeling of things always pushing, of things moving even when we want them to stop, of ideas swimming and brewing and fermenting. I guess that's the need thing, the need to do art, the can't-live-without-it thing. In some ways it makes us (me) crazy, in other ways it makes us (me) sane.
I have an acquaintance who has a schizophrenic brother. She loves drawing parallels between his world and mine. False parallels, I hasten to add. She's fascinated by my process and the fact that characters are always alive in some part of my brain and that they take on a certain reality to me. Although unlike her brother, I can tell the difference between the things I create and consensus reality. Most days. :-) She doesn't understand the creative process, or at least not this deep need to do creative things. She thinks creativity is something you discover one day, like someone shows you how to sew and suddenly your hands know how to make astonishing quilts as if by magic. She laments not being creative and thinks that the reason she's not is that she's just never found the thing that will unlock her creativity. Maybe she's right, but from where I'm sitting, I think she's got it backwards. The creativity comes first, the vehicle for its expression comes second. Creativity is an activist process, not a passive one. It doesn't wait to be discovered. It's intrinsic and ongoing, insist, persistent—a good stopping off point on the road to the loony bin.
I don't think creative people are better human beings then other folks. Some of the most miserable, messed up people I know are highly creative; also some of the best people I know. Which is by way of saying that quality of personality, moral character, all that stuff, are separate issues. Creativity is just another aspect of being human.
Although it does feel like a divine fire sometimes when your brain is burning and your hand can't get the ideas down fast enough. I don't know what it is, frankly. But I do know certain aspects of it quite well: creativity is mostly about letting go and allowing, of getting out of the way and letting it flow through, about not second guessing and trying to control until the thing is well and truly outside of you and you can then enforce all the damned control and second-guessing your left brain is itching for. It's that flow that I live for, though. It's that great, non-judging activist plunge into the void that makes everything else worthwhile.
So, in that sense, maybe my acquaintance is right: she's never found the thing that allows her to let go of control and give herself permission. Maybe she doesn't lack creativity (because the egalitarian in me says everyone has some creative spark). Maybe she just can't let go. I don't know. I operate on faith and instinct. Analysis is always secondary, always a rewrite.
I wish...
Date: 2004-07-28 06:51 pm (UTC)On the other hand, I'm never really -stuck-, either--being able to turn it on and off at will (more or less) has its advantages.
On the third hand, perhaps my stuff has less fire to it than I might want because of this same detachment.
And while we're being mutants, on the -fourth- hand I wonder what it would be like to have the characters "come real" to me :). I'm often thinking of solutions to their dilemmas... but it's always in a story context, like "how do I get him from here to there?" rather than "how's he going to get from here to there".
Hrm. Interesting to think of, anyway.
Re: I wish...
Date: 2004-07-28 09:13 pm (UTC)Yeah, because when you want to go and its stuck and won't go, it can be kind of agonizing.
>>On the third hand, perhaps my stuff has less fire to it than I might want because of this same detachment.<<
I don't think your stuff reads detached. I feel the emotions bubbling through the scenes and I can't say that about every writer I read.
>>And while we're being mutants, on the -fourth- hand<<
Why do I get a vision of Shiva doing the dance thing?
>>I wonder what it would be like to have the characters "come real" to me :).<<
Ha! Like having invisible friends? I never had those when I was a kid, but I used to have some real interesting pretend sessions with my toys. :-)
>>I'm often thinking of solutions to their dilemmas... but it's always in a story context, like "how do I get him from here to there?" rather than "how's he going to get from here to there".<<
I guess I do both variations. Often, though, my best solutions come when I decide to let go of the problems and "sleep on it." So I'm not sure who's doing the thinking here... :-)
no subject
Date: 2004-07-28 06:59 pm (UTC)I usually have something like this going on... If my brain isn't concentrating on my own life, Murrock and Thimble and the gang will wander in and make themselves at home. That's part of the reason I like drawing every now and then -- it basically shuts down the right side of the brain that deals with words and dialogue, so I can have a few peaceful moments while the left side of my mind deals with shapes and shadows.
I think the creativity/expression debate is much like the chicken and the egg. We'll never really have an answer that fits every case.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-28 09:20 pm (UTC)I _know._ And even after their stories are done sometimes. They've _always_ got further suggestions to make. :-)
>>That's part of the reason I like drawing every now and then...so I can have a few peaceful moments while the left side of my mind deals with shapes and shadows.<<
I loved the new Ileena, btw.
I used to draw, too. But I'm more of a sculpture person then a drawer. My drawings were pretty generic and I seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time on costume and hair! I do detailed maps, though, and diagrams of buildings, rooms and the like to get rid of some of the nervous energy.
>>I think the creativity/expression debate is much like the chicken and the egg. We'll never really have an answer that fits every case.<<
Yeah because we only know what it feels like inside our own creative processes. And sometimes, not even then.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-28 09:50 pm (UTC)Thanks!
I used to draw, too. But I'm more of a sculpture person then a drawer. My drawings were pretty generic and I seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time on costume and hair! I do detailed maps, though, and diagrams of buildings, rooms and the like to get rid of some of the nervous energy.
I spend most of my energy on the same thing! I guess because that's where I can really take control -- the body and face are from whatever model I base the drawing on, but then I get to style it to fit the character I want them to be.
I don't do too many buildings, but when I do it usually helps me set a scene a whole heck of a lot better when I write.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-28 10:47 pm (UTC)Testify!
On the odd occasion that I share with Colin about 1% of the thoughts that flit through my mind, he tells me I have too much time on my hands.
At which point I fall over laughing.