Inspiration....
I am inspired. My new friend from the library, the author of the blog Social Change in Mind, check it out at http://socialchangeinmind.blogspot.com/, is moving forward on his idea for a showcase of homeless and unemployed folks' talent. He's making it happen, and it will probably be in June or July, so keep your eyes peeled if you live in Western Massachusetts. I'm inspired, because its great to see someone with an idea and passion who can then figure out how to make the logistics happen, even if he or she has do to do it on their own. Me, I find it hard to be creative without structure. Not that I don't have creative ideas--I have a crazy list of them always growing in my mind, on scraps of paper, in computer files. But without deadlines, workshops, classes, requirements of a job, formal requests from a friend or committee, a call for papers or proposals. conferences (you get the picture) I find it really hard to follow through. Not my new friend from the library. Cheers to Social Change in Mind man!
These days I spend my time reading, transcribing, and thinking and writing about 17th century Mexican Inquisition documents. I do this because I am passionate about learning about the lives of women who lived in this time and place and this is one of the very few good ways of learning about them. I am not, however, all that passionate about Inquisition documents, and its getting a little tiresome. I find myself spending more hours than I should indulging my fascination with Quantum physics, metaphysical, and esoteric philosophies and spiritual theory (is there such a thing as spiritual theory? It seems so to me. Right up there with spiritual politics.) But the other day I finally made my way into my "art corner" and what I found was incredible.
I can't claim to be an artist, but I have always had an art corner. Every house I have lived in, I have carted my baskets and boxes of strange clippings, collections, and crap that I save for possible collage projects or other fantasy ideas I have. When I move in, I lovingly arrange my plastic drawers full of paint, glue, pencils, brushes, and the rest of my very hodgepodge and incomplete artistic tool kit. But in every house that I have lived in, I have probably spent less then two weeks collectively, actually using these things.
My mother is an artist. She is a dancer by spirit and an amazing one, but she has branched out in the last 20 years to translate her dance in both words and visual mediums. She's a wonderful painter, and now she is in this wildly creative place where she turns everything into art. She does giant collages and uses coffee filters and take-out boxes to make the most beautiful pieces of magic. She inspires me, and when I go home, we sometimes have art days. After a visit home about 6 months ago, I came back to Northampton and stocked up my art corner with all kinds of new things. I also made my art corner the most beautiful one I have had in any previous house.
But ask me how much time I have spent in it? Since August, I have visited it about once a week. Visited. To say hello, admire the possibilities, and think about how I would like to spend more time there. But I have not created one damn thing.
Until the other day. Sitting at my computer (or rather easing up to it from the side, hoping it didn't see me so that I would still have time to escape) I suddenly bolted out of my chair and ran up the stairs to my art corner. Once up there, I found that I didn't have the materials for the task I had in mind, but I didn't care. I made do. It was less important that the finished product be good, or be anything at all, actually, than that I follow the impulse RIGHT THEN, before it faded behind the thought "I don't really know what to do," or "I'll come back to this some other time," or "I don't have what I need, but I'll get it, and then I will make a regular 'art hour' where I always do art, right along with my regular exercise hour, meditation hour, writing hour, etc etc." (Ask me how many of these regular hours I regularly attend with any regularity!)
So I made do with what I had, and it was incredible. I found myself, for probably about 40 minutes, completely absorbed in what my eyes and hands were doing and in the wonderfully messy and disorganized materials. Once I was done, I spent only a second considering the final product (something with wax paper, tissue paper, some leaves, tassels, glue, water, and paint.) My impression was of the kind of art created by ambitious kindergarteners. But this is really not the point. The point is, that for a brief period of time, I was caught in the rush of unplanned, unstructured creativity. And it was FUN.
Thats my thought for the day. Inspiration. Pass it on.
These days I spend my time reading, transcribing, and thinking and writing about 17th century Mexican Inquisition documents. I do this because I am passionate about learning about the lives of women who lived in this time and place and this is one of the very few good ways of learning about them. I am not, however, all that passionate about Inquisition documents, and its getting a little tiresome. I find myself spending more hours than I should indulging my fascination with Quantum physics, metaphysical, and esoteric philosophies and spiritual theory (is there such a thing as spiritual theory? It seems so to me. Right up there with spiritual politics.) But the other day I finally made my way into my "art corner" and what I found was incredible.
I can't claim to be an artist, but I have always had an art corner. Every house I have lived in, I have carted my baskets and boxes of strange clippings, collections, and crap that I save for possible collage projects or other fantasy ideas I have. When I move in, I lovingly arrange my plastic drawers full of paint, glue, pencils, brushes, and the rest of my very hodgepodge and incomplete artistic tool kit. But in every house that I have lived in, I have probably spent less then two weeks collectively, actually using these things.
My mother is an artist. She is a dancer by spirit and an amazing one, but she has branched out in the last 20 years to translate her dance in both words and visual mediums. She's a wonderful painter, and now she is in this wildly creative place where she turns everything into art. She does giant collages and uses coffee filters and take-out boxes to make the most beautiful pieces of magic. She inspires me, and when I go home, we sometimes have art days. After a visit home about 6 months ago, I came back to Northampton and stocked up my art corner with all kinds of new things. I also made my art corner the most beautiful one I have had in any previous house.
But ask me how much time I have spent in it? Since August, I have visited it about once a week. Visited. To say hello, admire the possibilities, and think about how I would like to spend more time there. But I have not created one damn thing.
Until the other day. Sitting at my computer (or rather easing up to it from the side, hoping it didn't see me so that I would still have time to escape) I suddenly bolted out of my chair and ran up the stairs to my art corner. Once up there, I found that I didn't have the materials for the task I had in mind, but I didn't care. I made do. It was less important that the finished product be good, or be anything at all, actually, than that I follow the impulse RIGHT THEN, before it faded behind the thought "I don't really know what to do," or "I'll come back to this some other time," or "I don't have what I need, but I'll get it, and then I will make a regular 'art hour' where I always do art, right along with my regular exercise hour, meditation hour, writing hour, etc etc." (Ask me how many of these regular hours I regularly attend with any regularity!)
So I made do with what I had, and it was incredible. I found myself, for probably about 40 minutes, completely absorbed in what my eyes and hands were doing and in the wonderfully messy and disorganized materials. Once I was done, I spent only a second considering the final product (something with wax paper, tissue paper, some leaves, tassels, glue, water, and paint.) My impression was of the kind of art created by ambitious kindergarteners. But this is really not the point. The point is, that for a brief period of time, I was caught in the rush of unplanned, unstructured creativity. And it was FUN.
Thats my thought for the day. Inspiration. Pass it on.
posted by RandomWriter at 12:34 PM
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