It’s been a few weeks that this fragment of a piece is attempting to pierce through my mind. I can sense it trying to make its way past dense clouds made out of excuses and omnipresent world violence.
The act of creation seems so futile in the face of grief.
These days, the conflicting currents of creation and grief appear to be permanent. Occasionally I can convince myself that allowing one to exist does not negate the other. Carving out the time and crafting the silence that are needed to “see what is not there” appear to be Sisyphean work.
Yet, little emerges from a tired and saturated mind. This then begs the question:
Where does self care end and where does playing “faire l’autruche” or “bury your head in the sand” begin ?
Criticising, destroying, undermining, requires so little energy. While seeing what is not there requires the interplay of subtle forces.
My definition of the creative act is "the ability to make something out of nothing". Either that or the ability to snatch that little thing floating in the air, unless to quote David Lynch that little thing is a fish:
« Ideas are like fish. If you want to catch little fish, you can stay in the shallow water. But if you want to catch the big fish, you’ve got to go deeper. Down deep, the fish are more powerful and more pure. They’re huge and abstract. And they’re very beautiful. »
I gobbled thousands of advices and tips about the creative act [1], a common thread in all of this material is to “carve the time and finish things”.
For today, here is my gift to you dear reader a simple reminder that one can be a multitude of contradictions and when offered a choice between creating and destroying I invite you to pick wisely.
[1] If you never read it I recommend the “The artist way” by Julia Cameron.
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