I read alot of articles, and I watch alot of film, and I love how our internet age is changing our world in one way; I have to add that it doesn’t appeal to me in all aspects of its immediacy. Nevertheless, we have let this genie out of the bottle, and life will never be the same again. We are bombarded with creativity, it is astonishing the depth and breadth of the human mind to constantly come up with innovative ways of expressing itself. And I do love that.
There is a place though, for reflection. I like the manner in which Elizabeth Gilbert explores her own creativity, and comes to a conclusion that to fulfil any sense of achievement, an artist has to accept himself/herself as sometimes blank. I think that blankness is part of the creative process. We have to search within our own experiences, memory, hopes and perceptions to arrive at our own creative space. She speaks well, and I hope it resonates with some of you out there.
It took me to a memory of reading Walt Whitman, and this is not at all connected with Elizabeth Gilbert, but his outpouring of himself, and his keying in to what it meant to him to be human, and on this earth shook me. I am only repeating a tiny part of his work here, because it is mammoth, and I couldn’t possibly take it all in at once. It feels biblical to me. Anyway, this is the small section that I wanted to bring to your attention.
”I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed.’
From Song of Myself Walt Whitman
There have been moments like this for me, when I have felt the connection with every part of creation. How lovely that it is. How glorious that there are creative geniuses who take me there, and I am thinking of Mozart, and Radiohead in the same breath. Let me know who your inspirations are, give me a chance of being blown away by something new and unexpected. Here is Mozarts Clarinet Concerto slow movement, which sends me every time I hear it.