A picture,
or a poem,
is the death of possibility.
A great and terrifying cloud of potential,
collapses.
The dead scales of art are experienced,
while the artist struggles to shed skin.
To hold a cloud of unknowing in tension,
and sense the moment of rain.
All are able,
Some have skill,
Make the time.
2 replies on “Creativity”
After weaving for 50 years I am still learning new things. Because we have such an infestation of moth I can’t bring wool pieces back home from the Gallery. So if I want my work to survive I have to give it away!
Going alone into my studio is not always therapeutic: sometimes it is like “slitting my wrists with a rusty razor blade” as one writer said. But sometimes the loom, the thread and the idea coalesce…
For me it’s not the death of posibility but rather the grabbing for the possibility before it becomes unattainable. Potential is realized when we respond to a world with a love greater than the sum of all the meagre parts that the world can offer as possibilities. Creativity can release this love in all of us as we leave behind the tired tropes of conventional thinking and expectation. Embrace the new spiritual non-normal!