The Contradictions of Creation

In my last post I discussed how we artist “waste” time. In that post, I offered metaphors and symbols for a process that is more emotional than analytical, but there is room for analyzing the process and a place for explaining its mechanics.

On the whole, I do not believe that most of us are aware of how the creative process plays out. Some of us have been privileged enough to know those inspired moments, and they are so pristine and complete unto themselves that it almost feels violent to dissect such a sacred event. And yet, I think that it is because we do not understand the process that we are reluctant to submit to its needs. Maybe if we were better acquainted with the contradictions of creation we would be less inclined to discard the tools we need to achieve our desire.

I think that many of have this notion that great artists and writers simply sit down one day and begin to create. They may have had some training but once inspired they simply do so fully and completely with no flaws or defect. I will grant you that I have had those moments when it seems like my fingers race along the keyboard with no conscious thought or design, seeming to chase an idea of their own accord. There have been times when the paint seemed to dance upon the canvas to the proper place and adopt the proper shade with no assistance from me. Always these are my favorite pieces of work, pieces that I feel no arrogance or vulnerability in showing, because they seem to have to very little to do with me.

I wish that such times were always the case, but in truth they are rare. And yet, even in those times of almost spontaneous generation, I know the truth of the moment. The work before me, taking shape as if it had a life of its own, seeming to assert that my hands are but the hands of a barely needed midwife, is not something that was born on this day.

Throughout my life I have been an observer, picking apart every idea put before me. I can never remember a time when I could simply watch a movie or read a book. Constantly, I am grappling with the work demanding that it yield the idea that it cloaks, searching for its most elemental meaning. I blame this on my father who taught me that anyone who took the time to write a book, play, or movie, anyone who bothered to paint a picture or sculpt a form, had a fundamental belief that they believed so profoundly they were compelled to share it with the world.

I took him at his word, and I began to see the truth in what he had told me. To this day, I have yet to see any creative work that did not embody some ideology or dogma that had shaped the individual who created it. Some are easier to spot than others, but they are there.

Like grapes, I gather all of these bits of inspired thought and emotion. I pool them together in my mind, allowing them to sink deep within me, until I can distil the truth from what I have seen or heard. It may set untouched for years fermenting as a good wine, waiting until the proper day to be tasted. Some ideas may be taken out, reevaluated and judged as I mature only to be recasked and shelved yet again. At times I have been guilty of revealing an idea too soon when the flavor, while promising, has yet to gain the depth necessary for true greatness.

But then there are those ideas whose time has come, the image in my head is complete or the words have formed deep within my psyche and now it must be shared with my friends. If I have been sensitive to the nuances of its maturation I will produce a seductively simple yet bold creation whose complexities must be experienced to be known.

We work when we collect the bounty of the creation around us. We toil as crush the ideas beneath the weight of our scrutiny. We labor as allow them to foment within us, giving them room and space to find a new life under our care. With diligent patience we tend to the knowledge we have taken and wait for the pristine moment of clarity to bring it forth. These are the times when inspiration seems effortless. These are the moments when our art is at its finest, finding its form beneath our fingers, only after days, weeks, or even years of tireless exertion to insure that it is revealed in all the grandeur we can bestow upon it.

As artist we live lives of contradiction that perhaps on a good day can be seen as balance. We learn so that we may destroy and prefect, forget and rediscover. No step may be skipped or forgotten. Each one must be made with boldness and caution, or not taken at all. We create alone in the dark but creation without light or unshared is incomplete and not a creation at all. Perhaps the greatest contradiction is the illusion of spontaneity and the dedicated discipline that cannot supplant the instinctive response to inspiration.

Training Wheels - Baby, It's Cold Outside

I haven’t written anything in this series for awhile because it has been rather chilly out. So Ole Blue has been sitting alone in the garage waiting for warmer weather. What I am amazed to find is how much I find myself missing my husband during this cold. Oh, he’s still around, but that part of him I only see when we are out riding is in winter hibernation too.

I was thinking this morning how much I would love to go out with him, but then the wind howled and I remembered how much I hate being cold. Ty knows this so he’s acted like he is content to wait it out but I know it is only for my sake. One of the main reasons we haven’t gone out in this weather is largely because I am not properly outfitted and the budget has not allowed us to get me all the gear I need.

Ty did buy me a set of leather chaps, which for those of you who don’t ride is not just a fashion statement but a necessity for blocking the wind. It is a start but there are still some things, like gloves and a good jacket, which I need. And Ty is unwilling to subject his delicate little wife to such hardships.

For the first time, this morning I realized something. There are points in our walk with God when it seems like you never get to do any of the fun stuff, like you are stuck at home and you aren’t going anywhere soon. You know that he is still there, waiting to take you out on that next great adventure, but that’s all you seem to be doing – waiting. It is like God is in hibernation and you can’t wake him up. You miss him, and no matter how often you assure yourself that he hasn’t left you, that the adventures of last summer really did happen and will happen again, you know you are missing out now.

It got me to thinking that maybe the reason is he loves us. He knows that we aren’t outfitted to endure the hardship that we would have to face if we struck out now. Maybe he is waiting until we have our gloves and jacket. Maybe he is adding piece by piece the protective gear we need so that we can go where he wants to take us next. Maybe he is just as anxious to begin as we are, but he wants to protect us until we are ready and the weather is right.

Ty wants all our trips together to be an experience, a chance for us to really enjoy the journey together, and I think that my husband doesn’t want one miserable ride to influence the way I view this special time together. So he waits for the time to be right, for the conditions to be suitable. He’s never left me behind to go and enjoy the adventure alone. He stays and he waits when I know he would rather be riding. And I have told him to go and enjoy, I will be here when he gets back, but he just smiles and finds something to do around the house. Some quiet domestic duty that he handles so well, but seems odd for my biker husband to be at peace with.

Somehow, I get the impression God’s a lot like that. Piddling around the house, waiting, not wanting to spoil our experience by taking us out before we are ready. Yes, he could go out and we would be here when he got back, but he’d rather have us with him. So this mighty creator of the universe waits, working on our spiritual plumbing, replacing our hinges, and changing our spiritual oil. Out of place and oh so domestic for one so great but this is what love does to us. It doesn’t negate who we are, but it sometimes requires that we slow down so the ones we love can catch up and be truly ready to join us.

So I am praying for a warm and sunny day when Ty doesn’t have to work, and a chance to take the tags off those new chaps. It will be fun to have my husband back again, and in the mean time, I'm learning to appreciate having him piddling around the house. He’s taking care of what needs attention now. I am sure God is too.