my inner artist was undeniably stirred at recreate. what really happened inside of me there? i know it’s something, but what? from what? there was no “a-hA!” moment. no speaker or conversation that brought new revelation to light. i mean, it was all great – amazing, even – but in a cumulative sort of way. so, why do i suddenly feel so…. awake?
before i left for franklin i felt as if i were sleepwalking. living in a state of subconsciousness. all the pieces were connected but in a non-connected sort of way. i was just doing, doing, doing…. flitting from task to task numbly being “productive” — a tangible product noticeably absent for all my activity. then i read, the war of art at the suggestion of mandy’s post. i’m glad i read it before i left, because as i listened to people talk it was quite evident that everyone in the room had not only read it, but had committed it completely to memory. it resonated loudly within me. it’s challenge — to bring to discipline the one thing i say that i am not, that i try to ignore, that i work hard to avoid. THAT — is likely the thing i am. it went so far to suggest that giving in to resistance of this thing would be like… (wait, let me get this exactly right…)
“If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don’t do it, you not only hurt yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet.
You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human race one millimeter farther along its path back to God.
Creative work is not a selfish act or bid for attention on the part of the actor. It’s a gift to the world and every being in it. Don’t cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you’ve got.”
the war of art
by steven pressfield
(page 165 )
ok… um, ouch!
but, what one thing…. really? only ONE?!?!?! i mean, i do a lot of stuff.
so, i’m back home, and i’m different, right? i mean, i’m veraciously attacking all of the arts i hold so dear in random order: music, design, literature…. it’s great. but, how can i have so many loves and give them all the attention and discipline they deserve? they are all a part of me, but it seems impossible foolishness to attempt maintenance on all these muses. surly my family, my work would suffer for such indulgence and i would go out of my ever-lovin’ creative mind.
all of these thoughts are rambling through my brain today as i was un-selectively selecting various volumes of text from the library stacks of our local biblioteca. i pulled up a comfy chair and looked at the huge pile of books on typography, bookbinding…. writing. suddenly and all at once i understood. all of my loves are not unconnected. they are totally connected. and, they all point back to my one thing.
- i am a graphic designer; but, my favorite design discipline is typography. i love how letters look. i have favorite letters. i’m frustrated by some words that are supposed to describe pretty things like, “nice,” or “hot.” simply because the shape of their letters and the sounds they produce are not as beautiful as their meanings suggest.
- i often think if i ever to get a tattoo… it will be words. they mean so much more than pictures and they are more lovely too. ( …lovely is a very pretty word.)
- i sing, but i have always wanted to play an instrument. not so much so i can perform, but so i can write music.
- the most beautiful music i have ever heard has lyrics as deep as the layers of instrumentation they were assigned to accompany. to me, one without the other is shallow noise.
- on my iphone i have 2 bibles, 2 book readers, 1 dictionary, 1 thesaurus, 3 word games , 1 typography game and 2 creative drawing apps (both of which use typography to create art). my favorite app is the kindle app… because i always have books with me and i can look up difficult words immediately. the most commonly used tag in my evernote database is…. typography.
- i have a shower curtain in my house a dear friend gave me. it has words and their definitions printed all over it. i love it. my husband doesn’t get it. i think it’s beautiful. i read it each time i go in there. and, when i finally get around to redecorating my bathroom, it will be my inspiration.
- i have to be careful about buying art for my house. because if don’t pay attention, there will not be a painting anywhere to be found… only words, or postage stamps, or labels or posters and such.
- my favorite game is scrabble. i am really good at it.
- most books bore me. i crave intelligent humor, prose and meaning that i really have to work for.
- i would rather type someone an email than pick up the phone…. a million-zillion times over.
- i really love to help people edit their writing and brainstorm with them about their writing projects.
- i have often thought if i had to change careers, i would like to try my hand at being an editor.
- my bucket list contains: #3: take a year to travel on a book project of photos, poetry and story telling; and, #4: create a font.
and, for all this evidence, writing is the one thing that makes me feel most inadequate. truly, it’s the one thing i resist the most. i read this post and it all sounds like rambling, unbearably repetitive, in-concise, non-sense. i have no training. i barely do it. i use creative punctuation. i’m overwhelmed by new ideas. most times, starting is like trying to will myself to draw breath under water. i never feel i have access to enough words, or can arrange them in the right order to give my heart the platform it demands. once i do begin, it’s a lot like giving birth. it’s painful, it’s hard, and for all my pushing i mostly fear the only way to bring forth my passionately conceived ideas before they perish would be to cut the words right out of me.
it’s a non-traditional #recreate11 unpacking for sure
anyone else out there discover their one thing?