10 Years Ago: The Creative Life: Brain Space

 

 

Coffee, a book, a notebook, and phone. Lalileba, Ethiopia. January 2011. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Ten years later, my struggle is no less.

I enjoy bursts of output, and then sink again into the pillowy softness of input from other people's creativity, to the exclusion of my own. 

Available time is not the problem. My available time is no less than it has ever been, but the acquisition of my very first smart phone back in Lafayette, Louisiana, and subsequent off-and-on-again subscriptions to streaming services, opened my door to that thief of time: screen stupor. 

I've come to believe that another variable is that somewhere along the way I forgot how much time it takes to write a piece and to process photos, something I did not begrudge, or even think about, in the past, but for some reason - unrealistically - I seemed to have come to believe was too much; that somehow I was too slow. Or something. 

So recently I've re-learned this: Writing takes time. The time it takes is intrinsic to the process.

Another recent development: I've subscribed to a couple of podcasts on how writers write, for inspiration. (Yeah, I know. Ironic.)

When out in public, I've also begun to mindfully practice the old art of just sitting in a place and looking around me instead of reaching for my phone. I used to be a good observer. I always liked the title of Peter Drucker's memoir: Adventures of a Bystander.

I have hope. 

P.S. After years of boycotting The Atlantic for its intellectual pretensions during the Christopher Hitchens era, while it simultaneously juggled Vanity Fair-like fluffery, I re-upped a few months ago.

 

Friday, January 2, 2015

The Creative Life: Brain Space

 

Mmmm, brains a-sizzlin'. Kutaisi, Caucasus Georgia. Credit: Mzuriana

Years ago, the Atlantic Monthly (before it devolved into the pseudo-intellectual organ it is now) ran a riveting article about how religious faith and ethics are two entirely different biological operations. An individual might have both in spades, or neither, or be rich in one and poor in the other.

I bring this up because the same idea is probably apt for the creative process. That is, a person's vision is separate from the discipline one needs to give light to the vision - to give birth to it.

There is a lot of raw creative material in my head or, in the case of photos, in my hard drive awaiting distillation. I'm not at all happy that 2014, especially the second half, saw so little creative output, notwithstanding tremendous amounts of input. 

It seems that my brain can focus on only so many things at once. My year in South Louisiana was filled with new things - both good and not-so-good - that sucked great swaths of brain energy. Learning to dance! Starting a new job! Car troubles! A wretched bout with backache. And more, some of which is none of your beeswax.

If I now know that I can only barely chew gum and walk at the same time, what does this mean to me and my creative life?

What it means is that if I want to push stuff out, then I have to set up the physical time and the brain space to produce. To effect the latter, I've got to divert my brain-energy flow to creative thinking from distracted thinking. Otherwise my creativity is just the snap and crackle without the pop.