I have the idea that in one sense creativity is connected to a deep desire to hold on to what moves us in life, and somehow make something more out of what we experience than just witnessing it.
There can be an impotence that takes over when I walk out of my home in a beautiful sunny autumn day. I see a drop slowly detaching itself from an crisp orange leaf. Next to it, with a bounce upon the leaf’s branch, a bird flutters away to chase another bird hovering over the shingles of the building next door. And then the chill breeze fills your nostrils with the earthy smell of dew-covered carpets of flattened dead leaves.
We want to hold on in some way to these ephemeral moments, but observing and letting them sink is not enough. We want to keep them, share them and talk about them. As humans, we somehow find that an incredible source of satisfaction. We even have the urge to crystallise them in some way, so that we can have an excuse to keep thinking about it as we play with them in our imagination.
By writing this down, I’m trying to crystallise that very feeling, so I can notice it better the next time that it overtakes me.
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