I’m a creative.
I like to make things.
I take pictures, film everything, paint, fold, build, write, sing, cook, think, over-think, imagine, draw, delicately manipulate small pieces of paper in front of huge lights to bring characters to life on card. It is true that for most moments in my life, something in my mind will be creating; verb. But I have a problem. For a long time I’ve believed that creativity; noun, meant to make some thing; the creation of something new. And yet here I find myself, standing in the middle of an empty room, looking at my camera, my art and craft supplies, my abandoned journals, and wondering what thing I’m supposed to make with them, what creation worthy of the word: cree-ay-tivity. I think this is what they call a creative slump; noun.
In the words of Mario Vargas Llosa, ‘It’s the most exciting moment when you discover life in what you’ve created’. I think I’d so much rather believe the opposite. That my creativity is not limited to the objects I use to express it, but found even in my most conventional of creative slumps. Whilst I may not be making things I want to show the world every day; I am still creating and I am still creative. I can still use a broken window blind to hook a book from my shelf so I don’t have to get out of bed and I still fold each of my bus tickets into a swan every morning at my work desk. For me, it is the most exciting moment when you discover the act of creation in the everyday, the moment of clarity, where to think, love, live, wonder, worry, and slump, are the ultimate acts of creation.