Tag Archives: Artists

Naked thoughts on creativity, depression…and dancing in the dark…

heartbeats at midnight

the silence

apart from that heartbeat

and deep, slow breaths 

in and out

the feeling

of your skin

secret crevices

wrinkles

filled with stardust

and other inexplicable beauty

a weird sensation

of something

nothing

everything 

moonshine

sparkling through the window

time

dancing by 

like a twinkling melody

invisible wires

connections

made of starlight 

running through us 

connecting us

to each other

and the great beyond 

as we are just  the dust 

left behind

from an explosion 

nothing 

everything 

us

You know, as a creative you’re always looking for the next big idea. The next burst of inspiration. Sadly, as a creative, when you’re not working on that big idea, or aren’t high on a burst of inspiration, you’re often caught in your own head.

I’ve learned to redirect my thoughts. It’s been a lifetime commitment of overcoming depression. Still. I have my moments. That’s why I’ve had to learn that when they hit, I need to move my ass. Get my mind engaged in something else. Usually something creative — paint, dance, write… And fill my life with human connections. Which has been hard for someone who grew up with social paranoias. But I’ve learned. I’ve forced myself to go out when I don’t want to. When I feel like a sad mess and am ashamed of my own life. When I’m petrified of what people will think of me. Because that was my problem as a child — I was ashamed of myself. And that still hits at times. And my gut reaction is to remove myself from the world. Hide away. Which only makes it worse, because you sit there reveling in your own thoughts, instead of changing them into something positive. Productive. Something which engages you in life and makes you smile. It’s pretty simple really. It just doesn’t feel that way when you’re sitting there paralyzed by fear. So as Audrey Hepburn would say — put your lipstick on and pull yourself together. Get the high heels out the cupboard. Get your ass out that door. 

Still, yesterday, I felt depleted. Frustrated. And I was getting annoyed with myself.    

Then I saw this guy. Biking. Down Somerset Road. He had muscles. He had style. He was hot as hell. And I caught myself raising my eyebrows. Then I started laughing. It was that moment. That moment that starts a romantic comedy. And I wanted to write. That comedy. A spark had been ignited.  

This was after a day of listening to Amy MacDonald’s Dancing in the Dark. Written by Bruce Springsteen after his producer or something told him one night that he had to write another song for his next album. He yelled he’d already written 71 songs. Then he went to the hotel room and banged this out over night. It became one of the most popular songs of all time. 

I know that feeling. That feeling of having someone standing over you with a stick, waiting for your creative juices to flow. Bizarrely, I love it. Even the anger I feel when they tell me they need more. Need something different. When you’re bleeding out the last of your creative juices, but you keep working. Keep creating. 

Sometimes when you go home, you feel like shit. Because your personal life had some sort of hiccup, or you were forced to do work that wasn’t creative at all that day. Or year. Take your pick. But your creativity — you have that. That spark. That something. That thing that makes you light your own fire. 

So this afternoon I’m gonna dance. I’m gonna feel my own body again. I’m gonna live. I’m gonna light that fire. 

You’re beautiful, remember that. You have a spark inside of you. A fire. A fire that connects you to all living beings. Because you are the Universe. You are stardust come alive.

Image Source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/507780926736097042/

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Filed under confidence, depression, diary, Musings, Poem, poetry, Self-confidence, Uncategorized

The muse within…

A bottle of wine. Ink stained paper. An old type writer. Dusty wine bottles filled with candles. An easel. Tubs of oil paint. A multitude of brushes. Possibly some clay, waiting to be formed under your fingers. A divan. Wooden floors. Windows. A view of Paris.

Welcome to my personal idea of some sort of paradise. An artist’s studio in a loft apartment à Paris. You can find me there sometimes, when my mind wanders.

Muses often get confused with half-naked women and men, lying on divans in Paris, as they’re painted by some artist. But we all have muses. Some are constant. Some are fleeting.

When you were a child, that muse might have been Batman. As an adult, it could be the friend who makes you smile, or the author who inspires you to do something great, or simply makes you get out of bed on a bad day.

If I spend any time sitting on my porch, looking at the stars and listening to the frogs singing, I start writing poetry quite by accident. Nature is my muse. So is Paris. Without me trying, nature and France make me create poetry. Cooking and wine sometimes also unleash the poetic power within (excuse the Tony Robbins pun, I couldn’t resist). Harbors, are another poetic place for me. Whatever fuels my soul, is a poetic place for me.

There is this quote about whether you’ve done something that fuels your soul lately? Sometimes, I think it’s about the places too. The places where your mind goes to when it wanders up and down the hills of Hollywood, the scent of wood burning fires in the air and the fog slowly creeping in. But L.A. is my home, not necessarily my muse the way Paris is. It’s just a sense that I belong there. But boy, does my mind wander there.

We all have muses. The question is if we have time to seek them out? And if we can interact with them without getting lost? You see, some get caught up in a muse. Their desire, their feeling of feeling good, when around their muse is so intense they think of nothing else. And so, the muse destroys them. The passion turns into destruction. What was once good, turns bad. I think this is why religion is so against passion. Not because it’s bad, but because if you don’t learn to control your desires, you drown in them.

If you don’t know how to express your emotions, or don’t face your pain, they consume you. You drown inside your mind, or in your attemtps to try to avoid it. If you don’t explore your passions, you wither and die. If you get lost in them them, they too, consume you.

Some keep everything within, until a match is struck. Sometimes that match causes a destructive explosion, or wildfire that causes havoc. Sometimes a light is lit and a new life discovered.

Inspiration is key to our happiness. It is when we are inspired we feel as if though our senses are turned up high and everything we see is turned into poetry; into art. It’s the feeling of being in love with life. Or as Steinbeck said:

Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every deep-drawn breath is sweet. Its beginning has the pleasure of a great stretching yawn; it flashes in the brain and the whole world glows outside your eyes. A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land and trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then -the glory- so that a cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man’s importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates us to the world. It is the mother of all creativeness, and it sets each man separate from all other men. 

It’s just important to remember that your inspiration isn’t just one muse — one person, one place, one event, one hobby… Life is filled with muses. I was inspired long before I came to Paris. Long before I met that one person. Long before I knew how to dance. Long before I read Isabel Allende. But maybe the more things and people we find to inspire us, the more fuller a person we become.

Image Source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/507780926735910596/

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Filed under Insights, Inspiration, Inspirational, Uncategorized