CREATING something new

The struggle to CREATE something new

Since being in this glorious country of South Africa, I’ve tried to nudge myself towards drawing more regularly, not just carting unused chalks and pencils around in my suitcase, which is of no use to anyone.

I’ve been asking myself recently, “So, what’s the problem girl? Why aren’t you drawing every day, like someone who is keen to improve and also values the creative process that brings balance and perspective into daily life?”

…”What’s holding you back?”

And it got me thinking about why any ‘creative act’ seems so hard and why we often shy away from

–       - Having a go at something new

–       - Working at improving a skill

–       - Allowing ourselves to trust our creative instincts

–       - Making time to create, just for the sheer delight of it

…And most of all, being willing to feel the pain and struggle that goes with creative activities and push through to that end place.

Last week I decided to try and capture my raw thoughts and reactions as I tried to draw. So, here it is, it’s not pretty…. it’s just my uncensored notes, as I literally battled to create something now.

 

“I don’t know where to start on this paper.

I don’t know where I’m going….I have no plan…!!

I see what’s in front of me... I see the mountains, but it’s all confusion…I can’t find my brain

I feel like a toddler, knowing that they want to walk, but having no clue how to start

But I start…the marks are ridiculous they make no sense. They are lies compared to what I’m seeing.

I don’t know how to interpret what I’m seeing; I’m out of my depth completely.

It feels uncomfortable.

It feels impossibly hard. My brain says, “You can’t do this” (Loudly)

I make many more marks…they all look ridiculous.

I feel doubt. I fear disappointment and failure. “What if it gives me no pleasure and I end up feeling frustrated and disappointed with my efforts”

“What if I can’t find a way to access my creative, right-brain? I know I can’t do this unless I find my way there…to that mystical, other space inside myself”

I’m living now with chaos on the page – why am I bothering? It’s not working!

I must find a connection with these outrageously, awesome mountains.

I’m searching for the right marks that will tell a story, create a drama and force an emotion in me.

I’m on an adventure to find a million marks that will work together to tell a story.

But I want it to be easy…..I stab at the paper, making unintelligent marks…

“No” I shout, you can’t cheat, there are no short cuts…you must draw from your deep creative brain… you must find your way there.

"Be intelligent, there is no other way”

“Stick with the NOT KNOWING…make every mark intelligent and intense, but also unimportant and lost in the whole”

I want it to be easier than this. I want it to 'just happen' magically on the page. There must be an easier way (but I know there isn’t)

I hear a voice saying…

"Don’t be afraid to create a bit of random madness and mess. 

Feel the flow. 

Let anger be a potent emotion in the struggle. 

Fight with your creation and..

Let yourself escape onto the page”

-JB

“The greatest danger for most of us lies not in setting our aims too high and falling short, but in setting our aims too low

…. A man/woman paints with his brain and not with his hands”

– Michelangelo

House of Hope

View from our Paarl home

This morning I was sitting outside our house in Paarl, drinking tea and silently absorbing the mystical stillness of the S.African autumn (like a warm spring morning in the UK). In the distance strings of whispy clouds were flirting with the audacious mountains; giants that that are not easily 'messed' with. 

I was lost in a plethora of fuggy thoughts - mind darting around like one does when not really fully awake.

Images from internet reports and film footage of the catastrophic earthquake disaster in Nepal strobed across my mind and I wondered what the hell it was like to be there...in Kathmandu or Pokhara...'hell' I guess. 

Then my mind lurched to Tegan, living and working at a primary school in Pokhara. My niece wrote and shared so brilliantly and vividly how terrible the situation was in the city. Pokhara and Kathmandu were about the same distance from the epicentre of the 33 earthquakes. She's been sleeping under a table with a friend by her door for days. And she watched in her state of shock as endless streams of traumatised and wounded people flocked into the already needy city. She told us that dead bodies littered the streets and there was no system for burning-burials or a process for bringing dignity to the end of these precious lives. 

My heart did summersaults of anguish.

....and then my head veered off and started thinking about our time in one of the Townships this week. Lennox, our head of EL here in S.Africa took us to visit a woman he had recently heard about who was looking after abandoned children. We went to visit Wendy who runs The House of Hope. Singlehandedly she set up and continues to run a home for children who have either been abandoned or have sort refuge with her. 

Wendy has taken 9 boys into her care and she also looks after her deaf and dumb teenage daughter. Every evening she finds a way to feed 67 children who flock to her home from the surrounding streets for something to fill their empty bellies and to escape abusive adults and cruel behaviour and sexual abuse. 

The Township is a place that thrives on violence and fear. Wendy unfortunately lives in the 'wrong' part of the informal settlement; the wrong side of the road, in an area deemed to be illegal. She had no proper sanitation, running water and no electricity. 

At night the dark is as black as pitch. Chronic boozing, drug taking (the raw kind...Tic and vile substances that corrode your innards) and sexually abhorrent acts are the perpetual pastime of those living in Mbekweni. Over the past few weeks riots and violence had hotted up - we saw piles of burnt rubbish, boulders, glass, trashed walls, debris and tyres where mobs had tried to set fire to the road (we could hardly pass in our car). It was vile.  

Wendy and her boys

Wendy has no supporters and no financial backing.... don't ask me...I don't know how she does this amazing work, but she finds a way. Neighbours break into her home, steal her meagre belongings and slander what she's doing..., but she still carries on. Her cardboard walls have massive gaps in them, the floods wash through her home, the children get sick from the cold...but she still carries on! 

And I'm left harrowed and humbled...yes, so deeply humbled. 

We left her home after an hour or so, heartbroken but in awe of this woman of profound courage. It was impossible not to be deeply impacted by her agonisingly tough situation and the gutsy wisdom that came from her mouth. Against all the odds she is shining a light in the inky darkness of Hell itself. 

We won't return because it will be very unsafe for her to be seen with us again. 

The children and their Subbuteo football game with rocks and one pingpong ball

This afternoon, I read again those word from the bible: 

"Learn to do good; seek justice

Correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless and plead the widow's cause" - Isaiah 1:17

...and with tears I resolved that, come what may I’d make these words my inner compass and driving passion. 

- JB