“Live out of your imagination, not your history.” Stephen Covey
The artist begins with a vision of what she wants to create. She figures out what she needs to make it: should she use canvas or paper, watercolor or acrylics, wood or stone, pen or pencil? She goes through the plethora of options and routes; determines what tools and skills she needs to achieve the effect she desires, the vision she imagines. Decisions are made and she begins her search… she already has this, she knows where to find that; she’ll have to buy this and maybe ask around to get a hold of that. Oh no! She doesn’t have that! But maybe this will work instead. She gathers what she needs and, taking a deep breath, sets to work. Sometimes she knows what she’s doing, other times she’s learning as she goes along. Some brush strokes are deliberate, some pencil strokes are just “winging it.” She makes some mistakes, but there’s no erasing.
She realizes early on that this may not go exactly as she planned, but she pushes on, believing in herself, believing in her vision. As the creation unfolds the creator understands – it’s not exactly as she envisioned, it’s even better! With a tweak in perception here and a change in method there she begins to discover her own masterpiece. She releases the reigns of her creativity and lets the art flow because she has exactly what she needs to do exactly what she’s doing.
She steps back. She looks at what she has before her. She knows it is done. She releases it to its own existence. She has done her part, and now it is finally over. Her creation may go on to inspire the world, or it may sit in a quiet room unseen. The important thing is she acknowledged her vision, sought what she needed, used what she had and created something beautiful – a life lived out of her imagination. She exhales for the last time and smiles.
There's a joy and a sadness is that releasing an idea into existence. The joy, of course, is in the act of creation, in seeing our imagination brought to life. But our ethereal wisps of ideas are always more perfect in their insubstantiality than our flawed craftsmanship can ever render them, so the sadness is in the fact that in capturing the idea forever on our canvas (or our paper), we also lose a little of the color and the magic.
ReplyDeleteThank you for that beautiful insight. It is so very true...
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