Where do ideas come from?
This is the kind of thing you start to wonder when you’ve set a goal of writing six blog posts a week. Sure, they’re not very long, but hey, you try it. At work, there are plenty of people who are happy to tell me what to write about; it’s a lack of creativity, to be sure, but the job gets done all the same. Here, it’s all up to me.
There are all kinds of ways to be creative – in decorating your house, in planting a garden, in building a wardrobe, in language, even in bed – but actually creating something from nothing, be it a poem, a song, a painting or a blog entry, feels different to me.
In my formative years, I studied classical piano. I was pretty good at it, too, but I was playing notes that somebody else wrote in the way that someone else directed I play them. I was taught to play by the book, literally. I envied people who could play by ear, or improvise, or – better yet – compose. They were the true creative artists; I was just a cheap imitator.
I could never be an inventor – I’m not in the least mechanically minded – but I can think of a lot of things I’d like to have invented. I used to have an Oscar – remember those? The Oscar was round, and whatever bowl you were chopping something into was round, and these two circular objects met in a figure 8 that left all kinds of room for food to go flying onto the counter. I wanted a lightweight bowl that was concave on one side, so it would nestle up to the processor. But I didn’t know how to get one made. Does that make me creative, or just impotent?
And yet here I am, at the end of another blog post, started 10 minutes ago after deciding I had nothing to write about. Which of course, is where this idea came from. Today, this is what I have to offer: sugar spun into a weightless pink cloud.
What a concept.