The seahorse chalk art was a beautiful sight on the road and I was sorry to think of it being uncreated by the next rainfall so I took its picture to make it last. The best and worst human inclinations will, in a faraway future, wash and burn away, transforming back into stardust or some other cosmic brew. The urge to preserve and memorialize our existence is largely why we hurl our creations into space, including poetry
HERE.
I think the neighborhood pet would likely agree that creating anything from scratch often is a disquieting messy process which, when successful, looks like it appeared as organically as a cat's whiskers. Movies on the screen, books we read and inventions engulfing us require the grunt work of many and the breaking of real and imagined barriers. Sudden creativity does happen but likely had been nurtured years prior.
At some point, when one gets lost in it, there is an oblivious contentment to creating.
For writers and talkers, words are like seeds scattering in the wind, not always landing where one expects. Intentions become unclear; marvelous ideas can fail to take root.
We show the creativity dwelling inside of us even by the fashions we pick. Clothing and accessories tell a story, although we know not to judge a book by its cover.
Creating ourselves can be fun but we often don't change once we decide who we are.
A bird can't change its feathers. The joy of being human is we can try something new.
We can play with different styles and recreate ourselves and the world if we want to.
We can welcome challenges. Artistic recreation allows our unique impressions to materialize, joyfully or not, satisfying the human compulsion to spin something original from the pre-existing ingredients twinkling around us like stars ready to be grasped.
It was a delight to ponder, albeit somewhat indirectly:
to stay creative, is to stay happy and alive, this week's
Poets and Storytellers United prompt.
