I've chosen this place to type and to think, to reflect on and understand my own personal experience with the creative process, and to document current works in progress.
I make things. I love making things. I get excited and inspired. I often work compulsively, kind of unconsciously, just observing what I'm making, having fun, getting lost in The Flow. My creative spirit takes over. I become obsessed with the process of creating of a thing. Often surprising myself. Delighting in witnessing the manifestation of these new things that come from me. I become conscious of having become consumed by hopeful passionate intent. I become aware that I'm reaching out in multiple material and conceptual dimensions at once. I'm in The Zone.
At some point, be it days or weeks, a switch flips. My analytical aspect seizes control of my perceptual equipment, detaches my vision from my empathy: I recognise myself in the thing and the thing is ugly. I recoil in shame, dismay and disappointment from the horror I have created. I cast it aside. I dismiss it as pathetic, and condemn the pathos as a bad thing.
This is Judgement. Authoritarian, reactive, intolerant suppression. I become limited and limiting. Dejected and rejecting. Empty and depressed.
I suddenly can't bear considering doing any of the things I was obsessed with. I can't bear to even consider looking at Art or talk about it. I feel foolish. I wonder how I ever loved making things. Behind everything beautiful, there is a potential Tsunami pressing like a wall of tears in waiting. I turn away, joyless.
I do eventually return to the disasterpiece, once that Judge has gone quiet, when The Way has become clear of obstruction. I return with gladness, that the Judge failed: I still exist despite the rejection, I can create, and I can manifest in materiality the innermost silent screaming of my playful spirit.
I return to rediscover the part of me that the Judge pushed away. I return to to assert my existence. I reflect and rejoice: I thank my creative spirit for enduring despite such oppression. I assess the work and the truth it speaks. I see how it is a shaft of light cutting through the Shadow of the Judge. I gleefully note his absence and revell in building my next triumphant monument: A testament to my survival and strength. My witness statement.
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• 05 AUG 2024 - Why Neocities?
• XX JAN 2024 - About my art
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