the eye of the beholder

“The faculty of creating is never given to us all by itself. It always goes hand in hand with the gift of observation. And the true creator may be recognized by his ability to find about him in the commonest and humblest thing, items worthy of note.” - Igor Stravinsky

There was a period of life where I painted furiously. Color dripped from my veins onto canvas. Ideas buzzed through my brain like caged bees, frenzied and incensed until their release.

Then all of a sudden, I don’t paint much.

Sometimes there is peace about it, but I do lament its absence. Has my creativity dried up? Am I done for? As one does when something vanishes, I searched for its original source. What had inspired me then? What was my state of mind?

When I began to paint, the source of creativity was largely a catharsis – the self-clearing of the dry brush surrounding an injured heart. When the space was clean, the process became self-renewing. I’d see a child walk by and would hold her in my heart until I returned home and could place her on paper. That creative spark inspired me to keep looking around me. It seemed that painting made me observe things differently - in chunks, as if I could freezeframe my existence and preserve it.

Why, Eureka! It seems that observation and a healthy sense of voyeurism were my impetus.
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Last night I stared at the paintings above my couch. Paintings I'd done to pay homage to the gift of Kenya and the people it encompassed. They made me want to try and catalog this murky season of my life - to separate the fused bits of this amalgamation that is my modern life.

As summer hastens his humid return to upon our fair city, I have confidence that color will drip from these hands once more. Patios make fantastic watchposts, and I’m planning on sitting in the catbird seat at McCoy’s as soon as possible. Won't you join me for a pint and some inspiration?

Today's soundtrack: Simple Things - Zero 7 - Simple Things (Bonus)