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The notion of “inspiration” is exciting, romantic and, well, inspiring. Our mythologies of creativity tell us that the right synchronicity of circumstances will spark not only The Idea that will change everything, but the will and ability to execute it. In reality, sitting around waiting for inspiration to “strike” is about as effective as waiting for actual lightning to strike and start your campfire. Inspiration can be cultivated and sought out, though.

Creativity doesn’t happen in a vacuum, no matter how much consistent work and practice one puts in. It is the encounters and experiences that excite, intrigue and teach us that generate and motivate creativity. Sudden, striking ideas do happen – but they don’t come out of nowhere, they are the result of a long-simmering idea suddenly coalescing as the last piece falls into place. To be creative, go out into the world and seek out inspiration. This can take any form you like, from getting back to the land and nature, to delving into works of philosophy for new ideas. Inspiration is all the little pieces of life that keep you motivated and keep you thinking until The Idea finally coalesces (or, more likely, is finally forced into being like molding a stiff piece clay.)

Do not shy away from engaging with others’ works of creativity as a source of inspiration. Far from tainting the authenticity of your creative expression with influence, others’ art can be a great source of inspiration. Most peoples’ original inspiration to become a writer, artist or any other creative was probably someone else’s work. Don’t be afraid to revisit that original inspiration in times of low motivation.

Art exists to provoke emotional and intellectual responses and to expose new ideas and perspectives, all of which are the essence of inspiration. In a sense, art is a short cut to inspiration! Whatever kind of creative you are, try to be open to what all kinds of creativity can teach you – visual art, performance, music, literature, digital arts….

A risk of relying on others’ art to inspire you in periods of low motivation and inspiration is that witnessing the peak of others’ creative process may stir up insecurity and fear. The doubting voice inside might just say “Well I can’t do that, so why bother…” The gulf between where you see yourself and where you want to be may become stark and intimidating. Remember that inspiration is also about learning. Look at work that you admire, or consider “better” than yours, as something to learn from rather than envy. What is it that you see in that work that seems to be missing from your work and how can you develop that missing piece? What technique and craft does that artist use that you can learn? If inadequacy and fear clouds inspiration, focus on learning and honing your craft.

Creativity requires consistent work, but it also needs to be nurtured with inspiration. Fortunately, creatives do not need to passively await inspiration: they can go out and find it. Part of the work of creativity is spending time immersed in others’ creativity, looking for the little pieces that will build and motivate your own.

 

IMG_20180718_115103_621Elisabeth Hill is an Edmonton-based writer and researcher who currently works as a Programming and Engagement Coordinator at the Art Gallery of Alberta.

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I have written previously about the difficulties that accompany the writing process. When I really got to thinking about how people cope with these challenges while also pursuing other ambitions – careers, raising a family, cooking dinner every night – I realized that for the most part, they don’t. A lot of us are not writing as much as we want to be. A lot of us are not writing at all. It is absolutely heartbreaking to think of the number of people who want to be authors or poets but never seem to be able to fit writing a book into their busy schedules.

writingwednesdays

I’m not here to pass judgement, point fingers, or guilt-trip. What I would like to do is suggest some strategies for getting back on the writing train if it’s something you’ve been missing

Get the other parts of your life in order. We all know that some of the best writers also had challenging personal lives. It is possible to produce incredible work while struggling in other areas, but for many of us, if dinner’s not made and we had a rough day at work, we’re not going to be able to sit down and write at our best. Use writing as a motivator to get organized and start living the life you want.

Force yourself to be accountable. For many of us, we were most prolific in our writing while enrolled in school. Why? Because we had to be! Having to hand in assignments provides excellent motivation to get to work. If you are hoping to make writing a priority, consider creating a system that keeps you accountable for creating high-quality work. For some people, this may be as simple as setting deadlines. For others, this may mean enlisting a friend or family member to act as an enforcer, making sure you consistently produce work on time.

Structure your time. Waiting until you have enough time to write is sort of like waiting for that spider in the basement shower to knit you a bikini. Is it theoretically possible? Yes. But it’s just never going to happen. If you’re going to produce considerable work, you have to consciously set aside time dedicated to writing. If you think you will have trouble sticking to schedule you set yourself, consider taking a writing class or starting a writing group with a few friends.

Make concrete goals. Many of us “want to write more” but we actually have no idea what we would do if we did sit down to write. Setting concrete goals – such as “I will write a short story this week” – will not only give you something to work towards but shape your thinking so that you are on the lookout for good settings, characters, and plot ideas.

Don’t keep your writing to yourself. It can be hard to share, but can you imagine what our world would be like if J.K. Rowling never contacted a publisher? Sharing your work is necessary if you hope to be published, if you want feedback on your work, if you want to be held consistently accountable, and so on. Not to mention your writing might just change someone’s life.

rachael

Rachael Heffernan has recently completed a Master’s Degree in Religious Studies at the University of Alberta. In the course of her academic career, she has received a number of scholarships and awards, including the Harrison Prize in Religion and The Queen Elizabeth II Graduate Scholarship. During her undergraduate degree, Rachael was published twice in The Codex: Bishop University’s Journal of Philosophy, Religion, Classics, and Liberal Arts for her work on Hittite divination and magic and philosophy of religion. Rachael has also had the opportunity to participate in an archaeological dig in Israel, and has spoken at a conference on Secularism at the University of Alberta on the Christian nature of contemporary Western healthcare. Her wide-ranging interests in scholarship are complemented by her eclectic extra-curricular interests: she is a personal safety instructor and lifelong martial artist who has been recognized for her leadership with a Nepean Community Sports Hero Award. She is an enthusiastic reader, writer, and learner of all things, a tireless athlete, and a passionate teacher.

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This article was written by Rachael Heffernan, writer and researcher with The Drawing Board.

 

If you’re feeling like you don’t spend enough time on your creative self, and you’re getting tired of the same-old-same-old dinner and a movie, you may be a perfect candidate for Sits.

Sits, you say?

Yes, Sits.

Sits began (as far as I know) in my partner’s family. Because they all live far apart during the year, in the last few days of summer they have a ritual they’ve dubbed Sits. They each spend some time scouting out the best places around the property, and then, in one glorious day, grab a couple of bottles of wine and some folding chairs and trek their way to each spot. They sit, they drink, they chat, and they admire the beauty that can only be found in The Middle of Nowhere, Ontario. It’s a beautiful tradition all about spending time in undiscovered places with people you love.

The idea of Edmonton Sits came out of this ritual with a couple of little twists to make it more appropriate for city life, and, as a bonus, orient it towards accomplishing the dreams of two author-wannabes. Here’s how it works:

  1. You and your posse of creative minds go out on the town armed with good pens, notebooks, and no more than one book each for inspiration. You may trade books with one another as the night goes on.
  2. Go to a place you’ve never been before. This can be in nature or can be somewhere indoor that has beverages and appetizers.
  3. Everyone orders drinks OR a timer is set  – and here’s the crutch of the game – you must write as much as you can for the duration of one drink, or leave before the timer runs out.
  4. Then you move on to the next location.
  5. Repeat steps 3 and 4 for as long as you please.

My partner and I went out and it was one of the best date nights we had had in a very long time. Getting to spend some time joyfully writing together and sharing our silly stories and poems was hugely refreshing. The unexpected side effect was that I felt it activated my creativity in a whole new way – armed with my notebook in my purse, for the next few nights we went out I ended up furiously scribbling poetry amongst the baskets of french fries and pints of beer on the table.

Here are some of my favourite poems from our adventures:

BEER

Lemon half moon

Bubbly balloons

Sittin’ under Edmonton skies

Burdened down I ain’t

Pickin’ at the paint

Not knowin’ when I’m gonna die

HEIGHTS

My nephew toddled softly

He would adamantly walk

And stoop and stop and bend and stretch

And talk and talk and talk.

He’d pick the little clovers

And stare down at the grass

He’d grab pink rocks and stash them

He’d point out bits of glass

And I’d walk and stop and hurry

I’d take him by the hand

All I could see were stop signs

While his eyes were on the land.

 

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walking_alone_by_pix_cel-d4pky45

This is a meditation on modern urban life, social isolation and the illusion of priorities  when we interact with the natural world.

The only goal of his walk

(the only goal he ever had)

was to fill a basket at the grocery store

and make his way back through the city streets

to unload his bananas on the counter-top.

He’d tried wandering along the avenues and the boulevards

tried to lose his mind

tried to “make like Thoreau” and saunter through absolute freedom and wildness.

But alas, the metropolis forbids this.

At the end of every street there is a destination

some final point to which he comes

and from which he will return:

as if to say that wandering for the sake of wandering

was the ancient religion of his forefathers.

Modernity had taken care of this pagan ritual

and installed concrete pathways

from here to the River Styx.

Now, there was no need to linger among the peonies

no need to contemplate the chrysanthemums

no need to have the end goal of his slogging be anything but bananas.

He often walked without ever hearing the birds.

Eventually they just stopped chirping,

having no one left to sing for.

And soon he would forget.

An acquired amnesiac,

he would begin to think that life

was just in front of his computer

his television

his desk at work

his toilet seat.

He would begin to think that this was all there was

and all there ever would be:

that there was no magic or miracles,

that the faculty of wonder was lost to the traffic of consumption.

He would begin to think that life only began

when the groceries had been bought

but not paid for

with the knowledge of where they’d come from.

“Why, groceries came from the store, didn’t they?”

But one night, when thunder shook his city

and the lightening cast shards of luminosity

through his window,

he came out from under his bedsheets to look at the rain.

It fell from the sky.

Little drops of water

falling from the sky,

pieces of the ageless ocean

recycling itself irrelevant of us.

Little drops of water

like the kisses of angels

that might leave flowers as lip-prints wherever they go.

And as he shuffled to the door in his cotton pajamas,

he found himself wanting to step out into that rain.

His slippers hesitated on the threshold of the landing,

growing soggy as the droplets tried to enter the house

by way of the wind.

And there he wavered,

balancing in the door frame

between what he was

and what he thought he was.

He stood there a long time

staring out into the dark street

whose lights had gone out in the storm.

He glanced at his watch

glanced to his countertop.

Yes, there was still time to go get some bananas.

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lightsThis is a meditation on contemporary, technological society and its implications for our spirituality, our sense of our natural selves and expresses concern over just what our modern, urban lifestyles are saying about the state of our humanity.

by Nakita Valerio

 

The night comes and the city streets are filled with light –

angular lights casting shadows,

cutting through the blackness,

creating a hum above the buildings:

a hum of electricity

(visible from space)

a hum of electricity

(arranged in contrived patterns)

a hum of electricity

(raging against the night).

The lights are like a morse code message

a crop circle configuration

beamed to the heavens

as if to say:

“We don’t need you anymore.”

While people traipse about,

having it all figured out,

tramping through the streets,

following gridline-avenues to mark their footprints,

the lights illuminate them from above

casting shadows on their faces:

angular lights,

cutting through the blackness

creating a gaggle of sallow cheeks and worn eyes

moving their bodies between buildings

and never touching grass.

All shades of blue and red and green and yellow

just fade,

just fade into the night,

just fade into one blended palette of gray.

Our eyes can’t see without the light

so we fill our streets with it

like the hungry filling cups with handfuls of rice,

pouring out light

engorging ourselves with light

melting our waxen wings with the light.

And even when the sun is extinguished

the followers of the light will forget their history

they will forget the sun

and the way it warmed their skin

the way it brought life from a dead ground

the way it filled the streets,

never leaving pockets of shadows for people to disappear into.

And when the sun is extinguished,

the feeble lights that fill the streets

and cast their angular shadows

will go on shining

tapping away a hubris

chiseling out our message for destiny:

“No, we don’t need you anymore.”