Creating Change

“The creative languages are the vehicle to possibility, the salve that heals the past, informing the future.”

It is said that life is a narrow bridge and that all we have is work and love, work and love, an infinite game to inspire and to be inspired. Life is a beautiful ugly, not purely right nor wrong. To better one’s life is multi layered, but starts within, starts with the intention to grow and change. The creative languages are the vehicle to possibility, the salve that heals the past, informing the future. To be better is to see who we are, what’s before us and what’s in our control: to see beauty where little seems to be. 

“We each have a creative mind, it’s inherent to who we are, a tool for change: funnel and sifter.”

We were each born with an open mind, this is the place to begin again, to create what the future is demanding and what our conscious has been telling. To inspire the future is to change ourselves, we are the builders, the doers, the creative minds that pause and reflect and then push forward, offering resolve and shining the light. We each have a creative mind, it’s inherent to who we are, a tool for change: funnel and sifter. Our brains are mailable, so too our bodies, change is an act of energy, as too creation. To change and create therefore is a natural action, a means of survival, a way to proceed. It is not a matter of perfection, but the action of will and the emotion of hope. 


Intimate

“It is within the necessity of the intimate, that the world moves forward, and without it, implodes.”

The evidence of the hand in creativity cannot be fully replicated, in fact it is expanded by the story of the maker, how they create and why. In this world of the instantaneous, the depth of the maker’s story brings a level of intimacy to the already physically intimate object, a connection of hand, eye and emotion. It is within the necessity of the intimate, that the world moves forward, and without it, implodes. Human connection whether with each other or by proxy of the created object, brings out our humanity, softening our experience of living. 

“Human connection whether with each other or by proxy of the created object, brings out our humanity, softening our experience of living.” 

Stories

“Our stories are our maps and memories, objects of adoration.”

How we live is the story we tell, what we collect, consume and offer up: love, empathy and its opposite. Tied to words, our stories are told through deeds done, life lived, beauty seen and loss expressed. Our stories are our maps and memories, objects of adoration. What our stories tell about us are penned through our mindset and stitched through the images we choose to see, what we build by way of the creative languages, by way of learning to see and learning itself. Our stories are ongoing slide shows, narrated by the voices in our heads and pieced by our actions in time, by the things we surround ourselves with and whom. 

“To edit our stories is to be aware that we are the story teller and the cartographer, the possessor of the compass and the light.”

It is easy to see that we are the authors of our lives, but difficult to be the editors, choosing what we think, do, say and even savor. To edit our stories is to be aware that we are the story teller and the cartographer, the possessor of the compass and the light. Each of us are a noun using a verb to express the energy of emotion, trying to tie down who we think we are within our shells of bones and flesh, attempting to understand and control, as we write, edit and live our stories.

“We lose our storied identity when we allow our voice to be drowned out by the hive.”

In a world predicated on homogeny, it is easy to lose our voice in the stories we write and tell, opting for abbreviated versions that fit the narrative of sameness. We lose our storied identity when we allow our voice to be drowned out by the hive. Rather than choosing our words, our stories are ghost written by history and fear. To be one’s own author is to know who we are, see where we are and map the challenging terrain forward, writing chapters as markers of time. 

“To be one’s own author is to know who we are, see where we are and map the challenging terrain forward, writing chapters as markers of time.” 

Contentment

“To be grounded is to know what holds us and tying ourselves to that, as we move and sway to the winds of change.”

Being still in this era of troubles can feel like a slight of hand effort, made available to only those in the know, those already grounded, tethered as a string to a floating balloon. We all have our moments of feeling ungrounded, loss of control of what we never really had control of, life and living. To ground oneself is perhaps an effort of editing, cutting away the unnecessary noise of sound and clutter, the demands of self and others. To be grounded is to know what holds us and tying ourselves to that, as we move and sway to the winds of change. 

“How we live is not solely contingent on our surroundings, but merely softened, grounded, as a place to land, a place to dream, cradled in just, being.” 

When I lost my mother many years ago, it felt as if there was no one left to love me, what I find now is that it’s me, I am the one, the one to ground me, though often I feel untethered still, building the ground beneath me. How one thinks in the mind and moves in their lives is paramount to living a fulfilled life, this is my lesson, my ongoing learning. How we live is not solely contingent on our surroundings, but merely softened, grounded, as a place to land, a place to dream, cradled in just, being. 

“How we live is an extension and intention of our minds, the bridges and paths we build.” 

To be ensconced by what we deem beautiful, what we love and who we love is to be buffered and shielded, like wearing layers of down coats in Winter, life vests in water and shrouded in sound proofing layers. We are rarely two beats away from distration, rarely silent in the mind, nor body. How we live is an extension and intention of our minds, the bridges and paths we build. 

“To know oneself and to know beauty is to be truly content, in a world that constantly seeks”

Creativity in all its manifestations inspires and informs, speaks to the intuitive self, allowing us to see and be who we truly are. To know oneself and to know beauty is to be truly content, in a world that constantly seeks

. 

Perfectly Imperfect

“Our paths forward are never clear, despite our need to control and predict, days unfold while we live them, when we stop and see, everything within.” 

We are not flawed, we are not broken, in fact we are, perfectly imperfect. In life we are constantly striving, constantly in search of that beautiful future, a time when things fall into place. But the future is now, there is no guarantee beyond this, only today and the meaning we give it. Our paths forward are never clear, despite our need to control and predict, days unfold while we live them, when we stop and see, everything within. 

It is not clear to me when I started really seeing life differently, although admittedly I have always seen with an artist’s eye towards a bigger picture, but now that picture is wider, deeper and tad more in focus. It has taken me years of struggle to move through the muck of pain to arrive where I am, and will continue for the rest of my life. But somewhere a shift occurred, a light has fallen, illuminating my path forward. To say that I am enlightened is an impossible truth, I am merely open to the possibility of change, the possibility of better: perfectly imperfect. 

“To see the imperfections of who we are and where we are, eases where we wish to go, building bridges and marking maps.”

 

Life provides ample beauty to experience, and with it its opposite, how we react is part of the pendulum, how the future plays out and what momentum builds. To react upon is to act upon, pushing what we think, forward. To see the imperfections of who we are and where we are, eases where we wish to go, building bridges and marking maps. 

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”

Ernest Hemingway