Lately I’ve been trying to write something about feeling creative, but every time I’ve written down a few words I feel stuck, like I still can’t make any sense of what I’m trying to tell you. In the past I wrote this post about why so many artists choose to live in chaos, but what I’m trying to tell you this time is something different. I’ve been feeling very happy to create, imagine and picture things over the past weeks, some nights I’ve even got a hard time falling asleep because I come up with new ideas to paint and tell (and also I have been very stressed for the past two week. So stressed I haven’t almost drawn anything new for my “Learning To Draw”-project. What a paradox!).
Right now it feels like I come up with new ideas a ll the time. I have started to take notes in a small note book, on charters and stories I want to tell and craft. I see all these small details in everyday life, and get so inspired. It can be a face of a stranger on the subway, a nice piece of music in my headphones or a photo on a web site. Most of my inspiration comes from people in the real world or music. The make me feel stuff, and those feelings are what I essentially want to put down in a picture or a written story. I use words and brushes as vehicles to try to do that, to share my stories or feelings.
To me it feels like I’m collecting gems, small treasures I find everywhere. I unwrap a story in my own consciousness, by paying attention to the real word and get inspired. I don’t know if what I’m saying makes any sens to someone other me, but this is how I feel. I wonder, does anyone else out there lay awake trying to figure out how to translate all that stuff in your head & heart into something meaningful to share with others? Is this something that happens all artists or creative people?
I wrote a small book when I was 15. It’s about love, hate, death, friendship and vampires (before all this Twilight nonsense, mind you!). It was called “The Ring”. Handed it to my teacher at school, she read it and helped my to improve my language, along with a note telling me “never stop writing stories, Sara!”. Gave it to my sister who loves to read. The story made her cry. Not because it was bad, but because it made her feel something. I did write a couple of novels after that, but none of them just felt as important as the first one. I sometimes feel like I knew more about life when I was 15 than I do now.