1.
Sometimes, how I “decorate” tends to make everything the same – even if each piece is utterly unique. I appreciate the uniqueness of the individual item. It’s not a bad thing but too many unique things can become overwhelming and vie for my attention. I do mosaics, and I love them, and I’d decorate my entire house with them – which I kind of did in our last place. But even I noticed, before we moved, it was getting difficult to “see” them as individuals—and their individuality is what I LOVE and appreciate and value most. Still, that doesn’t mean it can’t or shouldn’t be done. I just want to make sure I feel connected with my space and with myself. At the same time.
2.
There is an original home in Santa Monica that is decorated inside and out entirely with mosaics. It has become a landmark.
And when we were in Philadelphia we visited Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens, “an immersive mixed media art environment that is completely covered with mosaics” created by Isaiah Zagar. They “champion originality and embrace the creative process unbound by conventional norms.
Unbound by conventional norms.
More and more I’m conscious of my desire to integrate that principle when sharing my work with the world beyond myself.
The creating part is not where I falter. (I’m not sure that is where many of us falter.)
It’s an act of courage because I’ve longed to fit into a particular collective, one that I’m not really sure I understand or know much about. Because I write, I have assumed that I should fit into the publishing collective in a very particular way—which includes taking “advice” from “professionals” who attest to knowing how the industry works. The problem I’ve encountered with this is that not all narratives proceed in the same way. Just like all lives don’t move ahead in the same way. And not all homes look the same…home being symbolic of the creative process.
It may be that the industry has taken up too much of my energy/attention. Many incredible artists are recognized by the publishing industry, but so many more have perhaps not been recognized by this vast collective. Even of the “known” or “famous” writers of today, I can never know them all. But when I discover work by someone I’ve not heard of, I am so moved and touched by their craft, expression, and desire. My world was altered by their work.
And so was how I saw my own process.
3.
I’ve been thinking about “show, don’t tell.” Show what—or, rather, who? Myself, of course. To use the decorating analogy, I bring the chair home and see how it looks next to the window, or I move it to the bedroom. Sometimes I return it and buy something else. It’s the experience of trying something that matters, that will tell me if it works. That is valuable. The goal is for it to fit, to look great in its place—and by proxy for me to feel great with it in its place. Or, the other way around. Sometimes, I will feel “right” about something, and it will “work” as well.
If the decorating analogy doesn’t strike a chord, maybe my “getting-dressed” one will. Different kinds of writing can be like buttons and buttonholes – they help close the garment in order for it to be wearable. The buttons should be attractive to you, too, but they don’t need to be the entire length of material that makes the shirt. Or, maybe it’s your style to leave the buttons undone. That’s often my style, too. And do you really care what the fashion industry says about that?
If the focal point of the story is the garment being torn off, those buttons can pop in any way you want them to. Or maybe they don’t. And that can work, too. You get to decide.