More on Exhaustion and the Creative Process...

A (long) while ago, I wrote this entry about exhaustion and the creative process.

Today, I stumbled on another take on the idea by Brian Eno. This site excerpted it from an interview Eno did in 1977 for a publication called "Melody Maker." Eno was sharing a conversation he'd had with his friend, the painter Peter Schmidt:

"I describe[d] an experience I had in Scotland recently where I climbed a very steep hill at twilight - absentmindedly not paying much attention to where I was going - and came to a halt, breathless and exhausted, on a small plateau near the summit. For the first time I looked to see where I was.

The plateau was covered with dead ferns, which glowed a brilliant fiery orange in the dusk. I was tired enough not to try to reduce the experience to words and concepts, so I just stood open-mouthed for some minutes.

This was an instance of exhaustion as an aid to perception - presumably the conscious mind resigns this continual obsession with classification and the attendant reassurance at times like this, and so the quality of the experience is unfiltered."

Any state that allows an escape from the relentless inner workings my own mind is of interest to me - total exhaustion was not something I had considered!

How I Perform Demolition on Creative Blocks

Someone recently asked or input on how a creative block looks and feels to me, and how I get past it. The first part was easy: a creative block for me is apathy. There are no interesting ideas in the world - and certainly none in my brain, which is both disheartening and depressing.

The second part of the question, how I get past a block, was harder to answer. But after thinking on it for a while, I realized that — whether I do so intentionally or not — I am almost always rescued from creative blocks by immersing myself in excellent work done by others. And in fact, sometimes I get so inspired that I end up with the problem that lies opposite on the creative block spectrum: a tidalwave of new ideas so huge I'm nearly crushed by it. (I do prefer this problem, but it has its own set of challenges.)

All that to say I've recently struck gold (somewhat literally!) in finding three new sources of major inspiration, and they've gotten me all aflutter with new ideas. Thought I'd share them here.

Line Vautrin: A French jewelry designer who worked in Paris from the 1930s through the 1980s, Vautrin's work, life, and style are all so fascinating, beautiful and charming. I'm already interested in learning how to work with precious metal clay, and Vautrin's aesthetic is pushing me into desperation-to-learn mode. (More information about the bronze bracelet above is here.)

Heather Moore: Moore, a.k.a. Skinny LaMinx has been a favorite designer for a long time, but I just started reading her blog recently. Somehow she manages to be witty, fun, substantive, intriguing and inspiring all at the same time. Her work makes me want to drop everything else and start designing screens for printing. The above fabric (which you can find and purchase here) was inspired by cave paintings. Cave paintings!

David Neale: An Australian goldsmith with a blog, his work and his ideas and his inspirations are just so resonant for me. He is also ridiculously smart, funny and charming and generous with sharing his process.

About the series of brooches the above image belongs to (see them all here) David says: "I realise that the making of botanical jewellery is so historic and commonplace,- like some sort of universal default decorative subject...which leads me to ask myself: 'is it boring if I do it too?' Well, I am never bored by plants themselves, be it the humble Lawn or the honoured Flower Behind A Girl's Ear. So a challange hangs over my work; 'Can I say something unique and valuable in the age-old conversation that is botanical jewellery?'" I believe that he has succeeded in doing so!

How do you get past creative blocks, I wonder?

So who is this Henry, anyway?

Henry — or Hensie, or H, or H-Dog as he’s come to be called — is three months old today. So far, he has been born, and gone on a lot of trips. When he was five days old, he rode in the worst weather conditions this part of our state has ever seen all the way to Salem (an hour’s drive) to be with Nona and Papa (my parents) for Christmas. When he was almost two months old, he flew with me to Clarkston, Washington to meet his Great Grandma Mac for the first and last time. In the past two weeks, creeping up on three months old, he has been to Eugene and back twice — once with all of us and once just with me — to see Nona in the hospital after her three concurrent back surgeries. That’s a lot of miles for a baby. And it could have been a big stress for me and everyone else if he were a crier. Or even a complainer. But he’s neither. Sure, he cries when he’s hungry, or when he has gas. But the rest of the time, this dude is either asleep or awake and pretty freakin’ happy — laughing, smiling, or just hanging out. What a huge blessing that has been during this really pretty difficult stretch of life.

I keep telling people the same thing I told them when Sophie (who had a similar temperament) was a baby: They say you get the baby you can handle. Well, turns out I can’t handle much.

Thanks, H. Love you, boy.

Three Things Sophie Said

Prayer before bed: "Dear God Thank you for the sky that it's always so bright. And thank you for the animals I see all around my town. Amen."

On the day of Henry's baptism: "Henry is so cute, and so mysterious."

On going with Lucy to the vet: "I do not mind if she goes ballistic. I will be brave of it."

Lois Jean McPherson

My grandmother, Grandma Mac, died on March 4. I not only loved her, I really, really liked her. Henry and I flew up to go and see her about a week before she died. “I didn’t think I’d get to meet him on this side,” she said, and then they gave each other crazy big smiles. She was spending a lot of time sleeping, and was in some pain (she had ovarian cancer), but she was also making jokes and still had a twinkle in her eye. (After some little something went wrong, she said: “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll live. Well…” and then grinned.) The day she died, she was in her bed with her pastor by her side singing “Amazing Grace.” During the last verse, she moved from this world into the presence of God. I will miss her a whole lot.