Small conversations

How the smallest creative acts become the biggest inspiration

The sea, when I walk down in the morning, makes me cry. In a joyful way. How the light plays on the water surface and in the grooves left by the waves makes me pause to catch my breath. The kind of momentary reprieve that makes the entire day whole, it keeps me going

The words I've written this month feel like an exchange. They're a response to the beautiful things I see, like these, but also a conversation between me and the things that I'm taking in. The films that I loved (this one), the teabags that I can't stop buying (these ones), sort of mundane things, I guess. I've always loved recording those. But mainly, the pages are a conversation between me and the book that I've been reading—the Creative Act by Rick Rubin. I've been writing in small, sharp bursts like the chapters in the book and thinking about being outside— to me that's what it means to be creative; the two things are the same. I'm finding it hard to string the words together, but I want to include them anyway, exactly as they were placed on the page. It does read like dialogue, like I'm responding to something that Rick Rubin has said directly to me, and I like that. It's how I felt whilst I was reading.

Nature as teacher. Back to school with my feet in the rock pools. The rocks that I’ve come back to so many times they feel like mine. Their surface is something that I know under my hands, the same pattern that lives on my fingertips. Some things only need to be learned once, but I keep coming back anyway. Rubin says there’s a reason we are drawn to gazing at the ocean:

“It is said the ocean provides a closer reflection of who we are than any mirror.”

Looking to sea. Looking to see.

Last month I talked about the things that I was doing that were new, or even old things that felt new in the crisp newborn light of the first days of the year. In February, I haven't tried to do anything. I've been breathing and letting the days pass. This sounds prosaic, but it's not; it's kind of beautiful. I've been moving my body as soon as I wake up and treating it carefully, like it's something I love, which it is. And I've been savouring all the tender bits that I can. But living in flashes is hard to write about; the words echo the days, and they come in snatches too rather than steady streams, but it's satisfying in its way to see my mind so reflected. Like I'm seizing bits of the whole of life and holding them in the palm of my hand for you; come closer and see.

"If a piece of work, or an element of nature is allowing us to access something bigger, that is its spiritual component made manifest. It awards us a glimpse of the unseen." ¹

There are things that I thought were worth writing down this month, this week, today. They’re glimpses, brief ones, and I feel like they are kind of vital. I think the point is that small conversations are vital. I’m taking stock of the things that make me feel this way: the fact that the sun comes up every morning, even if I can't see it. The colours of the rocks that I pick up and how the shades are the same as the eyes of the people I love. Music that makes me cry, like Clair de Lune or Bob Dylan. And all the things that I've taken so far just by holding them inside and thinking about them so much. I’m trying to pay more attention to this stuff, and I think this is what I mean about small conversations; you have to remain open to hear them. The quiet parts of life are easily missed, and when they whisper, we have to try a bit harder. I want to remind myself, and maybe you too, to lean in. Let’s listen together.

“Look for what you notice, but no one else sees.”

“The goal of art isn’t to attain perfection. The goal is to share who we are. And how we see the world.”

This is a big one for me. I’m repeating it to myself over and over again like a mantra, or a prayer. It speaks to something that I’ve been thinking for a while, but that I couldn’t put into words without feeling selfish, or maybe unkind: when I create, I do it for myself. It’s only when I think about an audience for what I’m doing that things start to get complicated—I know that in this I’m not alone; it’s the sharing part that causes so many of us to stumble. So, I’m bringing it all back in. To create for the sake of it and for my own benefit, really, is worthwhile. I think you probably need to hear it too, so I’ll say it now and again and again. Just saying it doesn’t solve everything; it doesn’t shorten the workday or stretch time, but it’s a buoy to hold on to. I leave the house on Mondays and do what I like. I get the train to the library, and take out three new books, which make my bag very heavy. Still, I walk on the cliffs, and I breathe deeply again. I have a cup of tea and watch the gulls circling and know that when I’m back at work the next day, my mind will still be here. I think being creative is about holding these things inside, sitting with them until you’re ready to shape them into something new. Something yours.

And I’m trying to find time for making something that’s mine. On a Thursday I go to the beach and find things with holes in them for an online workshop that I’ve booked in the evening. When I say making right now, this is the kind of creative thing that I mean: something that can bookend a day spent at work and that will leave me feeling inspired. During the workshop, I make a charm, which I’ve attached to my keys. It has felt beads, which my hands rolled into form while we chatted over our screens; silk fabric, which I hand-dyed in Ireland what feels like a lifetime ago; and the shells and stones that I’ve picked up across so many trips to the beach. And now, what a thing to have attached to my keys. Something that encompasses so much: the places I’ve been and the things I take with me. It’s a lot of meaning for an object to hold; I’m not just reaching for my keys. It’s a touchstone for memories, and now every time I unlock the door, it feels like a creative act. I’ve made something from what lives in my head, and that’s pretty special.

In the spirit of sharing fragments of this month, here is my mood board for February; it’s another snapshot of the things that I’ve been holding on to lately. Thank you for being here with me again and for reading. I hope you find something inspiring!

And please let me know if you can think of any small creative acts that shape your day, week, or month; I’d really love to know.

1. All quotes in this month’s post are from The Creative Act; it’s been a bit of a love affair.