Category Archives: Creativity

So keen to embrace creativity, passion and enthusiasm – whether in business, travel, writing or any of my interests. Grateful to some new friends who are showing me so much about how this process works, and how to nurture and respect the creative spark in so many parts of our lives.

March 2013 Highlights

March was a great month.

It included the trip to Seville, continuing to learn Tango ( still just awful but having fun and maybe, maybe getting just a bit better?? ) as well as finishing the second 10 week creative writing course. My first novel got over the 15,000 word count – which has been great fun.

I also attended a Street Photography workshop which although just half a day was great fun.

Currently have the next trip booked for June, destination Lisbon – but this is notoriously flexible – both in terms of timeframe and where I end up going!!

 

Tango in Seville

Today is the last day of my vacation in Seville and by far the highlight has been learning Tango with Joao Alves.

I have so enjoyed our time together – Joao was accompannied by Begonia – a talented dancer who has only been learning for 8 months – and the two of them combined to provide the ideal learning experience for me.

I loved the studio – it really is an urban space, somehow that just fits with what attracts me to Tango. I attended a beginners class, a workshop designed for absolutely complete beginners as part of a cultural day at the centre – and private lessons.

I have of course only just started my own journey in learning Tango – but such a positive experience has made certain that I will keep going, and I will certainly be back to continue my learning experience with Joao.

Thank you so much to both of you for making my time so enjoyable and positive! You are not just talented dancers but also great teachers and warm and friendly people – I promise I will both practice hard and learn some Spanish before I see you both again!

 

Intimate Gestures

Seville – Semana Santa – so much is about the processions and the masks, the deliberate concealment of individuality.

But within the crowds and the pageant I find myself always drawn to intimate gestures – the small expressions of ‘myself’ that make such a difference to us all.

I look for these everywhere, and that’s only natural. We are all looking for connections, and meaningful relationships can only be made with individuals who have the courage and integrity to express themselves in a world that so often presents easier options.

Personally I am now on a journey to find that sense of who I am in so may different areas. It is one of the most rewarding and fascinating journeys anyone can take – getting to some basic level of competency in fields that then have enough depth to turn everything back on you – suddenly you are not learning the basics of a discipline, but instead immersed in what that passion can teach you about yourself. There are so many areas of life that are deep enough – art, dance, yoga, writing.. so many creative arts..

Or perhaps teach is the wrong word – it seems to be that you and the discipline move together, illuminating each other – dancing around each other in an intimate circle of discovery.

Another day

I pause with the toothbrush in one hand. She stands next to me, draped in one of my tee shirts, playing with the old small vase, her smooth finger delicately tracing circles over the worn surface.

My eyes are alive, yesterday she said they sparkle when I smile, laughing with me, her fingers playfully teasing my cheek – but now in the harsh light of the mirror the flaws and lines in my ashen skin are everywhere. On even this first morning the end already seems inevitable. I will mentor her, be interesting for her, but I cannot in the end fulfil her. She will move forwards while I continue to decay, to soften at the edges. I am trapped in what I am, the vessel is as it is.

I turn and get into the shower, grateful for the time alone in the soothing warmth before my optimistic pretence continues.

Behind me the girl gently puts the old vase back on the shelf, and turns to go back to the bedroom.

Context

During todays flash fiction workshop with Wendy Ann Greenhalgh we were set several tasks. This one was to write a flash fiction piece inspired by an image to push us to incorporate images into our work. I chose an image of an old bronze pot. The workshop was my first experience of flash fiction and I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

February 2013 Highlights

Feb was a weird month for me.

On the writing front I am continuing with my second creative writing course, working on the weekly exercises and the general assignment of completing a short story in the 10 weeks that the course lasts for.

Photography has been a bit of a none-event due to a combination of a lack of visits and pretty rotten weather. However I really enjoyed a Lightroom course with Anthony Sinfield at Park Cameras.

My basic problem is that I have added learning Tango to my interests – and that has taken some time away from my other passions. I have always loved dance, and adding Tango to my creative spectrum is wholly appropriate – but it is a time consuming activity, especially for the first year when of course I am a hopeless beginner facing a steep learning curve.

March is domonated by my exciting trip to Seville – to catch the Semana Santa. This is realy exciting for me, I am hoping to have over a week of photography and writing inspired by such a significant week in a beautiful city. I hope to make a lot of progress with my first novel – ‘Third Angel’ – which is passed the first 10 percent at almost 9,000 words and is looking interesting.

I also will be finalising the June trip in the next week or so – it looks very much like Istanbul as that fits with all my criteria – unknown, interesting, historic – but part of me woud like to bury myself in France and learn the language again – so some remote language schools there are looking interesting..

Thoughts on the 38 Bus

Not much traffic this late in the evening, and the bus surges forwards impatiently. Reflections, warmth, mind buzzing from the class. Breathe for a while, just sit here, let my mind go. Only a few of us, but enough to think about. A besotted couple staring into each others eyes, a young black girl engrossed in her iPhone,  a few old dears and a family with a young boy who is excited to be sitting up there in the front.

This is where we turn up to the station, round we go, she’s a bit off balance, nearly, – that was close – you could see that coming, too much texting – she should sit down it’s not as if we’re short of seats, dangerous texting is, gets taken out of context, too many interpretations, strange how so few words can go so wrong. Not like this evening, I thought that was all right really, not a bad group  – except I always seem to talk too much. Every time I promise myself I’ll keep quite, then before I know it I’m asking questions. Not like some of them they don’t say a word, don’t take any notes either. Just kind of sit there like lemons, not that lemons sit anywhere but I know what I mean.

Did I mean lemmings? No – definitely not.

Talking of jumping off cliffs it should be more of an adventure to throw yourself into  things you don’t normally do just to see what happens, how you will react. But it’s not that strange at all once you actually start, everything has its own props, it’s own gear – there’s Lycra for cycling, thoughtful expressions for creative writing, special shoes for Tango – dress up right, look the part, and then it’s just a matter of learning the rules. Real shame when I’m trying to push myself into the great unknown, as opposed to the slightly less familiar – it would be great to do something totally unpredictable, with no rules at all, but I know that isn’t me, not really. Woah she almost fell again, she really should stop that. Its not her I worry about, its that old lady under her elbow, blissfully unaware she is. Both almost deaf and not seeing clearly, for very different reasons. Opposite ends of a curve, same experience separated by decades, barely touching each other, a little intersection just for a moment, blissfully unaware of each other, it’s only me that notices.

Voice. It’s all about voice. Problem is I can’t find mine, not consistently, not like her. Really consistent that one, a hundred percent softness. Floods of emotions interrupted by little bits of writing. But me – I just seem to be all over the place. Great at night, there’s almost no cars at all, hence the violent turns and the black spots for off balance texters, she’s off again, world of her own, white headphones and flashing thumbs. At least she’s sat down though.  Should be able to find all of the worlds great literature by listening to people on a 38 bus, that’s what he says anyway, just look at her with Michael Jackson’s Thriller  and a messaging system, totally lost, emotional responses echoing across her face, all zoned out and full of concentration.

I do wonder about the feminine girl. So soft and emotional, big and blubbery on the outside. She explains herself yet again, what she was exploring, all the gentle  pictures in her head.  But what’s on the inside? What makes her work?

But to focus – what’s my inside story. What’s my game, I guess that’s what I’m asking. It’s what I would ask in the class, given a chance, but we aren’t going to push each other are we? Not like that, not about ourselves. Supposed to be that what we write is nothing like what we think.. write about the great unknown – but that’s not what I do. I explore myself in real life then I write about it. Push my limits, then make a story – not so creative in the literature department, more on the real life side. More of a documentary,  the writing is. Tell it how it was. Of course I can’t tell them that, you aren’t supposed to do that to people in lifts. Not in real life, not like I do.

So now I’m talking about how it actually is, underneath it all, the only true reveal, a real one, a “real reveal” – that kind of works – or is that a bad example? Its  a fine line, good rhythms and bad ones, just like Tango. Sometimes I think I really can’t stand the music, especially the old stuff, then every so often it  absolutely gets you. Blows you away. Fine line.

Problem with Tango is you need someone else. Like life in general, not much point by yourself, a basic problem for yours truly. Not for her I bet though, that tough one, she never says much either. Hard on the outside, even harder on the inside, not that I’d know, not yet, what’s her game though, really? What would she do if someone pushed hard at her. Tough things break, soft things burst into tears. Same end game,  different routes. Prefer the tough ones, on the whole. Definitely. I like a contest, more of a game, more respect

Ruby – she was a strong one – nothing left unknown about her, I had everything again and again, every little adventure all acted out – her and her avatars and the role playing and all that passion and talent. Once you get invited in you just play in the box, staying  within the walls, their walls, their limits – change little things like how hard, how much rope. How much pain in her case. Fun while you learn, then it’s time to move on – onto the next one. Love the power, whereas that’s exactly what she loved to loose, being helpless, a victim, completely exposed, that’s what she got off on. Wouldn’t catch me doing that – giving yourself to someone, no control..nothing at all… Never. Way too dangerous. Made a great short story that did, just changed the name and used the photos and notes, easy, bashed it out in a couple of evenings.

Oh thank god she’s got off, didn’t see her leave, must have been gazing out the window. She’s gone anyway. There’s only so much second hand Michael Jackson a man can take. The image stays though, at least for a while. People do that don’t they – leave an impression, sometimes. Part of her is still standing there,let’s bring her back. I can  hear the tinny music, see her  black skin between her white tee shirt and indigo jeans, all slim and teasing. Watch her move slightly from side to side. Her frown and hints of smiles as she concentrates on the keys. I can even make her sway as we swing around the bus in front – there she goes, elbow into the old dear, all in my head – wonderful – she’s gone and I never said a word to her, but I’ve been enjoying her company ever since.

Strange how busses have changed so much but the important things are exactly the same. Now they have TV screens and recordings that announce the stop for you. But the experience is still there, the swaying, the best seats, the views into the night, looking down on everything. A sense of progress, lost in the reflections, trust in a competent, invisible driver, in someone who knows where we’re going and how to get us there. The 38 to Clacton Pond. Without the 38 I would never have known, now Clacton Pond is forever a part of my life. I hear it at every stop, every week on the way home from class – the 38 to Clacton Pond.. there it is again, always the same, always surprising. Only me now, and the driver of course, so often like that late at night. Just me and my thoughts, and the sounds and rhythms of it all.

So what is my real reveal then?

People get on, people get off, and me and the bus bounce and sway our way through the night towards an oddly named destination, somewhere I don’t want to get to. But I’ve started so I’ll finish, that’s how it is. I’ve got my creative heels on and I’m playing a strange role. Through to the cross, 6,7 and 8 – resolve. Feel her pause, waiting for guidance, waiting to be lead. That’s a beautiful step that cross, she’s a perfectly responsive woman staring at my chest, feeling every move, sensing my weight, using every hint to attract and deny. So full of watchful passion. I’m not used to all the connection, not at all, not used to someone so much better than me, not used to being clumsy.

The bus carries me onwards. It really is just for me now, there’s absolutely no-one else. On we go, away from the past, all those lost opportunities. Where was I through all that, where was the inner voice? Where was the consistency? What am I really about, behind it all.  There’s nothing special about me, lots of people invest too much and get betrayed. I feel odd, it’s almost like I’m crying, looking out at the world, all mixed up with my own reflection.

But its only a game and I can get off whenever I need to, just like everyone else, can’t I? I can just stop. I thought I could be a good lead, it’s a difficult one, I’m certainly used to just pushing them about, taking control, making them do what I want.

Well my turn now, here we are, here it comes, time to get moving. Shake it all off. Step down into the darkness, and watch the warm bus draw off into the night.

Or I could sit here for a bit, dreaming, looking out through my own reflection and imagining .. just for a while.

 

Context

The monologue exercise for my current course in Creative Writing with Gary at Evolution. Task is just to write a 10 minute monologue.

I broke so many rules with this one – will be interested in feedback. Expect to get panned..

Vollmond at Sadler’s Wells

Just had to post about quite possibly the most mesmerising dance performance I have ever been to.

I spent this Sunday afternoon watching, and Sunday evening recovering from, Pina Bausch’s Vollmond.

Just to remind myself I took a few photos of the program – many of the images are completely seared into my mind, but a little memory jogger might help in years to come.

I am so embarassed that this is the first work I have ever seen by Pina Bausch. I intend to make up for this!

Thank you Sadler’s Wells for putting this on, and to the company for such a remarkable, sustained, haunting and physical performance. Simply wonderful.

January 2013 Highlights

My monthly creativity review for January 2013.

With no trip abroad scheduled until March photography was a continuing learning curve, with an interesting trip to capture skateboarders in London and more general experience around Sussex.

So here are 10 of my favourite images from this month :

Higher resolution access on Flickr is here.

On the writing side I started my second 10 week course with Gary Mepsted and am really happy with the amount I am learning, especially on a way of planning my writing that works for me and has really increased my productivity.

The task this course is to write a 5,000 word short story, first person, on the theme of unrequited love. I have decided to write about personal feelings interfering in the case of a mentally  troubled woman. The introduction is posted at “Third Angel“.

Looking ahead for February the writing of the short story will be my focus, trying to get well towards completing my first full piece of creative writing. I am also booked on a Lightroom workshop which I am really looking forward to.

And good to see that the Three Jolly Butchers Writing group is continuing!

Third Angel

Renaissance Peace Angel. (Image Source: The Green Life)
Lin Evola-Smidt

I am writing I think primarily  for myself, a last attempt to put everything in order and to tell honestly the story of Julia Booten. I feel the need to put everything down as clearly as I can, without any of the manipulation of the facts that others have used over the years in order to satisfy their intended audiences. I still have some time before my retirement, and access to both the Broadmoor and Mountain View case files will fill in some of the gaps in my memory. That matter of simple convenience and the need to work while my mind is still relatively capable makes this the right time to begin.

But her presence is always with me, and so perhaps this endeavor is for us both. Even as I begin with these first paragraphs I look up and see her sitting terrified on the side of her bed, her bare feet tracing circles on the floor, exactly as I first met her when I was a young and enthusiastic occupational therapist at Mountain View. I catch myself dreaming of her with increasing frequency, or it may be that my ageing mind is playing tricks with me.

How to organise this account then? It would seem appropriate to be professional and logical, to present the facts as I know them in sequence and in a detached and considered manner. But ultimately I am for the first time being honest about our emotional involvement, and such things are not well described in a clinical fashion, they only make sense when seen in the context of the chaotic backdrop against which they took place.

Julia herself was clearly a very troubled woman, even towards the end when we seemed to be making such outstanding progress. Much of what she told me was either exaggerated or clearly unbelievable – her preoccupation with the Angels, her unshakeable belief that they existed and her long periods of silence during which she had minimal awareness of what was happening around her all make her a difficult subject for detached analysis. And as I have said I wish to face the raw realities of our emotional involvement.

I will begin with our first meeting soon after she was admitted as a new patient at Mountain View, a meeting that was to change my life profoundly. From there I intend to complete her story in the manner that it was revealed to me, sharing our journey as it took place, although to make this account coherent I will summarize and perhaps interpret for her where I feel this is helpful.

I have taken the liberty of changing some names of staff here at the centre and other people who are mentioned in the narrative – they bear no responsibility at all for the events that consumed us, but for decency I feel that masking their identity is an appropriate step. At those moments in our story  where I now feel  responsible for so much I will be absolutely honest and look only for the readers consideration of my professional situation before they come to judge me.

The decisions I made in the grip of untamed passions will stay with me forever. My plea is ultimately one of guilty, but perhaps with mitigating circumstances.

_______________

My new creative writing course at the Evolution centre in Brighton, with Gary Mepsted, lasts 10 weeks and the main task is to create a 5.000 word short story in the first person, on the theme of unrequited love.

This is the first 500 words : which was the task for week one.

December 2012 Highlights

My monthly creativity review for December 2012.

This was a great month as by the end I did get past first base with my new Nikon D5100 – just learning how I want to shoot in terms of settings. Real basics – but I am a newbie and it did take me a while to get there – largely because I decided to just go out and shoot before studying too much. So my current thoughts are that I will always set ISO myself, shoot on aperture priority as a default, set my own white balance and in general start most session on point focus. I really spent a long time fighting the camera in various auto settings – really informative but as it turns out not for me.

The only canned settings I am interested in at the moment is low key – I think this is well worth experimenting with. I would like to do a series based on this mode and have this planned for January.

I spent time in Greece – visiting Thessaloniki – this was my first trip with my camera and the start of many ideas to explore the world and my own thoughts about life.

On the writing side I completed my first creative writing course, a 10 week course with Gary Mapsted in the Evolution center Brighton. What an enjoyable time – I have already signed up for the next one. This site is now well under way and I am concentrating my writing on regular posts here on a variety of subjects. These have been a combination of factual posts on places I have visited and creative writing based on selected images I have taken.

So in general a start has been made and I look forward to a new year in so many ways!

So here are my favourite images from this month :

Higher resolution access on Flickr is here.

They are selected just based on a quick informal scan of the month. So much to learn!!