Enticing Inuition

My strategy for balancing the work aspect of creating with the non-work aspects of creating is to just not worry about it. I do my work when I need to or when I want to, and all other times I do other things that I enjoy. As long as I am doing things that I enjoy, I will be creative, because being creative is something that I enjoy. I do agree that having a deadline really helps the creative process, because without a deadline there is a tendency to put off things indefinitely. However, the most important thing to remember is that writing, directing, etc. are not chores; they are all things that I really like doing. I find it much easier to get into the creative mindset when I remember this. When being creative becomes a chore, it is time to find something else to do.

Observational Notebook - Revealing Actions

I am watching a movie with a group of people. One of these people, who I will refer to as Jim, does not care for another one of these people, who I will refer to as Jebediah. Throughout the movie, whenever Jebediah makes a comment, Jim becomes noticeably silent and tense. Whenever Jebediah asks a question, Jim's answer is almost always a stern "no." After the movie, Jebediah suggests that we want to watch another movie, and Jim quickly turns him down. In fact, throughout the night, Jim is made noticeably uncomfortable by Jebediah being there.

Dream Journal

I am working as a lifeguard at a dinosaur-themed water park. I don't remember actually seeing any dinosaurs, I just remember knowing that the park was dinosaur-themed. I do remember that everything had sort of a Jurassic Park look to it. It is very crowded, and I am walking with another lifeguard alongside one of the pools. He we run into our boss, who asks us what we are doing. The other lifeguard successfully convinces her that we are doing our jobs, and she walks away. The other lifeguard then explains to me his method of convincing our boss that we are working when we are just wandering around the park.

10 Things Excercise, For Serious This Time

1963 Pontiac Grand Prix


I am lying underneath the car, loosening a bolt on somewhere on the undercarriage. The car is lifted up on jacks, and its wheels are missing. I loosen the bolt for what seems like an hour, but it doesn't seem to be any looser. My arms get tired, and I have to put them down and let them rest. A cool breeze blows under the car. It is a mid fall Saturday afternoon, and I am 17. Because the hood is open, I can see past the engine block and various mechanical parts through to the sky above. I can also see the top of the magnolia tree that sits next to our drive way as it sways in the wind. I look to my left. I get a close up view of the nut and bolt I unscrewed before this one. I see an ant, and I consider squishing it. My dad is at the back of the car, fixing something himself. I look at the bolt again. It is way too rusty to pull off with this wrench. Once again, some seemingly small job on this car has turned out to be way bigger than we thought.

Folk Art Festival

I am standing on a dirt road at some park somewhere in Georgia. White tents line each side of this road, filled with stupid, boring art. I am around 8 years old, and I would rather be anywhere but here. My parents are looking in one of the white tents, examining each poorly made piece of art individually. My dad remarks that one of the objects is cool, and my mom agrees. It doesn't look that interesting to me; in fact, everything at this stupid festival looks the same. There is a tent filled with figures and objects made of scrap metal behind me. Next to it is a tent full of paintings that I could probably have made myself. Above my head are the tops of the giant trees filling this park, providing well needed shade. It is summer, and it is hot. In my hand is a half-full slushy drink. All the delicious flavored water is gone, and all that is left is the ice. I eat the ice anyway because I am really thirsty. My feet are tired and I am bored. My parents finish looking at the art in the tent. If I'm lucky, we'll leave soon; at the very least, we should pass one of those tents filled with wooden handmade toys.

Lifeguarding

I am sitting in the lifeguard stand, in an uncomfortable plastic chair. Above me is an umbrella, providing the bare minimum of shade. The sun is in front of me, so the umbrella only gives shade to the top half of my body. It is the middle of summer in Georgia, and it is hot. A cool breeze blows by, giving me brief break from the heat. In front of me is the crystal blue swimming pool. A group of moms float and talk while they're kids struggle to barely keep their heads above water. One kid jumps off the side. Another group of kids have built of fort out of kickboards. I'd ask them to put the kickboards back so that other swimmers can use them, but I honestly don't care. To my left are the lap lanes, and the lap swimmers. They swim back and forth slowly, like they do every hour of every day that the pool is open, no matter the weather. Off in the distance a giant storm cloud taunts me with its lack of thunder. If it would only thunder once, I would get an extra break, and all the swimmers would have to leave. I look to my right, and see a giant group of kids approaching the pool. Great. Now the pool will be twice as crowded. I silently curse the sky.

The Creek Behind My Elementary School

I am standing in the middle of the creek, on a sunny Spring afternoon. There is a sandbar that goes most of the way across the creek. On my left is the main stream, and on my right are several smaller streams. On the embankment on my left is the bamboo forest, and directly opposite that is the playground. Above me is the canopy of the trees, providing more than adequate shade. The creek runs in the direction I am facing, and it is filled with broken chunks of concrete and fallen trees. Somewhere is a tire filled with concrete, with a metal pole stuck in the middle, which was no doubt one half of a volleyball net at some point. My friends are next to me, building structures in the sand. We are attempting to force the stream to go where we want it to go by placing rocks, sand, and mud in its path. We build makeshift dams and structures. If we are lucky, they may still be there tomorrow. There is a tree across this part of the stream, providing a natural bridge. Along one side of the creek are the rusty remains of a fence that undoubtedly prevented kids like us from doing what we are currently doing.

Daydreaming

Just having an object in my hand can set of a daydreaming session. It does not even have to be a toy; any object that is small enough to be held in one hand, solid, and not too light or heavy will work. Pens and pencils work best, though this may be because they are usually what I have when I daydream the most (i.e. in school). I think the object serves as a sort of starting point for my imagination. It helps if the object isn't already a thing, like a toy car, because that results in free form daydreams, as opposed to daydreams centered around the object. I will admit that this results in a lot of space-related daydreams, because just about everything looks like a spaceship if you really think about it.

I tried daydreaming after reading the text. What I got was a sort of crazy music video, probably because I was listening to music at the time.

The Dreamer

In class, we talk a lot about getting out of our heads, because there's nothing original in there. It is funny, then, when the artists in the book talk about being inspired by or finding meaning in their dreams, because my dreams are even worse at being original than I am. My dreams tend to be odd collections of pop culture and actual people and places from my life. One of the most fun dreams I ever had was about me, as Neo from The Matrix, fighting Doctor Octopus, the Spiderman villain, on the yellow brick road. After I saw the movie Inception, I had more than a few Inception-like dreams. I think that dreams are just collections of ideas and images floating around in our head, which are arranged in strange and unusual ways when we sleep by our subconscious.  We do this consciously when we are awake, but we call it imagination.

Evocative Object

A Penny's Story

I am a penny. I was forged out of zinc and copper 34 years ago. I have seen this country grow and change perhaps more than any other human alive. I have traveled from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from New York to Los Angeles, and one time I briefly crossed over into Mexico. I have spent time in the pockets of some very influential people (or so I assume, judging by the amount of $100 bills in their pocket. Those guys are so stuck up.) I have fallen out of more pockets than I can remember, and I have spent time in the streets of some of the greatest cities of this country, as well as some of the smallest. You see things when you are lying in the street for so long. All manner of people pass you by. Sometimes, they'll look at you, bend over as if to pick you up, then change their minds at the last second. One time, I fell out of a car on a country road, next to some gorgeous mountains. The views were quite beautiful, but I was certain that I would be stuck there for the rest of my existence, slowly rusting until I was one with the Earth again. After many days, however, I was found by a hiker. He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Eventually, he left me in the Take-a-Penny, Leave-a-Penny tray at a gas station. I met another penny there who claimed that he had been to China and back. I don't know what use they would have for an American penny over there. Then again, I did meet an Italian Eurodollar in some pocket in Florida. He seemed upset that he kept getting mistaken for an American quarter. Poor guy, he probably ended up on some collector's desk, unable to be spent. Another penny in that tray claimed to have been dropped off the top of the Empire State Building. I couldn't tell if he was telling the truth, but one of his sides was slightly flatter than the others. A penny hears quite a few stories out there on the road.

For my object, I chose to bring in a toy version of a Lamborghini Miura. Most of the items that I own that really mean something to me are at home, in Georgia, and the Miura was the best thing I could find that I had here. I got it on a family trip to Italy, at a little toy store in Rome. I remember wanting to buy a toy Italian sports car while I was there, and I found the Miura, which is one of the coolest looking cars ever made. In that way, the toy Miura is a reminder of that trip. In another way, it is a reminder of home. In my room at home, I have a huge collection of toy cars, collected throughout my childhood. Literally every flat surface is covered by toy cars of every shape and size. I brought the Miura with me when I came here to make my dorm room feel a bit more like my room at home.