Creativity -- a Personal Question
1988; Springer International Publishing; Volume: 14; Issue: 1 Linguagem: Inglês
ISSN
0311-4198
Autores Tópico(s)Creativity in Education and Neuroscience
Resumolately it hasn't been easy putting pen to paper paper to pen and writein the shadowssomeone is lurkingI will not be afraidno fear is with meonly emotionlike a full bodiedcursea blood!later he asked me what causes creativity he askedit is emotionsummonedit is emotioncoloured with colourseither orany colourcolour me in rainbow coloursbecause I know you love rainbowslately my writing has changed persona I am the third person I guess`It is something I cannot explain,' she said`But how am I to understand?' he asked, annoyed`Perhaps you aren't to understand,' she answered,promptlylater we ate a packet of chocolate macaroons his favourite and while his mouth was stuffed with chocolate he couldn't ask me questionsis this?it isindulgencea mind & paper & penhoping a readerdoes existhoping the mindis not aloneI spin threads of weband cry nothingis newwith exhilarationhe thought it pessimisticlater when his mouth was empty he asked me if a person can learn to be creative I asked him can you buy itI want 100% pure do you dear anything particular in mindshe asked with her painted smile behind the counterYes I want 100% pure I want it in bucketfulsI'm sorry can't help you dear perhaps you should try cosmeticsshe turned awayshe became readily available to the woman standing next to mewith the 100% pure silk scarf in her handlately I have wanted to be a writer what is a writerhow does a writer survivea cheque for $40 a book with my name inmeans I can wear a red sticker -- be kindto me today I am a published writer -- therethere was no blood, just pain, just crampjust frustration with what to do of howto move and what sound to makelater he asked me if creativity is breaking rules.breaking or braking I asked himI want morethan my fair shareHedonist no sufferingonly pleasure notpieces eating cakesnot just ownership butconsumptionYou are cruelGive me morethan your white sportscoat and pink carnationlater he said you should be proud of your gift to writelately I wonder how he could misunderstand sodon't give me the bare essentialsI want more than my back teethit was Christmas the saints were singingcarols in the park holding candlesnobody heard not even Santa thoughI do not think he was amongst the crowdnot reallyI want more more than your well wishing tinsel plastered electric light flashing Xmas treeslater in front of me he told one of his colleagues I was apublished woman I corrected published writer how embarrassingI had just been jokingHe apologised then asked is it not a question of gender thatcauses you to write I did not know the answer though Ihave often asked the question to my self oftensometimes I answer yes but never rarely knowI used to wish I was a mannow I wish I was a womanfinding out your genderis harder than findingout your sexpeople will always tell youthat looks nice buthave you got a boyfriendlately I have been writing Erica has white T-shirts on the line how does she keep them so white I'd like to ask her but I am busy writing there is a discipline in writing but what I write has little discipline it wanders dribbling down my page but only where I let it dribble fallwe are the rainfallingon each otheryou are my rainI want to love youlike the rainlately I have been wondering if I had everything would I stillwrite is writing an expression of need or a need in itselfall I want is a housebeside the seapassionate grey skyon stormy daysthat is all I wantlater he asked me will you ever stop writing I asked himcould you ever stop breathingit is an ache achingimpulsive compulsive a diseaseit is exhausting exhilaratingit is conversing over lunch without making senseinside your head you are busy playing withwords that could look good on paperit is trying to impressit is blowing your own trumpetit is taking risks of boring friendsit is the continual `is it good enough' questionit is listeningit is rememberingit is forgetting the dishes need doingit is searching for an endlater it was getting laterI am getting angrywe are all getting angrysaid the clownlater I had a bus to catch I told himI am leaving`good-bye' cries the gull as it is flying`good-bye' sings the song as it is singinglately I have been catching a lot of busesGood-bye sings the songGood-bye cries the gullwe are going home …
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