#practicing creativity

I start out with a blank page, a pencil in my left hand, and no idea. I stare at the flat, clean, empty space, and I breathe. My hand moves, the pencil touches the paper, and a small, charcoal-gray circle appears. A point in space-time; a beginning. This day the tiny circles keep appearing, like a single, moving, miniature footprint on a barren plane of ivory colored sand. Exploration. Patient navigation. Wandering. Breadcrumbs being dropped so I can find my way back. But there is a break in the flow. New beginnings. Odd appearances from beyond the perimeter. I am not alone. Hesitant approaches; attempts to meet, to come together, to join one another. Not yet. Not here. Not now. My hand grows weary. I leave this world, and put the pencil down.

I grab the small sketchbook and my pencil.

I stare at the blank page, trying to let go of expectations and the intimidation of the word “drawing.”

Instead, I let the emptiness of the flat space, that square, pull me in. It is flat, but also absorbing. Imaginary, illusory depths come in and out of focus.

Where to first put pencil to paper? This day, I choose the center, and make a small circle, color it in.

It sits there, that small dot, dark and deliberate, for many moments.

What next? A larger circle, to surround that dot.

And so it goes. More circles, curved lines, shading, scribbling. Then, it’s done.

Why is it done? Because I am afraid if I make one more mark it will be ruined.

Of course, it is nothing anyway.

Just a doodle drawing. Some pencil marks on paper.

Still, I’m pleased, to have done something.