Catching up and creativity

29/08/07

I bought a new book for this journal yesterday which means I spent all last night and all tonight copying the entries from one to another. This unfortunately means that my hand hurts, so this will probably be a short entry.

The real shame about this was that I really wanted to write an entry last night but couldn't face having to write it out twice. Hopefully I'll be able to finish anything I have to say off tomorrow evening, but part of me doubts it. I'm seeing Catriona and Sean, so chances are I'll be a bit drunk and a little tired.

The current hotel does, however, have a great restaurant - if a little quiet. Last night I was in there on my own for most of the night, and tonight I as one of only a few. I felt a little sorry for the (rather cute) waitress. She seemed very bored. But it was just what I needed. Some easy listening music, relaxed service, and nice food.

The restaurant also had a grand piano and after a couple of glasses of wine I felt like playing. Fortunately I managed to stop myself, mainly because I couldn't think what I would still be able to play after all these years.

That in turn got me thinking of when I last played (far too long ago) which in turn made me think of all the creative things I've done in my life. I have played piano, I have acted, sung and danced. I have written both poetry and prose, in my own hand and using calligraphy. I have sculpted, modeled and painted. I have rendered graphics. Programming is in itself pretty creative, but I can't remember the last time I was creative that wasn't for work or for an attractive woman. I can't remember the last time I was creative for me.

Most of my projects over the years have ended up on the dustbin of history unfinished, but a few of them have been completed. I'm proud of each and every one. Proud enough to have given most of them away at any rate.

Psychology says that creativity is a good way of dealing with depression. Of turning negative energy into positive energy. So I wonder if this is part of my dissatisfaction. A build up of negative emotion that previously I've just dealt with without realising.

I guess in its own way this journal could be considered creative, although personally I'd have to disagree since there's no creative feel to it. One of my favourite quotes is "Writing is easy. You only need to stare at a piece of blank paper until your forehead bleeds" by Douglas Adams and I think it perfectly sums up the feeling of creating new things. The continual struggle against nothingness.

Anyway, it's late and my hands hurting too badly, so maybe this is another idea I'll have to think about some more.