We, and by we I mean HIM because if I had done it the house would probably need to be torn down, recently hung a big, old-timey-lookin’ chalkboard in our kitchen. Last night I watched our kids draw for ages, totally unselfconsciously. People, trains, animals, forests, I believe I saw a surfer being eaten by a shark at one point, but never mind.
What is the exact moment that children lose that unselfconsciousness about creative expression? And how the hell can we get it back?
I am not aware of consciously thinking it, but I know for certain that when I read some books or essays or see some movies or look at particular photographs or paintings or mosaics or watch some tv shows (hello, The Wire, I’m looking at you), some part of my internal critic says, “Well, you’re never going to be able to do that, so why bother.” There are those totally amazing creative enterprises that blow your doors off and make you want to try and inspire you. And then there are those than just shut you right down because, screw it. Or maybe they’re the same and it just depends on who you are at the time you experience them.
Keri Hulme’s The Bone People
the aforementioned The Wire
Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window
a perfect creme brulee
White Christmas sung by Bing Crosby
to name a few.