Create Because It Counts

We create not for fame.

Not for money.

Not for recognition.

Not for glory.

Not for the praise of others.

We create because it counts.

This principle came out of an article on pianist James Rhoades, “Find What You Love and Let It Kill You” from The Guardian newspaper in the UK.

Create because it counts.

James put himself through an extreme, almost ascetic regime: “no income for five years, six hours a day of intense practice, monthly four-day long lessons with a brilliant and psychopathic teacher in Verona, a hunger for something that was so necessary it cost me my marriage, nine months in a mental hospital, most of my dignity and about 35lbs in weight.”

I do not connect with the extremism (yet I can see the validity in it if you want to take something as far as you can go) but I do connect with the emotional response he has when he has put in the time and practice to learn and master a new piece of music; I apply it to writing.

“And yet. The indescribable reward of taking a bunch of ink on paper from the shelf … Tubing it home, setting the score, pencil, coffee and ashtray on the piano and emerging a few days, weeks or months later able to perform something … A piece of music that will always baffle the greatest minds in the world, that simply cannot be made sense of, that is still living and floating in the ether and will do so for yet more centuries to come. That is extraordinary. And I did that. I do it, to my continual astonishment, all the time.”

This is what counts: the emotional connection in creating, and in mastering a skill.

It is about the experience of joy in any creative endeavour. The joy in folding an origami crane for the first time; completing a short story; learning a new chord for guitar; finishing a water colour painting.

Doing it because it brings you a sense of completeness and wholeness as a person.

We do not have to go to the same extremities as James but his encouragement goes further to explore the “What if’s…?”

What if we used our time more wisely? Spent less time wasted on social media and engage in a creative activity? Spent a little bit of money to start a creative pastime like painting or photography? Knit? Crochet? Took our phone, shot some footage and made a short film? Used our time to engage with others in a writers’ circle? Wrote the story or novel we have been aching to tell for decades?

What if…?

So many possibilities. So many options.

And we create because it counts for something.

It counts for the children whose father draws a new picture on their lunch bag EVERY SINGLE DAY.

It counts for the short story writer, novelist or picture book writer creating worlds for others to inhabit.

It counts for the musician sitting in a cafe playing her guitar to six people.

It counts for the grandmother making a quilt as an heirloom for her grandchild.

It counts for the child who discovers the joy of the world through the lens of a camera and documents his journey to and from school every day.

It counts for the dancer at the bar, perfecting a pirouette.

It counts because we need stories and art and music and film and theatre and dance.

Creativity liberates your spirit. It enriches who you are, and the people who engage with your work.

Creativity is a mentality of giving; giving to yourself and others.

Creativity costs in terms of commitment, of sacrifice, of dedication.

You create because it counts.

Create Art “Just Because”

We had our school Art Show during the week and I popped in to view the HSC (Higher School Certificate) Major Works.

There was a wonderful array of art utilising a variety of media from painting, photography, mixed media, sculpture, installation and pencil.

Accompanying each body of Major Work was a brief statement by the artist, explaining the purpose and intention behind the piece. Some statements were fluid pieces of prose, capturing the essence and beauty of the work in a brief paragraph.

And then there was one statement that struck me. 

The statement did not explain or describe the artwork. The artist put forward the idea that the expression in the art work was an expression of what was in his head. It was the equivalent of shrugging one’s shoulders and saying, “Just because.”

And I love that idea. 

Sometimes we want to explain our idea, describe the beauty of our creative work, wax lyrical on the deconstructivist, post-modern interpretation of Freud’s analysis in the subliminal metaphors of our work.

Our words, pictures, music, film or art does not always require an explanation or a reason for being. We do it for no deep philosophical reason or existential afterthought.

Sometimes, we created a piece of art, “Just because.”

The First Line Conundrum

Scattered around writing blogs is the sage advice along the lines of “3 Ways of Writing a Killer First Line,” or “The Top 10 First Lines of a Novel” or “How to Hook Your Reader in the First Line.”

I have a problem with this. I don’t read the first line of a new novel and stop, judging its worth and merit on a single sentence alone.

I liken it to looking at a Van Gogh painting and focusing on a single brush stroke and missing the beauty and grandeur of the night sky.

A great first line can hook you in. But it’s when you understand it within the context of the first paragraph, the first page, the first chapter through to the closing line of the novel that its true power and beauty is revealed.

I read beyond the first line. I want to be caught up in the artistry of the writer, from the first line to the first paragraph to the first page to the first chapter to the closing line; to have the sentences form sedimentary layers over me as I delve into the artistry of the written word. Or like being covered in a large bucket of spaghetti, tangled in the complexity and power of words (you chose which simile works best for you).

The first sentence encapsulates the power, breadth, beauty and depth of a novel. It retains its power because the remainder of the novel bears out the enormity and scope hinted at in the first line.

But every sentence must work for the reader. Every sentence must be crafted as delicately and intricately as the first.

Stand back and admire the beauty of the whole. Then step closer and examine the individual brush strokes to understand why it has captured your imagination.

Intentional Art

Watching this TED talk by Hannah Brencher, a single thought struck me: letter writing is an intentional art form.

Hannah Brencher TED Talk The World Needs More Love Letters

I have paraphrased some of what she said below and added in my own thoughts.

In the midst of writing Post Marked: Piper’s Reach, at a point where the story has taken a sharp turn, the concept resonated.

When I sit down to write as my character Jude to Ella-Louise (Jodi’s character), there is an intention and a focus. All other distractions must be put aside to write a letter.

As a teenager I wrote long, lengthy missives to friends near and far. Sad to say, the development of the internet has changed that.

Letter writing is not about efficiency, creating pithy comments in 140 characters or less. We are a generation that has learned to become paperless where the best conversations happen on a screen.

In the modern world, pace and superficiality have taken the place of reflection and communion.

I love the conversations I can have with people in real time around the world, regardless of geography or time. Yet I want more.

Letter writing is intentional. It is focused on the recipient. It helps if all other distractions that “demand” our attention are removed: the open browser, the phone pinging with messages.

A letter gives you a reason to wait by the mailbox. It communicates your worth to someone because a person has intentionally and deliberately focused their attention on you.

From this brief five minute talk I picked out 3 important lessons about creativity and art.

1. Art is intentional and deliberate

With intention comes focus and an awareness of your audience. And more importantly, ANYONE can do it.

You don’t need to call yourself an artist to be intentional and deliberate.

Write a letter. Draw a sketch. Take a photo. Record a piece of music.

But do it for someone else. Give it to them or leave it for someone to find.

Check out Lucas Jatoba. In 2011, on his 30th birthday he gave 30 gifts to 30 strangers in recognition of the blessings he has received. Read the news article and see the video here. Makes me tear up every time.

2. Intentional art has a ripple effect

A church minister I know stands at the back of church and shakes people’s hands as they walk out, connecting with them for a brief moment. One reason he does it is the belief that a simple action of a handshake may be the only positive physical interaction they receive all week.

In the same way I make a point of ending my classes with “Have a great day” regardless of the behaviour that lesson. I aim to speak positively into their lives.

In the same way, what effect will your art have on someone? Will it inspire them to reciprocate? Or model your actions and replicate the deliberate intention?

Creativity joins people together in the same way sport brings people together to cheer and applaud.

Our world is broken and we need people to believe in the power of intentional and deliberate acts to heal.

3. With intention comes impact.

Your art may reach one person. It may reach five people. It may ripple out and reach 50, 100, 500 or 1,000. What if it reached one million?

The point is to impact on someone. Even if it’s just ONE person, it has significance and meaning.

I am merely a storyteller. I write fiction and I blog about writing and creativity. My intention is for you to find a way to be creative and bless others.

It is more blessed to give than to receive.

Write someone a letter, today.