
I debated for a week on what my topic of discussion should be for the New Year. Should I thank people, discuss the highlights, list my favorite and least favorite moments? No, that’s not my style. I decided to go with a subject that has been on my mind. The moment a creative switch was flipped.
A drive has lived inside me since childhood. It pushed me towards the creation of art, no matter what form it took. I have attempted drawing, wood carving, pyrography, painting, pottery, clay sculptures, and of course writing. And with each, no matter how long I practiced, I was terrible. Then what I have come to call The Switch occurred this year.
It started with a bird carving. I successfully carved the first piece I felt proud of. It could have been a fluke, so I carved a penguin, then a miniature duck that could fit on a dime. I was confused. What usually involved me hitting my head in frustration suddenly came easy. There is plenty of room for improvement, but it was the start of me making something I felt proud of.
In March I joined a writer’s group at a local community arts center. I rewrote some of my older stories. These rewrites were respectable, and I was pleased. On a whim I decided to write a poem. I figured poetry would be a decent skill to have as a writer. To my amazement, people liked my poem. That poem is City Bird Blues.
My mentor Dale Lyles actually wrote an article about this moment. It will be linked at the end of this essay.
Through Ian Cattanack’s YouTube channel, I heard about Substack, and decided to give it a shot. I had a few short stories and poems I felt proud of. I assumed that I could get positive and negative feedback. I was hoping the feedback could point out why I was performing better or prevent me from regressing. It was as if a creative switch had been flipped, and I didn’t want it to turn off.
The details of being on Substack are not the point here, but it led to two new artistic avenues which benefited from The Switch. It began with haiku. I thought if I just posted a haiku for the week, it would seem low effort, so I innovated.
I designed some handmade trading cards inspired by artist trading cards, a thing I discovered through my wife. Yet again I was pleasantly surprised by how well they came out. I have always struggled with drawing, but these cards came to be in just a few sessions. A sketch, some acrylic markers, and I had a handcrafted card.
I still wanted to provide more. I wanted to make clicking on my haiku worth the time, so I started recording.
The audio performances led to the first improvement I feel I can account for. A second switch was flicked. I could now hear issues with my writing, and I would go back and correct my writing after a recording. My audio has improved dramatically from my first recording of Haiku #2 Terrible Season to fully voiced and edited episodes.
This second switch was different, because I can pinpoint what caused the improvement. The catalyst of the first switch is a mystery to me. This must be the kind of event that leads people to believe in Muses and the like, because it felt beyond me. I didn’t do anything differently. I just sat down to engage with another failure of an art project, and something different happened, and has continued to happen. I am mystified and grateful.
If anyone has experienced something like this, I would love to hear from you. Other than that, I hope everyone has a great year, and that more switches are flipped.
Link to an article: Guest Lichtenbergian: Danny Maldonado
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I think you're right. I definitely wasn't ready a few years ago. I was way to busy being a knucklehead.
Art has a way of creeping in like a draft.
You’ve been given a gift.