As far as materials go, I don’t have many things. You would think that wouldn’t matter much. As I bear the titles of “creative” and “writer” proudly. Art isn’t picky about the circumstances in which it is born. So it makes me wonder. As I search for the beauty and the bounty to bring forth my works. Is it me, or is it the tools?
Part of me wants to feel shame for wanting more things. More creative inspiration. Especially because beauty surrounds me in so many abstract and tangible ways. But another part pleads the artist’s case.
It’s been said to cure writer’s block, you have to live. Life is what gives the inspiration and moves the pen. A photographer captures beautiful images, but in a blank room, would it be so easy, or possible to do so?
Is there really something wrong with searching for beauty that can be captured with my eyes? Something wrong with longing to live to have something to write about?
My mind pulls the answers from deep within. Instead of beauty hunting, perhaps it should be beauty making. Create where you are, with what you have.