Category: creativity

Re: Invent

I’m not always convinced that ‘necessity is the mother of invention’. This is often a toss-off statement made by capitalists who want perpetual progress for financial gain. I admit I have a conflict with clichés of any sort. I am unconventional in that way. I prefer to be inventive, at least with my language, so I pondered away a rainy day trying to flesh out the imaginary family members responsible for inventive progress.

So if an invention (or even the basis of an idea) could be created by a metaphorical family member, then how might that look in a family tree sort of way, I wondered. This is complex and perhaps confusing thinking, I know, but welcome to my brain. So to review, and for the sake of the exercise, we’ll agree that Necessity is the mother of Invention. That would imply that no idea gets born w/o mommy dearest. I think there can be creation without a defined need for progress. Stay with me.

I believe some progress comes from pure inspiration: Out of the blue and unbidden. So let’s add the phrase that ‘inspiration is the grandparent of invention’. Now following that genealogical train of thought we could say that ‘desire is the teenager of invention’. Creative minds are everywhere in the human family. To seek innovation is a natural response to boredom and I can attest that my grandkids are always saying they are bored. Let’s make their creations come directly from their fresh cerebral capacity by saying that, ‘boredom is the grandchild of invention.’

In the world of inventions there is a great inventory of moments in human history when an idea has changed the cultures of the world. There has been talk lately of the great Industrial Revolutions (I prefer to refer to them as Evolutions since it tones down the violence, even though battles were fought over these great paradigms of change). The first IR was the invention of steam power, the second was the applications related to electricity, then came telephone/television as global communication, the fourth was the evolution of computers. Currently we are moving into a fifth realm where AI robotics are actually threatening our understanding of work.

If I were a kid again I would answer the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, with the answer, “An inventor.” I hope I would be a socially conscious inventor like Jonas Salk who refused to patent his polio vaccine believing that his discovery must not belong to any one person since it was for the good of humanity. Likewise the honourable Sir Alexander Fleming believed penicillin must be available to everyone. I believe our souls are ultimately responsible for innovation. If we believe that celestial beings created us then I conclude that ‘creativity is the god-parent of invention.’

Plato thought the greatest human need was to be a creator. I believe we have a daily desire to invent what happens in our day. We have personal authority to do just that. That’s freedom.

Re: Tale

A tale can be like a story, but perhaps it will contain deeper sentiment, as in the great work of Charles Dickins, A Tale of Two Cities. A tale can be as old as time or it can be something you tattle. In the spectrum of fiction, a tale can sit safely beside a yarn, which is something a sailor may spin about an adventure at sea. Fable, legend, and myth will also be found on this imaginary language spectral line.

The telling of a tale requires picturesque language allowing us to suspend any disbelief we may have with the narrator. Unlike non-fiction stories that must rely on facts to communicate an account, fans of tales want to be convinced that what happened, actually could have happened. This manufacturing, to me, is not lying but colouring by using what we know with what-might-be. I like revisiting the Sarah Conner story in the Terminator film series. She’s like a princess, but a princess with purpose: a tale of, and for, future times.

I loved reading fairy tales to my kids as I once loved being read Grimm-like fables when I was a child. Cinderella popped into my head recently as an example of the possibility of time travel. It was a Back to the Future mind spin where I rationalized the need for the glass slipper lady to return home by the time the clock struck twelve. H.G. Wells’s classic futuristic novel Time Machine is an early attempt to suggest that travelling through time could be achieved, with the appropriate clockwork technology. I wondered if perhaps Cinderella was a time warp artist, riding in that magical pumpkin-ish looking coach. Her only fault might have been she didn’t coordinate the return-time better with her fairy godmother/timekeeper.

In my version of Cinderella, she discovers a way to end her despair entirely by leaving her old world behind. I picture my Cinderella being trapped in long days at Walmart, greeting others who have interesting lives, while she is mired in the drudgery of retail. As I see it, time travel only gets messy when we actually come in contact with our own lineage. Maybe you could come and go through the ages as long as we kept it out of the path of your own timeline. For example you could see the court of Cleopatra but not visit your grannie when she was three. Perhaps my Cinderella wouldn’t lose a shoe but a watch, and this is why she forgot the time paradox: you can’t be in two places at once. Marty McFly discovered that timing was everything or else the future would not exist as only he alone could tell it.

Dreaming, like what I’ve been writing here, is tale-telling. There must never be punishment for it, unless it’s intended to deceive or hurt another. We can believe in old-wive’s tales to the point where their value continues to inspire new discoveries in STEM research. The truth must always remain the goal, but I see no harm in embellishing the facts, for story’s sake.

Re: Drawer

This word must be hard for ESL students. I taught elementary school kids and they would have more trouble with words if they were hard to pronounce. Drawer has a sound like shore when it’s used in sentences about places to put things. But an artist can be a draw-er, which makes me think of someone involved with practising law, which puzzles me even more because that person is a lawyer, which is consistent with someone who works with wood who might be a called a sawyer. Poor students! Imagine the questions if I assigned The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and his friend Tom who explored the Mississippi River while dressed in muddy cotton drawers!

My dad was a drawer. He would draw on his life experiences to tell fabulous tales. In that sense he was a collector of curiosities & thoughts, in another sense of the word he actually drew stuff. He used a pencil to sketch or a brush to add colour to his surroundings. His drawings were his perception of the world, put on paper. He was sometimes commissioned to replicate a favourite dwelling. One house-proud person was so delighted by his pastel reproduction she exclaimed, “That’s exactly how I see it when I’m turning into the driveway.” When he told me this story and showed me the photo he had taken, I noticed he had left out a telephone pole, and a hydrant, from his final sketched landscape. I understood he was a drawer in that instant. He allowed that the homeowner would draw her own conclusions, all the while anticipating her human need for fantasy.

Everyone has a junk drawer, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the bedroom. Like a magpie we collect stuff and toss them here for when we think we might need them. Even things that have no use. If you can’t afford a place with an attic or basement crawlspace, a drawer will do to hide those old love letters, secret things, or stuff not worthy of the knickknack shelf. My mom had a glassed-in corner curio-cabinet with shelves that could be pulled out for closer examination. She kept her thimble and teaspoon collections in these suede-lined drawers. I can picture her in my childhood memory excitedly drawing on a cigarette as she talked about the origins of these treasures. She let the ash fall where it may.

Thanks to my dad’s influence, story telling later became a big part of my teaching curriculum. I often read fairytales to instigate study of other subjects. I remember one student designing an efficient water well, for a science fair project, after hearing Diamonds & Toads by Charles Perrault being read in class. Together, other students did their research and discovered there were many fables based on the drawing of water from wells. My essay is about to draw to a close. Let your imagination wander.

Re: John

My first memory of a person named John is regarding my dad’s brother. When I was six he took me to a typical British children’s park. There he pushed me around and around on a circular spinning thing. I learned later this was called a ‘Round-a-bout’ and according to an old expression what you gain on them you lose on the swings. My Uncle John was a philosophical guy, a dreamer really. He didn’t have a regular job that I was ever told about but he was my favourite family relative. My mom told me that he had a number of life tragedies, including finding his wife dead in the bathtub, electrocuted by a toaster.

Growing up I knew another ‘Uncle’ John (a family friend unrelated but deemed worthy of the title as was the custom of the time). I liked to hear tales of Long John Silver because he was a pirate, and I loved pirates more than dinosaurs when I was a kid of small age. Strangely to me, now that I type this, is my curiosity about John the Baptist. I think I like the fact that he was secondary in the Jesus story but he had a role to play in bringing salvation to the masses (sort of pirate-ish, if you think about it). When I read about Robin Hood I discovered his band of merry men, of which Little John was a member. Alan Hale Sr. played that fictional character so well in the 1938 film with Errol Flynn. I couldn’t tell you how many times I re-enacted that famous crossing the creek scene with my fellow Boy Scouts whenever we were out in the woods.

On those scouting trips we learned how important it was to keep our body systems functioning so daily evacuations in the ‘John’ were de rigueur. We actually called these poop pits the KYBO (as in Keep Your Bowels Open). Of course now-a-days it’s common to look for a Johnny-on-the-Spot when you are at an outdoor concert venue. That term strikes me as more grown-up sounding than Porta-Potty.

I wouldn’t name my child John in this age because of its association with toilets but also because John is a generic term for a guy that hangs with prostitutes (not that I have anything against sex workers) or is the recipient of a John Doe letter, poor fellow. Next to guys named Dick, I’m betting Johns get lots of teasing or abuse. There are some famous folk with this common name. The first bloke that comes to my mind because of my age is of course that Beatle, John Lennon.

Eclipsing all Johns of fame in a spiritual sense has to be John Denver. My feelings about John Denver ripple out to inform my desire to be creative. His work as a song writer, humanitarian, and fellow explorer of wondrous things have provided me with examples on how to live. He wanted to be the first citizen in space. I miss that country boy. He died flying high, like an eagle in the sky.

Re: Owl

The owl has several attributes that show up in my personality. Firstly, the animal’s patience is astounding. I’ve seen one in a tree, shoulders hunched up, barely moving, perched on a branch waiting, waiting, and waiting some more. Their feathers are so soft looking, almost furry, and patterned to make themselves blend into their surroundings. Owls are the quietest birds, with wings specially designed to make almost no sound so that wary mice don’t even know they’re around until it’s too late. Owls seem secretive to me. All knowing! They aren’t for show. They mean business, have places to go, and a need to survive.

When I was an elementary school teacher, I would often discuss animals to start the children on a creative train of thought. A simple question like, “If you could be another creature, which would you be?” might occupy an entire afternoon of discussion, art, and even environmental studies. In those days I refused to choose my own kinship animal, because I felt connected to so many interesting species who share the planet with me. Disney films and author A.A. Milne probably directed my lasting amusement with owls. I can relate to Winnie the Pooh’s friend Owl when he pontificates and, also, when he goofs by spelling his own name as Wol!

I chose a coded version of the word Owl for my social media avatar name, wh0n0z, which graphically shows two owl-like eyes. I like the immediate reference to intelligence (folks can be know-it-alls and still err in judgement). Also implied with this pseudonym is the shrugging attitude of ‘Who really knows eh?’ (an introvert’s go-to). Or, more aggressively, “I’m slightly bored so leave me alone.” Owl people may get a bad rep for being picky, having their head in the clouds or appearing seriously snobbish. I think of my owl persona as though it were a horoscope sign. Owls are curious. Ergo, my favourite question is How, which is a delightful anagram of Who, which is the sound that owls in cartoons make.

Even a wise old owl like me can show contradictions. When I served on several organizational Boards I used to be called a stealth director because I preferred to be quietly working behind the scenes, making contacts and connections that may have been considered controversial. You see I didn’t want to draw early attention to myself until the cat was in the bag (or the mouse was in my beak, so to speak).

The cliché for the owl archetype was probably set in ancient Grecian times since the goddess Athena advertised the Value of Wisdom. She even had a pet owl. In the 1981 film Clash of the Titans, Perseus is assisted by a mechanized version of Athena’s owl named Bubo. This FX creature was actually an animatron that didn’t always work convincingly in its scenes with the real life actors. And its name suggests something clownish, which is great if you consider that no one’s character can be one dimensional. In other words; A bird is more than just feathers.

Re: Photo

My bride has a new found passion. She’s been loving her cell phone and its photographical features. She goes to a photo club once a week to share her work and gain knowledge about the art form. I love it when she shares her homework with me; discussing the theme for the week’s assignments, showing me her latest on-screen captures, scrolling through the dozens of shots of charmingly photographable subjects while deciding which one has just the right composition.

I love the Kodachrome Song by Paul Simon; “makes you feel all the world’s a sunny day!” The lyrics conjure a picture of happy times. Times of the past seen through the lens of a camera. But before we get too sentimental let’s remember that those cameras, not the ones now compressed into our digital devices, used to be lugged around by a shoulder strap that dug a groove in your neck. I’ve owned all kinds of photographic devices. I started with one of those little brown boxes called Brownies. The film was expensive and therefore precious. I remember counting down the twelve shots, one by one until I turned the roll in to a developer who would give me single photos, on magical paper, that would remind me of how much fun I had at the beach. Back then, I kept the scalloped edge photos in a biscuit tin just like my mom had once kept her sepia coloured treasures of ancient family poses.

Photofinishing is not just what horses do in a close race. My former father-in-law used to have his own darkroom, thereby expressing his creativity while saving film processing fees. He died before the digital age but he would have had all the photoshop style software and apps to go with his hobby for sure. As I got older I was happy to transfer all the heritage slides onto a flash drive as a Christmas gift for my now grown three sons. Memories they can share over social media platforms. Pictures that are now part of The Cloud; that awesome computer photo and data bank that makes my head spin: “it’s a wonder I can think at all.”

Along with my first child I purchased a second-hand SLR Canon camera. I became the Family Photographer, with all the honours and responsibilities that came with that title. The device itself weighed several pounds and as I collected lenses and filters I needed a small suitcase to carry all the equipment. I call this time My Slide Period since I felt I was becoming a true artist of film. Mounds of slides required a filing system. A projector and screen were purchased for family fun. I entertained guests who would always seem polite and interested. Not!

My passionate wife is learning new skills and experiencing the world in a creative way, all because of a device that lets her send a message plus photos to people anywhere in the world. There’s always a new improved IPhone, promising astounding photo features.

“I can read the writing on the wall.”

Re: Music

I like movies that contain music, subtle or overt. I once rented a VHS tape called Evita starring Madonna and the desk clerk asked me if I was aware that the film was a musical. My look of surprise made her ask, “Do you still want it?” Apparently the tape had been returned many times because folks were put off by the fact that all the actors sang something. Apparently taste can be found in ears as well as on the tongue.

I get hijacked by music. I don’t choose to have music playing while I work or fuss around the house. Music finds me when I’m going about my business though. In a store it will follow me as I look for blue jeans. I’ll chew my food in rhythm to a restaurant’s playlist. I get the music in me despite having no musical training. My musician friends are amazed when I answer their skill testing questions. Instrumentalists are artists I admire enough to pay money to watch them perform. I’ll sometimes linger by a street performer because the air itself seems somewhat different as it blends with the melody. It sparkles!

Imagine the first gasps of wonder as ancestors in caves created vocalizations or tapping sounds on bones and stuff! My perfect world has people singing or humming all the time. Paul Simon was once asked his greatest thrill at being famous. He said he is always delighted when he passes someone on the street murmuring one of his songs. Music has been described as a soundtrack to our lives and that’s probably why I get earworms of melodies that imbed themselves in my head and just won’t shake loose until I hear another tune. Who doesn’t find themselves joining in when they hear a familiar lyric from a car radio: Home where my thought’s escapin’. Home where my music’s playin’. Home, where my love lies waitin’. Silently for me.

Music is said to soothe a savage beast or breast. Speaking of which, our inner child remembers a mother’s lullaby while being fed and cradled, so we naturally associate sound with comfort and joy. But sometimes music incites when it’s linked to parades and protest. I’ll never forget marching behind a bagpipe with my teacher colleagues during strike action against our government. Anarchy can have a soundtrack too.

I may not have a cultured musicality or practised musicianship. My only music lesson was a month of violin. I’ve winced when hearing snobbish comments at a concert venue: Being a wine connoisseur is one thing but music is for everyone. Ranking of a musical piece is not a requirement for me, appreciation is key. I have trouble with some genres like Rap and my easy listening preference tends towards Folk but I love being surprised by sound. The long retired television series ‘Glee’ enthralled me. Opera may be tedious at times but it gets my respect for being the origin of the staged musical. Music in any form is to be lived.

I got rhythm. I got music. I got my gal. Who could ask for anything more!

Re: Sunday

Of all the days of the week, I have the most mixed feelings when it comes to Sunday; the first day of a calendar row. In the early days of our relationship my bride and I would discuss why this day began the week rather than ended it. Hence the cause for confusion because Sunday is part of the week-end. Biblically, Sunday is the day when god rested because he had been busy creating everything on the six days previous.

Speaking of tradition; the reason behind the old names of days are so old. Maybe they just deserve to be forgotten. Just who cares anymore eh? Monday is everyone’s moody day but we don’t call it that. Well moon’s day sounds kind of sweet actually. Tuesday? Relates to war, so I’ll pass. Wednesday? Just who is this Woden dude anyway & why does he deserve a day? Thursday? hmm? If I had a hammer. Not bad, kinda folky. Friday? Frig? I’m getting frustrated enough to swear. Saturday? Woden (again with the norse god)? Washing day! Really? Sunday? Here’s comes the sun, finally a reference to The Beatles!

If we can’t rename the days then how about putting them on a spectrum. How about a colour to represent each day? Monday is moody blue for sure. Tuesday maybe purple, Wednesday is taupe, definitely a soul sucking military brown. Thursday is freshened with mint green. Friday might work as tangerine. Saturday is anything neon. So that leaves Sunday maybe a greyish yellow. We could name the days based on a flavour or the taste it leaves in our mouths. Monday leaves a bitter taste but it’s a necessary day so maybe spinach works. Tuesday has more promise but it’s still boring so maybe a liver paté. I’d say Wednesday is perfect for Spam or lima beans. Thursday is a pastry day. Friday tastes like toffee. Saturday is salty or spicy and Sunday reminds me of soup.

I suspect most people think Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are pretty ordinary days. The thought of a weekend ahead gets us looking forward with anticipation so when Thursday comes around we are feeling the downward slope on the hill of labour. When I was working, I liked thinking of Thursday with excitement. I found time to fantasize and distort the realm of time so I broke the four following days down into seasons. Follow my reasoning here: Friday equals Spring, full of promise & anticipation, Saturday encapsulates Summer filled with stuff to do, Sunday has elements of Autumn melancholy yet still colourful and then Monday hits like Winter chills. Neither the mamas nor the papas like Mondays.

My favourite day, in conclusion, is the sunny sounding one. I like the name Sun Day as it evokes warmth and smiley faces. I’ve started posting my essays in honour of this day to make it part of yours. I would advocate for a revolution to labelling our calendars. Gone are my busy Sundays. My newspaper brings me a crossword which passes the time. Sometimes there is a biblical clue or two. It pleases me that I can answer them.

Re: Create

Yes, I believe we are created in god’s image. Yet, I do not believe in God. I prefer to attend closely to another soul for proof of the act of creation. How that soul came into being I cannot fathom. How I came to be on this earth, I cannot comprehend. Yet I know for certain that we are all miracles of creation. That is a fact found in our DNA; each strand of which carries the markers of our uniqueness.

We as humans are constructed out of Big Bang stuff. As recipients of this creative matter and energy we are destined to travel a creative path. The best teachers do not indoctrinate or inculcate. As a teacher I thought of all of my students as singers, dancers and artists waiting to find the right tools and skills to enable their creative force within to show itself. Budding scientists, athletes, orators, change agents and titans of business sat in the desks of my classrooms. Each child will tell you their dreams of destiny. Each child will be confident in their ability to make something. Each child will be convinced they are a marvel, unless they are told they are not.

Children must never be deflected from their creative urges. I could be a strict parent in my time but I would not stand in my sons’ way when it came to them testing their creative aspirations (even if their music was definitely too loud). One of my favourite creators, the songwriter Harry Chapin, sang a poignant song (Flowers are Red) about a stifled creative urge. Here he is with entertainer John Davidson showcasing how ideas can spring up from daily experiences. Then this gem of a moment in music happened. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qrbNygL0YU

The film, ‘The Fabelmans’ fictionalizes Steven Spielberg’s youth. This famous director was lucky, in a way, to have had the right magical dose of encouragement from various sources, not to mention an ingrained natural talent. The patriarch of the family perpetually thought of his son’s movie fascination as a hobby, while his mom revelled in his exploration of self. As I watched I wondered about my own parents, trying to guess who encouraged me to colour outside of the lines.

At the dawn of creation a spark was placed in all of us. Lucky are those who are born into the perfect environment to thrive. Most of us struggle for simple recognition of our innate creativity. Without a rudimentary acknowledgement of our gifts we begin to think less of ourselves, creatively or otherwise. Obviously, we are not all going to be famous artists. Gaining fame is not the point of creative pursuits, be they hobbies, pastimes or even professions. My father’s greatest talent was creating an atmosphere for making others feel appreciated: He made them feel gifted.

If God exists, I’m convinced he/she/they didn’t make junk. We have the genetics capable of creations of our own design. It’s paramount that we encourage ourselves and others to live up to that example.

Re: Animate

“It’s Alive!” Is the exuberant cry that Dr. Frankenstein shrieks when he has re-animated his stitched together fictional monster. He is excited! From what was once dead, springs fresh life. I am waiting for that enthusiastic response after what has been a deadening historical interval. I am man, hear me moan.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy encouraging myself and others to be Yippy-Skippy. When I see someone exuberant I want them to bring on that happy face & spread sunshine all over the place. It’s awesome how we can take a troubling situation and turn it upside down with a smile. My son recently told us a classic Canadian winter story of driving on treacherous roads of snow and sleet. Then he told us how he almost chocked to death after a first bite of a meal. He had us sitting on the edge of our seats because he animated his tale with captivating facial expression and body language. It reminded me of tribal times after a mastodon hunt, but not really because I’m not that old.

I’d love to be a comic strip artist or better yet an editorial cartoonist. These folks use drawings to animate our existence, dull that it is. I have been especially focussed on political cartoonists since they do such a good job of making me laugh/cry at our current leaders. Their point of view effectively lampoons the irony of our existence. I’m particularly keen on the art of Michel deAdder, a brilliant pictorial satirist, once fired from a Canadian newspaper and then picked up by the high profile Washington Post (take that Brunswick News!)

https://www.cbc.ca/radio/asithappens/as-it-happens-monday-edition-1.5196196/michael-de-adder-opens-up-about-being-dumped-by-n-b-newspapers-after-viral-trump-cartoon-1.5196199

Animation as an art form fascinates me. My dad once tried to use 16mm home movie film to turn my sister’s birthday party into a cartoon. I helped him make stick models that danced while cardboard letters magically arranged themselves into words. I can never be too old for cartoons (such a Saturday morning with cereal by the television unimportant sounding plural noun). Pinocchio, a film by Guillermo del Toro, recently won an Academy Award for stop-motion artistry. Claymation is fun and then came the Wallace&Gromit features. There are many Pixar and Disney films that make me marvel. Walt’s classics are works of art painted in a single cel that connects to a loop of film creating the illusion of movement. Add sound and you have a masterpiece. My granddaughter sings ‘Let it Go’ whenever she is awake. I’ve been singing the ‘Little April Shower’ song from Bambi for more than sixty years.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xksfShPraTQ

To be animated is to be optimistic: I welcome the fascinating, the wondrous, the rebirth. As I spring forward with the time change leaving winter’s death behind, the lengthening hours of sunlight will animate my mood, inviting me to look for reasons to dance and sing.