The Creative Process - a Homework Assignment

Here's another homework assignment from summer classes at SFSU. We had to write about an experience in a poetic sort of way. Don't ask me to describe the assignment, we take hours every day in class talking about assignment requirements. Just know that we had to use a particular sort of writing style that resembles poetry and is slightly unconventional with grammar. I chose to write about something extremely unconventional: creating art! Also, as I wrote, I got inspired to draw what's below. When you read the assignment you might see why. I have greatly missed creating art and shall be doing more of it in the near future for sure.

~Enjoy!

Final Arabesque
Medium: Ink
Size: 9x12 inches
©2012 Claire Nobles
Original: Not for Sale

Creative Performance Process

I stare daggers into a blank sheet of arches hot press watercolor paper, hoping I can explode it with my mind. Several minutes go by and the paper still has not been touched. The mechanical pencil winces in my hand as my fingers flex it to nearly break. Inspiration needs to come soon or there’s going to be a fist-shaped hole in my desk.

As usual, my muse waits for just this moment to strike. As my patience escapes me like steam from a kettle, it becomes clear. A line forms on the paper. *deep breath* Now that one line is down the rest won’t seem so bad. My hand leads and the pencil follows: perfect partners in this dance number that is drawing. The two perform complicated twists, turns, maybe even some pirouettes... incorporating ballroom steps and jazz moves alike. A figure emerges in the lines left by my pencil. I stop abruptly. Was that me, or my hand who drew the figure? When I give in and let my mind go, I am nearly always surprised by what is created.

As I stop drawing, the logical side of my brain kicks in and examines the figure on the paper. The eraser fixes minor errors but leaves the piece mainly untouched. I bring out the pen. Lining the drawing in ink is not as fun as the first time I let my hand wander. The pen is more of a precise and unforgiving presence than the carefree pencil. My hand’s demeanor has changed into a serious dance lead. Strict, like the tango the two march across the lines, abruptly yet precisely turning at exactly the right moments. These two have had tons of practice together, and seldom make errors.

As the hand and pen finish in a final twirl, the curtain closes and my brain applauds that I didn’t mess up. Intermission. I take a sip of much needed coffee. And showtime! 

The paints and brushes are coming out. Professionals, yet they resemble circus characters: with their wild leaps, jumps, daredevil decisions and charm. The stage is drenched with a wash of water using my large Chinese calligraphy brush and a touch of yellow ochre. Now it’s time for the fireworks. Acrobatic paint splatters across the page creating starbursts. Each move is delicately planned and so effortlessly executed. As the ringmaster, I focus and work quickly with each act before the paper dries.

The scene is night and browns and violets are prevalent in the background. A sprinkle of salt to complement the night sky with stars, staying careful not to hit the painted figure. As it dries, I wait; only adding in extra colors when necessary. It’s hard to sit still and play a waiting game. My hand loves to keep dancing. Mixing colors passes the time. After seeing the show, the inner critic dictates improvements to be made. A lovely peach for highlights and a cool blue for shadows: it’s all planned out. Though if too much time passes, I may change my mind. The whole idea must stay fresh or boredom will set in on this audience.

Finally, it’s dry and my hand resumes its rhythmic form. Only some touch ups here and there, though I am a tough critic to please. A smaller brush winds up the side of the figure, holding it steady. The brush must have complete control and the water cannot bleed out. Slow and sure does the trick. Some darkening of shadows and some blending of mid-tones turns the act more vibrant. In the final number I unwillingly let go and let my hand resume its methodical ballet form. A final arabesque and the curtain closes as I get up and stretch: back in reality. My cat falls off my lap. How long had he been there without my knowledge? He grumbles and makes throaty noises as he slinks under the bed. The clock reads four hours later than the last time I checked and the sun is no longer shining beams through my window, it's dark. I would have sworn that time was standing still for me as I worked.

Every time I delve into my world of theatrical art supplies and extremities, I am mesmerized by the performance. And when you have the privilege of experiencing this feeling, your life will be forever be driven by art.