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Why Do Some People
Have a Strong Desire to Create?
I am doodler, painter, sketcher, writer, and a stitcher. I have since childhood had a strong desire in
various ways, to create. I am not a
perfectionist by any means. I tend to
view my works of art as that of folk art in a more primitive fashion. My urge is not constant, it comes and goes,
but when I am working on a project I feel fulfillment, purpose, contentment,
and I am at peace with myself.
Many people do not have this desire.
They don’t ever think about creating a work of art, don’t have any
ambitions of that sort. Why do I, why do
others? Does it show something of our
character, our genetics, our family background?
I think it could involve all of those factors.
Personally I have come to a point in my life, where I’m facing some
serious health issues that have awakened me with a realization of why I am the
way I am. It is all very clear to me
now. It came to me in my sleep last
night, although it has been in the back of my mind for years.
As a teenager I had a huge void in my life, missing my mother, whom I
lost to cancer when I was 13. She was my
best friend, my rock, and the thought of losing her was not in my head, seemed
impossible to think of it…. no one told me how serious it was. My mother fought a valiant battle for 2
years, I was by her side through it all, and her illness and death changed my
life forever.
In grade school and I believe later in early high school I was
introduced to genealogy in English classes.
I loved it all; the research, finding out my roots, where my family came
from, when they came to America, what they were like as a people. I have continued this interest and have come
to the conclusion of why I like it so much.
This is a way I can reach backward in time and try to connect to my
mother, my roots, my young life that was once all sort of o.k. It is my way of communicating with those
before me, in some small way. It is a
form of comfort from the losses I have suffered, a connection to what once was.
In the same manner, I have realized that my need to create is a way for
myself to leave a part of my world behind to others when I am gone. When I go there will be something left of me…
however small or insignificant… there
will be something there; my paintings, shelf fungus art, stitchery, quilts,
little pieces of me left behind as small remembrances…
My creations I feel are directly prompted by the loss of my mother, always
longing and wishing there were more small remembrances of her around me… and although I know they will never bring her
back… those few small remembrances are all, all in the world, that are left of
her. And so, I feel I have been driven
to leave a little more behind in my life, than she had a chance to, because I
almost think I’ve known this word… cancer… would come to meet me as well. And now here it is! I know now why I am the way I am, and it
kind of gives me some peace… like I’ve figured out why I tick the way I
do.
I look around at my family, to see if some may be like me, with the
need to create as well. I’ve seen it
come and go in others… a young person with ambitions to draw or paint, but when
they grow up and life gets in the way, the desire goes by the wayside. I think this is very normal and the way most
people are.
I feel a bond with my Uncle Axel, and his need to create, and how it
has never left him all his long life. It
is much stronger for he, than for me. I look back and think of his young life, it’s
parallel to mine, but yet much more tragic in the loss of his mother when Axel
was only 7. From what I understand her
illness was short. There was no time to
prepare and how could a young child prepare for such a thing anyway. I think maybe for Uncle, he is like me,
looking for a way to reach back to what once was, looking for a way to leave a
part of himself behind… missing his mother always… looking for comfort… looking
for approval… a way to connect to the past and leave a part of himself for
others in the future.
My need to create is in essence how I cope with life, the world, and
deal with my losses. But I think a good
part of it stems from the loss of my mother.
She gave this gift to me!
Kay – 11/23/2012
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ONLY ROCK LOVERS WOULD
UNDERSTAND
I picked you up because you were
pretty
You had stripes, or swirls, or
twinkled in the sunlight.
Or maybe the color you sported was
special
Like red or gold in a unique shade or highlight.
You were here before me and all other
people
Through the ages, the storms, the
floods, and the cold,
Through all seasons, the summers, the
winters,
Before anyone walked on this ground
you were old.
I can move you, and hold you, and
wonder how
You were formed, shaped, and molded
into what I see.
And ponder how you came to lie here
where I found you
For this you’ll always remain a
mystery to me.
Because of the fascination of your
formation
And knowing you’ll be here long after
I’m gone,
I hold you in awe and appreciate your
beauty,
Doesn’t matter the fact, that you’re
just a small stone.
