In the advertising world, I was not seen as a creative person. Creativity there is a technical competency. You could be artist or designer, certified in drawing, colour, image or type composition. Or a copy-writer finding the right words and phrases or lyrics to tap into the cultural sub-conscious. At the top of the heap, the creative director who alone might be allowed to think "outside of the box." My toolbox was that of the "jack of all trades, master of none."
My sister is the artist. How we admired her work with famous fashion houses, the diligence and commitment with which she pursued her career - to be "discovered" and apprenticed by big name Europeans. All of that foretold by her drawing since she could hold a pencil - comic strip storyboards, costumes for carnival bands, fashion collections, and the patience and pizzazz in accessorising her own wardrobe. After a lifetime of making haute couture for a distinguished house, she has turned away from fabric and clothing. The garment industry is over-priced and excessive! She has taught herself the craft of glass-bead making, designs and makes beads, earrings, necklaces and bracelets. Take them, she says, and add layers to personal statements of style. That's an artist.
In the meantime, I see myself a bit like the jack spaniard, or a bachac. I string words together - vegetation chewed with spit - adding to the nest. A process that - with so many others - builds a fragile and precarious architecture. That meaning emerges in the process is amazing. It's not like I have a planned - or any - idea of the whole story until the words start appearing on the screen. And even then - line by line, paragraph after paragraph, it's hunt and peck, delete and re-word - until what I didn't even know I wanted to say, comes out. It always feels like hack work.
This blog is working to see if there might be something wild (native, subconscious) waiting to appear.
An excuse to show off my artist sister's creations!