Creative Genius

    This will be the first entry in a journal for my MA class Explorations in Creativity with Dr. Nisha Gupta. It is designed to document our journey each week: the activity, how it ties in with what we're learning about, our experience of it, etc.

Because it is our first week, there were no readings associated yet. 

    We were asked to write a short, cinematic description of a time when we had experienced a sense of creative genius. - I was immediately concerned: had I ever experienced this? What were moments in which I had been creative and felt really proud of what I had done/made?

    Of the moments that came to mind, they all had one concept in common: I had created a story for my kids. - Not as in we sat down and I told them a story before bed, but as in I created some piece of their imaginary world. 

    I chose to share the story of the tooth faerie, of my 2nd born son's sincere attachment to this character, of the meaningful gifts he received, and (most importantly) the fact that though he is a grown-up now, the moments in this little realm have lived on and he wants to recreate them for his own (theoretical) children. 

    I surprised myself when the different memories of our stories flowed into my brain. Am I creative? My brain wants to substitute creative with artistic, and then it wants to argue with me because I love art, experiencing it, and creating it, but I don't think I'm very good at creating it. (If I'm being honest.) Then the argument sets in: "If you think your art is good, what does that say about you?" But artistic and creative don't have to mean the same thing. I create research pretty regularly. I create meals and schedules and tidy spaces in my home. But it was the stories that got me: I make stories. 

    After we had written down our anecdotes, we began to look for themes within them. We had to figure out what these short stories said about us, about our creative genius, and as I sat with my story, I wrote, "My personal creative genius operates as the ability to create real and lasting magic in a world that often seems to lack it, creating and prolonging a sense of wonder."

    Then, we were asked to create art to go along with what we had written. I noticed the people around me seemed to be making what anyone would deem "real art." Meaning you were meant to look at it and get some feeling, some sense of something. I looked at my own and saw... an illustration. But I told myself that I was talking about storytelling and stories need pictures. Children don't want to see impressionist art; they want pictures. I looked at my dragon, hatching from his egg, and I thought to myself, "No, you're perfect."

    After that, we were supposed to come up with a message from our art. What does a dragon hatchling say? What does the piece say? I stared at it for a long time, honestly feeling a little confounded til from nowhere, the words came and brought tears to my eyes.

"People always need the magic makers. Keep making magic, even for the inner children."

    My kids are pretty much all grown up now, and they don't "need" or even really want me to make magic for them, so it all feels a little bittersweet at the moment. But I think one day, they will want me to make magic again, and their children will hear about all the magic their Grandmother once made. And in terms of entering the field of psychology, we all have that inner kid who craves that magic, who still wants that magic to be real. Maybe I'm not a talented artist or musician, and maybe creating a meal or a clean space is boring, but when push comes to shove, I do have a gift for telling a story and making it real in all the ways that really count.