Truth. Beauty. Perfection.
Intellectually we know that these are just words on a
page. Letters in space to which we assign meaning. But
there's a separate reality. The human reality. The
subjective world where each of these magically
conjures in the reader something beyond the dictionary
definitions. And while it's possible that there may be
similarities in the cerebral chimeras for two different
readers, they are different. And that's what
this is about.
The experience in-between. The nebulous, mystical
world of imagination and inspiration. The thing at the
beginning of the creative process which sets it in
motion and makes it possible.
The need to create is fundamental to the human
creature. Whether the form it takes involves abstracts
in oil on canvas, complex calculations on a tax form,
the genesis of life, or engineering the ideal bedpan,
we have tried to harness this elusive and dynamic
force for eons. Each of us wants to express the
singularity of his or her existence somehow.
But what is inspiration. The word's origin is
essentially "the divine breath". Every artist in the
world seeks and translates it in a personal fashion.
Many people overlook its importance in day to day
living. But it's there. It must be.
Why do two people fall in love? How are seemingly
impossible negotiations resolved? What is it that
provides the final push or missing clarity of vision
to finish that nightmarish project?
I've come at this piece several times and the best
way to approach it seems to be in analyzing my own
creative process. It is in the end what I know best.
The world we live in is a subjective one and that is
most true for the artist.
I work in a few different media and my end processes
are very different, one to another. When I write
poetry it's not like writing fiction. Playing bass as
a performer is not the same as composing music. But
it's the impetus we're looking at here. The alpha,
long before the omega. Inspiration. And inspiration is
singular.
I know people who produce their work solely on the
strength of the craft. Their artistic vocabulary is
vast enough that they have that luxury. I'm not that
good. To give my art dynamic character, I need that
divine breath. I need inspiration to make what I do
real. I don't think that I'm a bad technician in any
of my chosen fields, but technique alone, in my case,
produces cold and lifeless things.
So what is it? Where does it come from? Can I induce
it? Are any times better than any others? Is there a
secret? Can it be understood?
I don't know.
I know there are times I'm more open to it than
others. I know how it feels when I'm inspired. I know
that when it's in full bloom that it can be like an
out-of-body experience. But I don't know what it is,
where it comes from, how to bring it on, if there's a
secret, or how to understand it.
And I like that. The mystery and unpredictability
are what give it its character.
I'm currently working on material for a new demo. I
play for a couple of hours every day, doing my finger
exercises, running scales, practicing arpeggios, and
going over the things I've already written. Sometimes
I'm inspired in new ways, sometimes I'm not.
A few weeks ago I took a day off to get some
perspective and give my body a break, to let my mind's
whirring go nowhere for a change. I put an
instructional video -- a bass technique thing -- into
the VCR, but I made sure to watch without having my
instrument with me. A few things stuck out, but
nothing I felt compelled to work on immediately. Later
that night I made a point of pulling my girlfriend
away from her chores for a moment, pulling her into
the studio and dancing to some soft music since it had
been a while for us.
And it hit me. A new song. Whole. The rhythm of us
moving together coupled with something that I'd seen
in the video did it. And our dance took on a new
dimension. Every step and swing added a turn in the
piece, every pause when we would look into one
another's eyes and smile or swoon added to the melodic
motif. I tried steps I'd never dared. Some worked and
some only led to bruised feet and laughter, but we
twirled and swayed until she had to finish what she'd
started elsewhere in the house and I had to get my
ideas from my brain into my fingers.
I have been pulled from a deep and solid sleep to
write. Once I fell into a reverie at a railroad
crossing and that rhythm, the sound of the wheels and
the rocking cars, stayed with me for days, until I was
on stage and in the middle of a solo when it came out.
A cluster of words or a combination of sounds may
stick with me and play through my head in different
ways until they've worked themselves into something
new. There is no predicting it.
Certainly as often as it's produced something, it's
eluded me. There have been times when a great seed
fails to grow. I can think of things I've been trying
to use for decades unsuccessfully. But I keep the
faith.
There is nothing like being on stage, before a crowd,
and playing things extemporaneously that never would
have occurred at any other time and which weave
themselves into shapes and textures which are almost
magical. I have written for hours and hours in a fugue
state which is closest in my experience to a fever
dream, where the flow of ideas is an unstoppable
torrent and I am so overwhelmed by the experience I
can only watch it unfold before and about me.
Haven't you ever experienced a kiss so powerful that
for an instant you would swear you were somewhere
else, somewhere better? Well, what if -- for that
instant -- you were? Take the tone of that place and
let it wash over you. What would you see if when you
opened your eyes you were there? What colors would
surround you? What kind of architecture or wilderness
would you take in? Maybe the language of this place
would be so apart from your usual reality that you
would have to work to translate it for days and years.
Maybe you and the one you were kissing would be the
only humans.
And maybe you could fly.
That's inspiration. Just moments of flight. The late
Douglas Adams described flight as the knack of falling
without hitting the ground. That's as good a
definition of inspiration as any. We have an uncanny
ability to see into other worlds, to enjoy these
fantastic flights, to see things in our everyday lives
that are unique for each of us. All we have to do is
relax. Wait for the kiss. The divine breath. The fall
where you miss the ground. Then translate that
experience, that other world, so that we can know something about it too.
