THE BIRD
Inspiration is like a bird. Sometimes it is in flight, soaring through the air with grace and a sense of
unchained freedom. Other times it is at rest, preening or looking for seeds, but
at any moment it can take off and glide through the air. That is what
inspiration is. It is spontaneous and
freeing. One second you may be starring
at a blank page and the next you are writing with flying colors, heart alight
with the sensation of unbounded creativity.
In my opinion, writing is one of the
highest forms of artistic endeavor, and one of the most difficult to express.
In effective writing, a reader can feel the emotion that the writer has put
into their work. Good writing allows the reader to sail on the same wings as
the writer and allow them to taste the same sweet nectar that is inspiration.
Just like a bird
of the forest, inspiration is not domesticated. You cannot force it to fly. I
have been reminded of this time and time again. I have tried to cage it, to catch
it in my net so that I may use it when I call upon it. However, it cannot be
caged and any time I have tried to catch it, I have ended up flat on my back
with my net on my head. I’ll look up in a tree and there will be inspiration,
ruffling its beautiful feathers and looking down at me mockingly, knowing it is
just out of grasp. Yet other times it will come to me on its own regard,
treating me like an old friend. I forget how frustrated I am and embrace it
with open arms, allowing it to flow through me and lift me into a world of imagination
and possibility.
Learning
to deal with this never-ending chase is every artist’s struggle. At times I feel as though inspiration has
left me forever then one day it will coast in unexpectedly. It will always show
itself in the form of painting, jewelry making, or drawing but rarely writing. As
an artist, the inspiration to write has been my biggest struggle of all. For long
periods of time, I have avoided any form of writing in fear that inspiration
will elude me and leave my work lacking. Finally, when I had the courage to
once again wield the written word, my mind would freeze. I would sit in front
of the computer screen for days, my fingers itching to dance across the keys
like a flame across a log. Fervently, I would ask myself, “Where is that
infernal bird?!” Then one day I took a deep breath. I told myself to let it go,
to release my tension and just write. I started to write whatever came to mind
and then it happened. Slowly an idea started to form. Patiently I waited. Just
out of reach I could see my bird, my inspiration. Gently, I extended my hand out
to touch its feathered head and it came. In a rush of clarity my hands hit the
keyboard and ideas started to pour onto the screen.
In the end my inspiration had come.
It may have been a struggle at first, but when I finally realized that all you
need is a little endurance and patience, it all fit together like pieces to a
puzzle. Perched on my shoulder, together my bird and I finished the last
cascade of words. I sat back, looked at my work, and smiled.
