Creative Spark

My den/music room seems to be in a chronic state of chaos.   Sometimes I actually nearly get it picked up and organized.  Usually, though, I have old floral projects sitting on top of horizontal surfaces waiting to be dismantled.  I have one pile that consists of “treasures” from garage sales.  Another pile sits on my sofa waiting to be sorted before I bring the stuff to the Goodwill Store.

A few days ago I leaned back in my chair and pondered the piles.  I wondered when I was going to just take everything out of the house with the result of an empty living space, save the minimum required amount of furniture.  I figured, later…much later. 

Then a small bunch of novelty flower faces caught my eye.  I bought them last month at a garage sale because they triggered a laugh.

So, I picked up the bunch and removed the old rubber band holding it together.  I cleaned off the dust with a damp sponge.  I remembered an old flower pot sitting on the floor of my den.  I prepared the pot with mechanicals and moss.  Then the intuitive act of placing the flower faces into the mechanicals took place.  In a few minutes it was done.

I didn’t stop there.  I found more materials at random and assembled them into five more arrangements.  It seemed uncanny that the flowers and containers almost fell into just the perfect order.  I’ll feature a few more on this week’s Floral Friday installment.

The creative moment is one that I love.  It gives the sensation that time both stands still and expands into infinity at once.  I think athletes feel this at peak performance.  Certainly musicians ride this wave of time.  Scientists have noticed it.  Albert Einstein had commented on it as well.  Artists, cooks, people who enjoy crafts and many others find this mental space and use it.

It’s a tricky state of mind.  If you deliberately try to invoke it, you get a sort of counterfeit “zone”.  But if you just involve yourself in the activity, the Zenlike state of mind just happens on its own. 

I’ve found that certain styles of music can enhance this state of mind.  There are some days when all I want is to turn up the stereo while playing mechanically oriented electronica or heavy trance tracks or something with a backbeat.  (modern disco)  Other days the only thing that will do is etherial, space music.  Rarely, 18th Century chamber music triggers the mood.  But always, the music is instrumental.

About four or five years ago, I purchased a series of CDs by Dr. Jeffrey Thompson.  They’re specially engineered space music tracks that incorporate “inaudible sound pulses” that allegedly synch the brain.  I’m a bit skeptical about anything that claims to affect the mind by using infra or ultra sonic techniques.  However, I do love space music. 

Dr. Thompson’s is some of the best and most addictive I’ve heard. I use his discs as background to meditation sessions.  Then I’ll often place the player into auto-repeat and let a CD play over and over for a few hours.  I’ve played his discs countless times and never tire of them.  If you love space music and mellow electronica, you may enjoy these, too.  The point is, when any of the discs are playing, I seem to find that Zenlike creative space and expand it much easier.

Sometimes, just a dark, early morning will get my juices going.  That often is the case on Sunday mornings.  I’ll just naturally awaken shortly before 4:00.  A simple breakfast with coffee before meditation sets the tone.  I sit a longer formal session.  There is no pressure and no schedule at that time of day.  It doesn’t matter whether or not I play some space music at that time. 

The creative spark happens automatically.  The expansive frame of mind comes about.  My day begins to unfold.

Ciao

The Blue Jay of Happiness notes that the den/music room is still in disarray.  Maybe today it gets cleaned up?

About swabby429

An eclectic guy who likes to observe the world around him and comment about those observations.
This entry was posted in Floral Arts, Hobbies, Hometown, Meanderings and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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