The creativity creature…

Saturday night. Home alone. Lamb casserole and a good Merlot. Listening to the radio after a nice warm bath. Sitting in the kitchen. Window closed. The rain outside and a chill in the air. The steam rising from the drain across the way. Bath time for them too.

Doodling this, writing that, popping in and out of Facebook, starting this, finishing that, and blogging.

The rubbish and artefacts mounting up all around, strewn across the kitchen worktops. Detritus of another evening of pens and paint and glass and my silly solitary silliness.

Elvis and his blue suede shoes, comedy and tragedy, hearts and pictures of a younger me, red wine and coffee, coffee and red wine.

Another glass I think. Another cup.

I can’t tear myself away once I start. One thought leading to another. One idea breathing life into another and another and another. A domino effect. Hours just passing. All sense of time lost. Enclosed within a space that is only just bigger than my body. Focussed on somewhere deep inside my head outside of my head.

There’s no stopping it once it gets this far. No turning back. I can feel the fever growing and then it is on and out and anything can happen. Things appear on paper and card, objects are coloured, words are trapped and lined up in an oddly order. That thing has me again dashing all hope of an early night.

It feels good to be this free and trapped. Not knowing what will be there when I come down in the morning. Almost automatic creation. Almost as if I have no hand in it. Loving each mark as it appears in front of me dropped from my hand but not my hand at all. Overrun and abandoned.

What a buzz.