Of thinking creatively
I used to think I was creative. I did all the artsy things that are considered creative, I love to draw, I played the musical instrument, I’d sew things, you know, basically all the things that we consider creative. I was pretty good at these things as well, so I had always gotten a lot of feedback telling me how creative I was.
Then one day, I started attending Schreiner University. Schreiner is a Liberal Arts college and I am really grateful that I didn’t know that until after I started classes. Yes, it is possible to go through all the motions of applying, getting accepted and then getting financial aid without realizing one is applying to a Liberal Arts University. The joy of a liberal arts university comes from the fact that many of the classes are designed to make you think. Right, the way my mind wonders around you would think I think a lot, but it wasn’t critically. My favorite professors are the ones that challenge my beliefs. I love it! And when they are done, I either have a new belief or feel a sense of confirmation that my beliefs were correct all along.
Okay, so what does any of that have to do with creativity you are probably wondering? A lot actually, since this is where I learned what creativity is. I had a class (it was required) called The Creative Experience. You have to love a school that requires classes like the Creative Experience and Critical Thinking. Especially today, when computers and video games inhibit so much creativity. In this class I learned just how creative I wasn’t. Sure, I could draw a picture and play an instrument, but even there I was either copying a picture or playing someone else’s music.
I loved that class. I kind of miss it, but not the intense amount of homework. This class was where I realized how creative I wasn’t. I was following patterns and copying what others have done. Nothing was an original classic “Laura” any more. Then one day in class, my brain started spinning (it does that a lot). This time however was different. My brain wasn’t spinning around dinner and school and work and all the typical things that over occupied my mind for so long; my brain was spinning around ideas.
That was when I realized that I was indeed very creative at one point in my life. I remembered having all these brilliant ideas of how to create new things, build things with the materials at hand, how to design something new. All of that had become suppressed to the point it had become repressed. It took this class for me to dust the cobwebs out of the creative part of my brain and start using it again.
Those nerve ending are still and little stiff and rusty today, but they are going back to work. How do I know you may ask? Barbara Ann’s horsie.
You know how little kids have that one toy, they one that is worn out and falling to pieces, you know the one I’m talking about, the toy that if it were to disappear the world would end. Georgia never really had one, but Barbara Ann does. Barbara couldn’t choose something soft and cuddly like a stuffed animal or something made a little more durable like a Barbie doll. No not my precious Angel, she had to choose a stuffed horse the size of a big dog with a metal frame inside that she could ride.
That poor horse, I’ve repaired her a few times, but nothing had held. I had done the old patch the holes trick. (Yes I know, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I’ve never claimed sanity though). Anyway, back on topic, I looked at this horse with different eyes this time, went to work starting the surgery. I of course was planning to patch her again, but with a little extra flare. As I got into the surgery, that creative section of my brain started moving, shaking off some of the dust I had let settle on it since last semester. Then it started to turn then spin beautifully and smoothly as my repairs started to take on a mind of their own. There are no patches this time, but there are some major repairs. Barbara Ann’s horse is hole free now with the fabric protected from the sharp metal frame that continuously rubbed holes in the poor horsie’s neck.
So what to do now? I believe I am going to e-mail my professor and thank her. It was through her class that I was able to find my inner creative genius, the one that had shrunk away and hid in the face of adversity.
