I use to explore ideas and investigate thought-trails that would wind me through uncharted briar patches, making discoveries that would tangle with my creative energies and drag me through to the next bramble of possibilities. During these reveries, I was most creative, building a foundation of ideas and concepts, themes and motifs that would serve me well in my endeavors. When I look back on these projects and films that evolved during this time period, I can still say they are satisfyingly complete. I invested the time needed to thoroughly resolve these projects, allowing them to grow over time reaching a full creative maturity. I took for granted, as most youngish artist do, this finite moment of creativity. I had no thought of any other way it could be. I was fixed on the work at hand, and never had any real concern that things might change, or what would happen if I let this unacknowledged luxury slip away from me.
For a long time I've thought this period of creativity was special, but as age continues to track me down, I realize that this time was no different than any other. It was simply the conscious and unconscious choices I made which were different. I still had a myriad of other obligations drawing my attention away from being creative, but the choices I made provided the right environment to artistically flourish. Like grasping for the words which have leapt from the lips of a most urgent person before they can no longer be heard, I'm now desperately trying to create a new moment for some much needed creative growth.
At first, I thought I simply wasn't capable of returning to this lost creative reverie anymore, but I couldn’t accept such an opaque view. I knew there had to be some way to slip back in. I considered that it was simply a stubborn unwillingness, caused by an embrace of responsibilities to family and career. These certainly seemed to be respectable excuses. Both family and career are in truth not good excuses. They are blessings, blessings which I should be more thankful for. Instead, I let reasonable excuses and some poor ones, become the self-legitimized barrier to returning to an important and fulfilling way of working. I know I am not unique in this situation.
For a number of years my creative process, while still enjoyable, has been first and foremost reactionary. Reactionary, because I didn't put enough faith into what I knew I was capable of. Reactionary, because I let health issues, job issues and all the stuff related to being an adult, get in the way. Reactionary, because I didn't or couldn't allow myself the time to fully get tangled in the process, and most reactionary because I allowed others to tell me how I should be creative, what their expectations were of my creative research vs what I wanted to focus on, and how I should be doing it.
This project began a deep dive back into the thicket where I could focus on exploring my creative process in a more meaningful way. It's hopefully a return to something more complex, reasoned and researched. It’s just beginning and will succeed if I am able to give myself permission to do what needs to be done, slow down and get lost.
In grad school I read Gaston Bachelard's Poetics of Space. This book articulated many things that dwelled in me but I had not yet found the words for. Bachelard wrote about houses, and rooms, basements and attics, armoires, and chests, and even seashells, all containers of experience and memory, This was key to understanding Soulmaker retrospectively after I finished it, and became a foundation for my thesis film, Reveries from Cistae memoria.
I'm still building boxers, containers and rooms to explore.. This new project draws heavily on our relationship to space and how our psychology changes when our space doesn't. It deals with imposed limitations and faulty communication, fear, anxiety and maybe some small amount of hope. Right now we are sharing these things on a universal scale. We are all tethered by a collective articulation of ill.
And yet, smallness, holdable items of importance, cherished memories locked away for safe keeping help keep us, or maybe just me, grounded. I love miniatures and scale models, not so much the muscle cars you use to find at the hobby store, but those miniatures used in sculptural art and filmmaking, terrariums that reduce all of nature into a desktop contemplation and cabinets of curiosity defining or imposing meaning onto the mysterious. I find the illusion of scale, the containment of the large within the small interesting ideas to explore. A long time ago I was lucky enough to be hired for some freelance working creating architectural models and briefly worked at an architectural firm for a short period right out of school, and I still occasionally teach scale miniature building in my SPFX class. It is always good to take a break from the screens and instead take the time to understand through touch.
So here are a few quick pics of a mockup to get a sense of scale of the set I'm building. A home's basement might not be the ideal location for building a set, but I can't deny there is something quite intriguing about building a space within a space to explore the disparity of inside and outside and tell a story about our interconnected relationships within this space we all are part of.