CREATIVE DRIVE

The newsletter for dreamers, wanderers and other productive people

NUMBER 59

The most essential question is . . . . Well, let's find out.

EACH OF US has heard of the five W's and H. They, of course, are the bones of every journalistic endeavor. Moreover, they give structure to writing in general as well as to other creative efforts. How, though, could the five W's and H–meaning who, what, where, when, why and how–have anything to do with music, dance, illustration, painting, sculpting, voice acting or theater? Why would we bother with the skeleton of a paragraph when we simply want to start a painting and finish it within a reasonable amount of time?

What was that? Did you just say "time"? That's quite a coincidence because time, you see, is the big question. If time exists, we can measure it only in human terms. If time is the essence of existence or of God, we will never be certain of it. We have no accurate conception of time looking forward, and we're only slightly better in the perception of time that has passed. We measure past time as history, slowly descending a heavy rope ladder into the chasm of civilization. Even if we reach a point at which there is no light from above, we believe we can see. Fundamentally, that belief reflects our need for security. If we can feel safe in our view of what has gone before us, we can more easily convince ourselves that the near future bodes well.

What We Ask Is What We Want

The question of time is of and about history in the terms we customarily use. It's about the political, cultural, evolutionary, geological and astronomical concepts we've developed. None of them can be portrayed outside the fragile frame of human existence because everything is illustrated on the canvas of our personal understanding. So, what is the word we use to portray time? Can you guess?

It's "when," of course. We say, "When I was a child," or we ask, "When did spoken language develop?" What is our purpose with the former? It's to begin a story. What's our purpose with the latter? It's to gain a clearer perception of years and millennia.

I was ten or so years old when, after dinner one summer evening, my father said, "Imagine this. It has been only about sixty billion seconds since the birth of Christ. That's slightly more than sixteen billion hours or 694,000 days. World War Two ended just 8,800 days ago. We live every day on our terms, but we have no idea of how time really moves." They were marvelous facts to me, but one could spend a lifetime in search of their most profound meaning.

That is the point of today's lesson. There is nothing we can understand unless we interpret it through the macroscopic lens we call personal experience. For any question we ask, we want to know "when."

Understand, Then Proceed

We can use our innate mode of questioning in a way that's practical and productive. It can make our creative process lightning-quick and, in the process, reveal more of our potential. Of course, potential is prospective. It's of and about the future, but as individuals we uphold potential as a reality. That's okay, though, because potential is a tool for every present effort.

The question of when has personal significance, which we'll explore now. Are you ready? I know you are.

Imagine a time. What is it, meaning, "When is it?" The time has a numerical date, such as 2300 B.C or 2099 A.D. The time thus imagined might be more specific, such as September 2, 1984. In any case, with that time we have something: a place. We need the place because without it the time is only a number. If we mention "Medieval Europe," we also want to know "where" in Europe. Is it Norway, France or Macedonia?

The time we imagine thus becomes a place. If the imagined time is tomorrow or next week, it will be tomorrow in the city or next week on a windswept shore. A time past will be the Western Plains just after the Civil War or maybe a village within the domain of a Wallachian warlord circa 1460. Nevertheless, it's immaterial without a presence. You are that presence because neither time nor place will be perceived through eyes other than your own.

There Is Always a Result

The equation develops, and now it involves the "when," the "where" and the "who." Logically, the what is your purpose in remembering, telling or doing. It might be the simplest factor in our equation because an action is so immediate as to be instantaneous. A prolonged action is a process, which again is understood through our perception of time.

Even the most basic action–for example, a child throws a ball that shatters an upstairs window–can be extrapolated for miles, years and decades. It can then involve the child, his family, a neighboring family, a faction and a movement. The conditions and circumstances that surround that action become the words and statements, the colors, the movements in a dance, the implements of the gods and the timeline of the story you tell.

Why will you tell a particular story? Why will you depict a message in graphical or coloristic terms, or why will you veil it as you would a dangerous secret? Why should everyone on Earth experience the story as you tell it, or why should only the ones you trust most of all have the privilege of sharing?

Sharing Is the Highest Action

The struggle to reach and fulfill one's potential is the fight to win a place in the world; to be secure among billions of people who are doing the same. That's the "why" of what we do as creative people.

If we seek to entertain, we need to please or to soothe. If we want to enlighten, we want to expand the map of our awareness and mark our place on it. If we're compelled to question, we realize the profound humility of what it is to be one person with one mind and heart. Every action in our creative life will be taken in order to surrender that mind and heart to the collective spirit of humankind.

THANK YOU for reading this issue of Creative Drive. I'll see you next time.

Copyright ©2024 by Lawrence Payne. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, machine-learned or distributed without permission from the author.