Eyes Open, Mouth Moving

Berin says that I wake up talking. I suppose that when I was single I didn’t notice this as much, or maybe at all, because there was no one there to squint at me and say “What? I just…wait a minute…still not awake…you talking…what?” from under the blankets. Once I am awake, I’m thinking and if I’m thinking, I’m talking. I can see how this can be difficult for Berin. He takes longer to fully wake up than I do. It’s usually after his first cup of coffee that he’s completely awake and able to carry on conversations that require more than a grunted one word answer. I wake up mid conversation and treat him as someone who is privy to whatever the hell is going on in my head; this is rarely, if ever the case.

I’ve actually given quite a lot of thought to the way in which I think over the years. I don’t think I’m particularly special in the way that I think. I tend to have several subroutines running at any given point. Things I need to do, tasks that I am required to complete, ideas that I’m actively playing with and others I’m purposefully ignoring, all set to musical accompaniment. As I type right now, I have the Shins song “Red Rabbits” playing in my head. The soundtrack changes around a little here and there, it’s mostly Shins right now, because that is what I’m listening to. My consciousness drifts through all the subroutines, and when I’m working on one specific task, the others take a back seat for a while, but never go away. I’m also a chronic note taker, so if a thought or idea breaks the surface concerning a project I’m not actively working on, I write down notes or directives so that I can address it at a later time.

The biggest problem I run into to getting what Berin calls axel-wrapped, i.e., overthinking things to the point of being harmful rather than beneficial to myself. As I’ve gotten older, I don’t do this as much as I used to, but it still happens. Berin can spot me headed down this road and can usually redirect me, or help me to redirect myself. Today, I’ve gotten myself all axel-wrapped over the question ‘Am I a real artist?‘ I have Mihaly Csikszentmilahyi (cheek-sent-me-high) to thank for placing this thought in my head.

I’ve been researching creativity as part of my doctoral proposal. Csikszentmilahyi has some interesting things to say on the subject, but I had dismissed using his ideas because I viewed them as very commercial/business oriented, and having less to do with how children utilise and demonstrate their own personal creativity than Lowenfeld. The thing that I was ignoring is that adult educators could be interpreting the artistic creativity of children through the lenses that Csikszentmilahyi’s Systems Model of Creativity creates, whether they are aware of it or not, which would, in my own thinking relate back directly to what Viktor Lowenfeld discourages adults from doing when looking at the artwork of children: critiquing it terms that are meant for an adult.

I have to draw pictures like this to help me organise my thoughts. I feel like I can better see all of the moving parts of a particular concept or theory when I do so.

Along with reading and researching for my doctoral proposal, I’ve been creating my own artwork and investigating my own creative processes and thinking. I’ve gotten very hung up on why I choose to create dolls. In my previous post, I stated that I do it because I like it, it makes me happy, so I will continue doing it. I am the audience, etc., etc. and so forth. What I have realised after taking Csikszentmilahyi’s Systems Model of Creativity apart and then gluing it back together with a Chronosphere overlay (borrowed from Bronfenbrenners’ Human Ecological Theory of Human Development), that I was stuck on the concept of a Gatekeeper within the Field (of Art, with a capital A) as they related to my creation of dolls. As with most things relating to me, I had to stop, look over my baggage, select the correct piece and then open it up in the middle of the street so that all passers by could get a good look at my mental and emotional underpants as I rooted through them.

The society and culture in which I grew to adulthood regard dolls as toys, objects that are meant for children. Dolls are grown out of and placed to the side when other, more adult things take precedence, like paying bills, drinking alcohol and shopping for life and car insurance. Art (with a capital A) is found in museums and proper galleries and fancy hotels and wealthy private residences. Art is painting with oil or acrylic, or sculptures made of stone or metal. Art is meant to behind protective glass, mounted on a wall, looked at, revered but never touched. Art is old and precious. People with degrees in Art choose what Art goes in these places. They are the Gatekeepers.

So at this point, in my mind (my current id driven, underpants flinging state of mind) I came to the conclusion that my dolls were not Art, they were art, original, yes and certainly unique, but not by Csikszentmilahyi’s specific definitions of creative or novel in any fashion. What I have to remember is that Csikszentmilahyi has created one possible definition of creativity, and it is by no means the only definition of creativity.

I remember my father telling me that part of his job as a Marine Corps Drill Instructor was to effectively ‘tear men down and then help to build them back up again‘. I feel as though this is what I am doing with my own personal creative process and my own beliefs about my own creativity and the artwork I create. It’s a little unnerving and scarier than I thought, but as with all change, it’s going to kind of suck for a while before it gets better.

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