inspired/uninspired
A parallel universe and many Simones
Putting creativity out there can result in the question “what inspires you? where do you find inspiration?” Reflecting on this beautiful, big question I can only come up with one answer: everything and nothing. But that would be too vague of an answer. Too predictable. Everything is too big, too much. Everything ultimately turns into nothing. Yet it is the answer to my inspiration.
As a way of exercise, I put it into practice. Right where I am, on my sofa, can I find inspiration? I stare at my white ceiling. My six meters high ceiling of the gym hall of an old school building. It’s white because someone once painted it white. Off white, tainted by time and dust. But if that someone might have decided to paint it in a different color it wouldn’t be white. It might as well be blue. Blue, blue, blue. Like the sky. Or the bluest of blues, like the blue painting at Centre Pompidou in Paris. The Yves Klein which I saw years ago with my then six year old son. Me, mesmerized, because… blue!!! Him simply stating: yeah mom, it’s very blue. Oh the realness of a child! How can they be so bluntly real yet so magically immersed in fantasy?! That’s inspiration right there.
Back to blue. Back to black. That’s a song. Amy Winehouse, 27 years old. Amy, Janis, Jim… Young people, lost. Music… more inspiration right there.
Music.
Blue.
The Blues.
My blues.
Little girl blue.
Nina Simone. Me and Simone. Turns out I got inspired by many Simones. Nina Simone, Simone de Beauvoir, Simone Weil. Simone, my short term childhood friend with whom I sped down the hilly village roads on a skateboard. Simone, my wild teenage friend who dyed her hair green and with whom I shared a canoe and a tent. Simone, the word which reminds me of Mimosa. Sweet smelling flower in the best shade of yellow and favorite flower of my soulmate. A woman who’s everything I am not yet we are so very much alike and who inspires me in so many ways. Women in my life. Who inspire me to speak up, to be brave, to create, to sing and dance, to feel, to embrace, to fight, to burn with passion and tred with ease and gentle calm. The witches, the artists, the healers, the mothers, the daughters. All of us.
What inspires me? The possibility that everything has the potential to inspire. Everything can be so deeply
in-haled
in-ternalized
in-spired
It’s the ability to be fully, deeply immersed that has the power to turn everything into inspiration. I am deeply moved by life and death and everything in between. Inspiration is messy. Inspiration comes and goes. Inspiration is wild. Inspiration is not what I expect it to be. Inspiration is everywhere and everything. Which in itself can become so overwhelming, it becomes nothing. My inspiration rarely turns into something tangible, a product. I live with inspiration all the time. Which isn’t always easy in a world that prioritizes efficiency over time; productivity over dreaming.
I juggle motherhood, work, caretaking, home making, social agendas, the news, past, present and future. And the friction that comes from this juggling act is at times all consuming and exhausting. There’s little inspiration in fatigue. So for me to be able to live inspired and to be inspired, I need time. Time to be. Time to stare at my white, tainted ceiling. Time to take that trip to Paris with my child. Time to listen to the Blues. Time to read the words of women and converse with friends. Time to dance. Time to stand still and smell the mimosas. Time to wonder and feel. Small, tiny moments to pause and look up. And see that inspiration is in every grain of dust.
Welcome to my parallel universe.
xx Julia
