Paper Trails and Magically Mundane Moments
Week 7 / Chapter 7: The Artist’s Way
I miss letters! Isn’t it sad that postal letter writing is a thing of the past? I used to love writing letters to friends when I was a kid—replete with stickers galore and little drawings.
And receiving them was even better.
I felt sad for my parents that they didn’t receive any letters covered in stars and stickers. And how their mail found them without “Australia, Earth, Milky Way, Solar System, Universe” in the address I’ll never know!
Then later, letters from friends containing mixtapes and zany stories were postal gold.
I had fun going through a box of paraphernalia to discover ‘Par Avion’ stamped letters, bearing the beautiful handwriting of my grandmothers, plus gig stubs and other random gems from the past, for this week’s pic.
Connecting with Creative Inspiration
Chapter 7 of The Artist’s Way focuses on connection—deepening our relationship with our creative self and with the larger creative energy around us.
Key to the capacity for creative connection is listening—to our inner voice and to the world around us. It’s always chatting to us, but we don’t always hear it because we’re either distracted by everything from the global political circus to the dishes, or shut down by our inner critic.
If mine was as entertaining as Statler and Waldorf from The Muppets, that would be fine, but she’s really quite a boring and unimaginative killjoy.
Down the Muppet Hole
I followed my creative inspiration and went down a Muppet hole. Here’s part of a very entertaining Reddit conversation:
I was talking to someone about The Muppet Show and they asked, “Why do the two old guys always have a balcony, hate the show but go to every one?” I said, “I always thought they were the patrons of the theater, that’s why they could do whatever they wanted and still have balcony seats. You know, like in Phantom of the Opera, the two guys who own the theater?”
They've had season tickets to this theater before The Muppet Show moved in and they'll be damned if some frog and an unfunny bear make them give up those seats.
It’s just their weekly thing. Like a poker night. They love it. Old buddies getting away from the wives, hanging out and amusing one another with their wisecracks.
Wives? They are gay icons.
Milton Berle episode:
Berle: “Now listen, you guys, cut it out! I got a million jokes in the back of my head.”
Statler/Waldorf: “Why don’t they ever reach your mouth?”
Perfectionism
Cameron also discusses how perfectionism can block creativity. In most areas of life I’m more of a shortest-path-to-desired-outcome kind of person. But it’s definitely infiltrated my creative life—the need to get things right and avoid criticism.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do your best, but the problem is that it can kill the creative flow. Cameron advises letting go and embracing the process.
When I started pondering this chapter I had no idea what to write about. In fact, I went into kitchen-cleaning mode to avoid sitting down to write something.
Once I did though, the ideas started to flow, and one thing led to another in the most unique of arrangements.
I love that about creativity—it’s an unpredictable adventure.
Capacity for Delight
Earlier in The Artist’s Way, Cameron refers to long letters from her grandmother that she affectionately called the Flora and Fauna Report.
Inspired by these letters and her grandmother’s stoicism, Cameron writes,
“The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the capacity for delight. The capacity for delight is the gift of paying attention.”
It’s been an uneventful week. No travel. No gigs. Nothing extraordinary. But full of small delights, nonetheless.
So, this week I’ve written you a flora and fauna report:
The Flora and Fauna Report
Dear You
I went to the supermarket to buy a couple of things, and my card declined.
I asked the young checkout guy to try it again. Same outcome. I told him I’d be back in a few minutes with a different card. I started walking out. He called after me. I went back. He pushed the items towards me and said, “They’re paid for, you can take them.”
I was bewildered. “Were you talking to me?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I paid for them.”
“Why?” I asked, still completely puzzled.
“I made a New Year’s resolution to do one good deed a week. So once a week I pay for someone’s groceries,” he said.
“Wow, seriously? I can afford to pay for them. You don’t have to do that,” I blurted.
He continued to insist, so I thanked him and walked out, resolving to pay it forward.
*
Steve and I made the most of the return of the sun with a walk to Summer Falls. It’s a beautiful trail that follows part of the Conondale Great Walk.
Sclerophyll forest descends into subtropical rainforest closer to the creek. After all the rain we’ve copped over the past few weeks, it was moist. And that generally means leeches.
Sure enough, when we stopped for a break and I took my boots off, I found two little blood suckers enjoying my ankle.
We stripped off and enjoyed a dip in the creek, overlooked by the big old rainforest trees, then stood in the sun to dry off. Delightful!
My leech puncture holes continued to stream red thanks to the anticoagulant those clever little vampires pumped into me. It sounds macabre, but I couldn’t help but admire the vivid scarlet liquid as it glistened in the sun. The human body truly is a marvel.
We watched a little leech stretching vertically, like an aerial, on the hunt for a meal signal. We wondered what senses they use to hunt. Smell, heat, vibration? Turns out all of the above.
This little fella picked up our signal and started crawling towards us. I thought I’d make a start on paying it forward by wiping some of my still-streaming blood on a rock for him to feast on.
Apparently even leeches have standards, because he ignored it!
*
I heard a new bird in the backyard. It had the most beautiful call. It stopped me in my rushing around and brought me back to the moment.
I stood on the back garden steps, watching and listening to him singing in the apricot Brugmansia beside the water tank. I think it was a male wooing a couple of females. He was dancing around, flashing his tail, going through his full vocal repertoire. I was his hype girl, cheering him on, telling him how handsome he was and what a beautiful song he was singing.
I tried looking him up in my cherished 1958 edition of What Bird is That—inherited from my beloved grandmother, Dot.
I haven’t identified him yet—maybe a honeyeater.
Yes, I’m definitely becoming a twitcher!
*
I re-siliconed the bathroom and kitchen.
I’ve nailed my technique—my most useful tool is my finger. I did a pretty neat job too. Gazing at those clean white corners is bringing me an insane amount of satisfaction.
*
I watched this short video about artist Joni Scully, who lives in one of the last artist loft communities in New York with her partner, a Colombian jeweller.
The photographer asks her what she thinks about while she’s painting.
“I’m thinking of nothing,” she replies.
And there’s this note on her wall:
“Don’t let anybody or anything, least of all your own thoughts, draw you out of the present.”
Leonie x
I hope you enjoyed the blow-by-blow report of a magically mundane week. I enjoyed appreciating too easily forgotten moments and following the meandering of creative inspiration.
Creativity as a Spiritual Practice
This chapter also explores creativity as a spiritual practice, emphasising its deep connection to a spiritual source. Making time for art—and for inward listening—is framed as an act of devotion, a way to honour that connection.
This was evident in all the little things from this week—old letters and memories, muppet holes, the kindness of strangers and the tiny fangs of the universe reminding me that we’re all connected through time and space. A bird bringing me back to the present, the satisfaction of a DIY job well done, and four simple words from an artist, perfectly capturing the soul of creativity: no thinking, just being.
