Creativity and cursing

January 30th

“Longhorn said that everyone who needs it receives both a meal and a bed for the night at the Queen Bee’s house, but on certain days of the month everyone must bring her at least one happy memory in payment. That is the rent she demands, and there is no haggling.”
Leena Krohn — Tainaron

I am not really that creative when it comes to cursing — fuck, shit, fucking shit, that is basically my entire range. Similar to invectives — asshole or cunt or dickhead is all I can manage. And yesterday I found myself repeating those curses after reading that short fragment above. I put the book down, cursed underneath my breath some more, re-read it again and started cursing again.

That happens to me when something takes over my emotional state that I cannot muster any words or even thoughts. It could be a phrase, a sentence, a paragraph I read in a book. It could be a song or more likely a fragment of a song — a particular melody or harmony or tempo change. Could be a painting or any work of art that for a moment takes my composure and sanity away. I guess that is my primeval reaction to beauty that brings out the curses. And jealousy as well. Jealousy at the creative power of others.

Human creativity astounds me time after time. We have a finite number of letters and words and the ways we can put them together. There is a limit of sounds and notes in music that people can play and hear. There is a maximum of colors and shapes that can be presented visually. And yet, there are constantly new ways for me to see a work of art or music or literature and to stare at it with my mouth agape, quietly cursing.

And with a quote above — there is something more in there than just those written words. Something was left unsaid. Is getting a necessity, a room and board, in exchange for a memory a good deal? Is someone providing that is really a benevolent person? If someone feeds on happy memories of others, what is left then for them? A barely animalistic existence only? That sounds extremely predatory and not compassionate at all.

In recent weeks, I had two other experiences like this one above. First was after listening to a song — “White Dress” by Lana Del Rey. Again, in the sheer beauty of this song, what struck and gripped me the most was that what was left unsaid. That, what was left only to imagination and personal interpretation. The second was after seeing several paintings by Pieter de Hooch showing domestic scenes in XVII century Holland. Again, here the most important for me was, what was hidden underneath the beautiful and blissful facade and left only to imagination.

I think I can see a pattern here. I cannot put it in words quite right yet. But at least I have some idea. And I hope to have more opportunities to curse while reading or seeing or listening.

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“for they knew what sort of noise it was; they recognize, by now, the footsteps of the Furies”. Enjoying life on the road to recovery. Observing and writing.

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footsteps of the Furies

footsteps of the Furies

“for they knew what sort of noise it was; they recognize, by now, the footsteps of the Furies”. Enjoying life on the road to recovery. Observing and writing.

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