One of the essential elements of creativity — one of the things that makes art “art,” — is that it begins out of nothingness. When we create, we echo and reflect God’s creation of the world out of the darkness and void. All things are creatio ex nihilo; they come into being from nothing, and that’s what makes the creative process a sacred one.
That’s not to say that we break new artistic ground each time we face an empty canvas, an empty page or screen or sit with our hands perched above the clay, the keys, the strings, the fabric. As in so many aspects of life, we stand on the shoulders of the giants who came before us. We write out of everything we have ever read. Compose because of what we have heard. Paint and sculpt and sew and assemble because we have walked through museums and experienced the works of others’ hands. Still, however humble, our own work begins from a moment of nothingness.
In talking and corresponding with writers, they will often say that they don’t have anything to give the world that hasn’t already been given thousands of times and by writers far more talented than themselves. And they are right, of course. If I worried about the originality of my ideas every time I wrote a blog post or a reflection in Living Faith, I would never write at all. Indeed, in the world of literature and art, so much attention is often paid to the idea of originality that would-be artists can become disheartened. Each time a sanctimonious critic decries the work of someone as “derivative,” someone lays down their pen, their brush, their journal of ideas and mutters, “what’s the point?” (As if that critic has anything new to say!)
For in this rarified air of the world of high art, such an approach to art criticism leaves many with seemingly nothing to do. But for people of faith who create because something deep beckons them to do so, the call is not to originality above all else. Rather, it is a response to a moment of inspiration out of silence — nothingness — that might serve to direct others’ attention to the Creator.
The subject of the art needn’t be religious in the typical sense of the word, of course. A simple still life watercolor of an apple — its reds and yellows and greens summoning up our senses to “taste and see the goodness of the Lord” has the ability to draw us near something sacred, if we allow it to do so, if we put ourselves in a place of openness to God and God’s creative, Holy Spirit.
The canvas or paper may begin blank and the light-bulb moment of creation is perhaps ours to savor and celebrate, but only when we realize that our moment of creation out of nothingness come out of our everything. For in that moment of silence is God, and in God is all that we need.
Ask yourself in silence: What can I create today? What image grabs me and demands incarnation?
Dear Steve,
Wishing you and your loved ones A Blessed Christmas and a Happy 2015!
Indeed when Anthony Hew first encouraged me to contribute an article/poem to your blog more than a year ago, my initial and immediate response was that i had nothing solid to write about, that my writing would not be at par with your other writers and a host of other excuses.
Thankfully he had faith in me and would not take ‘no’ for an answer.
That night, as I sat in front of the computer in the still of the night, an empty screen
stared back at me, my mind completely devoid of ideas.
In the silent darkness, illuminated only by the glare of the screen, I felt a trickle of an idea starting to creep in and the seed of recollection began to grow, of that wondrous night up on a hillock in New Zealand when I had gazed upon a dark cloudless night awash with God’s little lanterns of stars. Oh, how I had felt His Presence so strongly amidst the marvel of His creation. Sitting there in my room, I was transported back to that spiritual moment on that hillock and my fingers raced over the keyboard, ideas, words bursting, overflowing, truly a God inspired moment.
In fact it had never entered my mind to put that experience into writing but for the opportunity provided by your blog at that point in time and the faith of a good friend.
I was glad I was able to share that beautiful moment, even fleetingly, with your readers.
With warmest regards,
Lily Lee
Thank you, Lily, for your note and for sharing your beautiful story with us a year ago! Merry Christmas to you, too!
In the process of writing a blog post about “Silence” I find this today! How many times have our ideas been on the “same page,” Steve? And I ask myself what it is or where it is that God is directing me.
Like Lily, I will be forever grateful to you for the opportunity to have offered my writing to your viewers that day over a year ago, but more importantly for the validation and encouragement you have faithfully offered me since. Your words helped to make me recognize the value of listening to my spirit and the pull from God that is there. Thank you, my friend, for always taking the time, in all your busy-ness to encourage my endeavors – to add credence and value to my work. It has meant a great deal to me. So often I am asked where I get the words from, and my reply is always the same. “I don’t know.” Yet I do. They are not from “me.” “They are a gift from God.” It seems when we offer all we are to Him. He provides! Not always when and how we may be used to,or at the moment we expected, but always in His way and time.
Merry Christmas, good friend, with my wish for all God’s choicest blessings for you and your beautiful family. Thanks for everything, Steve.
Always, Kathleen
May I echo what Lily and Kathleen have said. Many thanks Steve