... ICYMUM?
WHO
An embodied spiritual being, I believe, living and sharing a human experience amongst other embodied beings is a who universally applied. To traverse the creative-scape is to delve into volatile space—my every resolve is but a summation of innumerable vacillations still at play.
My intentionalities are mostly good. I have no wish to be understood.
WHAT
The nucleus of what, for me, is a percolating overlap of what and why. As best as I can recall, these renderings are but a language of my own, not of a singular (internal) state, but derivative of the full constellation of creative affectivity, from which a charting of processes, propensities and other profiles is probable.
HOW
Where does inspiration to create begin? Perhaps, like the makings of a story, inspiration has no absolute beginning nor determinable end. Inspiration orients the self onto its spectrum; at a certain point, it subjugates a body to act or to be acted upon. The how is my body subjugated to the act of release.
For me, release is convergence: an assemblage of varied affectivity, palpable and imperceptible, submerges the self in expression. It is Sarah Vaughan's vibrato, for example, wrapped around my vulnerabilities, my impressionable fingertips. Charcoal pencil caresses paper. I begin to feel my way. I am wading through a wave of intensities.
WHY
The why is life-sustaining. What is the absence of the creative outlet if not a form of death?
The why is lifelong teleological probing of the persistently salient interrogative: Why am I?
The why is putting something new(er) into the universe that, before then, didn't exist in that thing's exactitude. I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge that this adding of something often comes with its own set adverse effects to the physical environment, to epistemology. My truths, being subjective, must be subjugated to intense scrutiny.