In the work and task-driven life I have chosen, it’s been so easy to forget the importance of creativity and self-expression, so it was great having my creatively determined sister come down recently and spend the long weekend with me, with the express purpose of going to the Margaret River Readers’ and Writers’ Festival. I have been to this event a few times, but in the past couple of years had always found something more important to do, like mowing the lawn, getting wood, cleaning the house, cooking for the week ahead; in short, doing things that probably won’t feel very important on my deathbed, instead of taking some precious time to be inspired and refreshed.
We went to a poetry session, and listened to Dennis Haskell reading heart-wrenching poems he had written as his wife was dying from ovarian cancer. It was such a moving session, with the poet and much of the audience in tears throughout as Dennis read and spoke about his experiences.
I left the session so uplifted, and in such a different frame of mind, that it really got me thinking about those people who seek the creative path, whatever the cost. I had recently watched the movie “Still Alice”, which dealt with the tragedy of a woman diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease at 50 years of age. She had three children: a son who was a doctor, a daughter who was a lawyer and a younger daughter who was a struggling actress. Before her illness, Alice had spent a lot of time fretting about this daughter’s lack of a “real job”, but as Alice’s memory deteriorated, it was the flaky daughter who was able to communicate most directly and fruitfully with her, really “meeting her where she was.” As a person who has spent the majority of my adult life endorsing, pursuing and attaining mainstream, conservative achievements, I was similarly bewildered by my son’s refusal to become a fine upstanding teacher; instead choosing to pursue a degree in art and illustration.
This is the sort of choice I would never dream of making, but that poetry session really made me reflect on what we lose when we spend no time at all on creativity. It worries me that we are sending children to school younger and younger, reducing the time spent on imaginative play and pushing 5 year olds into formal learning in the name of productivity.
In the spirit of creativity, I would like to share one of my poems that I wrote many years ago, and had completely forgotten about until I went to that writer’s session- I hope you enjoy it
Last Year at Home
Big brown eyes
Stands at the door
Looking out from safety
At his world.
Days stretch on and on
When will it all end for him?
And the world begin
To take away his open face
Open eyes
Open mouth
Flying limbs?
Gay Taylor 