This weekend I went to my studio after a couple weeks of absence. I was staring at my empty canvases, clean work table, not sure what to do.. I've been going to a handful of conferences (and I have a few more to experience this upcoming weeks) . I am surrounded with inspiring, dynamic, and gifted entrepreneurs who fight through blockades everyday. I associate with this.
Listening to a podcast about Sting and creativity, made me think about my experience this past week. Sting spends a lot of time thinking. In this podcast, Sting says the following:
Watching his TED Talk is just as pleasurable (and yes, it's because I'm looking at this beautiful man in his jeans and tshirt, with a small guitar... musician friends probably just slapped their forehead that I don't know what it is.) I saw him live in Minneapolis years ago, and I was fascinated with his cast of beautiful musicians that he worshipped as much as we may worship him. I've always loved his story telling in his songs. The provided me with soundtracks of people I may never know.
In a nutshell, he says, "if you look at your best work, could it be that it was not about you at all?... You stopped telling your story, but someone else's story."
I'm telling someone else's story, with the Sartell Mill Project. The story of my hometown (at least during my most developmental of years of 6th -12th grade) is being told, with the help of amazing artists, Kyle Fokken, Christopher Zlatic, Joshua Fay and Joe Schulte. The story is a delicate one, of family, community, economy and industry. We will only touch on the iceberg of this story's potential. At least right before we install these pieces on their footings and foundations.
The real story will be prompted at that point.
When I went to Sting's concert, roughly in 2000 or so, I had been a fan for years, some of those years because of my siblings record collection, sometimes because I felt inclined to spend my extra cash on his work. Seeing him live, made me leave with a whole new understanding of the creative process. Performance doesn't just happen. Plus to be good, we need to walk away with a new story... one that we knew the lyrics to, but now we got to see the soul behind it.
The audience of the Mill Project is never quite defined, until it is in place. I hope that a grandfather brings his grandchild to the park and tells them about the granite rolls that pushed the water from the pulp. I envision the family reunion in the park structure has its picture in front of this artful bench. I see a group of young kids, like me and Joe once were, locking their bikes to a rack made of the parts of a mill they don't quite remember. I see fog dancing with a piece that light is the surprise to the lucky (with Zlatic's piece.)
Where I come from.
Where I want to be.
And now I'm back.
You welcomed me. -hj 2014
The other day, I went to my studio, placing paint on the canvas with my hand, not sure what to do. I was frustrated, tired, uncertain of my next step. I realized it is because I'm not meant to do that right now. That canvas can wait. I have to tell someone else's story: of the town I so eagerly wanted to leave, as a young person, heading off to college. Now I come back with new eyes, ready to tell the stories of a community that gets a fraction of the credit it deserves. And I'm guilty of not giving that town enough credit.
“[Creativity is] the ability to take a risk. To actually put yourself on the line and risk ridicule, being pilloried, criticized, whatever. But ... you must take that risk.”