It’s a glorious summer’s day and yet here I am, stuck indoors, grappling with future creative possibilities and getting precisely nowhere. I’m on the hunt for a coherent programme of work with the space to carry forward the full breadth of my interests and experience, but I can’t get all the weirdly shaped pieces to fit.
My thoughts are a tangled mess and self doubt is beginning to nibble at my innards. It’s definitely time to get out of the house and into my running shoes.
I head out, hauling myself unenthusiastically uphill, willing the rolling Calderdale landscape to work its soothing magic. Gradually, the heady mix of warm air, birdsong and fabulous views begins to settle my jangling nerves and unknot my brain. I pause here and there to snack on blackberries, take photographs and breath in the sunshine.
On the loop back towards Mytholmroyd, I pass a group of cattle. I stop to take a quick photo and don’t give the moment much thought as I wind my way down the grassy path towards home.
It’s only when I’m back in front of a computer screen that the cattle image begins to grab my attention. One of the group is looking directly at me and something in the quality of its expression piques my curiosity. I zoom in.
Suddenly this creature is peering into the very depths of my soul.
It’s waiting for answers. Do I have answers? I don’t even know what the question is.
Trapped in the unflinching stare of my powerful bovine inquisitor, an unpleasant sense of being seen and found wanting begins to form in the pit of my stomach. I stay with the discomfort and begin to jot down everything I’m noticing.
As I write, I realise I’ve set some creative wheels in motion. I shuffle ideas around until my words find form on the page.
Summoned, I stand alone
At the Bovine Court of Reckoning.
Litigant in person,
Underprepared.
No yellow tag,
No herd mark, no six digits
To validate my identity
And authorise my right to roam.
Just a sweaty, Lycra-clad,
Blackberry-munching stranger,
Perilously unclassified,
Finding the courage
To hold your gaze
And hold my ground.
I make a cup of tea and take stock of this unexpected turn of events.
I’ve allowed myself to follow my curiosity and harnessed its momentum to kick start my creativity. I’ve played with themes of vulnerability, legitimacy and unconditional self-acceptance; so apparently my impromptu writing flurry has helped me diagnose and let go of my earlier struggles. I’ve emerged with renewed clarity and determination to move forward and, most strikingly, I’ve given myself permission to proceed.
Reflecting on the process, I can recognise the moment my perspective shifted. Still riddled with uncertainty, I had initially written ‘Longing for the courage’ but the more I wrote and rewrote the more I became dissatisfied with abandoning myself to that predicament. Choosing ‘Finding the courage’ marked a key decision in favour of my own agency and resourcefulness.
I’m fascinated by how much I’ve gained through paying attention to my curiosity, allowing it to take the lead for a while, making a concrete creative output and reflecting on my experience.
What will happen when I do this again? Today it was all about writing, but next time I could turn my hand to something completely different. Music, maybe. Ooh, or a video. Or a facilitation method! My thoughts float off for a happy gambol through all the delicious multidisciplinary possibilities. Everything lines up and begins to resonate in perfect harmony with my broader interests and experience.
At this point I realise I’ve landed my new trajectory. The Art of Being Curious has elbowed itself into being, so I’d better get cracking.
