There are times when I get the urge to write or draw, so I begin to look for something to read.
Or something to look at.
This urge comes to me not because I have something to say or an image I want to make.
It’s because I want to have the pleasure that I know comes when I write or draw.
And I know I have to be in conversation with other ideas or other images to generate that pleasure.
The conversation begins with listening or seeing, and then my part in the dialogue is what I make in return.
So my words or my drawings are my replies.
No conversation. No reply. No pleasure in the making.
Just silence. And darkness.
Creativity is nothing special, of course.
But it has requirements.
Like breathing in light.