If you don’t love what you make
You won’t look after it when times are tough
Imagine if you gave birth to your children
And didn’t love them
Didn’t love them like you would die in their place
In a second
Without a thought
Not an inkling of hesitation
Imagine what would happen to them
To be alone
They would be abandoned
Die
Now
Imagine if you loved your creations
With the same passion that you loved your children
And those creations loved you back
With the same devotion
And together you were in this intense
Utterly beautiful relationship
Imagine that
Can you?
Because so many things are made today and discarded
So many things are made for other people
With other people in mind
And then their creators wonder why they begin to hate their art
Abandon it
Abandon themselves
Try it
I never have
But I imagine it would be
Horrible
When I write poetry
Or prose like this
Or take photos of the the things I love
The rusty gate with a plastic rose
The old man’s shoulders
Faced away
Stooped
The wheeling kites
And soaring gum tree
Desert grass
Patterned wood
My loved ones
Things that break my heart
And kiss it better
So many things
The words that carry my emotions to the ether
That tumble and jostle and rhythm and rhyme
And then nothing
But a peaceful sigh
Imagine
If I hated what I created
Instead of loving it as I do
Do you think your creator hates you?
Well
For godsake
Stop worrying what you create
Has anything to do with
Anyone else’s hate
And everything to do with what
you
love
And then just
Go to work
And get it done
**
I’ve got a book coming out in August – it’s not a poetry book, though I love my poetry dearly.
This is another labour of love entirely. It’s called The Figment and it’s about a little being called Stripy. I can’t wait. I have carried this book a long time, I have loved it fussed over it and agonised over letting it go.
I’m on the last tweaks. And I’m glad for all the butchery of chapters, the crumpled up papers. The times that I drifted in doubt wondering if this is any good, am I deluded?
My editor told me I should pitch it to some publishers, he told me it’s great, wonderful, a few other superlatives. It was nice. Other respected folk have also said really lovely things.
But I’ll be self publishing because it’s mine. I want to box it with journals for the kids that read it. I want to package it with other things. I’m an artisan author. I’ve seen what some of them do – and that’s me too.
It won’t be a bestseller because it probably won’t have that sort of exposure. But I want to go to schools and give talks on imagination and I want to place it into the hands of a child with shiny eyes – just once, and all of my work will be nourished. And I’ll make another one.
Another creation, and I’ll love it too.
I was born a mother. My children are my greatest creations but now they have lives of their own, it’s my time to create art.
And I intend to make things just as loved and beautiful as my children.
Big call.
Best get back to it
By the way if this is a topic that inspires you, please read the seminal work of Rick Rubin The Creative Act
Also – sorry but I forgot to mention and it’s very important – this poem was inspired by a discussion with author Steve Hawe and his book My Time of Eagles.
Steve believed passionately in his book and he carried it through droughts and the dissolution of his marriage.
His book did not have a proper launch or a good start in the world because life stepped in and made it incredibly difficult for Steve to properly support it at the critical time just after publishing – yet he persisted and picked it up and is having another go now. I’ll give a full review and share a bit more about Steve down the track, once I’ve had a chance to read this very well loved book. In the meantime you can check it out here
SubStack Journal No. 6 will post on Sunday morning, I’m just polishing off the last few sentances now as I’ll be travelling those long roads home on Sunday. You will find it here
Love
