On the Nature of Ideas: A Creative Mindset Reflection

What a little robot taught me about listening to ideas.

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• Ideas have moods, and sometimes they need a minute.

• Trying to force creativity usually makes the little tricksters retreat.

• Listening to an idea can teach you more than wrestling it ever will.

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So, yeah… ideas. Love ’em. I enjoy watching their little ways. I study them for myself, mostly so I can better understand how to work with them and maybe dance the dance a little more gracefully, or at least stumble through the act of creation with slightly more wisdom. That, to me, is part of a creative mindset.

In this studious pursuit, I’ve noticed some interesting things about ideas, and about myself while I’m chasing them. So I’d like to share what I’ve learned about the nature of ideas. And to illustrate one of the most remarkable qualities an impetus can have, and often does, I’ll draw from a recent situation of relevance.

I had just finished my last acrylic painting, The Glaucus Perplexus. I was very happy with the new process and, having recently returned to traditional painting, I was hungry for more. The next image on canvas. I was eager, but appropriately so, not overtly ambitious, because there is a fine line, I’ve found, between those two places. And furthermore, I wasn’t experiencing that feeling I sometimes get after finishing an image, the echo of “now what?” bouncing off the walls of my mind like a one-player game of Pong. You know what I mean? That blank-page feeling. And sometimes it’s an odd dip in emotion, like a sugar crash. Not sure why that happens for me, but it can happen. Probably something to do with dopamine and serotonin. Dunno. I do, however, know that feeling low after finishing whatever can sometimes bring me to a place of destabilization. Me no like.

Well, I wasn’t experiencing any of those imagination-inhibitor goblins. On the contrary, I was powered up, focused, and quite calm about the prospect of beginning again with a new image. So naturally, I reached for trusty No. 2, a sketchbook I started a year ago this month. That trusty sidekick of mine is chock full of oddness randomly arranged, and I love revisiting all those past thoughts delivered through line and shape.

As I pored over all these characters, I found myself remembering what I had been contemplating on various days, the things life brought my way, for better or for worse, and all the feelings that came with those experiences. My life between two covers. Various things were passing through my mind like a gentle train rolling down the tracks toward its destination, somewhere. Then the train pulled into the station suddenly, and its destination, previously unknown, was immediately clear to me.

Veero. Veero the Hero. He’s a cute little robot who came to me, I’d guess, a little over a year ago. He possesses a special part of me: my heart. I’m guessing you’ve seen Veero, because he is The Creative Nomad. There was something remarkable about his first depiction. An innocence. In flipping through those pages that day, I rediscovered an image of Veero striking a very captivating pose, curious, wondering, wanting to know something. That pose locked eyes with me, and I knew that was my next painting. I reveled in thoughts of seeing Veero in acrylic magic, in full color, in all his glory. The understanding of “what am I to paint next?” was momentous.

And Veero’s pose, that curious stance, which I think captures Veero’s nature quite accurately, was definitely the next painting. And just a small one, 5 x 7. This would do quite nicely. Not only am I smitten with Veero, but since he is also the face of my online presence, and since I wanted to update his likeness in various places, well then, perfect. Or so I believed.

I moved fluently through my new process. Scan the sketch, adjust all that needed adjusting, fit the size in print, prep my board, transfer the drawing. Then I sat in front of the image and looked at it. And I sat. And I sat some more.

Truth be told, I parked myself in front of dear little Veero, primed to dig into the painting and excited to begin for many mornings, but an odd thing happened. Something was blocking my way. And this wasn’t an isolated experience either. Something was preventing me from starting that painting. Despite the desire I held, despite the sense of readiness, and yes, oddly, despite my love of Veero and my wish to see him in full color, it wasn’t any of those things that explained why. But I’ll attempt it.

There is a fine line I’ve personally found between this sort of creative barrier and fear-fueled procrastination. I know the latter phenomenon well, a self-induced pit stop. At least it can be, if I’m aware that’s what’s occurring. But the former situation, the one where I’m ready in seemingly all the ways to begin a new image and cannot, that, my friend, is something altogether different. And that is a quality of ideas I’ve come to understand.

Ideas are little tricksters. They can be strong-headed, but that’s just them. They know what they want and need, and as a result, I believe they lead the dance. I need to respect that fact. Sometimes ideas show up seemingly out of nowhere, suddenly, magically. And I’ve known ideas that were amazingly amazing as they were, and likely still are. Well, let us just assume I wasn’t the one to usher them to their glorious final form.

I’ve accepted this too, because just as quickly as they arrive, they vanish off to find their chosen human, the one who can take them to their final destination, their rightful place in their true form. And ideas can have all sorts of qualities, personality traits, or behaviors. They can push back when I attempt to enforce my will upon them, like taking them somewhere they aren’t destined to go. I feel this, and it manifests internally as a strange frustration I can’t quite explain at the moment. I have learned over time that if I don’t recognize this in the moment, if I try to bulldoze the idea instead of dance with it, the idea’s energy will recede and it will essentially take its toys and go home, leaving our sandbox until I calmly return a bit humbled and willing to listen.

And in the case of my little friend here, well, some ideas have other qualities. In Veero’s case, it is shyness. It’s kind of touching, honestly. That is one of Veero’s traits, and it’s a trait I also possess. I think maybe this struck me sooner than it might have with other characters or images, and I might have been ready to engage in the old “force it into existence” routine when the idea was simply not ready for me to do so.

And there was also something mysterious. The reason for the pause, the reason I couldn’t start that painting, why Veero wished me to wait, wasn’t evident. But I respected it. He needed time. Funny thing is, I didn’t really need an explanation from Veero or to know the mystery behind his why. I believe I get it on an ancient-me level. So I didn’t force anything or make any demands on little Veero. You see, when you start paying attention to the subtle ways of ideas in general, you can begin to develop a sensitivity to their needs, not just your own. There is a respect that can be acquired, and as far as I’m concerned, ideas have needs just like we all do.

I’ve come to truly love observing their nuances. Each one is different. Each little impetus carries its own energy, its own mystery, its own personality. They’re all unique, just like we are. They are all special, and as such, so are we. It’s my job to learn about each one that comes my way. And if an idea needs my patience, I’ll offer it. If an idea just visited to say hello, I’ll smile, greet it, and wish it well when it passes by.

Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of ideas that I have found is that each one I spend time with, dancing that dance and following its lead, has added something rather remarkable to my life, both creatively and otherwise. They each have something important to teach me. And now that I think about it, maybe ideas don’t arrive in order for me to turn them into something tangible through my hand alone. That might not be the only reason they show up at my doorstep. Maybe, just maybe, they arrive so they can be a gentle sacred visitor, offering me a different opportunity: to become a better me. A better version of myself with a newly evolved creative mindset and all because they appeared in my life.

And after writing that, I’m certain that’s their greatest quality.

So where’s Veero now, that painting? I haven’t quite started yet. But I think you might be touched to know he’s still beside me on my easel, and me, I’ll wait patiently until he’s ready.

I’m quite sure he’ll give the signal for our dance to begin. And until such time, well, I feel honored that he possesses that place in my life and heart.

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Here are a couple quotes that ring true to that experience with Veero:

• “One of the most sincere forms of respect is actually listening to what another has to say.” Byran H. McGill (American author, motivational speaker, poet, and activist)

• “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.” Leo Tolstoy (Russian author and philosopher)

Veero instilled that in me in a much deeper way than I had previously understood and as a direct result this kind of awareness is a larger part of my creative mindset, and I’m grateful for it!

So that’s what I wanted to share: if you pay attention to the subtle ways of ideas, their behaviors, their traits, their needs, you may find that the act of creating, of working with what you want to do and what they need you to do, becomes more fluid. Easier. Gentler. More respectful. More fulfilling. Because when you give ideas what they need, you often get exactly what you need too. Probably more.

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Thank you for reading, and for giving ideas their due time.