Many times I have wondered if I’m actually creative. If I actually belong in the art school and if I actually am able to come up with ideas that are unusual and different and haven’t been done before. I worry and I worry and then I finally am able to e myself by thinking about what it would be like if creativity did not run through my mind.
I would no longer see a blank piece of paper as a new opportunity; something to conquer with a pencil in my hand.
I would no longer stare at buildings and think to myself what I would change to make them more beautiful.
I would no longer look at paintings that I love with a slight tinge of envy, wondering how I can implement the artist’s techniques in my new work.
I would no longer look at the patterns of interesting shadows, the way they cross and intersect, and long to grab a pencil and recreate their movements.
I would no longer be interested in my mom’s favorite beach game- creating a made-up story for the lives of each person that we walk past.
I would no longer feel the urge to redecorate my room on a daily basis; the only reason that my room is not forever changing is simply because of lack of time in the day.
My body, my brain, my heart would no longer ache for more, always imagining the things that could be.
I would no longer be me.