Talking about the creative process of an artist is immersing yourself in a labyrinth of colors and hopes, self-criticism and illusions. My way of creating has always been subject to an infinite list of self-proclaimed significant wishes, which has inevitably increased over the years. Beginning with the fact of wanting to talk to asteroids, to gradually discover that my collective imagination required more quality time than I gave it.
The way in which we materialize the imaginary is influenced by our perception of the world. Even the one who feels the mud between his hands will mold a different piece from the one who has been dragged by the sea.
That shows us that the message is clear. Let’s call each inhabitant of our skin, everything that impacts our mental processes, and therefore, our creations. Let’s call for questions, those extra reasons that arise when we want to believe that something is true. Let us call on the children, with their great minds. To the ballet dancers, who turn out to be mourning for the air. To the bells, to run or to pass, to march or to stamp, to those who magnify our hearts through simple conversations. Let’s talk with actions.
I want to tell you what was vital for me, in the journey of understanding towards my creative process. Each of my works of visual art and writings carry with them a question. My first painting, it was just wild sparks of colors, trying to cover a forest. Not out of anger or dispersion, but out of pure confidence. That security, which my parents gave me when they handed over the brushes and oil paints to a girl under 5 years old, trusting that she would know how to use them. Without telling her to copy some drawing from the internet, or that her older brother could help her. Leaving her free, in her own world of fantasy. Suddenly, I felt that that forest was mine, and it was me who was covered in colors, brightness and lights. I learned so much. That we can find a safe space for our art since we are children. Those who are fortunate enough to have one continue to plant oaks, and their self-confidence makes them feel like protagonists of the best stories of the heart.
Years later, I wondered why the world would have so many faulty mirrors, or so many stray bullets. So much identification, so little authenticity, and a sick burst of pretense. I wrote a romance novel that year, giving myself a good excuse to keep going, investigating human behavior in its greatest expression.Because writing gives us reasons to be researchers.And this time my creative process was as follows: I began with field work, defined by conversations, open dialogue, to experience openness and vulnerability.Followed by sessions of reflection, evaluation and observation of reactions (real and fictitious).
Yes, I soaked myself in the most intense feelings and I became much more interested in discovering those people who stopped judging, to start learning.From that intense period in which I felt like a girl inside the Jungle Book, I realized that I needed structure, beginning with those great doubts that had prompted me to write. I had to materialize everything that would gestate the message of my novel. Including my existential doubts, conclusions from my research, and questions still to be resolved (classic, that are appearing in the research itself). I discovered that sowing doubt feeds our creative process, and although it forms the labyrinth, it also paints the meaning behind the act.
Some time later a pandemic arrived, and with it I asked myself, why not live playing? So I became an artist. Confidence, research, now only the last piece of the puzzle was missing. Initiative. What I learned in the verification of my work. Throughout my adolescence I called myself a music in front of the mirror, without having committed myself to understanding the world of sound. Was it already music for writing songs in a notebook and singing covers once a month? Sometimes I thought so, and sometimes I thought no.
The same question that arose in a conversation with an old friend, are we what we do or what we think? When studying sound, I realized that not every facet of a musician’s life should please me, but it was wonderful knowing something else. Keep learning. And do, not to demonstrate, nor to “be”. Just to grow. I realized that the initiative was born from my love to continue learning. Sharing my art made me not only realize its impact, but also gave me a safe space for post-reflection.
Therefore, I learned that even if our creative processes are not standardized material, we can do everything possible to strengthen confidence in the first steps of the labyrinth, sow doubt along the way, grow through initiative, and enrich ourselves as sentient (heart-thinker) human beings through research.
Without pretending that the creative process is a timely recipe for creation, let’s understand that we created that great labyrinth, and its construction depends on your discoveries, because we will always be explorers.
Author: Jimena Yengle
I have dedicated myself to art since I was very young, and my life took a 360 degree turn when I published my first romantic novel. I am currently dedicated to Social Art, giving my time to creative proposals that involve the development of rural and remote communities. I am preparing myself for the publication of my 3rd book and my first original song, which will be released on June 2.