Skip to main content

ARTICLE - BEING CREATIVE - by JRQC

WRITING, PAINTING AND GUITAR PLAYING

by JRQC



Once in a while I get asked why I write or paint or why I sometimes play the guitar. I am afraid there is no concrete answer or perhaps? How about yourself?

There is something amazing that we as humans have: a talent. Even though some people might refute this notion by stating they are irremediably with no talent which I personally believe and regard as totally nonsense (no offense intended). Let me explain my point of view.

As a kid, I remember my classmates being able to sing, play football, make cookies, draw and even have excellently molded handwriting. I remember admiring these qualities they had without realizing mine. I confess that I was jealous at times since I also wanted to be as good as they were. Certainly I was  not aware of my own good abilities back then: learning languages, skating and having a great imagination when playing with my toys.

Being talented does simply not refer to knowing how to paint or know how to sculpt. There is an intricate relationship with our personality, the way we carry ourselves in this life and how we impress the world around and that is connected deeply with that inner force and passion called talent. 

I believe we are all talented in our own and unique way and that talent could range from being great at house management to being a rocket scientist and as far as I have realized, that talent within us requires a degree of effort and exploitation on our part. Of course, some gifted individuals flourish with an innate capability to excel with very little to no effort at something that for most of us would take years of practice in order to get a decent level of performance -  no shame of course.  


That talent that we all possess, as I said, needs to be kept and nurtured as if it was a beautiful plant. We need to firstly encourage ourselves at being better every single time we exploit that talent. It would not be sufficient to desire to take up a hobby, we need to take action upon it. Otherwise, it would be just an idea, just a word that we spurt out. 

Being passionate about doing something is the starting point. Who else is to primarily encourage us but ourselves? If that intention of pushing oneself to move forward does not exist, then we are wasting our time. Life is short my friend, and we need to take action in becoming better from any point of view.

So whenever I am asked why I write or paint or whatever caprice I endeavor, I would generally reply by saying that I just simply love what I do. I adore being creative and curious about me as a person and the world around me, that whenever I feel like it or have time, I write, I paint and I play the guitar. I am not the best at it, but I do my best. I cannot be arms-crossed and see my life pass by desiring                                                           this or that and not do anything about it. 

Have a look within yourself. What do you see? What do you want to do that you have been putting off over and over again? Take the plunge and go for it, be creative, be beautiful, rectify your ways and move forward. Enjoy this wonderful gift called life.


 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

LA CHICA DEL CALLEJÓN - Descripcion de personaje de ficcion - de jrqc

Ese día el sol brillaba como siempre, bañandola en su resplendor, tornando el color de su piel en tonos de miel y nuez. Su juventud perfumaba la calle y los ojos de los espectadores no la perdían de vista. Ella era simplemente la frescura de la primavera y el calor del verano combinadas casi perfectamente en las carnes y la figura de su cuerpo.  Sus senos firmes dejaban entrever las aureolas de la juventud, mientras sus piernas daban paso a ese menear característico de su coqueteo, al que daba rienda suelta así como su castaña y ondulada cabellera. Su mente anidaba la sed de ver el mundo, de ir más allá de embriagarse del placer que éste le pudiera ofrecer y sin escatimar en ambiciones y sueños ella simplemente se dejaba ir. Era la carencia de estas vivencias y posesiones que la presionaban a sumirse y ser esclava de ambiciones que a veces eran malsanas y mezquinas, pero a ella eso no le importaba. Deseaba agarrar al mundo y hacerle su esclavo, deseaba ser complacida y en su parecer er

SACRED SERENADE - by jrqc - poetic prose

(watercolor by jrqc) I hear the in the distance the summoning chant, the striking of the drum, powerful and mighty, I sense your warmth, as if the flame of your passion licked my flesh, as if the sweat of the temple of your body once more bathed me, your voice in unison to the priests, protected by trees standing tall, and the golden fire of old. I see you crowned, I see your majestic beauty draped in white, shield and sword in hand, I see the depths of your eyes and I let you come into the corners of my heart and mind, and I know you will stay, and dwell, and linger, nothing more but feasts, battle and victory for us both. The chants filtered in waves through the branches and twigs,  that even they shake in marvel, the wind soft and whimless, caress the goldens of your hair, your mouth smirks in pleasure, I kiss you, and I merged with you in one flesh, and a spring of love and flowers burst within us, and to the forest we belong, and to the stars we sing, and to the moon we howl, and

THAT EVENING - by jrqc

You once said that we are entangled to death since the moment we are born, that we are chained to this earthly prison and that there is nothing we can possibly do about it, that all joy sinks countless times and that lovers will always mourn their dead love swallowed by neverending grief. It seems somehow that sadness in all its complexity lingers within, it extends it branches all over without distinction, with no regrets for who the victim is. Some branches seem to be so rooted that it makes the heart break, it makes it bleed tears to the point that you can barely function. Yes, I do still remember that evening when you said that and I noticed your face sinking, your spirit broken. However, you wouldn't divulge the reason of your torment. Your beautiful darkened eyes were bloodshot and you observed me, intently, your eyebrows would frown at times and your stare would grow deeper as if trying to snatch my soul. You stood close to me, I could feel your cold breath, I could feel you