Running, Creativity, and Rabid Kangaroos

One of my passions, you might even say obsessions, is trail running. Where I live, there is a network of trails stretching for endless miles all over the mountains. It has been my goal for the past several years to run every inch of them.

I think this illustrates why I'm so obsessed pretty well.

There’s three types of runs that I do. Type one is just getting out and running a convenient trail I’ve already done before. Around here, that’s the Bonneville Shoreline Trail. This trail is fantastic the first fifty or so times you do it. It means you’re on an easily-accessed, well-established trail where you can get a quick exercise fix and enjoy the beautiful mountains…along with everyone else in Ogden. Not only do I dislike the crowds, I also can’t stand to run the same trail over and over. I don’t know if I have some kind of runner’s ADD or what, but, if I had my way, I would never run the same trail twice. Being outside in these beautiful mountains, moving as fast as I can through difficult terrain, and pushing my body to do things I didn’t know it could do is pretty cool, but it’s the exploration that I find invigorating. If I were to just keep running the same trails, I would quickly lose motivation to get out at all.

My son on a run up Lewis Peak with me.

That brings me to the second type of run: This is a run where I have a goal in mind, I know I want to get from point A to point B, but there’s some mystery in the middle, an element of the unknown. I might have already done parts of the run, but if even just a small section is new, I’m practically shaking with the excitement of exploration. Have you ever seen someone at the trailhead just getting out of their car to take their dog for a walk and the dog is drooling and shaking and just freaking out with anticipation? I’m that dog (only not quite as furry). There’s something about the sense of mystery, the creativity and problem solving it so often requires, that engages my mind and body in the most satisfying way.

The best run I’ve ever done like this was Gannett Peak in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. I did it with my regular partner in crime, Gary. We started at the Green River Lakes, followed a perfect rolling trail for ten miles, and then cut cross-country (read: bushwhacking, boulder hopping, dodging man-eating spiders, glacier crossing, snow field climbing, and scrambling) to reach the summit of Gannett Peak and then ran back. It was a long and difficult 16 hour “run” with a few sections of genuine suffering, but I loved it.

There's a video of our Gannett Peak run here:

The third type of run is pure exploration. In a type three run you head out on new trails or off trail with no real goal in mind and no idea where you’re going. I call it “looking for trouble”. You just say to yourself, “Huh, that looks fun, let’s see where it goes.” No destination, no real time limit or particular mileage in mind, just wandering aimlessly through the mountains. You might think, because of what I said about my love for exploration, that this is the best kind of run. Wrong. They’re almost always lame. There’s no sense of purpose without a goal in mind. You constantly have this nagging feeling that you’re “lost” even if you’re not. You’re always wondering if there was a better way you could have gone. I have had a few successful runs like this, but they are rare and pale in comparison to something like the Gannett Peak run. Type three runs are not without worth, however. Often, I use the trails I discover on a run like this to come back later and turn it into an excellent “type two” run.

My good friend Gary finding some trouble on one of our more creative "runs".

I’ve found that my creative projects are very much like my trail runs. I do creative projects all the time that are like that first kind of run on that well-used trail. I play it safe, take the easy way, work in the same medium, draw the same subject, write in the same genre, mimic what others have done before me, just keep doing the same old thing. Sure, this might keep me from getting too awfully rusty, but I quickly lose motivation because the end result is always unoriginal and uninspiring.

I also often go to the opposite extreme, like the third kind of trail run, with no idea what exactly I’m trying to accomplish. I just start the brush moving across the canvas with no plan whatsoever beyond just wanting to see what happens. Or I start writing a story without knowing what it’s going to be about or where it’s going. Every once in a while, these turn into something interesting, but not too often. Usually they just fizzle out. However, just like the type three run, these experiments are not totally without worth. I often use this technique to get some ideas and then use them in other works where I have a specific goal in mind.

It’s a little like someone dropping you off in the middle of a vast empty plane (the salt flats here in Utah, for instance) and saying, “You can do whatever you want! There’s no limits!” You might be amazed by the openness, at first. You’d probably run around a little, taking it all in. Then you’d slowly get bored, maybe try to walk home, run out of water, collapse, and die. Just like our creative works do when we have too much freedom.

The Bonneville Salt Flats: One of the most beautiful (and boring) places I've ever been.
Photo from the Natural History Museum of Utah.

Now imagine someone takes you to a giant warehouse filled with a maze of playground equipment, power tools, and rabid kangaroos. They say, “You have to get from this side of the warehouse to the other, if you want to live. Good luck.” Then they lock the door behind you. Now we have something interesting! And I’ll bet you’d get real creative real fast.

Though it may at first seem paradoxical, our odds of successfully engaging our creativity are increased when we impose limitations and set a goal. There’s something about the absolute freedom of saying, “I want to get from point A to…well, um…I don’t know exactly,” that puts our creativity and motivation to sleep. Instead we need to say, “I want to get from point A to point B, and avoid getting eaten by a pack of rabid kangaroos while I’m at it,” that causes our creativity to rev up like a chainsaw as we struggle to overcome obstacles.

Make Some Light

I came across this inspiring line while reading
  "The Tale of Despereaux"  by Kate DiCamillo yet again.
Illustration by Timothy Basil Ering.

A One Act Play Featuring Carter the Goldfish-Flamingo

Carter wandered through the creative desert searching for inspiration

not realizing it was there all along: He just had to look up.

I’m slowly learning how inspiration comes: Through hard work! I always try to write with the help of the Spirit, and it usually goes something like this:

Me: Lord, please help me to write well!

Spirit: Okay.

[Long wait while I’m typing…or sometimes not typing because I’m busy calculating how many times the cursor on my screen blinks per minute (turns out it’s a simple once-per-second, so 60 blinks in a minute in case you were wondering).]

Me: Uhhh…weren’t you going to help?

Spirit: Yes.

[Long wait while I’m typing…or sometimes not typing because I’m doodling a flamingo-goldfish creature named Carter and it takes a really long time to fill in all that black sky with a Sharpie, you know.]

Me: Any time now would be good.

Spirit: You haven’t been paying attention.

Me: I haven’t? Oh! Oh, yeah! Look at that. You’ve been helping me all along. So that’s great, but can you still help?

Spirit: Sure, just get back to work.

[Long wait while I’m typing…or sometimes not typing because I’m staring at that weird smudge on the wall and pondering what it could be without actually getting up and walking over to find out (turns out it was a squished mosquito that someone smashed but never bothered to wipe off the wall in case you were wondering. I finally checked when I had to get up and go to the bathroom).]

Me: I’ve been working forever! Aren’t you going to help?

Spirit: You’re not paying attention again.

Me: I’m not? Oh! Oh, yeah! Look at that. You’ve been helping me all along. So that’s great, but can you still help?

This continues ad infinitum.

Emporium of Literary Marvals

I had a sleepless night and spent it goofing off in my journal. I randomly chose quotes from some of my favorite authors and then doodled around them. Looking at it now, I wish I would have added some color but...I was really tired.

Goofing off in my journal.

Stand Ye in Holy [and Creative] Places, and be Not Moved

I have a little flock of eight Speckled Sussex chickens. They are a friendly breed of chicken that will follow you around and try to sneak in the house if you’re not careful. They love to roam the yard (and occasionally the neighbor’s yard, too) pecking and scratching and just being chickens. Recently, my son came and told me he was concerned one of the chickens was sick. It quit leaving the chicken coop and refused to get out of a nesting box unless physically removed. Of course, the box it didn’t want to leave was always the one full of eggs. The chicken wasn’t sick, it was trying to incubate its eggs. It was broody and its nesting instinct had kicked in. In was doing what so many mothers, animal and human alike, do when they’re expecting: preparing a home for upcoming newborns.

One of my Speckled Sussex chickens.

Wikipedia says the nesting instinct in humans “…is commonly characterized by a strong urge to clean and organize one's home and is one reason why couples who are expecting a baby often reorganize, arrange, and clean the house and surroundings.” My nesting instinct has definitely kicked in. I’ve just finished converting the spare room in my house into my “office”. I bought a secondhand desk, hung pictures, alphabetized my books, washed the window for what I’m pretty sure was the first time in 11 years, vacuumed, dusted, and more. Why? Because I’m pregnant. I have ideas in me incubating and growing and demanding to be born and, like any good parent, I want to provide the best possible place for that to happen to insure their health and safety.

My "nest".

This office is my refuge from the world where I can study and create without much (I do have a family, after all) interruption. Joseph Campbell, the mythology scholar, said, “[A sacred place] is an absolute necessity for anybody today. You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day…This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something eventually will happen.”

Most accomplished writers and artists tell us how important it is to have a place and some time set aside to really focus on our work. A studio or an office is ideal, but a quiet corner of the library, a park bench, or a nook in your laundry room will all do in a pinch. We think of this designated space as creative places. Places for us to do creative work. But what’s interesting about Campbell's quote is that he called this a “sacred place”. So this isn’t just an office I’m writing this in right now? This is a sacred place? A holy place? Absolutely.

Webster’s dictionary defines sacred as “dedicated or set apart for the service or worship of a deity; devoted exclusively to one service or use; worthy of religious veneration: holy; entitled to reverence and respect.”

Part of the definition makes sense for the writer and artist right away: Namely, that the space should be “dedicated exclusively to one…use.” When you go into your office or studio or whatever space you’ve managed to come up with, you’re there to work. You have all the supplies you need, and the space is arranged in a way that’s conducive to creating. That’s just common sense. The last part of the definition is also logical after we think about it for a moment: This should be a place that is “entitled to reverence and respect.” This one is especially important for those of us that have a family or roommates. They need to understand how important this space is to us. Do you let your 11 year old kick a soccer ball near your newborn baby? Do you let your teenager crank his electric guitar in the nursery while the newborn baby is sleeping? No. You protect this space. The same is true for protecting our places set aside for nurturing our newborn or even unborn ideas.

It’s the other parts of the definition of sacred that get really interesting. Webster’s says that sacred means “dedicated or set apart for the service or worship of a deity” and that this place should be “worthy of religious veneration”. Does this mean that our office or studio should be a place set aside for us to worship God? Yes. I’ve mentioned in earlier posts that I believe that all positive, enlightening, and uplifting inspiration for our creative works comes from God (whether we know it or not).

This is a turbulent, confusing, and downright scary world to raise a child in. It is just as treacherous for our creative and spiritual growth. We must find refuges for ourselves if we are to thrive. The scriptures give us sound advice on where to find refuge. In Matthew 24:15 we are told to “…stand in the holy place” and in Doctrine and Covenants 87:8 it says “Wherefore, stand ye in holy places, and be not moved…” Usually these holy places are thought to be temples and churches. These are spiritual places where we can meditate, pray, and be strengthened. But we’re not going to go in there and open up our laptop to work on our latest project. So we need creative places to do that. Thankfully, our homes, offices, and studios can be made into holy places as well if we fill them with holy things, thoughts, and deeds.

There is a painting called “Woman Holding a Balance” by Dutch Baroque artist Johannes Vermeer. I think this painting illustrates the “sacred place” perfectly:

“Woman Holding a Balance” -Johannes Vermeer. An example of a "sacred place".

In it, you have a woman, who appears to be pregnant, standing at a table holding a balance in her hand. Her expression is serene, peaceful. In the background, hanging on the wall, is a picture of Christ during the last judgement. Before her is a mirror. On the table are pearls and gold. This is an artist and/or writer who is pregnant with ideas and striving to make a sacred place for those ideas to come into fruition. She has her work space laid out, devoted to her purposes. There is a sense of quiet reverence and respect. She has the mirror before her as a symbol of the constant introspection needed to keep your mind and spirit clear. The painting of Christ on the wall indicates that she is “standing in a holy place”. A place of prayer and meditation dedicated to the worship of God. She holds up the scales trying to very carefully and deliberately find a balance between the creative place and the holy place so that this can be a sacred place. Through the window comes the subtle, gentle light of the Holy Spirit, of inspiration, illuminating her thoughts. The rewards of her efforts are the precious pearls and gold on the table symbolic of the valuable creative work produced with the right state of mind in such a fertile environment.

Now, just to be clear, I’m not suggesting for a second that Vermeer intended any of this. Certainly not. I’m only using this painting to illustrate my points. However, that being said, virtually all of Vermeer’s paintings were done in just two of the rooms of his own home. This painting was no exception. So, in fact, Vermeer really was painting a picture of his own sacred place. I think that anyone who studies it can feel that even if they don’t agree with my highly subjective analysis.

As Vermeer’s painting shows, the best work happens when the creative places and the holy places overlap. This is the perfect environment for ideas to grow and flourish in. Where we have surrounded ourselves with creative necessities and influences and where we have given the Holy Spirit a place to dwell and work within us. Then we get this beautiful, fertile mix of the holy and the creative and these places can become the kind of “sacred place” that I believe Joseph Campbell was talking about. A place where we can “follow our bliss” as Campbell put it and “…doors will open where you didn’t know there were going to be doors.”

Wondering at Weasels

I used to work at Brighton Ski Resort in Utah. I spent a little bit of my time actually working and a whole lot of it snowboarding. For several months I enjoyed my time in the mountains. One day, late in the season, I was riding up the lift with my friend, Danny. He said, "I love those weird little weasel things that are always in the trees around here."

"What weasel things?"

"You know, those white weasels or ermines or whatever they are. Look, there's one right there." He pointed to a passing pine tree.

I saw nothing. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Seriously? You don't see it? It's looking right at us."

"I don't see anything. Where?"

"Well, it's too late now." We had passed the tree by this point. He seemed impatient that I couldn't see what was clearly obvious to him. "I'll show you the next time we ride up."

We got off the lift and snowboarded down the mountain. On the next ride up, Danny was watchful and ready. About halfway up the mountain, he said, "There's one. Eye level. On that little branch just left of the trunk of the tree. Do you see it?"

And I did! A little white weasel was perched on a tree branch watching us go by. It was quite possibly the cutest thing I had ever seen. If you don't believe me, just look at this photo of one from "Fur and Feathers 500":

Long-Tailed Weasel photographed by Brian at "Fur and Feathers 500"

It turns out, they're called a long-tailed weasel, and they're quite common. I hadn't noticed a single one the entire time I had been working at Brighton (or in all the prior years I'd been going there), but from that day on, I saw them everywhere. It was such a strange experience to realize that this amazing creature had been in plain sight all along, and I had never noticed it. I needed my friend, Danny, to see it for me and then patiently point it out when I was too blind to see it for myself.

In my last post, "Creating Spaces", I stated that the highest goal of the writer and artist is to create spaces in the minds of readers/viewers where they can meditate on the most important and sacred things. Just like the long-tailed weasels up at Brighton, these sacred and important things are often hiding in plain sight, but "...[our] ears are dull of hearing, and [our] eyes have [we] closed" (Acts 28:27). We sometimes need someone to lend us their eyes, so we can see and their ears so we can hear.

In Bishop Gérald Caussé's April 2015 L.D.S. conference talk, he said, "There are so many wonders in this world. However, sometimes when we have them constantly before our eyes, we take them for granted. We look, but we don’t really see; we hear, but we don’t really listen." He points out that "Our ability to marvel is fragile" and that we can easily become "insensitive to even the most remarkable signs and miracles..."

The poet William Meredith said, "The worst that can be said of a man is that he did not pay attention.” So how do we start paying attention to the miracles all around us? How do we reawaken our higher senses so that we don't lose our ability to marvel?  How do we open our eyes and ears so we can use our talents to help others to see and hear? Well, musician Brandon Heath might be able to offer some insight with his song "Give Me Your Eyes". Listen to it and watch the video on YouTube here. Some of the lyrics are below:

"Give Me Your Eyes" by Brandon Heath

Looked down from a broken sky

Traced out by the city lights

My world from a mile high

Best seat in the house tonight

Touched down on the cold black top

Hold on for the sudden stop

Breathe in the familiar shock

Of confusion

And chaos

All those people goin' somewhere

Why have I never cared?

Give me Your eyes for just one second

Give me Your eyes so I can see

Everything that I keep missing

Give me Your love for humanity

Give me Your arms for the broken-hearted

The ones that are far beyond my reach

Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten

Give me Your eyes so I can see

Step out on a busy street

See a girl and our eyes meet

Does her best to smile at me

To hide what's underneath

There's a man just to her right

Black suit and a bright red tie

Too ashamed to tell his wife

He's out of work, he's buyin' time

All those people goin' somewhere

Why have I never cared?

[Chorus]

I've been there a million times

A couple of million eyes

Just move and pass me by

I swear I never thought that I was wrong

Well I want a second glance

So give me a second chance

To see the way You've seen the people all along

[Chorus]

Both Bishop Gérald Caussé and Brandon Heath are telling us that we need the help of the Holy Spirit if we hope to stay sensitive to the beauty, truth, and miracles hiding in plain sight all around. In his talk, Bishop Gérald Caussé went on to say, "When we have the Spirit with us, our spiritual senses are sharpened and our memory is kindled so we cannot forget the miracles and signs we have witnessed."

There are beautiful little long-tailed weasels all around us (figuratively speaking, of course, unless your reading this on your phone while riding the lift up the mountain at Brighton). We only need ask the Lord to help us to see them and then actively go out looking. Only then will we have something worth creating in our art and writing.

Creating Spaces

Hemingway wrote in his essay The Art of the Short Story that "You could omit anything if you knew that you omitted and the omitted part would strengthen the story and make people feel something more than they understood." He called this the "iceberg theory" or the "theory of omission". Hemingway very intentionally left out what was often the most important part of the story leaving it up to the reader to fill the empty niche. The effect on the reader is sometimes a sense of the surreal, mystical, or mysterious or sometimes a sense of longing or, for lack of better words, a kind of aching hunger.

Christopher Terry, an art professor at Utah State University, illustrates this concept perfectly in his painting "Interior with a Niche". When I first stumbled onto this painting, it made me crazy because I couldn't explain why I liked it so much. It has everything that I generally dislike in a painting: realism, symmetrical composition, and mundane subject matter. Why then did it haunt me? Certainly the quality of the light is alluring (it makes me sigh and grow pleasantly sleepy every time I look at it). But that wasn't enough to explain why I couldn't stop thinking about it. Finally, I realized it was that darn niche. Everything in the painting draws the eye to the niche. It's at the center of the composition, the lines in the ceiling all point right at it, and it's directly above the table almost as if the table were only there to support it. Then, after Terry does all that work to draw your eye to the niche, he leaves it empty! I love it! If there were anything at all in the niche, I wouldn't have given this painting a second glance, but by leaving it empty, Terry creates tension in the mind of the viewer. Maybe we even ask ourselves, what would I put in that niche? What belongs there? Terry, like Hemingway, seems to have very intentionally left out the most important part to make us "feel something more than we understand". There are quiet, peaceful places in the interiors of our minds, "clean, well-lighted places", that feel remarkably like this. Do we have anything important there to meditate on?

"Interior with a Niche" by Christopher Terry

It makes me think of Mary shortly after the birth of Jesus. Imagine her in a quiet moment, finally alone in the stable with her sleeping baby. A few dust motes float in the crisp morning light angling in through the door. In the distance can be heard the commotion of waking patrons in the inn, the clop of hooves in the street, a vendor calling out to passing travelers, but, despite these sounds, for Mary, the moment is quiet. Luke writes, "But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart." Mary had a peaceful niche in the interior of her mind where she could meditate on the most important thing of all: our Savior.

"Mary's Heart" by Liz Lemon Swindle

The highest goal of the writer and artist is to create spaces like these in the minds of our readers/viewers. Places where they can meditate on the most important and sacred things. These things are so often what's right in front of people, but "...their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes have they closed" (Acts 28:27). This is the most beautiful service a writer or artist can do: lend them our eyes so they can see and our ears so they can hear!