Is there anything more beautiful than a blank page?
All great masterpieces have started with a blank page or canvas. Just meditate on that thought for a moment. It’s a pretty phenomenal, scary, and intensely exciting prospect, isn’t it? With a blank page, there are so many possibilities and perhaps that’s why, at this time of year, I always become completely elated when I think about the blank calendar I have for the next year. What will I fill it with? What kind of story will fill my journal? What great novel will I write? What beautiful photograph will I publish?
There are so many questions with infinite numbers of answers. The vastness of possibility is exciting, astounding, and sometimes dumb-founding. So how do I get over the intense fear of my craft not competing with the possibility? I don’t. In short, it’s an exercise in meditation. I don’t let that blank page stare me down, for, if I look at it too long, the divinity of creation becomes too much and I am paralyzed. Instead, I focus not on the product, but the process of creation. I look at my art, my writing, my journal as a work in progress.
I make mistakes. I stumble and fall. I am imperfect, as are my creations. My works of art are never as perfect or as beautiful, as pure as the blank page. But I don’t strive for perfection, I strive for creation. And in the process of creation lies life itself, messy and terrible and imperfect and beautiful.