Whose art is it anyway?

We do not fully own our creations.

And I'm not being super spiritual here as in trying to say that what we create is a gift from God and, therefore, not our own. I'm not even sure that I believe that, since once a gift is given it becomes our own. But that line of thought digresses from my original point, so let me get back to it...

That which we create does not fully belong to us. Since we do not live in a vacuum, neither do we create in a vacuum. The ideas that we have-as much as we want to believe that they came from our brilliant brain and were pulled purely from the depths of our heart-really are just an amalgamation of other thoughts or ideas or experiences or whatever it is that has influenced us.

Let me show you what I mean. Besides writing, one of my other creative outlets is cooking. As I was trying to decide what to make for a dinner party this weekend, I found a recipe for a watermelon pudding that sounded really tasty. As I planned to make it, however, I decided that fresh mint would better suit the dish, the occasion, and my tastes than the anise seeds that the recipe called for. And then I thought about how yummy a dollop of this creamy watermelon pudding would be on an airy square of angel food cake...and perhaps some curls of chocolate and a few more mint leaves as garnish would be both tasty and beautiful. Before I knew it, the original recipe, someone's else's creative genius, was now mine. It now reflected my personality, my tastes, my aesthetics. But it wasn't only mine. I didn't find it full and complete within myself. My inspiration for this new dish was spurred by some unnamed Bon Appetit magazine contributor, who, undoubtedly, had been inspired by someone else before her, ad infinitum.

But since we all know that I'm just some crazy girl who's trying to figure out this creativity game herself, let me tell you another story that might be a little more weighty and convincing. As an English undergrad, I showed up to my first day of the obligatory Shakespeare class dreading what was ahead. And when the professor asked each of us to state what we hoped to learn in her class, I decided to be honest. Each student before me droned on about how they were so excited to study this literary master because...and they wanted to learn the deep meaning of this play or that sonnet...blah blah blah. When the sharing circle got around to me, I was irritated. I said something to the effect of "Well, I grew up in a home with a father who had a master's degree in English. If you give him the first three words of a sonnet, he'll finish it. He loves Shakespeare. And I know that everyone in the world says that Shakespeare is the man, the master, the epitome of the English language, but I just don't get it. So frankly, what I hope to learn is what all the hype is about." The room was ghastly silent. My professor simply said, "That's fair. I'll show you." And she did.

I soon learned that Shakespeare was brilliant precisely because he realized that we do not fully own our creations. He lived and wrote out of his security in the fact that there is no new idea. As a result, he freely borrowed other people's works and shaped them into his own. Every one of Shakespeare's plays is based on another source, but by using that source as a foundation and then "jacking" it up in strategic ways, he made outrageous and revolutionary social and political statements. What he did was transform another person's work into something that reflected who he was and said what he wanted to say. And than he freely and unashamedly offered it back to the world to do with as they would. The result was a brilliance that is living and active today.

"Why does this matter?" you ask. It seems to me that this idea that nothing we have created is truly ours does a couple of things for us. Here goes:

1. It takes the pressure off of us. If we accept that fact that there is no new idea, we won't always be striving to find it. It is then that we can simply live creatively with out any falsely-imposed, egotistical, unrealistic expectations or self-seeking agendas.
2. It humbles us. Rather than proudly holding up what we create and saying "This is mine," we can freely offer it forward and say "This is ours. I might have birthed it, but I had help in the creating."
3. We can enter a new community, a new fellowship, where we have "every [creative] thing in common." My heart both shudders and leaps to think of what could happen if we willingly, freely, and fully shared our creative babies, letting others help us raise them. What synergy would shine forth? How would the world benefit when we pulled newcomers into the web of creation by showing them that they already are creating through their influence in our lives and ideas?

And that leads me back to my little digression at the beginning of this post...you know, the part about not being hyper spiritual... It seems to me that the Creator, who was the only one to create in a vacuum, formed all that is and then freely and unashamedly offered up creation to his creation to be morphed and changed and built upon. He knew they would do with it as they would. But the result of that act is a brilliance that is living and active today. And much bigger than we could ever imagine...