Creativity...and Dad

Yesterday I came across and contributed to a brief survey on women's creativity. There were questions to answer I had not considered before, such as asking who or what encouraged me throughout the years to be creative, the definition of creativity, what holds me back creatively, and what inspires me. All very telling answers came of this. It was as if this survey was reminding me of something I either had no awareness of or lost somehow.

My definition of creativity was by no means academic, more simple and tailored to what it means to me as an individual. I think I said something about "to be known and seen, expressed outwardly" or something to that effect. I known 'known' and 'seen' were the primary words I used. Things that inspired me were people, beauty (nature) and feeling personally touched by something. When I thought about what stifles my creativity, I began to make sense of this malaise I've been feeling lately. I remember my top answers being monotony/routine (in my life) and the perception that no one 'sees'/cares about my creativity (but how can they know and see it if I don't do it? ha!).

I thought about who were my biggest sources of creative inspiration over the years, as far as people in my life (not celebrities or other famous people). My dad, my grandfather (mom's father), and my mom immediately came to mind. Particularly Dad....

During my teen years, it was customary for me to spend summers in Florida visiting my Dad. My fondest memories of time spent with Dad involved hanging out with him at the photography studio in Tampa that he shared with a few other avid photographers. As Dad worked alot (his day job as a deputy for Hillborough County Sheriff's Dept.), this made the time I was able to spend with him all the more valuable.

Photography was the one commonality between us that facilitated connection and the ability to connect for its own sake. Dad had a music system set up and turning on the music real loud was one of the various studio rituals he went through as part of the creative process. I remember being fascinated with the fancy, yet technical looking studio lights always lingering in the background...just waiting to be used for enhancing a featured object or person.

Sometimes Dad would even let me be the subject of a 'photo shoot,' allowing me to try on different hats, boas and such as he snapped away. Being a kid who always struggled with my weight, it was the one of the few times in my life where I could experience feeling beautiful and the positive attention of being a 'model.'

Dad and I would also occasionally take little photo adventures together, he with his professional Nikon and me with the Pentax he gave me when I was around 13 I think. At that time, I remember thinking it was the coolest and most 'grownup' thing anyone had ever given me. I wondered how worthy I was of such a serious gift. We would take pictures together at Busch Gardens, Lowery Park Zoo, vacation spots in North Carolina, St. Augustine (my top favorite places with Dad). As I think about my sense of spontaneity and adventure with photography now, I can't help but smile and attribute this to Dad's influence.

Then there was the darkroom. You know those 'if' question games where someone asks you 'if you could pick (fill in the blank).....what/where would it be?" Well, if I had to pick my absolute favorite room of all time I would pick that studio darkroom. There was something magical about it, like it represented a mysterious element of untapped creative potential. Especially when Dad flipped the lights off, the only light emanating from the small box of faintly glowing light at the top of the ceiling so that he could see just enough to develop and print the finished product into black and white. The ritual of pouring the three necessary chemicals into their respective trays. Stop Bath was my favorite. I just liked the weird sound of it, like the photo was getting a cleansing bath that would wash away anything that would take away from the beauty of its overall attraction. The mixture of chemical smells in the air gave me both a creative high and slight revulsion.

I spent so many hours in that room with Dad that if I count the hours I watched him and observed with a voyeuristic curiosity for the creative process, I could have gained amateur photography intern status. We talked about more topics in that room than anywhere else before or since then too. Maybe literally 'being in the dark' lends itself to exploring those things that usually remain hidden.