I don’t want to “out” anyone publicly, so I won’t mention whose desk this is.
I snapped this photo because I liked the colour and the “realness” of it. It’s a slice of life, a reflection of someone’s work, and perhaps in some way, a glimpse at what’s going on in her very soul.
It’s a view of a beautiful mess… the same kind that has made a home in my brain. I have a hundred projects on the go, all in various stages of completion. My heart is full of pencil shavings, smears of bright paint, eraser dust, rough drafts and finished sketches. Sometimes I worry that I’ll never be able to string a coherent sentence together ever again, and other times the words flow out of me, faster than I can type them out.
I wonder. Is it better to keep it the mess at bay, strictly tidied and organized… or is the best kind of creativity borne out of the chaos?
