Day Forty-One: The Importance of Creativity

At noon today, I started making batter for red velvet cupcakes from scratch. I meticulously watched the butter come to perfect beating temperature, carefully measured out all my ingredients, and added a generous amount of food coloring. By two P.M., I had three pans of perfectly round and squat, red cupcakes, and I spent about fifteen minutes making smooth vanilla frosting. By 4:30 P.M., I had three pans of horrendously iced cupcakes and a severe need for a nap. After dinner and a quick nap, by ten P.M. I had twelve too-cute to eat, colorful, fondant-colored cupcakes. I took several pictures of them like they were my children, and I'm incredibly proud of them since it's the first time I worked with fondant, and they turned out pretty damn well.

So I spent ten hours of my day creating things, which I haven't done in a very, very long time. I'm not sure I've actually ever spent that much consecutive time in a day being that meticulous and creative about something, and it was good to get back into the groove of using my creative impulses again and sitting and getting that satisfying stiff neck and stained fingers, even if they were stained with food dye and not paint or graphite. It's not permanent art, but it's art just the same. After having such a satisfying day, being completely consumed by something and not want to do anything else, I wonder how some people can simply not enjoy being the slightest bit creative.

As part of my senior thesis, a quarter of our grade was a "creative project", in which we had to use what we had learned to create something tangible that we could use to either put on a resume or show potential employers. Most video majors created documenteries, but there was no set medium for specific concentrations. Two of my close friends and I threw a small benefit concert, which was a lot of work, a lot of fun, and a really interesting way to go out with a bang our senior year. But some people, unbelievable to me, had an extremely difficult time and absolutely hated the idea of the creative project at all. I cannot, even slightly understand not being creative. It is so ingrained in me that I even though I don't use concentrated creativity very often, I still can't imagine not feeling creative about something. Even if it's in the way I arrange things or the way I dress myself, I'm still being creative. And some people just don't care. How is it that some people just don't have a single creative bone in their bodies? How do they function?