Making Easy Things Part 10

Feb 21

I’m making easy things every day for 40 days. This is thing 10. I figure if I repurpose one hour a night for creative purposes, and if I commit to ending said hour with one completed thing, irrespective of quality, I will be winning at life. Or I will have at least begun to come crawling out of the sort of soul-drought in which I, from time to time, find myself stuck. Self-imposed structure is pretty essential to us otherwise completely scattered ones.

In my youth, the idea of writer’s block seemed absurd. I could devise interesting inventions (or ones I, at least, found interesting) on command — songs, stories, school papers — but over time I grew standards. I began to expect a certain nebulous quality of output and it became more difficult to finish and spew things into the noisy world.

The world itself became noisier. The infinite barrage of content with which we are inundated can be paralyzing. The political and artistic sounds around us are deafening — gushing with slobber and spite. For some time I didn’t know what to do in response. I would choke. As though anything that I complete must contend with, and be obliterated by, this onslaught.

I’ve realized that we can make quiet noises in quiet spaces. We can be at once humble and ambitious in the nearly silent corners of life where noone is really looking. That’s how craft is obsessively refined into art. It happens in nondescript backyard work sheds, in unfinished basements and in storage rooms turned makeshift offices. We can go unnoticed. We can finally, again, find some silence and we can rail against it.