Gastronomy and the Divine Creative Impulse

What drives us to create? What is the explanation for something formulating in one's mind, like a melody or a verse, and what drives one to want to manifest it in some tangible form? Artists whom I have interviewed seem to agree that creating is something you feel you must do, and if you don't, then you are denying your mind and body a basic nourishment, like food. Though my need to create ebbs and flows like many of my other impulses, I am always struck by the almost cathartic nature of this drive.

How can we explain creative impulse? Why do I want to bake a pie, just out of the blue? Perhaps I wish to see the magical transformation of tough stalks of rhubarb melding with strawberries and sugar, or the crust rolling out just right, and the lattice top cutter rolling merrily through the dough. Perhaps I wish to experience the simple satisfaction of admiring a work in completion as it comes out of the oven, smelling like all the comforts in the world. Of course, unlike writing a song, one of the many perks of baking is that you get to put your creation in your mouth and savor it.

Unlike baking, songwriting allows for a longer-lasting savor. Sure, I don't get to put my song in my mouth and chew on it. But I get to sing it, which is another oral (and aural) experience altogether, and I can do so as many times as I want, indefinitely. Singing is one of my favorite things to do. There's great mystery in being able to open one's mouth and release air and vibrations to form notes wrapped in words. No other instrument can accomplish this. Moreover, unlike many other instruments, the voice is not man-made. We were created with this instrument already built into our bodily functions. How divine!

Recently, my sister and I brought in new members to our band, The Hello Strangers. I have been compelled ever since by the need to create once again. To be honest, when I am not focusing on running our photography business, it consumes my thoughts. Melodies greet me upon awaking, prompting me to grab my guitar and bring the song to life, so to speak. It seems effortless; in just a few minutes the song is alive and ready to share with others. Visions and ideas about the future of our band inspire me during many of my waking hours. All of a sudden, the thought of touring sounds marvelous, whereas before it seemed intimidating and somehow out-of-reach.

My sister and I, having talked about playing with a full band for years, are amazed to watch things falling into place around us, as if they were meant to happen right here and now. The energy of our new band mates is contagious, and the support of our small but growing fan base is humbling. I know that my creativity is spurred by this new context in which our music exists. I am grateful for it everyday, because my life has become enriched with the textures, melodies, and visions of creativity - that divine, mysterious force that we cannot rationally explain or deny.

Our first gig as a band is tonight, and I cannot contain my excitement about sharing this energy with others.

© Ryan Smith

Summer Holiday

Photo by Ryan Smith

The lake bottom is cocoa brown as my canoe whispers through the water above it; my oar is a spoon in silky hot chocolate. The tips of pine trees cast patches of morning sun along the edges of the bank as I peer down into the water. A glimmer of something in the muck catches my eye, perhaps a remnant from one of our many water games over years of summers here. I pass over a twisted log that has lived at the silty bottom as long as I can remember, like an ancient, slumbering frog that we imagined might suddenly open its lake-scum eyes as we dove down just for the scare of it and swam back up again, reaching for the safety of the sunny sky above. This sludgy floor is the dusty treasure chest holding all the mysteries, dreams, and memories of every sunrise and sunset between the months of May and August during every summer of my life at Highland Lake in Northern Pennsylvania.

Summers cannot exist without the lake, and the lake cannot exist without summers. Our time spent here is a sensual experience through and through. The season is allowed to fully bloom into itself, and so are we – my Parents, Siblings, Cousins, Aunts, Uncles, and Grandparents, who congregate here every year for days and days of summertime delight. The lake enkindles each of our senses: a bare foot padding over damp earth and moss, the wind chimes twinkling in the boat house as waves lap softly against the bow of the sailboat, chicken “speedies” on the grill (a local favorite) with peachy Finger Lakes wine, the gray outlines of bats swooping between the pines and over the water as the sun sets behind the trees, and the smell of the wood stove in the cottage on cool days. All these experiences exist for us now and tomorrow, but they are also steeped in the past, conjuring up memories that enrich every moment.

Each of us has a special place we long for or go to for refuge from the big, wild world. It may be as vast as a park or as small as a pleasant corner or sitting area in the house. Highland Lake serves this purpose for me; I know my family members who stay at the lake during the summers would say the same. We are so lucky to have it. Where is your special place in the world?

Please note: I apologize for having been away from my blog for a good while...I have no other excuse than that I was at the lake. I hope to get back to my regular writing schedule now that the summer holidays are winding down. Thanks as always for reading!