Scribbles from a journal entry in 2020

“The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.” — Orson Welles

For creativity to flourish, there must be a box. There must be constraints so that the mind can be free. It is indeed, paradoxial. But if you think of a sculptor, there’s only a finite amount of rock. If you think of an artist, they must work within a finite canvas. Oh but the mind has limitations too, often far more constraining than physical ones. Quaranine, to some effect has been a limitation that has caused a surge in creativity, in art. Because being forced to physical confinement has set our imaginations free at last. We must work with what we have and no distractions. With finite resources, we must be creative. Creativity means connecting things that seem dissimilar. What better way to find dissimilar things than when we are limited.

I try to practice this each day. For each day we are limited by day and night. In life? By death itself. Shouldn't that be enough to set us free? If death is our limitation, then we must live life as art.

Adding to the noise, but for my own sanity.