The process of creating art, whether in the word’s traditionalist or generalist sense, is often described as alchemy. And for good reason. Inspiration is no less labyrinthine, mysterious or sudden than our own identities. Are we able to trace particular strains in these processes back to their origin points? Absolutely. But I would venture that to do so with any degree of certitude, especially when accounting for these strains’ relation to still more strains, is impossible.
It is precisely the reason that the concept of fate is so widespread in nearly every culture. The impossibility of prediction, but the knowledge that at some point any sum can be reduced to its parts, creates a paradigm in which we must assume that an internal logic to the universe exists and independently of our own ability to fully grasp its totality.
To take this a step further, and provide a more modern example, the concept of the butterfly effect–whereby an action taken can have consequences both unintentional and profound–follows the same internal logic: A system of interdependent variables exists, and while we know it exists due to the inherent consequences of decision, we cannot ever fully grasp its totality.
How does all of this come together in a way that is not merely restating a point that has been made a thousand times? Bear with me.
Just as creativity cannot be clearly mapped out, much like the internal logic of the universe, neither can the consequences of its disruption. By which I mean, altering one seemingly unimportant aspect of any piece of art can diminish the strength of every other aspect and so bring the piece to collapse. Art, then, is not unlike a jenga tower.
When something truly springs from the mind, as an extension of the artist himself, it must be handled with care. This extension is an ecosystem of ideas and each one depends on another for survival. Certainly some species of idea can be safely done away with, but to return to the example of the butterfly effect: One cannot predict with any certainty what the removal of this species will do to the rest of the ecosystem.
What this presupposes is that a variety of approaches to art can be modulated, removed or focused upon without dampening the force of the work. But approaches only. Technicalities and fundamentals are safely open to inspection. But as to the organic machinery of the artist’s idiomatic ecosystem? We must be careful in poking and prodding too much. An artistic vision is as fragile as a dream and like a dream even though we can guess at its structure, we cannot represent it with any real fidelity; and anything but the lightest touch can prove destructive.
Ultimately what this seeks to preserve is the sense that when we read a story or engage with any other form of art we feel as though we are being let into the deeply personal world of the creator. That is, after all, the highest form of art: the introduction of experiencer to experience. Indeed, the best examples of any creative medium hold this in common. The insulated communal between indulger and creator, mind to mind, is the objective and ideal. And in at least my opinion, it ought to be the star by which we all steer our creative endeavours.
