Last night, my husband and I went to a concert. It was weird. 

Not the concert, that was good. But me, being out of the house past 8pm. That was weird. 

In my 20s I went to concerts all the time. The year I moved to Montreal I was 25. I knew no one, so to occupy my time I went to shows. I immersed myself in music and art and creativity of all kinds, and it was genuinely the most creatively satisfying year of my life. I had no distractions. It was me and my desire to create.

And interesting things happened to me that year. The more I created, the more it felt like the universe wanted me to create. Poems started to write themselves in my dreams. Words would come to me while riding the subway. One of the most prolific lines I’ve ever written just popped into my mind while I was in the bathtub, and I swear they were not my words. They were not words I would ever have chosen to string together, left to my own devices. No, it was purely the voice of inspiration coming through. And I knew enough to trust it. 

In the years that followed, I made the conscious choice to do other life-related things. I got married, got a ‘real’ job, got a mortgage, had kids. I consciously chose these things, but in choosing them, I also chose to step away from art (let’s just be for real, family life requires a lot of mental and emotional energy). I have given my best effort to maintain a connection with creativity over these years, even if only for 5 or 10 minutes at a time, but I admit that this was not always enough to maintain the truthful connection that I experienced back when I was 25. 

And I was thinking about this last night at the concert, as I was watching the artist on the stage. As I was standing there, completely exhausted because it was past my 40-something bedtime, the dude on the stage was full of energy, dancing around with a huge smile on his face. I’ve been around the block enough to know that some people are truly authentic in their creations, and others are not quite there. Creating, but missing the link of authenticity, the authentic connection to self. In and of itself this isn’t a problem, but I think it’s important to realize where you’re at. 

Dude had it. I’ve been missing it. I realize it. 

Realization, and the importance of it, lies in awareness. We need to be aware of where we are, with honesty, and also be aware of where we aim to be. Only then can be bridge the divide between creation and authenticity.

I create, but I know that there is an element of authentic self missing from my words. This doesn’t mean I should stop writing. It means, in fact, the opposite. The solution lies in creating more, because it’s only through immersing myself as I did when I was 25 that I can get back to that divine connection, where the words will come to me in my dreams, and where the poems will follow me as I walk down the street. The deeper I go in my commitment to the words, the less I’ll need to work to find the words. They’ll just come to me. I believe this because I’ve experienced it. I believe it because it’s true. 

I don’t judge anyone their acts of creation. I would much rather see people in the ring than avoid it. If in the ring, however, have honesty be your guiding light. Aim for honesty rather than popularity, authenticity rather than numbers. Simplicity rather than validation.

There is a paragraph in my novel where the heroine, an artist, ponders this very thing:

What she was asking went a little deeper than the ingredients list. She was an artist, and as an artist she appreciated all the arts, including the culinary arts. But, while on the one hand she believed that anybody who participated in the act of creating was an artist, on the other hand she knew that there are those who stay true to the craft of making something authentic and emotionally evocative, and there are players of the game. Players are those with a hat in the ring, perhaps even successful, but who lack clarity and vision and emotional connection. Chiara much preferred a simple bowl of soup made by an artist, than a fifty dollar dish put together by a player. Honest art, that’s what she admired. Especially over something that feels like it’s trying too hard.

It might sound likes she is being judgy, but I think it speaks to the same idea. Step one, get in the ring. Step two, keep creating. Step three, stay honest. Eventually, the steps will merge, becoming one and the same. And this will lead to the creation of honest art.

The only difference between myself and the dude on the stage, from my perspective, is that he created for so much and with such immersion that his authenticity rose up to find him. Whereas I am still focused on the steps, for him they have merged.

This is a problem with only one solution. I need to create, and create and create, until my authentic artist self rises up to find me.

-mtg

Instagram and Threads: @mariagiulianidotca

I have a new book! It’s a love story. You can read about it here: https://mariagiuliani.ca/shop/came-by-chance/