Emerson knew a thing or two about creative originality.
The more truly we consult our own powers, the more different will our work exhibit from the work of any other. Each individual soul is in virtue of its being a power to translate the world into some particular language of its own.
Camus echoed a similar sentiment nearly a century later.
A time always comes in an artist’s life when he must take his bearings, draw closer to his own center and then try to stay there. Every artist is undoubtedly pursuing his truth. And if he is a great artist, each work beings him nearer to it, or at least, swings closer toward this center, this buried sun where everything mist one day burn.
The challenge, then, is not how to access that power. That’s just a matter of permission. The hard part is buttressing that power with human support.
No matter how fiercely independent we think we are, each of us needs at least one person, if not more, to believe in us.
Especially in those shadow moments when we don’t believe in ourselves. We all need someone who will lovingly lock arms with us and champion the fullest play on the powers our unique organism brings into the world.
What’s more, be there for us when the world spits us out like a wad of stale bubble gum.
Without that kind of human sustenance, our level of originality won’t matter. Because our creative house will crumble.
LET ME ASK YA THIS…
Who is your number one fan?
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