What Sparks Creativity?

I awoke one morning last week with an idea for an ethnomusicology topic. I recalled the musicians' referral service I used to use back when I was a struggling singer in Top-40 and cover bands. I paid a yearly subscription and my name was forwarded to groups looking for lead vocalists. I found work in 3 touring bands and 1 house band by using the service. I thought this pre-Internet networking system might make for interesting research. Surprisingly, I found the service still in existence, although now residing on the World Wide Web. I sought advice from ethno professors and friends on how I might approach the topic and I left a phone message for the service to verify my claims. Several days later, I got a message on my cell phone from the man who runs the referral service.

Then the bottom fell out of my world.

I hadn't heard this man's voice in over 20 years. But, it was the same, world-weary, dark and suspicious voice I had spoken to when I was trying to impress him with my green entertainment credentials. The same irritation and doubt I had sensed in him then was still present. That night, I was unable to sleep. I was taken on a cathartic journey into a very painful past.

Animal sounds, howling and screaming poured out of me as I released feelings from two decades worth of dashed dreams and day-to-day nightmares. Life was awful back then - all I ever wanted to do was sing but I had no mentors or guidelines on how to go about doing it. I joined those abysmal bands, knowing that I was "paying my dues". I endured all kinds of insults and indignities because I was sure all of the suffering was eventually going to lead to an exciting career in the music business. But, that career never happened. That night, I grieved for the young woman I was, with all of her naive hopes and plans. Somehow, with all of my years of therapy, I'd never mourned that part of my life. Several hours later, I was exhausted and able to go to sleep.

Since that night, I haven't been able to stop drawing and painting. I've made at least 25 small abstract watercolors in a week. I suppose my psyche is still releasing feelings and pain. Seven days later, my stomach still feels raw and winded. I guess there's still a lot of grief to discard. The drawing and painting feels good. I'm happy to create again.

Not sure when or if I'll get the strength to research that ethnomusicology paper.