Its the beginnings that are the hardest, at least to start with. I find myself staring at a blank sheet of paper and wonder where to make the first mark, what will be the first sentance? What will be the first line? Getting past this is often hard, this pure white sheet of paper, perfect, unblemished, beautiful in the way only an unmarked page can be…

And then we fill the page with colour and lines and words and it moves from pure emptiness to a place full of life.

Here, in the overcoming of the blank page, something is created. In that hesitation I feel fear, my fear is that I will waste a page, waste an opportunity, waste the moment and make nothing but a mistaken mess. What if it turns out bad? What if I’m not good enough? What if, what if, what if…

And I breathe in the empty page, sit with the space for a moment, and empty out those doubts.

Whatever happens, its never a waste, it is fun, illuminating, inspiring, it helps to flesh out an idea, it is the process of exploring and beginning and is, above all, a chance to play.

That blank page becomes a playground, and while I’m always nervous about what will be built there, even if it is ultimately to be shredded, the cliche about the importance of the journey holds true. Every act of play is important.

I, personally, have often been so wrapped up in having to produce something, that I forget that production is not the point. Every time I sit down to make art, to write, to explore delight, I remind myself that to create is to play on the border of materia and immateria, the point where the physical world and the imagination kiss. Yes, there will often be something that is born of this meeting, but it need not be the focus of creation, and it certainly need not be ‘perfect’.

Perfectionism is where we are scared to get it wrong.

I wonder why beauty need be ‘right’?

I wonder why playtime is seen as a waste?

I wonder if we can sit with the empty page, take a breath, and dive right in with a smile…