Thursday, November 8, 2012

Creative Receptiveness and the Dark Solitude of Night

I am plagued by recurring insomnia, and often find myself wandering dim hallways and rooms in the velvet solitude of night. It is a rare thing these days to really encounter quiet; we are perpetually assaulted by the clamor and clatter of a frenzied life, the subdued hum of mechanical things, the blare and blast of commodities packaged and televised, the strident demand of those seeking your attention - from the general pandemonium of children to the shrill voice of phone and text.

 So I rather relish the quiescent shadows of night, where shapes loom indistinguishable, where the utter stillness can take on an ominous aspect. The late hours, or the small hours if one stays up long enough, are rich with possibility and stimulate latent imaginative pathways...perhaps it is the relative obscureness of familiar things, where contours are shrouded and masked, where pale lunar radiance moves in strange and unexpected ways, sending intermittent shafts of shadow and light through soft curtains or across the woodgrain of floor. Perhaps it is the monochromatic palette, where the resplendence of color is muted into varying shades of black and gray.

There is an inherent peace where one's mind can venture forth, unfettered by the continual interruption of quotidian babble which diverts and distracts from musings of a lengthier sort.  And when one is wanting to mentally pursue the incandescent muse as she flits through ones mind, leaving a faint trail of phosphorescence in her wake, it is quite magnificent to be able to give full rein to the inclination. It is often in this semi-somnolent state of drowsy, the night wind whispering darkly rustling secrets in the leaves beyond the window, when dreams still linger in the shadows of the mind, when things are not what they seem, it is then that aspects of my novel, literary threads that I have been following like Theseus in the Minotaur's maze, come into greater relief. There is a half-profile of my heroine, a furtive glance over the rounded paleness of  cheek and chin, a half-crouched urchin, more dirt than flesh, a pickpocket...a child of the sewers and fetid backalleys. A proud man is there too - perhaps a sailor, robust and weather-stained with salt-encrusted hair. A corrupt politician, with a sharply versatile intellect of devious intent...they appear and are gone in the dark shadows of my mind.

The world, at night, is a fragmented version of itself, where the brilliant intrusion of sound and color are excised, leaving only a silent landscape of shadowed greys. It is a muted place. A haunted place. But a place where writers, perhaps, have unrestrained access to the deeper creative possibilities of self. A place where the barrier between realities are blurred, where our alert consciousness (and perhaps our propensity for self-critique of a negative sort) is muffled and softened...a realm inhabited by our fictional friends who whisper on the wind if we are inclined to listen.

4 comments:

  1. The world at night is an amazing place. If out and about it takes on colors so bright I am half tempted to wear sun glasses. But alone in my solitude, in the darkness of my study, I am more creative than in the daylight hours. Caught between that half-awakened state and the grey that surrounds me I am mesmerized by things moving in the night. The sway of the curtain caught in the night breeze and the flicker of light that shows through the darkened glass, give birth to my imaginings. By early light, they are solid on their page place with lives of their own, and come together for the benefit of all. In this not yet morning, I am free to go about my day still yearning for the darkness, and the characters waiting in the wings. Will they come again in stillness and allow grooming into something they are not? Or, will they be patient and allow me to write their parts as I see them? Alone in the dark, I create.

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    1. Exquisite!! Thank you Blackhorse, a lovely lyrical description. The night is rather a special place. Particularly for those of us who often spend time living imaginatively - the enveloping darkness enables the vivid expression of the imagination without sensory interference from the sunlit world! Thank you for poetic contribution!

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  2. I promise to send others here, who are otherwise reluctant to venture into dark cellars or into half-lit attics. Life is hardly like the movies where folks easily enter into scarier places of the unknown, since they are actors after all. In reality, no one would return to visit Jaws 2, not in their right mind. Jaws 2 was a comedy for me. If your son loses an arm or leg to the shark, you don't go back to feed him the rest of his body parts. (Chuckle)

    PJ, I so enjoyed your musing here. Has it been published yet? It should be! Cheers, Don (In flight of course)

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    1. Thanks so much for visiting Don, and your kind words of support!

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