Mud vs Mud: The Messy Creative Process

The snow is melting. I didn’t forget that I’d started a blog. I thought of it constantly and didn’t add a post to it. I made things instead. I’ve been working through things. Trying to figure out what to do about what—the paintings and other pieces, things made of sticks and dirt. 

On the surface, my failure to blog didn’t help the plan—the part of the plan that hinges on taking consistent actions, that is—the idea that taking certain consistent actions will amount to, well, a realizing a variety of goals, none of which will matter much if what I’m putting in the soup is mud, which isn’t always a bad idea either. If I worked with mud consistently, I would know and know for sure what, if anything, I could or would make of it. 

 Mud—the thought of it makes me want to make mud soup. Just go for it. Add it to the ever-growing list of art pieces in the series I’m creating. Set it on fire. See what happens—put it on ice for a change. 

What would happen if I made a pot of mud soup? 

Now that I’ve asked, I want to find out. 

I think I’ll wait.

It’ll boil—that’s probably all that will happen. 

But who knows? (I mean, I’m sure someone knows, and that someone is not me—not yet). 

The experiment—all experiments involving fire—seems safer when performed somewhere other than the forest. I’m in the deep woods. Every single step of every single thing I’m doing is not clear, but starting a forest fire is not on the list. 

The fireplace. 

I could boil a little pot of mud in the fireplace. 

Why am I thinking about this? Do I really want to see mud boil? 

Could this be my subconscious creating a miraculous age-busting skin care product? 

I’ll goggle it. Later, I’ll google about it. 

No. I’ll wait for a 5 am epiphany to wake me up and drop the answer in my mouth. 

Mud. 

Mud soup. 

The mess before the meaning. 

Isn’t this what creativity is? Adding the things to the pot and stirring it up? 

That’s one definition—the most convenient definition I can conjure right now, and I’ll go with it because the mess is here, and time moves forward. I might as well go with it. Work with what I’ve got. Make something of it. 

Or maybe it’s the altitude. 

I might need more oxygen. 

Does mud contain oxygen? 

There must be oxygen in mud; there must be. 

It would be a mess to find out …