Hello and welcome to GOLDMINING, a creative diary.
If you don’t have a teacher, teach yourself. If you don’t have the information to do that, skip the lesson and go straight to the homework. Perhaps. I don’t know.
I don’t know the exact inroad to creative breakthrough, and I don’t know much about the French Revolution, but I can assign myself the homework to write a poem about it:
The French Revolution
I only remember
The bad stuff
Being told
There were huge gaps in my knowledge
A bread ghost in the throat
Of the city
I revolt
I’m revolting
In my ignorance
C’est la
Vie
This poem isn’t about the French Revolution—not really—but without the prompt, it wouldn’t exist. And it doesn’t matter what it’s about, or whether it’s good—it’s not great. What matters is: trying shit.
Recently, I haven’t wanted to, for fear the work will be just that: shit. This month, creativity has felt sticky, like a trap. Like getting caught in it would mean getting caught as a fraud, an unoriginal. This blog feels like that. I fret about the next, unwritten issue. It will expose me.
But the following I’ve learnt the hard way:
Not doing with no results is more painful than doing with poor results.
So here I am. With a result.
In the last issue of GOLDMINING I offered two creative prompts:
1. Write a handwritten letter (can be to yourself)
2. Go for a walk collecting words from signage and graffiti, posters and bills, etc., and use them for lyrics.
I didn’t write the letter, but I did set out to gather text from the streets of Vancouver. I filled my proverbial sack with language plain and strange, excited to bring it home, convinced I could rearrange it into sheer genius. But when I laid it all out, I felt daunted and aborted the exercise.
Instead of finishing my homework—and this can be both helpful and unhelpful when in a rut—I looked at someone else’s brilliant work.
Recently, I was invited to a private opening of an Edward Burtynsky exhibit at The Paul Kyle Gallery in Vancouver. It’s on until August—check it out if you can, or peruse online. It’s worth it.
I walked to the event with my camera, then spent the latter half of the journey feeling foolish for bringing a camera to a photography exhibit. By the time I arrived, I already felt out of place, my imposter syndrome blooming.
The room carried an air of high art and sophistication, and I was immediately introduced to someone of seeming importance.
“Have you been to Switzerland?”
“Yes, I’ve toured there with my band.”
“Oh, what cities?”
“Stockholm.”
A pause.
“Sweden. Wait—Zurich… Bern!”
And boy did I burn… for the rest of the night. And longer. Still burning.
(Something that haunts me—and I’ve only done it twice—is addressing an audience by the wrong city. I can turn red just thinking about it.)
At the exhibit, I also met a documentary filmmaker and we exchanged emails. After a couple of introductory notes back and forth, I watched one of her films to acquaint myself with her work, then sent some photos of mine that tied into its subject—addiction and homelessness on the streets of Vancouver.
She didn’t reply. Within a couple of days, I’d convinced myself I crossed a boundary with my photos, offended her, and ruined the connection. I spiralled on that for a week.
(She got back to me eventually, and had nice things to say about the photos—she was just busy.)
During the spiral, I drove to Enderby to clear my head and visit The Cardiff Miller Art Warehouse, which she’d actually recommended (and so do I—it’s a jewel). Six hours through B.C.’s interior, I sailed past constant photo opportunities without stopping. I’d hesitate, drive on, and regret it immediately. I regret it still.
Again, the pain of not doing…
I managed to snap out of it and snap a few shots, but it felt more like a redemption tactic than inspired photography. Whatever works.
During the drive, I listened to a podcast on non-duality. At one point, the guest said something that felt brutally relevant: if you want to know how identified you are with your ego, do something embarrassing in public and see how long—and how tightly—it grips.
Ouch.
It’s one thing to feel embarrassment. It’s another to loop it. To buy into it. Same goes the other way—the lift from praise. Different sides of the same attachment.
Self-deprecation, however, is less commonly seen as egotistical, yet it is when you follow it down far enough. So is the fear of failure, or a tarnished image. You don’t fear failure unless you’re invested in some version of yourself that’s meant to succeed. A perceived self with a track record to protect.
I’ve been wondering: is it even possible to create without a trace of ego and fear? Or do you have to be three years old?
When I got back to Vancouver, I tried the homework again, but photographing more graffiti felt repetitive, so I gave up. In a sour mood, I walked on in a shoe-gaze—and that’s when I saw Eckhart Tolle’s precious face looking up at me through the grass.
I picked up the book and felt an energy shift: was this the inroad?
Almost every chapter had the word “ego” in it. Okay, I said to Eckhart. Message received.
When I got home, I leafed through its pages, pulled words, let them trigger my own associations, and made a big list.
I grabbed a guitar, sat in front of the word pile, and began spouting while finding the chords. It was fun, it flowed, and a song came quickly—a song I love, and not because it’s a masterpiece, but because of the writing process: playful, irreverent, mouthy energy you wish you could bottle—energy that helped diffuse a great deal of solemn, cerebral stress that was muzzling my inner child and making me miserable.
I don’t believe there’s much release in thinking about things. Stuff needs to move, to be expressed—physically, emotionally, and, ideally for me, creatively.
If you don’t have a teacher, teach yourself.
To dissolve the ego?
To be free of fear?
Creatively liberated?
To love?
Tall order.
I’d say skip the lesson and go straight to the homework:
Walk, run, sing, draw, cook, paint, kiss… do.
Good luck. I’m on your side.
Onto the next, and into the mine.
XORG
“UN-ME ME” :
Lyrics:
Ego manic
ID panic
Hey baby could you make me
An un-suffering sandwich
Un-feed me
Un-bleed
Un-birth me
Un-hurt me
Un-cut
Un-crush
Un-stuck
Un-fuck me
All over again
All over again
Do I need to be 3 years old
All over again
Deluded delighted
Polluted pilates
Hey motherfucker pay me
I’m an arting starvist
Witness Protection Deprogram
Human collective erection infection
Enlighten
Enfatten
Emphatic in Latin
Cogito ergo sum crapping
All over my pants
All over my pants
So I seem to be three years old
All over my pants
And have you every been to Switzerland
Yeah man Stockholm what a wonderland
And how about the French Revolution, man
Je te pu ton alavec moi compretun
I think therefor I am
I think therefor I stink
I think therefor I think I am the greatest
Piece of shit to ever live
To ever write a song
Ego manic
ID panic
Hey baby could you make me
An un-punishing pancake
Un-feed me
Un-bleed
Un-birth me
Un-hurt me
Un-learn me
Un-Bern me
Un-cool me
Un-cruel me
Un-fool me
Un-spool me
Un-stuck me
Un-fuck me
Un-ugly
Un-drug me
Un-see me
Un-speak me
Un-be me
Un-me me
I’m not sure how this keeps happening, maybe we’re all just living different versions of the same life…but almost every (if not all) of the goldmining posts you’ve put out have been very easy for me to relate to. Recently I’ve been very conscious of my efforts to come off a good person, and for everyone to see me that way. the issue is, if you’re always looking for people to think you’re a good person, they more than likely won’t see you in that light. If I say the “wrong thing,” (like mixing up cities, in your case) I could send myself spiraling into panic— what if that thing has changed the person’s whole perspective of me? However, if I was on the other end of that I’d forget about how the other person mixed up the cities…it’s understandable, a touring artist who’d been all over the world mixing something like that up. Nothing really embarrasses us more than ourselves…it’s somewhat embarrassing to me how much I’ve spoken about myself in this comment, but it truly isn’t. Goldmining #4 might be my favorite so far, the song is so lovely and the photo with the rainbow is super cool :)
If I were the universe offering you guidance you did not ask for, I would say XORG you are most definitely an imposter. AND I love that charlatan. Carry on my sweet precious dumbass. REMEMBER I grow from your suffering, I grow from your light, I grow from your fear of those bumps in the night. I grow from your laughter, I grow from your shame, I grow from the momentum of every train. All that glitters is not gold, but sometimes it is Goldmouth. I see you. With love. XOU