Constructing motivation

Life will throw up tangents that insist on diverting us from routines and habits. We can let each new path take us where it may. That can be fun. But what if we want to go back to some of those seemingly lost things? How do we make our way back?

For example, more and more of this blog has been taken up … taken over … by notes about the books I’ve read. This was a surprise because I’ve never been a voracious reader, not even an avid one. I would hear people say they are constantly reading. Such statements bewildered me; I could not identify with the sentiment.

The ground under my feet has shifted somewhat.

I’m attributing my newly found focus on reading to 2020. It was one of the year’s unexpected outcomes. It’s now time to look up from the page and remind myself of old loves.

Deciding which old love to recapture is the first step. For me, that was easy: Being creative … having a creative project on the go.

Taking the second step might require a bit of motivation. Constructing that motivation starts with remembering what it felt like, remembering what was involved and recapturing (or reimagining) the end result. I’m going to start with …

the 2018 Weekly Collage Project

In 2018, I decided to tackle a small creative challenge each weekend. It involved creating a collage from geometric shapes cut from colourful magazines. To document the act, a quick photo on my phone was posted to Facebook. It was a simple, uncluttered project.

I would sit on the back verandah, pull the shoebox from under the settee, set up a new blank page and begin to rummage. I was looking for the spark of attraction. For connection. For the line to follow. Relishing in the conversation between the colours. Over the months, the tackiness of the sticking tape gave way to the swivel of the glue stick.

The completed piece would be torn from the notepad and plonked quite unceremoniously on the floor at my feet. The image would be lined up on the phone and snapped with a click. Then … everything back in the shoebox, back under the settee.

Periodically, I would have to restock the pile of small geometric shapes.