Ingrid Picanyol Studio.

H6 #04

25 October 2024
4 min

Subjects
Uncategorized


H6 #04

When does a project really start? Is it when you jot its name down in your notebook? Or maybe when you get that first email, and even though you haven’t sent the budget yet, you’re already daydreaming? Or maybe it’s when you’re walking down the street, stumble upon a graphic resource, and think: “I’ll save you; one day you’ll fit into a project”? Honestly, I have no idea. If the creative process could be neatly traced, this job would lose all its magic.

Some people think creativity is linear, like an assembly line. Or a stew. I say that because I’ve been asked about the “secret formula” more times than I can count. So secret, even I don’t know it. If you ask me how I came up with an idea, I couldn’t give you a step-by-step. I’d just point to scattered moments, dots on a map. Because the brain moves faster than I can capture all the twists and turns.

If you ask me how I came up with an idea, I couldn’t give you a step-by-step. I’d just point to scattered moments, dots on a map. Because the brain moves faster than I can capture all the twists and turns.

I’m writing this while staring out the window of this lazy H6 bus, unsure of how to continue or where exactly I want to go. There’s a woman at the crosswalk, leaning on a crutch. I wonder if it’s from a long-term habit of shifting her weight unevenly, wearing out one hip more than the other, or if she just tripped. In the end, I’m leaning towards the second option. I’m not sure why, but I feel like it’ll help illustrate what I’m trying to figure out during this ride.

Speaking of body injuries, I often think creativity has more to do with training—and, even more, with survival. You have to finish a project by a certain date. That’s it. From that point on, the clock flips, and the sand starts falling. The countdown begins, and like in an escape room (by the way, I’m not really into escape rooms, but you get the idea), you have to find the way out. And in your rush to solve it, you’re not paying attention to where your eyes land, or where you put your feet. You’re just in a hurry to find the answer, which often means you stumble.

O”Don’t you watch where you’re stepping?” they’ll ask. And while picking yourself up from the fall, you’ll say yes, though deep down you wish you could say no. Because how could they understand that the only thing on your mind is finding the key to scape this labyrinth of light and shadow, called the creative process, that everyone else seems to idealize from the outside?


Best regards from the H6 bus,
Ingrid