Overwhelming Ideas

I'm hungry and can't choose a damned fig.

Recently more than ever I have been absolutely brimming with ideas. This sounds like a pretty positive thing- my creativity is flowing intensely at the beginning of what I believe to be the new year (spring equinox). It’s exciting, enthralling and I’m buzzing to make things happen- but it’s equally as overwhelming.

There’s a funny overlap with Autism and ADHD, on the one hand idea generation comes easily for me but, on the other, execution and physically starting can be pretty stress inducing. What if one of the other ideas would be better? Do I want to create a short film or make some more brushes? A new painting- or work on my quilt? I think you can sense the theme here.

If you could have a look inside my brain, I sort of imagine it as little shoots lighting up and dimming, almost how you might illustrate mycelium communicating with each other beneath the soil. Often times, instead of carving out and prioritising time to develop a new idea, I will think of new ones, or other things to be working on.

This is where consuming vs creating comes in too. I’ve recently been -trying- to be more mindful of what I’m consuming- in terms of social media, documentaries, Netflix series etc. I’ve become acutely aware of how sensitive I am to what I absorb visually and aurally, how it impacts idea generation, my mood and as a result, the following period of time.

Watching artist vlogs on YouTube makes me want to draw and fill in my sketchbook, watching thrillers usually puts me on edge, listening to upbeat, indie folk music with my sunroof open driving the windy country roads in Cornwall makes me sing as loud as I can. You get the idea. It seems obvious- categories of films are pretty much named for the emotion they instil; feel good, thriller, comedy. We live in a time where the quantity, availability and subsequent addiction of it all creates the perfect recipe for us to think less about what we are consuming.

Social media being the main culprit of this, encouraging endless bingeing of short form content to satisfy our hunger for quick dopamine. Don’t worry, this isn’t another rant about social media, or at least I’ll try to avoid that kettle of fish for now…

What I’m saying in a longwinded, tangent filled way, is that I still love using these platforms. But approaching them in a mindful, considerate way seems so prevalent, now more than ever. (The explore page on instagram is my nemesis for this goal). Taking weekends off instagram has been a welcome way to switch off and engage with the world in a more personal, intimate way.

What prompted this amalgamation of thoughts was an indie film night in Falmouth yesterday evening, centred on stories of our lost temperate rainforests and their ecological importance. (Side note, If you’re south-west based, highly recommend looking up 99p film nights, they’ve got a few more showings coming up)

I was left deeply inspired, not only by the films themselves but the conversations that were opened up as a result of them. Discussions between film makers, photographers, farmers, ecologists, tree planters, artists- the list goes on. What an incredible thing to feel so deeply. I’m equally glad to be taking the time to reflect and digest the information from the films and conversations. I was moved to think about these subjects in my own ways. Reduction prints of beavers to communicate the importance of their reintroduction to the UK’s rivers, creating a film of my trip to Scotland to discuss connection to land and the whispers we hear calling us to certain places, photo stories of farmers and their land restoration projects. The list goes on, my mind was buzzing.

So where to begin? I’m genuinely asking. How do we know which path to follow? In writing this I don’t think we will know. I think it’s a case of choosing and just setting off on the walk. It hasn't been phrased better than by Sylvia Plath:

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“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

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I can feel myself getting hungry from the lack of ability to choose a metaphorical fig. Maybe noticing that hunger is the first step though.

Big thoughts for a Monday, I’d love to hear your thoughts below.