"You're a real life creative," my husband reminds me each time I get to raggin' on myself for any number of career-related pitfalls. This describes a person who uses shiny gold binder clips to hold the curtains instead of tiebacks. Who can call upon the image of a map in the middle of wayward meandering. Who can see one hundred ways to use the same piece of furniture. Who can read between lines just far enough to glimpse a person's subconscious. Who can resolve a major imbalance with ten minutes of journaling. This describes a person who loves based on the needs of the loved, and who mixes patterns like ocean currents mix salt waters.
In other words, it's natural.
So when it comes to my work, why do I view creativity as a savage beast that needs caging?
Let that mother fucker free.