Here’s a repost from my archives worth noting again:

It was yesterday in the late afternoon when I heard a rustling sound near one of the windows on my left. I was at my computer working on a project.

I heard bird chirping and fluttering, then the commotion stopped. At first, I thought it was my two cockatiels but they were asleep. A few moments later, more chirping. I went to the window. Nothing. Then, I looked down on the outside sill.

A fledgling had landed there somehow from one of the nearby trees. More chirping, calling out to its mother. Not wanting to interfere, I went back to my work.

In a while, dusk had settled in.

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Many have heard or read an ad promising to teach a new language in a short amount of time; some offer no memorization lessons or boring drills, or trying to recall by tedious rote. I doubt those exposed to such ads question that it does take concentrated work to learn the language of their choice.

When it comes to art, we have a similar scenario. It demands dedication to learn, absorb, and comprehend the language of a particular artist. If you don’t make the effort, then how would you ever know whether you are looking at art of substance, or cotton candy? If you rely on the experts to form your opinion, you will have missed the aesthetic experience, which happens one soul at a time.

Recently, I had to locate an official paper.

I was sure I knew where it was, but not so. I searched, rifled through draws, closets, boxes, and so on with no success. Where could it be? True, I had been a rolling stone for some time, and it could have ended up who knows where. Eventually, I did find the paper in a small box stored in my sister’s attic.

The big surprise in the box, however, was my discovery of a 90-minute TDK audio cassette labeled “January 23, 1983: to Maxwell from Hal.” What’s this? Over the years, the box had been exposed to the heat of the desert, the humidity of Florida, the cold of the Northeast, and the arctic and equator temperatures of an attic. Could a tape survive this long and in such extreme environments?

When I got home, I popped the cassette in and hit the play button.

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Here’s a concrete example of art from the soul.

Whenever one of my works is acquired, I tell the patron that the painting will reveal itself over time, and it could take years—which is an exciting prospect. I say that this phenomenon also happens to me since my art is unplanned, and not premeditated.

Last night, I was sitting on a lounger chair facing a wall that had a pencil portrait of my sister; I had done this piece more than ten years ago. Suddenly, an unanticipated image appeared within the drawing that was so real, bold, and distinct that I sat back, once again speechless at the magic that awaits us—that is, if we are patient, loyal, and dedicated to forever seeing with fresh eyes and spirit.

I know that many writers and artists are plagued with creative blocks.

It may be helpful to grasp that getting stuck is mostly likely the result of trying to fit your work into a template, a popular idiom that has already been trampled over by hordes of others.

Another factor in writing fiction, for example, is that you have to see it, observe it with a keen eye, before you can describe it; this means sufficient detail, not a meaningless overabundance of facts. Be patient. Care about all your characters; let the descriptive layers of meaning filter down through your psyche until the picture is clear—then capture it on paper or onscreen.

Blocks are also the result of too much thinking. When the mind is quiet, when thoughts are corralled and momentarily tamed, there is no confusion, no mental blocks.

Note also that there is no such malady as a creator block since original work is not strictly bound by convention; this knowledge has great liberating power.