I don’t know how my creativity works. I usually sleep when it happens, or dream, and miss the moment. Suddenly, ideas and things that have nothing to do with each other are connected and I have this image in my mind. Then creating begins.
Besides that I must have quite good hand-eye-coordination, I have two disadvantages that become beneficial in the process. a) Due to an inborn corneal irregularity in one eye I have no depth perception. The world I see is as flat as a canvas or better any canvas is as deep and dimensional as my world. b) Whereas an average brain has a face recognition program running and processes facial images in a different area in order to analyze mimic and basing on it emotions and feelings, brains of people with Asperger Syndrome are not discriminatory. They treat all images the same way and all I see are colors, hues and shadows – just like in any piece of art.
Beyond that for me the creative process mainly follows the same pattern. I take the idea that has formed in my head and run with it, fast and far. I create a whole world around it and its own story to go with it, which becomes my reality while I work on it. It’s filled with silliness and fluff, philosophical debates, essays on the imagery of vampires & werewolves in literature, art, and psychology complete with a part about the difference their diverging connection to the sun and the moon makes, character analysis, story lines of never aired episodes, respect, hopes and expectations. When I say that I am firmly rooted into reality, just that the reality I live in might not be the one you experience while standing next to me – I mean it.
And then, still filled with this nearly perfect other place of creation, I’m done. I want to share. But in the reality of others what I have created does not appear as this marvelous place. It’s just another image in the flood of information. And even for me, after separation and seen from a different perspective it might not be that perfect anymore.
I mourn a bit. I feel like I splashed my brain on pieces of paper or stretches of canvas and am now in serious need of a refill. I am tired. And yes, I am a tad afraid that I will never create anything again. And it is good that way, since if I ever reached perfection of the kind I can only make up in the reality of my mind, what would make me go on?
So, I say Good Bye and shut the reality of others out again. I might cry till I fall asleep or slip in a daydream. And this is when it drops by unnoticed by me – creativity.