One of my absolute favorite past times is watching live music (so much more exciting than baseball). For sometime, the pandemic interrupted musicians and music lovers everywhere, and I felt the absence of live music deeply. This year I am making up for lost time. I kicked off the year with one of my favorite bands, Jospeh, at their Requests Only Tour. These magical, musical sisters brought a stripped and moving set of beloved songs to the stage and connected with the audience like we were all old friends. (And, aren’t we? Is that not what music makes of the performer and the audience?) Although the setlist consisted primarily of familiar songs, there were two new songs introduced that night. The band explained the inspiration for each song, which combined their personal experiences with experiences they observed.
“This song is inspired by two things. The first is a show I watch on Netflix called “Love Island”. Only check out season 6 and pretend someone else told you to. No - I stand by it - it’s a good show. The other half is basically [about] some advice from a friend about love, that I very strongly disagreed with. Perhaps you can pick it apart and see which is what.”
The inspiration and the resulting songs both resonated. You know when you experience something in your senses that that warms your heart and lights up some part of your brain, like a little match struck inside of you? I felt that little spark in the moment, and I knew it was inspiration.
Their words and their songs danced over and over in my mind, long after the evening ended, and although I have yet to know where they’ll take me, I know they will find their way in some new creative expression of mine. However, there is a dark little cloud in my head that worries me about whether that is okay, and how I can share it without having it mistaken for a set of plundered words or a stolen idea (more on that soon).
A week later, I found myself reexamining this concern, or rather this notion at another concert, The Blue Flower Tour. This time around, I examined the notion from a new point of view - that of the observer, rather than the creator. David Radford, of The Gray Havens described the process of drawing much of the inspiration for his his latest album from the work and life of C.S. Lewis. The entire concept for the album, and several lyrical ideas and themes came from Lewis, after a friend of Radford suggested that he read Planet Narnia, which prompted him to read several books by Lewis, including The Chronicles of Narnia (of course) and his autobiography, Surprised by Joy. Radford went on to explain that a striking , almost passing image or memory that served as the premise of Lewis’ autobiography rerouted him from a broad Lewis concept album to more pointed concept album about the blue flower.
“As a six year old, the first time he mentions joy, he talks about a blue flower... he’s looking at the Castlereagh hills in Ireland: ‘there I was, a six year old votary [or admirer] of the blue flower’. And that’s all he ever says about the blue flower. And I was like, WHAT? It seemed like a hyperlink to something that I should know more about, so I looked it up and it was used in German romantic literature as the symbol for the longing that Lewis talked about. And so that kind of pivoted all my plans. I wrote a concept album about the blue flower.”
For a long time I have believed that art is the unique expression of an existing concept or truth. Creativity in the hands of human beings is a new way to explore and understand something that is already present in the world. Only God can make something out of nothing, which means that we are building on and borrowing from what He has originated and we have experienced (consciously or subconsciously). How can I believe, let alone claim that I am the originator of anything, when I know so little of the world, where those concepts and truths I have expressed may very well exist elsewhere in some other context or form. For lack of a better way to say it, nothing is new under the sun - subjectively or even objectively better maybe, but not new.
A couple of years ago, I had an unexpected encounter that might reasonably be referred to as “creative differences” with someone I thought to be a friend, because we had very different ideas about the distinction between origination and inspiration. We were participants in a conversation with members other than ourselves, and someone posed a question: How would you treat people differently if you thought of them as eternal beings? A certain response came back which included the following words: “you are forever”, and a little spark went off in my mind. It was as though a thought that existed in my head had just been voiced on someone else’s tongue. I jotted the words down for later contemplation. Sometime later, this person, some friends, and I sat in my living room sharing our latest creative offerings. I prepared to share a new poem: You Are Forever. I began by stating the source of inspiration was the utterance of words from this friend in a conversation. This person shared that she had not even remembered saying those words. I read the poem and asked the group what thoughts it evoked to determine if the message I intended was in fact what was being received. We discussed it for a bit, and moved onto someone else’s work. Later that afternoon, I learned that this person who’s words had inspired me (and whom I had in fact credited) felt betrayed because I had used her words without her consent - words that she had forgotten since speaking them. She stood at my doorstep and accused me of plagiarism, then informed me that we could no longer work together (we were set to do so later that week), and that she wasn’t sure we could carry on our friendship if I could not see the matter the way she did. Some time passed, a discussion was had, but long story short: what might have been a blossoming friendship dissolved over three little words, and hurtful lack of faith in my intent.
I wrestled with her point of view for a long time. I made a pros and cons list for each of our viewpoints. I researched thoughts about origination and plagiarism I sought counsel from creative friends, and even a published writer. I did not emerge with a clear answer, because there were so many nuances to consider in how these were perceived at all, and in what our particular situation looked like. Some common factors that came up were:
Variation - did the new work merely copy its source or did it reinvent it enough to become something new?
Context/Form - did the new work replicate its form or context or change them enough to express its own meaning?
Intent - did the new artist intend to pass off the source of the other artist as their own?
Credit - did the new artist properly credit the artist as the source of inspiration for their work?
These factors seem straight forward enough, but they are not so simple. In the case of writing for instance, does the reinvention of a phrase require a change of words? How does one measure the degree of change in context or form that is required to give the work its own meaning? Who can actually judge an artist’s intent other than the artist (and God)? And what does it look like to credit an artist for inspiring your own work? Does acknowledging the source require you grant that artist ownership of your work?
I came across a very interesting conversation between music artist, Pharrell Williams and producer, Rick Rubin in which they discussed some related ideas surrounding a song that initiated similar questions in the music industry. My experience does NOT parallel the situation discussed here, but there are aspects that overlap. At one point, Williams recalls feelings of hurt and perhaps a bit of self doubt that I relate to. Rubin speaks my own fears about our ability to create being hindered by others’ perceptions of origination and inspiration.
“It hurt my feelings, because I would never take anything from anyone. And that really set me back.”
“It puts us as [art] makers in a really uncomfortable place making things, because now we don’t know what [we] can do.”
I’m not sure who makes the rules about art and creativity. I suppose anyone can be the jury, but who is the actual judge? I think as an artist, I should be wise enough to seek counsel, but ultimately I have to be my own judge.
I never did finish that poem. I laid it to rest for many reasons. I wanted to do what I could to keep from losing what I thought to be a friendship. I offered the options I could think of - to cite her as a source for the phrase (which I had already done) or to list her as co-author (even though she had only contributed three words, and in a context other than a written or otherwise premeditated context). I could not imagine what else she could have wanted. She wanted to me to change the words or to kill the poem altogether. I felt certain that having given the words a new form and context, I had not done anything wrong. Furthermore, having cited her for the words that inspired the poem, I had been mindful to do what was right. Still, I could not afford to be unsure of whether I was right at the expense of my integrity. And I could not bring myself to change the words, either. So I killed my darlings and the poem became a ghost, dead to the world, and haunting only me. My relationship with the other person was also lost. My integrity remained in tact, and my creativity suffered a bit, as I tried to wrap my mind around how to have both.
At the beginning of the year, I determined that I wanted to return to creative pursuits. I realized that I had allowed necessity (pressing goals or obligations) to eclipse my creative side. Now I see that time was only part of the equation. I lacked inspiration, because my surroundings and interactions did not have variety enough to excite new ideas, and because I’ve been afraid to act on what little inspiration came my way. I lost faith in myself, and I feared that nothing I could create would truly be mine. I think inspiration is the product of external stimuli at work in me internally. Since January, I've hosted 3 Creative Brunches, read half a book (I’m working on the other half), and attended 2 concerts. The resulting inspiration has been revitalizing for my creativity. I don’t know what to do with it yet, but I’m starting to feel okay about it. This is how art is made - one beautiful thing gives rise to another. The new creation is no less its own than the former. Origination is the beginning or creation of something made new, where as inspiration is the catalyst for that creation. It’s marvelous really - how a catalyst does not cause a reaction with everything (or anyone in this case) that it touches, only those it was meant to. And a reactant feels no shame for responding. I’ve been imbued with the confidence of these artists that I trust and respect, who are confident enough to own both their inspiration and their origination. And that gift is so much more than I could hope to get from a concert - it is incredibly freeing.
