My late Grandpa Cole once stood with me in his study, straightening the glasses on his nose in the pause, and told me my Uncle Dickie had taught him something important about art. Art can’t be limited by what you think it should be, he said. It has to have room to breathe, to take shape, to be what it wants to be. That was the lesson.
Our semester at UTSA begins in just two weeks, and I’m all set to roll out the Creative Writing Program’s brand new core course: Introduction to the Creative Literary Arts. One component of the class is exploring creativity itself, what it is, what sparks it, how it arches across the arts, what artists add to the community. This was pretty much one of my Ph.D field exam subjects as well, so I feel right at home with the class already. And in preparing for it, I’ve spent a good deal of the summer pondering the origins of my own creativity.