The Creative Mind

This is a story about how we might overlook beauty and creativity when it’s right in front of us.

The photo above is ordinary enough. It’s a partially set table for ten, evidently at someone’s home, quite possibly my own. The event in question is a holiday party among friends who often travel together and have, for several years, gathered at this time of year to laugh, exchange gag gifts, have a meal, and peacefully enjoy each other’s company.

The table was expected, was acknowledged by the women present, and then forgotten as the fun began. The tartan runner honors the next trip, which will be to Scotland. But it’s the Christmas season, so red and green factor in to the decor. Carnations were selected by the artist, their stems cut so they would settle into the vase to form an attractive semi-globe. Two small vases balance the centerpiece with two splashes of red. A ribbon later was added, meandering down the runner. The small candles are ready to cast their warm glow when the meal is served. In the background, there’s a little “tree” made of pine cones and decorated with electric lights. To the left is a ming Aurlia that has been trimmed and cared for more than a dozen years. At the right in the background is an orchid, appropriately in bloom for the season.

A few hours after this picture was taken, the guests filled their plates buffet style, sat down, and paused for just a few quiet seconds before someone proposed a toast. Then the eating began, including a few remarks about how good the salmon was, or how tasty the meat pie was, or how fun it was to have mashed potatoes and gravy and a delicious green salad. Then a few minutes later, the table was cleared and the rumpled napkins tossed on the table cloth, the chairs pushed back, and the group adjourned to the small room in the background to have a wee sip of whisky while opening, and laughing at, the gag gifts. As the hours rolled by, the guests tired and the party ended. The table was returned to its normal functionality, a dining spot for the two people who live here.

The picture above has been posted to Wikipedia, and has no credit. It is “rangoli” the Hindu term for sand painting. According to information posted to Wikipedia, “Rangoli is an art form that originates from the Indian subcontinent, in which patterns are created on the floor or a tabletop using materials such as powdered limestone, red ochre, dry rice flour, coloured sand, quartz powder, flower petals, and coloured rocks. It is an everyday practice in many Hindu households; however, making it is mostly reserved for festivals and other important celebrations as it is time-consuming. Rangolis are usually made during Diwali or Tihar, Onam, Pongal, and other Hindu festivals in the Indian subcontinent, and are most often made during Diwali. Designs are passed from one generation to the next, keeping both the art form and the tradition alive.”

If you ever see rangoli being made, you might be struck by the time and the tedious attention it takes to make one. If you’ve seen one on a porch, and then seen it scuffed or huffed away, you might be struck by its impermanence. What is the point of investing so much time when there is no lasting impact (apart from the benefit of a photograph)? For that matter, what is the point of setting a dinner table with tasteful colors relative to the season and the event, nice crystal, napkins and a table cloth?

These two examples of beauty are related in a couple of ways. We’ve noted the impermanence. We’ve noted the relationship to household “ordinariness.” We have not noted the fact that both art forms are usually created by women.

There are whole university courses devoted to the differences between genders, and much can be learned, probably. It’s not that men don’t set tables, cook, or make sand art on their porches; perhaps some do. For this day and to this writer, it’s enough to just notice. And appreciate. And be grateful.

Thanks to the artists among us who make beautiful things and set them before us.

— RJ Stewart