Sometimes creativity appears in the smallest and most unexpected ways.
A while ago, I went to Bunbury Library to prepare for a talk I was giving during Literacy Week. I wanted to see the room, check the layout, and get a sense of what I would need to bring on the day.
Lexi, my dog, was with me, so she waited outside with her water bottle while I went in.
I wasn’t gone long. But when I came back, I noticed something tucked underneath the bottle.
A small piece of paper.
Someone had drawn Lexi.
It was a simple pencil sketch of her lying down, resting in that wonderfully unselfconscious way dogs do. Underneath were the words: Lexi taking a nap.
I still don’t know who drew it.
Perhaps they were visiting the library. Perhaps they were waiting for someone. Perhaps they simply noticed Lexi, paused for a moment, and felt moved to sketch what they saw.
Whatever happened, the gesture touched me.
There was no performance in it. No need for perfection. No formal request for recognition. Just a moment of noticing that became a small act of expression.
That, to me, is creativity in its most natural form.
It does not always arrive as a finished artwork, a published book, a polished painting, or something we can easily name. Sometimes it arrives quietly, in the ordinary flow of a day.
A sleeping dog.
A scrap of paper.
A pencil sketch.
A small gift left behind.
I’ve been thinking about this again as I return more regularly to painting and drawing. One thing I’m noticing is how often creative forms speak to one another.
A drawing can become a story.
A painting can inspire a tune.
A title can reveal something about an image.
A small moment in life can become a doorway into meaning.
The form may change, but the movement underneath is similar.
Something catches our attention.
Something stirs.
Something wants to be expressed.
This is very close to how I think about creativity, and also how I understand Flowcrafting. Creativity is not separate from life. It is woven through life.
As in life, so in art.
As in art, so in life.
It occurred to me that we do not always need to know where an expression will lead before we begin. Sometimes it is enough to notice what is here and respond in some small way.
That little drawing of Lexi reminded me that creativity does not need to be grand to matter. It can be spontaneous. Humble. Generous. Almost hidden. And still, it can stay with us. It can change the texture of the day. It can remind us that we are always in relationship with what we notice, and that even a simple act of making can become a quiet offering.
As I reach the end of this reflection, I am also including one of my snail drawings, because it feels connected.
A snail moves slowly. It carries its home with it. It does not hurry to prove anything. Yet, in its own time, it shows itself.
Perhaps creativity is sometimes like that too.
It may retreat for a while.
It may move slowly.
It may appear in small, unexpected ways.
I’d love to hear whether this brings up anything about your own creative process, or the ways creativity has appeared in your life.
I’d love to hear whether this brings up anything about your own creative process, or the small ways creativity has appeared in your life.
Given enough space, creativity finds its way out. 🦋
You can also follow me on Substack, where I post reflections from time to time: [Click here]