Sometimes I can’t help but think about how traditional education has partially limited my personal approach to the creative process. That A grade must mean that I’ve done something right, followed the right procedure, jumped through the right hoops which means my interpretation was bang-on. I played the perfect show because all the right notes were hit, flawless delivery, the drum fills were in exactly the right place. Applause and complements further solidifying that my take on things is truly new, or refreshing. But the other part of my brain argues that my idea of creativity is a mere casualty of what I’ve been brought up to admire, and their innovations severely lack a global influence. Appropriations, riding on coat-tails and co-opting the achievements of others.
This is how your head ends up when you’re lying in bed with the flu, on a diet of faux chicken soup and ginger tea. Too post modern for your own good.
