Sometimes I wonder if art has something prophetic to it. It’s almost as if the things we create at one point come back later to say, “it was actually this... it was about THIS THING all along, and you didn’t even know it.”
Maybe it’s the power of art. Maybe it’s the working of God’s Spirit. Maybe it’s our own mental processing. Or maybe it’s all of the above. But there’s something humbling (and surprising) when the things we create take on a life of their own and begin speaking in a completely different way. Because suddenly we’re not the crafters of meaning... we’re the recipients of it.
The ancient Greeks believed inspiration (literally meaning ‘to breathe into’) came not by creativity, talent, or genius... but by an external, personal spirit. I’m beginning to see why.
We put ourselves into our work, as if we’re the ones with power, and then, at a certain point, that work can turn around and put itself into us.