About The Blog
In short, The Journalist is just that: a digital journal of sketches, stories and sojourns, the artistic rendering of everyday life. But in the long, this blog is a compulsive answer to an ambiguous call.
Creativity is a funny thing: sometimes unnecessary, mostly subjective, usually elusive. It is a force in itself that comes and goes as it chooses; a fickle, ancient daemon. I have the fortune to count among my friends a number of gifted artists – singers, dancers, actors, musicians, photographers, painters. Despite the different mediums, the question remains the same. Why are we driven to create?
It is a question that mankind has asked for centuries, and for all our propositions the answer still remains largely undefined. It seems almost nonsensical, really, to be driven to make something that offers no immediate, practical value. We simply know that we must. It is a drive to achieve, a desire to capture, a need to communicate and let the mind run rampant. In an inexplicable inversion of Maslow’s hierarchy, it sometimes goes before the needs for food, shelter, or companionship.
I won’t attempt to offer any new revelations on the creative impulse. I only know that I must create, that I must send it out into the world, and hope that it resonates with someone else. In answer to this unreasonable impulse I move forward, armed with pens, pigments, and a well-bound notebook, and hope that whatever I see is also seen by you. Thanks for reading.
About A. Cleverly
As a child, I envisioned myself as a horse trainer, a detective, an actor, or an Egyptologist. Now, I find myself as a writer and artist, living outside of the Great Confusion of Los Angeles, California. When I’m not tethered to my computer or scribbling at my desk, I like to hike mountains, cook extraordinary amounts of food, sing and play the piano (I’m attempting to learn how to play the violin, but I’ll let you know how that turns out).
Though organic gardening, the French language, and the Ashtanga Primary Series are on my “To Conquer” list, I must continually force myself to concentrate on just one thing at a time. For a directionless overachiever such as myself, this is not an easy task.
I really like pickles. And peonies. And crusty, warm French bread.
I still want to be a horse trainer, a detective, an actor, and an Egyptologist.
