I think in images. I think everyone does. I think that is the only way thinking is possible. Proof? While writing the sentence above, I first thought of an accordion opening — and that informed the lengths of the sentences. Alliteration also slyly slipped in. In my experience — and I would not know if that’s everyone’s experience too — creativity depends not only on the ability to visualise, but also on the act of alliterating one’s practice over and over again, year after year. I now know, whatever I make — the ideas I get, the pieces I write, the photographs I make — draws generously upon everything that I have made, written, or photographed before. They are also a product of everything I have read, seen, or heard. And not only in terms of literature and films; every conversation I have had, every one I have eavesdropped upon, every interview I have heard, every praise and every scolding… all joys and heartbreaks…Everything shapes what I make today. I seem to come up with ideas fairly quickly now — but that is probably because I have practiced the same kind of creation again and again, over the years, letting later experiences gently alter each repetition. Alliterating the same ideas over and over should, logically, run the risk of becoming stale, boring, outdated. Not quite. Every repetition makes the idea a little more elegant, the production a little more refined. And the addition of later experiences makes every repetition a bit different, a bit newer, a bit more contemporary. A typical creative moment for me often reminds me of the Dunning-Kruger curve: A blinding flash of vision… happiness, confidence, bliss. And then, moments later, the waves of that brilliant vision crashing against the rocks of reality. From there, usually, the doubts reign while the vision fights valiantly. Both the vision and the doubts carry the arsenal of experience. Sometimes the vision emerges victorious, albeit with some bandages of modification. Sometimes the doubts win — paving the way for another blinding flash. But each subsequent vision grows more enduring. And eventually, a vision wins. All due to a practice of years, repeating, refining, repeating — again and again, over and over. I stand on the shoulders of giants, to borrow (with apologies) from Albert Einstein. I owe my creativity to everyone who has created before me, and to everyone who has ever spoken with me. Creativity, in my experience, is the art and the method of repeating, refining, repeating — again and again, over and over. I would very much like to know: what does creativity look like to you, my reader? Maybe I’ll learn of new methods. Or, at the very least, my new ideas will borrow from yours.