Lately I’ve been suffering from a serious mental disease – lack of inspiration. And I don’t think there is some kind of cure – it is a cycle.
Plato talked about inspiration as a possession. Almost like we became possessed by a feeling, which impel us to do something? I don’t know. But apparently my inspiration left… maybe to possess and inspire others, maybe because it had to go or just because I can’t find it.
What I’ve been realizing is that there is a vicious cycle. Melancholy – Inspiration – Lack of Inspiration – Melancholy. Maybe the melancholy never leaves ourselves, or maybe the melancholy is the source of inspiration. Confusing? To many “maybes”?
Well, melancholy is the most artistic feeling. It does not leave us debilitated as may often be portrayed – on the contrary, it’s a pleasure of reflection and self-reflection, which makes it, somehow, actually productive – it leaves us inspired. It lies between genius and madness, as I once was told.
Ítalo Calvino said “melancholy is the sadness that becomes light”. It makes us question ‘ourselves, the world and and the relations that they are made of’. It’s good to be melancholic once in a while.
Believe it or not, I felt inspired by a excerpt about melancholy, as I was laying there. Thought I could share, and who knows, even spread the inspiration.
“… but it is a melancholy of my own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humurous sadness.” (W. Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act IV)