Fire and Creativity

Disclaimer: Please note this is not an academic essay. The contents of the following come from the jumbled memory of a neurodivergent who enjoys musing.

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Fire came first. Fragile flame from steel and flint or friction from wood-on-wood, fire ensured survival. To make it through the cold, dark night you lit a fire. To avoid parasitic infections, you cooked over a fire. It was then that you gathered ash and lit a torch to guide your journey to the case you’d selected to protect your work. And it was by the soft glow of torchlight that you drew murals of epic hunts and handprints that would last for millenia. Fire came before creativity, but they were, and are, intrinsically linked.

On the Subject of Fire

Before the advent of lighters, tinderboxes were crucial. Ingenuity created and optimized the process. Waxed wicks, wood shavings, and char cloth caught sparks and formed embers that were then coaxed into flame by skill and patience. Without this, hands grew numb, chill set in, and consciousness faded. And so, fire making became an art.

The parameters were and still are strict. Building a fire depends on ritualistic knowledge passed down from our ancestors. There are rules and stages, an order that must be respected. Selection of fuel comes first. All sizes are needed. You start small—shreds of it to catch the spark—then twigs, then branches, then limbs, then logs. Disrespect the order and the fire is smothered. Fuel must also be dry to catch the spark, if not any spark that catches is fickle and fades.

Once flame forms it must be nursed like a babe. Great attention and care is needed to keep it alive. Plentiful fuel is needed to keep it satisfied, maintained. Even more is needed to build it up strong and tall. But if it gets too strong, it can be difficult to control. As such, fire is thing of extremes—fickle at first, endlessly destructive if unchecked.

Fires wreak havoc, destroying broad swathes of forests when the earth is dry and the wind is strong. They generate momentum and are only stopped by the efforts of the species who caused the circumstances in the first place.

But this was not always the case. First Peoples have long held the tradition of controlled burning to maintain the health of forests, to transform decay into nutrients, and to clear room for new growth. This balance has benefited many species and minimized the ravaging effects of uncontrolled forest fires. But even when spontaneous and destructive, fire can bring about good.

Take the velvet-barked Redwood as an example. Its cone is small, spherical, and sturdy. It does not dry out like other cones; it requires fire to open. It drops to the ground and rests there, dormant and full of potential, patiently waiting for fire to come. Once it does, the cone opens and the seed falls onto bare earth, rich with the ashes of those that bore it. They find an open sky that brings sunshine and rain instead of suffocatingly dense canopies. They find little competition for nutrients because they are surrounded by gargantuan ashen skeletons that silently witness their growth. It is in this way that fire, even when destructive, can bring good things.

On the Subject of Creativity

Creating means different things for many people. In the purest sense, creativity is the process that brings something from nothing, but creativity is also transformative. I think both can be directly related to fire.

For the first example, creativity can be cultivated. Fuel can be gathered in the form of experience through reading, observing, and listening. The spark of creativity can ignite inspiration in many circumstances, as is the case in fire building, but if you cultivate the right environment the flame will catch faster and burn brighter.

For me, I find silence and observation to be the catalyst for my creative spark. The mind works without intention and sometimes I find emptying it is the best first step towards creating something. I think observation follows this closely, but I do not minimize the role of consumption. Just as fire consumes to generate heat, there are times when I must consume the work of others in order to inspire how bright my work shines. I think they are two different situations that are equally important.

For the second example, creativity can and should turn experience into art. It should take reflection and introspection and transform it into something that evokes emotion. I believe that the reason why people turn to art is because of its transformative properties. And similarly, I believe that the loss of our humanity occurs when we lose our appreciation for art. For the extent that art is appreciated demonstrates the state of the human condition and it is up to the creative to ensure that what they create possess depth, vulnerability, and transparency. The minimization of art into something that is merely consumed has led to a lot of the troubles that we face in this world. Art has become merely entertaining instead of transformational. For I believe, that art can and should communicate truths in a powerful and transformative way.

Finally, I want to comment on burnout. Creativity must be approached with the same respect that fire is. If unchecked, we can burn too brightly leaving scorched earth. This can be as devastating to the artist as it is to those who appreciate art. But even then, there is hope. For just like the life cycle of the Redwood, burnout can create fertile ground for new growth to occur, it just may take longer to recover than a slow, controlled burn.

Authors note: This may become a longer essay in the future as the parallels between fire and creativity are endless.