I’m not sure the level of blasphemy I’m about to commit, but I’m sure there are some people out there who would prefer that ink blots be held to the strictest of uses, as well as their formal interpretations adhered.
During meditation last night, I used ink blots to help trigger my creative mind. It was pretty great. I suppose there’s a part of me that enjoys searching for the beauty amidst the chaos and noise of a scene. Perhaps it‘s reminiscent of the chaos of my childhood, and I had to use my imagination to find a sliver of happiness amidst the dysfunction.
I ran into an issue when I decided to read their formal interpretations, though. I quickly found that the defining parameters of ink blot interpretation would leave a lot to be desired. It is impossible to know what’s normal and what’s abnormal about me without knowing a thing about me – the influences and circumstances of my life. Not to mention, who is to decide what is normal? Plus, there was no “normal” or “abnormal” for the two maître d ostriches and high fiving bears I saw, so I decided that there was more to be had from ink blots, and it had to do with creativity I had lost somewhere along my life’s timeline.
Moral of the Story: Entirely too much of the magic of the abstract gets lost if we try to define everything we see.