The creative for me goes on

I want to sharpen my creative process. My question to myself is where to
begin? My idea is that all of us, everyone, are on the inside looking out. We
live in our home, our body and always observing. And at a least we observe the
outside to survive. Through our eyes, we look for danger and things that might
hurt or destroy us. We have to look for shelter. Protect up from the elements
of nature that can harm us. Things like the cold and the heat can wear down our
body and destroy us. We have to observe what is in front of us also for
substance. Food and water are the elements of life itself. These are the basics
that we need to sustain as are all species of mammals on this earth. Trying to
survive in a hostile world. So, let us fast forward to the 21st-century and the
contemporary human condition. We have used our intelligence to rule the world.
Our advances in,

Technology and intellect we have grown us. The intellectual growth is
evident in the records we have kept noting how we made things. Most important
is what we thought about them. We have left a record of how we understand our
place in the world. History, literature, philosophy and religion have left us
with an understanding of more about ourselves and others. They handed this
information and ideas to us through history’s records, but also through our
ancestors that have preceded us. In my case, it is family those that brought me
into this world developed my thoughts and ideas. How they loved me and cared
for me. Also, let us not forget how they cared for themselves. Case in point at
my grandparents were from a foreign country. They came to America, from
southern Italy, to avoid property. They landed in Newark, New Jersey because of
friends and family. They spoke no English all the years I remember them. I must
assume that was because they stayed in Newark. A strong Italian community made
up of those immigrants from their former home. I mentioned that because it is a
start to my ideas. My inside that I look out from. The first filter of all the
ideas that trickled through my life. The rhythm yet staccato dialect of the
Italian language I heard from them and my parents. My parents were both born
here and spoke Italian to my grandparents, or when they did not want my sister
and to know what they were saying about us. My dialect of the Italian words is
from them. We are familiar with the word mozzarella cheese that is from Italy.
That is the proper pronunciation, where each syllable is pronounced. But for me
and the word, is moozzadell. The Rs are hard and sound like a D.

That is a Southern Italian dialect that I called a Newark Italian dialect.
Don’t argue with anyone from my neighborhood about how to pronounce mozzarella.
Now imagine that as my first filter looking out from inside of my house,
observing. I am an Italian American. The first rock of my creative process.

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