Some days I feel so uncreative. So different to the people with whom I choose to live my life.

Tonight was one of those moments.

I was taken to the preview of local filmmaker, Pinny Grylls’s, new short film (a sweet tale of 90-something-year-old lovebirds living in a retirement home for ex-musicians). And I was overwhelmed by the talent and creativity in the room.

There was much “he acted in that great play that closed last week…” “she’s written blah blah…”, “he’s a film reviewer for the New Yorker…”, “he’s an artist, a really talented sculptor…”, and surruptitious pointing to people in the room, to fill me in on the scene. I was surrounded by lengthy chats about the current cultural scene, critical analysis of the film we’d just seen and, of course, the usual industry gossip. And I remembered who I am…

It’s hard when you choose to surround yourself with wonderfully creative people, and aren’t one yourself. I landed on my feet in London, enmeshing myself with artists, filmmakers, festival directors and general all-round arty people. I take pride in the fact that whilst I may not be creative myself, I can at least support artists with what I am good at – talking, promoting, organising, providing a shoulder for tears/rants/insecurities/ideas/creating outside-the-box solutions.

But tonight, whilst being a lovely night, reminded me of how outside “that world” I really am. I can be there for the artists I love and support, but I can never be one of them. I struggle with personal creativity. Take this blog for instance – I write far more entries than I post. Most of them are unreadable, disjointed and fairly boring… I only post what seems relevant and to make sense. I actually have a nightmare that one day all the drafts of my unpublished posts will accidentally get published. Everyone will see how truly bad my writing is!

I read a number of blogs on a daily, and envy their writers’ ease with words, their ability with description, lyrical poetry, political analysis (Concrete Dialogues is one of the best – a collective of truly astounding writers, all of whom I admire and read avidly and with much jealousy!)

Even in Perth, I was lucky to work with artists on a daily basis. In fact my bosses were artists themselves, and it showed in their work. I dated creative people, I made friends with performers, visual artists, jewellery makers, and I lived in a world filled with graphic designers I admired, filmmakers I adored, and musicians I worshipped.

I consider myself lucky to be surrounded by people who are filled with such creativity, but – oh my god – some days I wish a bit of it would rub off them and onto me. Even just a little!

Anyhoo – back to the matter at hand; London is full of them. Artists ooze out of every seam, djs exist on every street corner, fashion designers are sitting across from you having a coffee, visual artists are standing beside you at traffic lights, filmmakers are sharing your bus seat. If there is one city in the world you can consider yourself the “odd one out” for NOT being aritistic or creative – London is definitely it!

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