A Writer's Woes: The "Empty Vessel" or The "Blank Canvas"?

                         A Writer's Woes 9: The "Empty Vessel" or The "Blank Canvas"?

The Vessel emptied. Just like that. There was no more doubt about whether it was half full or half empty. Enough intellect, logic and wordplay had been expended on the matter.

The Writer sat staring at the blank wall. The Blank Canvas that his mind was at the moment, projected effortlessly on to the wall. He knew that the Blank Canvas often gave birth to the best art. There was no prejudice, no framework, no bias. A clear sky that summoned the writer to give wings to his imagination.

The irony wasn't lost on him. Here he was. Trying to get out of a rut that he often found himself in. Multiple times. And each time he climbed out of it with nothing less than superhuman effort. On the contrary, his mind was teasing him with a question, asking him to decide  if the writer in him was now "An Empty Vessel" or a "Blank Canvas".

Perhaps he was an "empty vessel" now, after all! The cacophony in his mind that eventually manifested on paper seemed a perfect example of the adage "empty vessels make more noise". Crude ideas, vague articulation, powerless language - he'd been there, done that. And whenever he went the empty vessel way, even the noise died midway.  Then the silence. The silence that challenged his ideas and his need to write, in the face. The silence that ironically seemed so comfortable. That spared him of questions on his intent and ability to write. The silence that sounded so meaningful in front of  the noise from the empty vessel. That exposed his probably withering ability - an ominous reality.

"There is so much to write about the empty vessel, though" the writer chuckled.

The "Blank Canvas" he wondered. The whiteness of the canvas exuded a sense of liberation. Unlike the empty vessel that had its limitations and boundaries, the canvas could stretch as far as the writer could imagine. The canvas didn't compel wisdom, like the vessel, but guided child like creativity. There were ideas of different colours and textures that seemed to flow without judgement. The canvas seemed to soak up everything that was on offer and always seemed ready for something more.

"Curious Contradictions" the writer mused. There, suddenly, was an improvement. A levelling up of the questions he was posing to himself. For a person who was wondering whether the writer in him still existed, he was now asking himself whether he was "an empty vessel" or a "blank canvas".

Did that now mean that it was established that the writer in him still lurked somewhere? He wanted to believe so. It would definitely let him take the next question up with more authority.

The "empty vessel" construct appealed to him from a wit and wisdom point of view. Knowledge and ability would fill a person's mind and heart - and how empty (or full) a person's "vessel" was would point to how learned he was. Filling up that empty vessel to make it "half full" or "completely full" in due course was an intellectual pursuit and an ambition worthy of the esoteric. The more full the vessel was, lesser the noise. What would then flow out would be mature, meaningful ideas taking shape within the vessel and that of the vessel.

The "blank canvas" though, tugged at his heart. It had this child-like simplicity that was endearing to him and for that matter to his audience as well. For some reason, he felt the canvas didn't judge. And it never forced itself on the onlooker. Each angle offered a new perspective. There was ample room for multiple perspectives to converse and converge - or simply coexist. It was almost how the author wanted the real world to be. Liberated. Free of bias.

In hindsight, may be everything he tried to write derived from both elements. While some ideas stemmed from his deep seated beliefs, value systems, upbringing and societal constructs, there was a part of him that yearned to break away from these structures and value things for what they are. While his logic, intelligence and wisdom guided him on the contours of his characters, his creativity added the zeal and empathy for life which  made the characters come alive.

While the "empty vessel" wrestled the ideas into a perfect form, the "blank canvas" playfully imposed newer perspectives. While the blank canvas wanted to stretch itself and create beyond limits, the empty vessel stepped in with its own set of realistic limitations that provide direction.

It was now time for the writer to step in. He had to choose his construct. The blank canvas offered him infinite possibilities yet the empty vessel was tryst with cogent reality. He knew both of them helped him hone his craft. A world of ideas wouldn't do him any good if he couldn't distill them and give them concrete shape and form.

He stood in front of the blank canvas and projected his newest idea onto it. The canvas turned to an endearing hue of colour and life. The idea slithered and spread on the canvas and soon even beyond it. The author smiled. He collected the spreading idea into his empty vessel. There was definitely a better shape and form to it now. He closed the lid of the vessel - lest the idea escape into the dead of the night, while he earned his well deserved sleep. Life was good.

                                                                                                       - 09th November 2020