Eyes of a child
I am working on making choices, including in my art practice, from my intuitive inspiration. That inspiration can sometimes look silly, or childish, or foolish. I can feel ashamed of it even before it happens. One thing that can help turn off my monkey brain and focus on what matters (making the art!) is to adopt the mindset of a child. Intentionally seeing the world in an honest, open way with curiosity and delight.
Here's a passage from Little Labors by Rivka Galchen (an amazing book; I highly recommend it) about this childlike delight:
Mysteries of taste
In her ten-word Moby-Dick board book, she above all loves the page that says CAPTAIN. She loves to find a ball in a picture, especially a ball that is green or blue. Of the six animal notecards of black and white drawings, she exhibits a strong preference for Penguin. She has not yet encountered a quantity of olives that is sufficient. When she makes a scribble on paper, the result makes her giggle. When she finds herself trapped in her crib and wants out, she calls out to me; when I enter the room, she says, “Eyes?” If we come upon a square or round of metal on the sidewalk, she wants nothing more than to stand on it, and then to go on standing there. When she sees a bottle of milk being poured out for her, she laughs. Little holds more interest than a set of stairs, or a handicap-access ramp. Always she is the first to notice the moon.