Six years ago I flew from Rome to San Diego for the birth of my niece. Another ‘on the whim’ decision, I was finishing a performance project and my brother Michael and sister-in-law Re were “Deeming-less” on the West Coast for the birth of their first. So I went. What I remember most about the time before Quinn emerged into the world (in the haze of ten hour jet lag) was the pain and messiness (not my own obviously). As Annemarie trawled about the windowless room to pass the time, occasionally perching on the edge of the gurney for a contraction, life’s membrous translucent juices leaked onto the hospitals sterile tiled floors.

It wasn’t a heavenly experience; it was more like an alien emerging in purgatory.

The fluorescent bulbs cast a green glow on the dull colours of the hospital ‘décor’, a pervasive smell of astringent crawled up your nose and stayed for a visit, the resident soundtrack - a mix of beeping machines charting heartbeats, loudspeaker announcements for Doctor’s, the tap of nurses feet, and swish of wheelchairs played incessantly like a Sartre play.

None of this careful management however could change the base, the ancient, forever process of life emerging as every generation before. One simple act nine months previous had assured the entrance of my niece in all her complexity, the fragile and the strong, the ordinary and the miraculous into the world.

Sometimes I say to my mother, when in the midst of my creative chaos (SLIGHTLY melodramatically I must admit), “MOM. I’m BIRTH-ING”.

Although I would never deign to compare making art (or any growth process) to making babies metaphorically there are considerations to empathize with. I relate very strongly to the description above in the context of developing work.

Namely making things can be messy; emotionally, physically, socially.

And making things can be (and often is) painful.

AND making things in this modern world can seem excruciatingly extra-terrestrial.

Sometimes it is difficult when conceiving something to know where it is going to go. Because of this you are constantly subject to the firing line (not to mention self-judgment).

I am in the midst of two very large creative projects, my first published book, “Body Earth” and developing a new concept for filmmaking which (I hope) ultimately will make the world the better place. That is what I wish my legacy to be.

Oh but Mary Mother of Buddha, it can be exhausting in as much as exhilarating.

You are one person led by hope. Hope that it is not a false pregnancy. That your ideas will have life. For that, you risk all.

The ultimate is that your ‘art’ will emerge and grow into something beautiful, transformative and life-affirmative. But there are no guarantees. Sometimes seeds yields weeds, or attract slugs for that matter. So you continue, changing formulas, trying new things.

In the meantime I am reminded of the potential in all small things as I witness Quinn becoming her own extraordinary and magical person. And for that I give thanks and forge on.

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www.deeming.org