How can one defeat a blank page? A white page grins at you with its pearly white arrogance. A white page scares me. I do not know how to fight it. I do not know how to start. I do not know any of its soft spots or weak points. I don’t know where to hit or poke. It all looks the same everywhere, the entire page, uniform and blinding reflection of light off its clean white face. A blank page and its terrifying existence that I don’t know how to end.
A blank page (or a white page) is a villainous creature. It tries to scare the minds of poets, writers, playwrights, painters and other artists. It tries to tell them that they are not good enough; that they are not creative enough; that their ability to create is fake; that they cannot create unless some part of it is already done; that they are only good finishers and terrible terrible starters.
A blank page has to be stained.
It has to be stained with ink and paint; with the blood and sweat of the poets, writers, playwrights, painters and other artists.
But, on closer look…
Is a white page really vile? Is its purpose only to put our minds to shame? It does lose its existence when the artist or writer is done. Where will we be if there were no blank pages? What will we create? And on what will we create?
Maybe the blankness of the blank page is a visage, like the stern facial expressions of a childhood teacher we feared, but still admire. It incites us, terrifies us and insults us. So that when we are destroyed by doubt, shame, sadness, depression and frustration, something beautiful emerges.
Like phoenix rising from its own ashes, over and over again.
Or like a wisp of air flowing from the mind of a creator onto the paper, spreading and staining the white expanse of the paper.
And then the blank page dies and becomes immortal.