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By Sharon Short, Contributing Writer 9:11 AM Monday, July 26, 2010

On a sweet, warm summer evening not long ago, I decided to take a stroll through our neighborhood

As I walked along, I took in the sheer prettiness around me — trees, bright blue sky, flower boxes. And the activity around me — kids playing, dogs sunning or cavorting in the back yard, other folks out walking.

I also took in the sounds of summer... birds, dogs, kids, traffic, ice-cream truck... and music: someone singing, accompanied by a guitar.

Something struck me as different about the music, though. It didn’t seem to be spilling from a passing vehicle. Or from an amped-up Ipod. Or from a house. No, it seemed to be... live.

But as I rounded the corner, I thought that couldn’t be right... and then I saw him.

A man on his front porch. Playing his guitar. Singing.

Just because, I suppose, it was a sweet, warm summer evening, and why not?

Yet, the sight and sound of the guitar man struck me as unusual, though. After all, we’re living in the age and culture of “American Idol.”

Of doing creative activities — if you’re anywhere close to the age of the guitar man or of myself, at least — only if you have an audience. Or pay. Or a plan to eventually build an audience. And get paid.

Kids create art, music, poetry because it’s good for them (so we tell them.)

But how often do adults role-model the act of creation... just for the sheer joy of creation, not for affirmation or results or validation?

Rarely, it seems to me.

But a few days later, on another stroll, I rounded a different corner... and sighted another man. Playing another guitar, and singing another song, on a different porch.

I did a double-take, I must admit. And then affirmed that, indeed, the singers/guitar pickers really were two different guys.

I grinned all the way home on that stroll.

Creativity, I believe, is part of who we are as human beings. It’s built into us. And it needs to find expression.

That expression can be through a beautifully crafted piece of word working. An artfully decorated cake. A lovely, touching series of photos. An expressive dance.

Of course, this idea isn’t particularly unique. Recently, Dr. Andrew Morley, an anesthetist in England, realized that musical notes look somewhat like genetic sequences.

He took this idea to composer Michael Zev Gordon, who created a piece called “Allele” based on DNA samples of 40 singers in the New London Chamber Choir. The choir debuted the piece in mid-July.

I heard a portion of the piece recently on a BBC News Broadcast. It was strangely moving and brought to mind Gregorian Chants.

Hearing it affirmed my increasing belief that finding creative expression — without concern for compensation, audience approval, or practicality — is as essential to human health, both physical and mental, as exercise, nourishment, inhaling, exhaling.

It is, I believe, part of what we’re each spiritually called to do.

Or — more creatively — as the Lee Ann Womack song “I Hope You Dance” expresses:

“I hope you never lose your sense of wonder

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance...

I hope you dance

I hope you dance...”

Or paint.

Or write.

Or sculpt.

Or sit on your porch on a sweet summer evening, playing a guitar and singing, lending your tune to the music of life.

Sharon Short’s column runs Monday in Life. Send e-mail to sharonshort@sharonshort.com.

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