Creative Thought Space |
Héctor Aristizábal | Medellín, Antioquia, Colombia | www,imaginaction.org www.dreamingaction.com
Founder & Artistic Director of ImaginAction, Co-creator & Facilitator of Re-Conectando
What do you think being creative means?
To be creative is to participate consciously in the ongoing creation of the world. Creativity is not primarily about producing art. It is about entering into relationship with life in such a way that something new can emerge between us. It is the capacity to compost experience — joy, grief, exile, trauma, love — and allow it to ferment into meaning, into story, into gesture, into ritual. For me, creativity is mycelial. It is rarely linear. It moves underground before it appears above ground. It connects what appears separate. It turns wound into medicine, silence into voice, fragmentation into form. Creativity is the opposite of resignation. It is an act of faith in emergence.
How do you include creativity in your life?
I do not include creativity in my life. Creativity includes me. It appears in my writing, yes. In theater. In ritual. In the design of collective healing spaces. But it also appears in how I listen to someone in pain. In how I facilitate dialogue between former enemies. In how I walk in the forest and allow the wind to teach me something about timing.
Creativity is present in the way I accompany trauma — not trying to fix it, but creating conditions where something alive can reorganize itself. It is present in the way I help communities imagine futures that do not yet exist. Even conflict becomes creative material. Even uncertainty becomes soil for what wants to manifest.
What are your thoughts on how your life has influenced your creative imagination, and how your creative imagination has influenced your life?
My life has been marked by exile, violence, loss, and return. I did not choose trauma as an aesthetic preference; it entered my life uninvited. But imagination allowed me not to become imprisoned by it. The disappearance and assassination of my brother. Torture. Exile from Colombia. The shock of 9/11. The slow recognition of my own unacknowledged PTSD. These experiences fractured my inner world. Creativity became the thread that stitched it back together.
When I created my monologue Nightwind, I was not “making theater". I was trying to survive without becoming bitter. That creative act reorganized my life. It opened the path to many arts organizations like ImaginAction, to Re-Conectando, to accompanying the Truth Commission, to working with ex-combatants and victims. My imagination did not erase my history. It metabolized it.
And in return, my lived experience deepened my imagination. I no longer create from abstraction. I create from scar tissue, from embodied memory, from community wounds. Life gives the raw material; imagination gives it form.
What, if any, exercises do you do to get into a creative mode?
For me, creativity is less about “getting into” something and more about remembering how to listen. But there are practices that help:
How important do you think creativity is in life?
Creativity is not optional. It is biological. Every ecosystem regenerates through creative adaptation. Every culture survives through creative storytelling. Every human nervous system heals through creative integration. Without creativity, trauma becomes repetition. With creativity, trauma can become ritual and transformation. In our historical moment — marked by ecological crisis, political polarization, collective fatigue — creativity is not decoration. It is a survival intelligence. It is how we imagine beyond the story of separation. Creativity is how we remember we belong to a living cosmos that is still unfolding. And perhaps most importantly: Creativity is how we turn grief into devotion. The wound is a tomb for what is already dead, but is also a womb for what wants to grow.
To be creative is to participate consciously in the ongoing creation of the world. Creativity is not primarily about producing art. It is about entering into relationship with life in such a way that something new can emerge between us. It is the capacity to compost experience — joy, grief, exile, trauma, love — and allow it to ferment into meaning, into story, into gesture, into ritual. For me, creativity is mycelial. It is rarely linear. It moves underground before it appears above ground. It connects what appears separate. It turns wound into medicine, silence into voice, fragmentation into form. Creativity is the opposite of resignation. It is an act of faith in emergence.
How do you include creativity in your life?
I do not include creativity in my life. Creativity includes me. It appears in my writing, yes. In theater. In ritual. In the design of collective healing spaces. But it also appears in how I listen to someone in pain. In how I facilitate dialogue between former enemies. In how I walk in the forest and allow the wind to teach me something about timing.
Creativity is present in the way I accompany trauma — not trying to fix it, but creating conditions where something alive can reorganize itself. It is present in the way I help communities imagine futures that do not yet exist. Even conflict becomes creative material. Even uncertainty becomes soil for what wants to manifest.
What are your thoughts on how your life has influenced your creative imagination, and how your creative imagination has influenced your life?
My life has been marked by exile, violence, loss, and return. I did not choose trauma as an aesthetic preference; it entered my life uninvited. But imagination allowed me not to become imprisoned by it. The disappearance and assassination of my brother. Torture. Exile from Colombia. The shock of 9/11. The slow recognition of my own unacknowledged PTSD. These experiences fractured my inner world. Creativity became the thread that stitched it back together.
When I created my monologue Nightwind, I was not “making theater". I was trying to survive without becoming bitter. That creative act reorganized my life. It opened the path to many arts organizations like ImaginAction, to Re-Conectando, to accompanying the Truth Commission, to working with ex-combatants and victims. My imagination did not erase my history. It metabolized it.
And in return, my lived experience deepened my imagination. I no longer create from abstraction. I create from scar tissue, from embodied memory, from community wounds. Life gives the raw material; imagination gives it form.
What, if any, exercises do you do to get into a creative mode?
For me, creativity is less about “getting into” something and more about remembering how to listen. But there are practices that help:
- Silence and solitude in nature — walking slowly without headphones, allowing the more-than-human world to reset my nervous system.
- Body-based practices — breath, shaking, vocal toning, simple theater improvisations that bypass the rational mind.
- Dialogue with ancestors or future generations — sometimes literally speaking aloud to them, sometimes through meditation or under the guidance of medicinal ancestral plants.
- The Spiral of The Work That Reconnects — gratitude, honoring pain, seeing with new eyes, going forth. This spiral is profoundly creative.
- Writing without editing — letting the first draft be wild and unfiltered.
- Ritual gestures — lighting a candle in front of my altar before writing, or beginning a gathering with intentional silence.
How important do you think creativity is in life?
Creativity is not optional. It is biological. Every ecosystem regenerates through creative adaptation. Every culture survives through creative storytelling. Every human nervous system heals through creative integration. Without creativity, trauma becomes repetition. With creativity, trauma can become ritual and transformation. In our historical moment — marked by ecological crisis, political polarization, collective fatigue — creativity is not decoration. It is a survival intelligence. It is how we imagine beyond the story of separation. Creativity is how we remember we belong to a living cosmos that is still unfolding. And perhaps most importantly: Creativity is how we turn grief into devotion. The wound is a tomb for what is already dead, but is also a womb for what wants to grow.