We spent an afternoon watching videos of woodland cabins. One had a bath beside the window. Another had a staircase apparently carved by an elf with a substantial mortgage. When we looked up, we were still in the same chairs and the coffee had gone cold.
Then someone drew a door in the corner of the shopping list. They added a mushroom roof and a sign: “Visitors welcome. Bring biscuits.” The house wasn't fit to live in. The afternoon was suddenly a bit more interesting.
We like that moment when one idea sets another going. Imagination can show up in a story, a makeshift solution or a dreadful joke your friends won't stop repeating. It doesn't need to become a masterpiece. Sometimes a shared laugh is plenty.
Does enjoying other people's work limit our imagination?
Not necessarily. A film, a drawing or a song can give you ideas, move you or keep you company. Enjoying something somebody else has made doesn't mean they're imagining on your behalf or that you're losing the ability yourself.
A mug with a peculiar handle, a song that takes you back to one particular summer or a video about fixing a chair might get you thinking. You can also simply enjoy them. You don't owe every pleasant afternoon a finished project.
We do sometimes pick up our phones to look for one thing and end up scrolling without knowing what we're after. At other times, we use the same phones to write, draw or make something daft with friends. The device alone doesn't decide what we're doing with our time.
When we've been looking for a while and aren't even enjoying it, we can put our phones down. Perhaps we'll feel like making something. Perhaps we'd rather do nothing. Rest doesn't need to produce a creative breakthrough. Blimey, the sofa will be asking for a progress report next.
What if I don't know where to start?
You could change one detail of something ordinary. Invent a resident for a doorway, name a plant or write two sentences that amuse you. It's an invitation to have a go, not an aptitude test. If you don't fancy it today, leave it for another time.
We gave the paper cabin a neighbour. He complained about visitors but always kept the biscuit tin full. Before long, he needed a name, a reason to linger by the gate and a slightly suspicious past. One wonky door had opened a story.
Imagining doesn't have to mean watching a vivid film inside your head, either. You can play with words, sounds or possibilities. Try something that suits you and don't compare your first go with somebody else's twentieth year of practice. It's quite all right to have a faff and see what happens.
Magikitos grow out of that urge to make things up
The Magikitos belong to a world we keep inventing through stories, figures and passing ideas. We like giving them an expression, a name and a tiny problem. Sometimes a nose comes out crooked and its owner seems to know something we haven't discovered yet.
The figures aren't for sale. They're made for the pleasure of creating, as we explain in our piece about woodland figures. That doesn't mean making them costs nothing. It takes materials, time and work. We don't think charging for a piece makes it any less thoughtful or worthwhile, either.
This is how we want to share our world here. Our philosophy has a lot to do with playing together and letting an idea in even when it turns up looking a bit scruffy.
The cabin is still on the shopping list, just below “coffee”. We haven't built a house in the woods, but we know who lives there and what to bring when he invites us round. For that afternoon, it was a decent start.
