what I know about the bright idea

// June 16th, 2011 // 7 Comments » // creativity

On The Cusp Of Creating

// May 3rd, 2011 // 3 Comments » // creativity, curiosity

I don’t know what’s coming next.

Sometimes it seems like the fire’s extinguished, the Muse snuffed out all the lights as she left, everyone’s gone to sleep, and the streets have stilled.

It’s just me and a full, insolent moon staring down:

Moon: ”What?”

The thing about creativity is you never know.

Maybe this is a trance I’ve fallen into, maybe it’s a trance I’ve fallen out of, either way: this could be it.

Maybe yesterday was the last day, and nothing will ever be created again.

But also, maybe I’m on the cusp of creating the best thing I’ll ever create.

Who knows? I don’t know.  The only way to find out for sure is to pick up a pen, to pick up a brush.

If I’ve dug myself into a hole and don’t have the materials to build a ladder then I’ve learned that it’s good for me to pick up my shovel and think “tunnel” or “pole vault” or “whatever” and do something about it.

Because as someone who gets stuck, a lot, I know that just thinking isn’t going to get me out of that hole. Once I get to the point that I’ve realized I’m in a hole, I can guarantee there’s already been a lot of not-so-great thinking going on.

When I shift into taking action, not only do things start to happen, but my thinking loses the stale quality it had and starts to take on a different air.

Small actions enliven my mind like oxygen bubbling through a stagnant pool of water.

The actions can involve doing something directly related to my art, or something seemingly unrelated like walking a labyrinth, or Shiva Nata, even just going outside and pulling a few weeds. Anything helps.

And when acting, I start making associations and things start to get clearer, brighter.

This feels good, too. It reminds me of why I like to create things in the first place: that quickening of the mind and body that tells me something is coming, that tells me something fresh and new is on its way.

This information comes through as both thoughts and sensations. It’s an embodied sense, it’s not just an idea or a state of being–it’s both those things, it’s everything–and when it’s happening I feel really alive to it, and to me. I feel like I’m really here.

I remember when I was a kid and my parents would drive us to the beach, approaching the coast there would always be these hills and dunes before we arrived, and I’d be stretching and straining to get the briefest of glimpses out the window: a flash of blue, swells moving in, a wave crashing over rocks.

It was a whole-body thing. I’d be tense and alert, my eyes would be scanning like mad. My mind was taking everything in and forming mental pictures of the surf–the size, if it was choppy or not, how crowded it was.

Once we got out of the car and started racing down to the water, the excitement was still there but that initial tension had been released.

That’s what it feels like when I’m in the act of creating, when the idea has appeared and things are happening.

There’s still an alertness and joy in everything that’s going on, but the initial burst of adrenaline always comes from those last few minutes of moving from total stuck-ness, to the glimpse of an idea, the picture being assembled in my head, and knowing this was going to happen.

I also remember that I used to, kind of, hate those last few minutes in the car.

As exciting as it was it was also hugely frustrating. I’m an immersive person. If I see an ocean I want to be in it. Forest, in. I’m claustrophobic and terrified of caves, but if I see one I want to go in. I like to be in the middle of things.

I like especially to be in the middle of creating things, right in that sweet spot where everything is flowing along nicely, thank you very much, and great things are emerging.

So not knowing what’s coming next, feeling creatively frozen, when the fires seem out–that’s the point just before everything gets great again. I know that, and also, I’m really good at forgetting that, at allowing myself to get immersed in that feeling too.

The other thing that’s easy to forget is the remedy: that when the idea of ever creating again seems insurmountable, like some great mountain looming over me, all it takes to shift things is to pick something up.

It can be an object so small it fits in the palm of my hand–a pen, a brush– and that small tool, put into action, can wipe away entire mountains, shadow and all.

Creative Walls. Kinda.

// April 6th, 2011 // 8 Comments » // creativity, curiosity, process, Uncategorized

Creative walls?

I’ve lost count of the the times I’ve been partway through a project, everything rolling along nicely, thinking; “This is going great!” And then … Bam! When that sense of stuck-ness descends it feels as solid and impenetrable as any wall.

I logged onto twitter last night and, looking at my stream, I noticed I’d only tweeted two times in the last month. Here? My last post was a month ago.

I’ve hit some sort of creative wall. But it feels a little different–I’m actually writing a lot at the moment, way more than usual. It’s just that nearly all of my writing is being done by hand, in journals and notebooks.

I’ve been working on a new thing: doing writing sessions with people. It’s a weird hybrid-y thing structured like a coaching session, but without the coaching–they’re just writing sessions, really. Two people writing together. I have this great metaphor and we build this small world, then sit in it and write.

There’s no agenda, except to build the most comfortable space possible to get some writing done. No judgement. No criticism. No expectations.

While preparing for these sessions I’ve been doing a whole lot of writing, trying out exercises, session plans, and ideas for guided meditations. It’s been a really creative time, and somehow I’ve made a switch from writing on the computer, to writing by hand.

So, when I put my note-books away, and turn to the computer, it’s hard to get started. It feels just like the standard Creative Wall that everyone knows: “Oh, no. I’m totally blank, I haven’t got one idea in my head.”

But I know it’s not that, because my head is almost too full of ideas right now.

And it feels like I’m creatively blocked–that same tightening in the chest when I sit down to write, the smarts all draining out of my brain at the moment I’m calling out to them, and the frustration at sitting there. Blank.

Even though all those familiar feelings are there, it seems more like a computer thing. I’ve gotten out of the habit of writing on a computer and back into the habit of writing by hand.

Which is great. Except I’m trying to build this whole online creativity blog thing and I don’t think posting slides of my notebooks is going to cut it. What would be great for me, right now, is to see if I can build a practice of moving from one to the other–maybe hand written drafts and then typing them in to the computer for the editing and posting parts.

That would be nice, because I’m finding that writing by hand and typing on a computer are two entirely different ways of experiencing writing, and they both have qualities that I really like.

Writing by hand is a much more organic and flowing process for me, and I seem to write in a more leisurely style. It’s more relaxing too, but my writing needs more editing later on.

Writing on a computer has a much more accelerated feel and I usually seem very focused and compelled to edit while writing. I love the speed of it, and always feel like I’m being super productive–if I’m actually writing, not feeling too blocked to start, that is.

I like that this problem has come up. It’s making me look at creative walls, or blocks, in a new way, like they’re a more subtle experience than I’d previously thought.

*****

If you are interested in the writing sessions you might want to sign up for my newsletter–there’s a form in the sidebar, there –>

You might also like Havi’s beautiful post describing the session we did together yesterday.

Lessons On Play From The Bubble Dog

// March 6th, 2011 // 6 Comments » // creative parent, creativity

Cross Your Creative Threshold

// February 28th, 2011 // 2 Comments » // creativity

Have you ever crossed a major threshold in your life and not realized it until much later? 

By threshold, I mean some particular moment that signifies moving from one phase of your life, or state of being, and into another. Some thresholds are easy to catch as you go through: weddings, graduations, the birth of a child. Others just sort of happen, and the realization that you’ve crossed over dawns slowly.

 

Take The Step:

I stepped into a local community hall one winter night, unaware it was a ‘life threshold’. I thought it was just another door into a (hopefully) warm room full of people.

There were signs this might be something different. A woman stood at the entrance twirling a large fire-stick and chatting to people as they arrived–the flaming ends of the stick whooshed and seared incomprehensible signs into the frigid air, thick smoke anointed me as I walked past.

Taking the step is the defining act of crossing a threshold, it involves movement, action, stepping into an unknown situation. It sounds simple, “just do it” simple. But before taking that step, something else has to happen.

 

Be Ready To Leave Something Behind

It was an event to raise money for a local youth circus group. Once inside, I saw people gathered in small pockets: young people, parents, musicians, youth workers, poets.

On the way to the event I debated with myself whether to just forget the whole thing turn around. I’d recently moved to this community following a marriage breakup, was working two jobs, studying, feeling very burnt-out.

The term threshold comes from the Old English term ‘threscold’ the ‘thresh’ part of that meant to tread, or trample, and probably refers to people banging their boots on the heavy board of the doorsill to knock off the mud before they entered the house.

The mud I was banging from my boots that night was the sense of isolation that I’d been taking refuge in up to that point.

I didn’t want that for myself anymore. Walking into that room was uncomfortable but I’d made the decision to reconnect with people.

 

Be Curious

There was movement between the groups, and a stage set up at the front with an open mic. People took turns to play, sing, recite poetry, tell stories and jokes. There was no system. Whenever the stage emptied, someone strolled up and filled it with whatever gift they had to offer.

I remember a young woman got up, unaccompanied, and sang a quirky, jazzy song. It was beautiful. An older guy followed and recited a long and humorous political poem. He was great too, but my attention was wavering, distracted by a comforting, spicy fragrance flowing out from the kitchen beside the stage.

An open counter separated the kitchen from the rest of the hall, through it you could see people bustling, setting up pot luck dishes and laughing. Simmering on the stovetop were two large pots. Here was the source of the smell.

When I went to investigate, there was a woman moving from one pot to the other: checking, stirring. She explained the pots were filled with Chai tea, one made with cows milk, and one with soy. I’d never heard of it before, (this was in thedays before Starbucks Chai Latte). I tried both pots and was instantly hooked, it was like the perfect comfort food–but in a drink.

She showed me how to put it all together, and I volunteered to make the next batch while she caught up with friends.

Curiosity allows you to make the most of the new situation as you move into it. If you are crossing a threshold,  it is likely that there is something on the other side that has drawn you there. Curiosity keeps you alert and helps you find what you’re seeking.

 

Follow through

Once you’ve crossed over, the next step is to keep moving. I had turned up that evening in an attempt to open up to the next step in my creative life, over the next few years I joined a local playback theatre group and had my first performance in that same hall, took my first Butoh workshop (same hall again), began movement and drama classes, had my first attempts at writing poetry, entered an art competition and saw my art hanging in a gallery for the first time.

 

Cultivate Meaning

Somehow the taste and smell of chai I encountered for the first time that night infused itself into my memory and came to represent a period of great change, where I began to stretch my creative capacity, where being creative became a conscious intention and one of the defining qualities I chose for myself.

We are always crossing thresholds, this is just one of many I’ve crossed. I picked this to focus on built a metaphor (Creative Chai) that I still draw heavily from years later.

Red Thread of Creativity

// February 25th, 2011 // 7 Comments » // creativity

*****

There’s an old story about a Buddhist Monk going to his teacher and asking:

‘In whom does Buddha cause passion’

The teacher replies:

‘The Buddha causes passion in everyone’

Monk:

‘Then how do we get rid of it?’

Teacher:

‘Why should we get rid of it?’

*****

Sometimes Buddhism is presented as a bloodless, and fatalistic religion, one where all passion is seen as something to be extinguished. That’s not really the case at all, but the assumption is pretty sticky.

But it’s not just in Buddhism that passion might be seen as something to be extingushed, that idea is everywhere.

I’ve see it in everyday conversations, places I’ve worked, hospitals, writing groups, on-line forums, and even art classes I’ve attended.

In many areas, our culture shrinks from passionate and subjective thinking and leans towards passionless, objective thinking. Unless it’s in the form of an advertisement trying to invoke the precise flutter of passion required to purchase an over-priced sports car/ handbag / telecommunications device.

The dominant message is that viewing the world objectively trumps viewing the world subjectively almost every time.

I’ve never been sure why; we live inside the world, not beside it, taking notes on a clipboard (or overpriced telecommunications device).

The idea of being passionate about the people you love, or an activity that is seen as sufficiently practical is deemed okay. But get passionate about something that doesn’t involve financial money markets or making machines, and you’ll get plenty of messages about how it’s not practical to view that passion as a career path, or a serious pursuit.

Apparently, the things you’re passionate about are best done in the basement, alone, late at night. Please don’t offend the serious people.

All that is fine, I have the choice to ignore it, right?

Well, not really. Because whenever I go to write, or talk, or paint about things I’m passionate about, the same arguments come up from inside my head.

“They really don’t want to hear/read/see this”

“That’s not practical.”

“What a waste of their time and yours”

“Grow up”

I’ve done quite the job of integrating all those messages.

I’m sure the messages spring out of the good intent to keep us safe from being overwhelmed by our desires, but when they result in us being overwhelmed by abstract obligations to people we don’t know, then things are a little out of balance.

And isn’t balance the thing? A balance between our passions and our obligations, balance between subjective and objective, between wisdom from outside, and wisdom from within?

Going back to Buddhism for just a second, they have a concept called the ‘Red Thread’.

The Red Thread is a metaphor for the core passion that we bring to our lives, it represents a love of the things that we care most deeply about, and that help to drive our lives.

The string of fire that courses through us, enlivening everything it touches.

Why should we get rid of that?

I’ve been participating in Leah’s Creative Every Day challenge for a while now, but haven’t done much on this month’s theme: Passions. I often feel hesitant talking about some of the creative things I’m passionate about, because it generally amounts to a list of things that not many other people care about.

Having a blog devoted entirely to the subject of creativity is really helping with that, but still, the insecurity lingers.

This is the attitude I’m trying to foster about that: “So what. They’re the things I’m into, I can find a way to work these into my working life. Maybe I can do that in a way that gets some other people to care about them, too”

One way to strengthen that attitude is by naming these passions.

So, here is my Red Thread of Creativity list:

Labyrinths

Poetry

Yoga / Meditation

Shiva Nata

Parenting

Blogging

Reading / Writing

Surfing

Cartooning

Painting

Improv Theatre

They’re all things I’ve put lots of time into. They’re all things I’d love to be doing, or reading about, or writing about. I’m doing some of these things now, some obsessively, some things on the list are in hibernation, but I know I’ll get back to them. Some activities might not even strike others as being creative at all (surfing?) but I feel the link, subjectively, if not objectively.

What kind of things make it onto your ‘Red Thread of Creativity’ list? I’d love to hear!

*****