6 Impossible Things: #4 A Penny-Farthing For Your Thoughts

// April 6th, 2010 // 4 Comments » // creativity, creativity theory, metaphor

Creativity is a non-linear process. We start out at Point A and end up at Point C, or Point Q, or any other point that happens to not be called Point B.

This is because, on the way from Point A to Point B , impossible things happen that steer us away from our original endpoint and onto fresher, shinier, more startling destinations.

This is not to say that there is anything wrong with Point B as a destination, just that the creative way to get there probably starts at Point W, or some other ‘non-A’ point.

Anyway the point is: a key feature of the creative life is that seemingly impossible things occur along the way that really kick things along, but only make sense in retrospect.

This is a series of posts presenting 6 impossible analogies for these ‘things’

6 Impossible Things: #4 A Penny-Farthing For Your Thoughts.

People often define creative thinking as the kind of thinking that needs to take place ‘outside the box’.

Why? What’s so wrong with the kind of thinking that occurs inside of a box?

Well, it’s cramped for one. ‘Inside the box’ thinking is limited in movement, and often forced to turn back in on itself as it bounces back against those walls. It’s scarcity based too–what with having so little room to move.

The kind of thinking that occurs outside the box is expansive thinking. It’s not cramped or squeezed or oxygen starved, and the ideas are able to move more freely.

So, how do we move from cramped, ‘inside the box’ thinking to expansive ‘outside the box’ thinking? Well, for that we need to find a new vehicle for our thoughts.

The Penny-farthing was invented in 1870. At the time it was considered a modern marvel enabling the rider to travel at up to 15.8 miles per hour. This was much faster than walking, which represented a huge improvement. The secret of the penny-farthing’s power lay in the large wheel’s relationship to the small wheel, which allowed  the rider to generate a huge amount of power for each turn of the pedals.

A metaphor is like a penny-farthing for your thoughts. Metaphors are expansive, they can be selected to fit our needs, they’re adjustable and provide exponential possibilities. Metaphors work in a similar way to the Penny-farthing, too. Instead of incremental step-by-step linear thinking, they allow us to take a larger whole and use it to leverage our thinking process exponentially. Of course, Penny-farthings can seem outdated now, but what if we strapped a jet-pack to the Penny-farthing rider to help things along?

There! Another huge boost in results. This is one of the great things about metaphors, we are allowed to play around and let them morph into something newer and more powerful, depending on our needs.

What metaphors can you (or do you) apply in your creative life? How can you shift these metaphors in order to boost their impact?

6 Impossible Things: #3 The Melancholy Piano

// March 26th, 2010 // 3 Comments » // creativity, creativity theory, curiosity, metaphor

Creativity is a non-linear process. We start out at Point A and end up at Point C, or Point Q, or any other point that happens to not be called Point B.

This is because, on the way from Point A to Point B , impossible things happen that steer us away from our original endpoint and onto fresher, shinier, more startling destinations.

This is not to say that there is anything wrong with Point B as a destination, just that the creative way to get there probably starts at Point W, or some other ‘non-A’ point.

Anyway the point is: a key feature of the creative life is that seemingly impossible things occur along the way that really kick things along, but only make sense in retrospect.

This is a series of posts presenting 6 impossible analogies for these ‘things’

***

#3 The Melancholy Piano:

How do you deal with the unlimited options in front of you once you begin creating? How do you navigate doubt? Once you start, you’re pretty much on your own. Books, classes, exercises, can only take you so far.

If you rely on a paint by the numbers approach it’s not really creating, our task is to embrace uncertainty and allow constant flux and change to help draw out our truest responses.

A  piano floats on the ocean’s surface. Cold water laps at the keyboard coaxing melancholy notes that drift above the water, while a woman dances precariously over the top of the piano. A bare foot slides over polished timber, one arm rises above her head, and she stops–mid-pirouette–to listen to the soft notes rising, feel the shifting surface beneath her. Her feet lift, change direction, and step lightly across the surface of the piano.

The woman, stuck on a piano in the middle of the ocean, makes a dance out of staying afloat. She does this by listening intently to the waves lapping on the keys, feeling the shifting water beneath the piano, and moving her body where it needs to go in the moment.

We too, can aim to engage fully with our materials, our surroundings, our state of mind and heart, to allow the creative process to draw out what most needs to be expressed.

Have you had moments where you were able to let go fully, and allow the creative impulse to rise up as you engaged with your artwork?

6 Impossible Things: #2 Deep-Sea Cafe

// March 23rd, 2010 // 6 Comments » // creativity, creativity theory, metaphor

Creativity is a non-linear process. We start out at Point A and end up at Point C, or Point Q, or any other point that happens to not be called Point B.

This is because, on the way from Point A to Point B , impossible things happen that steer us away from our original endpoint and onto fresher, shinier, more startling destinations.

This is not to say that there is anything wrong with Point B as a destination, just that the creative way to get there probably starts at Point W, or some other ‘non-A’ point.

Anyway the point is: a key feature of the creative life is that seemingly impossible things occur along the way that really kick things along, but only make sense in retrospect.

This is a series of posts presenting 6 impossible analogies for these ‘things’

***

#2 Deep-Sea Cafe:

There are many theories about the creative process. We’ve all probably heard someone’s version even if we don’t remember all the steps. Most people can at least recall this much: Blah Blah, Blah, Incubation, Blah.

It can be frightening to lessen our controlling grip and let go into the process, it can be disorienting and stressful, but by tapping into this drive to remain in control we risk allowing our ideas to remain at the surface. What’s called for is for us to dive deeper and let go.

The Deep-Sea Cafe is a place where you can sink and allow the warm currents of your subconscious to drift over and through your creative goals. This is the non-doing that allows things to get done, the non-thinking that allows creative thoughts to rise up. All that’s required of you is to trust in yourself and your creative process.

Sink, rest, allow things to happen. Leave the surface at the surface. The light wavers and shifts, objects change shape, images and memories arrive with stunning synchronicity. When you pop back up at the surface it’s very likely that some element of what you were working on has flipped, allowing you to see everything in a new light.

What’s your favourite way to switch off from a creative project and dive into incubation mode?

6 Impossible Things: #1 Rose Ladder

// March 8th, 2010 // 7 Comments » // creativity, creativity theory, illustration

Creativity is a non-linear process. We start out at Point A and end up at Point C, or Point Q, or any other point that happens to not be called Point B.

This is because, on the way from Point A to Point B, impossible things happen that steer us away from our original endpoint and onto fresher, shinier, more startling destinations.

This is not to say that there is anything wrong with Point B as a destination, just that the creative way to get there probably starts at Point W, or some other ‘non-A’ point.

Anyway the point is: a key feature of the creative life is that seemingly impossible things occur along the way that really kick things along, but only make sense in retrospect.

This is a series of posts presenting 6 impossible analogies for these ‘things’

***

#1 The Rose Ladder:

It’s easy to get discouraged when we think that for all our creative efforts we haven’t learned anything, or grown. All the hours spent sketching, writing, practicing scales can seem wasted.

But if we are creating regularly we are growing.

As we grow, the steps we take can be invisible to us. We rise through a succession of small moments of learning. Each as capable of bearing our weight as a single rose floating in mid-air.

But these moments do bear our weight and they do lift us.

As we climb these moments and reach the top of each level of learning, we simultaneously arrive at the bottom of the next level. This can help to solidify the sense that we are not advancing, that we are perpetually stuck in ignorance.

But this is not true.

Each act act we perform along the way adds to our storehouse of knowledge and experience. Walking faithfully along our path we can’t help but evolve creatively, even though we may not always see it.

Can you identify small creative acts that, while seeming inconsequential at the time, helped foster your own creative growth?

The Pinball Guide To Creativity

// February 18th, 2010 // 5 Comments » // creativity, creativity theory, metaphor

As a teenager, the KISS pinball machine was my absolute favorite. I was crazy about KISS, and playing that machine catapulted me into the world of a KISS concert: I could feel the make-up, the noise, the pyrotechnics and the excitement with all my senses.

While playing, I didn’t just feel I was watching a concert. For that brief time I felt like I was in the band, performing.

This is how I feel when I get lost in the creative process, too. When I’m really firing creatively I feel like I’ve entered another world. My state of mind changes, the imagination takes over and shifts that world around until something new and exciting is born.

Pinball machines and creativity…here goes:

The Back-glass:

The back-glass sits on top of the pinball machine with an exciting visual display that attracts players.

The main job of the back-glass is to carry the metaphor of the game. Every pinball machine is based on a metaphor. This allows the player to build an imaginary world which serves as a container for what are, really, a generic mix of plastic, rubber and metal bits bouncing a ball around a tilted surface.

Metaphors are essential to the creative process. Creativity is born from our ability to take seemingly unrelated ideas (bits of plastic rubber and metal and a rock concert, for example) and bring them together to create something new.

The Plunger:

The plunger is a small spring-loaded handle you pull back on and release to launch the ball. Here is the momentum needed to launch into your creative project.

This part of the machine is where the physical momentum begins. But there’s also the aspect of mental momentum.

If you’ve ever played pinball for a while, you more than likely developed a ritual around launching the ball into action. Mine usually kicked in while waiting for the ball to get into position for the next shot.  It went something like this: grip plunger, plant feet, check out the score, check targets, flip flippers (to check they’re working), SHOOT!

There’s even an inbuilt mechanism for creating this ritual as the player is forced to refocus for the time it takes for the ball to roll all the way down and back into position for the plunger. I don’t know if it’s coincidence, or part of the planning that goes into building a pinball machine, but this is a brilliant idea.

It’s also makes sense for you to build in small rituals at the start your creating time, or small downtimes in the middle  where you regather yourself. I always sit and sharpen a handful of pencils before I start an illustration. It is a small physical act that grounds me, quiets the mind and anchors me in a creative space.

When writing I sometimes go to this website where I can set a small mindfulness bell to go off every twenty minutes or so. It often helps to catch me if I’m drifting, but if I’m immersed in my writing and doing well, it’s not distracting enough to break the flow.

The Ball:

In the metaphor of the pinball as a field of creative activity the ball can be: your idea, your project, your problem, whatever you are working on.

Flippers:

The flippers are the tool you use to direct the ball around, just the way your creative choices direct your project. The ability to keep the ball in play by using the flippers well is what separates a good pinball playing experience from a frustrating one. This is where the many hours of ducking math class to play pinball over and over finally start to pay off.

Creative technique and skill keep your ideas and inspirations focused and moving along.

Like flippers moving the ball around different features on a pinball machine, we have the option of moving our original idea or vision through as many mental and physical frameworks as we can.

We can do this by asking questions like:

“What is a good metaphor for this idea?

”What would happen if I place my idea beside another concept?”

“How would these two concepts interact?”

“What if I restrict my palette to one colour?”

“How would this character react to losing everything?”

“What material can best give this sculpture a sense of movement?”

We can have the most luminous starting idea ever, but we also need to push it around and stretch it to reveal its full potential. Once we develop our ability to apply a range of creative options, we become like a skilled pinball player intuitively knocking the ball around the playing field, making all the right moves to keep the ball going and the score ticking over.

Note how physical the act of using the flippers is, too. Pinball machines get you so busy with hand-eye coordination and twisting the body around that they don’t allow much room for the rational mind to step in. They almost trap the player into entering a state of flow. (I wonder if that’s a key to their popularity.)

Lanes:

Once the ball has been launched up into the playing area there are usually three or four lanes divided by rubber stoppers through which the ball can drop. To some degree you can finesse the ball where you want it to go. However, once the ball has dropped down into a lane, you are locked into that trajectory.

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As Steven Nachmanovitch says in Free Play, his great book on improvisation: “Limits yield intensity.”

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Creativity is about breaking out of conditioned patterns of action. Paradoxically, restriction can be a powerful force in the creative process. Making a deliberate choice to restrict your creative options can open you up to moving in unexpected directions, and making creative discoveries you might otherwise miss out on.

Bumpers:

These round obstacles are built to actively propel the ball away on impact. This happens in a vibrant tangle of sound, movement and colour. When developing ideas, it’s useful to have in mind a few different areas of expertise or interest to bounce off. Think of these as your creativity bumpers and emulate that sense of vibrant excitement as you brainstorm.

Good at web design? Bounce your ideas against your knowledge of gardening, cooking or snowboarding.

How about a theory relating the process of web design to building a vegetable plot? Or you can relate creating a social media campaign to hosting a dinner party for 12 guests.  You get the idea.

Targets:

There are a number of different kinds of targets used in pinball machines. My favorite are the drop-down targets. Drop-down targets reset when they’ve all been knocked down, or whenever a new ball (or game) starts.

Targets are fun. They add to the complexity of a pinball game, and focusing on them can push you to raise your skill level.

It’s possible to have a fine game, and even get a decent score, without thinking about the targets. You can also get by in a creative project without having any target you want to hit. But this approach can lead to a wishy-washy result.

Having some form of target to aim for–whether that’s a specific word count for writers, or a tonal scheme for painters–keeps you focused, and adds creative tension that helps push you through to a better result.

Just like the drop-down targets on a pinball machine, it can be good to reset your targets if you achieve them midway through the creative process. And keep them small. Often on a pinball machine there will be three or four targets together; sometimes they can be knocked over with just one or two well-placed hits with the ball.

If you keep creative targets within your project simple and achievable, then you get a sense of accomplishment over and over as you keep resetting them and re-knocking them down.

The Drain:

If you see a pinball player looking down at that narrow area between the flippers while howling with despair, their ball has just gone down the drain. Eventually, no matter how good you are, you are going to lose the ball.

Oh, this is all-too-easy to relate to creativity.

Ideas can suddenly slip right through your fingers. Sometimes they just implode. When you go over the blog post you spent all of last night working on and it reads like an alien’s manifesto, or when that picture you just drew of your neighbor’s dog looks way too much like an arthritic banana, your creative idea has just gone down the drain.

It’s okay when this happens. Just like in a pinball game, you can’t keep that silver ball rolling around infinitely. At some point you’re going to lose focus for a moment–or hit a skill-wall, or sneeze–and you’ll see that flash of silver slip between the flippers before your fingers can react.

The fact that you’re going to lose the ball at some point is part of the tension that keeps you locked in and enjoying the game. As with pinball, when a creative idea or project goes down the drain, you check the scoreboard, take a breath, plant your feet and launch a new ball.

Tilt:

When you shove a pinball machine around too much it just shuts down on you.

Manufacturers know that people will get overexcited and lose it while playing their game. They want people to get overexcited. But they don’t want their machines getting busted up, so the tilt function is built in as a protective device.

It can be easy to get a creative vision and pursue it relentlessly, to the point where we forget to look after ourselves. Exhaustion, hunger, burnout–they are all easy to fall into when we lose ourselves in a creative process.

Like it does for the pinball manufacturers, it pays to build in a ‘tilt’ device: a prearranged signal to yourself that you’ve pushed too hard and it’s time to shut down.

You could set an alarm for hourly breaks, set meal times, or set finishing-up times. You might even check in with someone regularly, someone who knows you and can give you a heads-up when it looks like you’re pushing a bit too hard.

I remember when you tilted the KISS pinball machine there was an evil cackling ‘bwahhaahhahha’ sound as the lights went off. Don’t let this happen to you. That’s not a sound you want to hear in real life.

*****

Pinball machines are fun. Creativity is fun. Being creative is difficult at times, but it’s also a process filled with electricity, exuberance, and flashing epiphanies.

How about you? Have you experienced the creative process as a pinball-like cacophony of bells, lights, and frantic movement? I’d love to hear from you in the comments!

The World In All Its Brilliance

// February 2nd, 2010 // 11 Comments » // chagall, creativity, curiosity

*

In Paris I went to neither the art academy nor to the professors. The city itself was my teacher, in all things, in every minute of the day. The market folk, the waiters, the hotel porters, the farmers, the workers. They were enveloped in something of that astounding atmosphere of enlightened freedom that I had never come across anywhere else.

Marc Chagall

Do you ever have moments where the veil just falls away and the world as it is right now presents itself fresh and new?

My wife and I were out doing errands the other day and pulled up at a stoplight outside a cafe. A woman on a bicycle was propped beside our car waiting for the light to change. A couple walked, arms linked, in front of the stopped traffic. In the cafe every table was occupied, at least those visible from the street, and on each table there was at least one laptop open. One man looked through the window, checking out the woman on the bike.

I was struck by how particular this scene was to this moment, to this corner of the city, to the people present, and the activities they were doing. It was a grey Seattle day which threw a soft light over everything, and beneath the bustle of activity everyone seemed relaxed. Things moved in slow motion.

That moment will never be repeated exactly again.

Well it’s Seattle, so the clouds will probably be repeated. Never in that exact same way, though.

The woman on the bike will never lean in just that way, in just that spot, watched by just those eyes as she waits for the light to change. The relationship between the couple crossing the road will never be quite the same again. Tomorrow it may be deeper, or fonder, more fraught, or finished.

The man looking out the window might never see the woman bike-rider again. Or he may see her tomorrow, run down the road and ask her out. In a few weeks someone might even sit in the cafe reading their favourite blogs on an ipad instead of a laptop.

The light changed and we drove off. The moment of seeing, of really seeing that little scene, dropped away and a veil slipped back over the world.

I don’t remember much at all of the rest of the trip. I was caught up in my own thoughts–or conversation–for most of it. We probably stopped at a few more lights at which nothing really caught my eye, and soon enough we were home again.

But that small moment outside the cafe stays with me. It was just a plain moment, but bright in its plainness.

I read recently that when visitors came to Chagall’s studio they had to wait for him to throw on a pair of pants, because he painted naked. That nakedness shines through in his paintings, too.

I love this gesture of casting away what stood between him and his canvas.

Brief moments where I see the world clearly make me realise how muffled my view usually is. It makes me wonder if sometimes I walk around like a guy wearing a pair of pants over my head.

I’m not sure we’re even built to see the world in all its brilliance all the time. I’m sure we gather that mental clothing around us in self-protection, but I’m also pretty sure I go through life a little overdressed.

One payoff that comes from building a creative practice is that the discipline in showing up regularly to create ensures we’ll hit roadblocks and stop signs that occasionally strip away our mental clothing, forcing us to see things as they really are, if only for that brief moment as we scramble to throw our pants back on.