“So, what’s it like to be creative?” a visitor to an art show asks Karin, who is exhibiting her handcrafted jewelry. She has no idea how to answer that.
Gary’s out in the desert shooting pictures when a woman approaches him to ask, “How do you know what to take a picture of?” He doesn’t have an answer for that one either.
Most artists probably don’t know how to answer those questions. They just are creative, they think. They just know what to take a picture of, what to paint. It’s a way of life for them, a way of being. But it isn’t that simple.
Karin doesn’t sit down at her workbench and say, “Okay, I’m going to be creative now.” She’s probably been turning over ideas for a new necklace for a few days, or weeks or maybe just this morning she saw an unusual flower and thought it might make a nice piece. Maybe she didn’t have a particular inspiration when she sat down, but as she worked with her materials and her tools, her hands took over and crafted something she didn’t even know was in her mind.
That’s being creative – letting go and seeing what happens, playing a little. There can’t always be a plan. Sometimes it’s just a feeling that propels the artist forward or a single observation or a fortunate mistake that leads to a discovery. Inventors are creative that way, as are scientists, carpenters, cooks, mothers, fathers, teachers, executives. In fact, I’d venture to say we are all somehow creative, maybe not artistic, but creative nonetheless. But we want more. We want to be artists.
The woman asks Gary how he knows what to take a picture of, because she wants to take pictures like his. She doesn’t see anything in the stark desert landscape worthy of a photograph, though. She doesn’t see what Gary sees: the light, the colors, the shapes, the textures. Sure, Gary has years of training and experience that form the foundation for his decision of what to photograph, how to compose it for maximum impact and beauty. But mostly it’s just that he sees it. Not everyone has that fine-tuned sense of what will make a compelling image. Being an artist is about being observant, taking the time to see the unique in everyday surroundings, in normal life.
Sometimes, though, it’s just plain luck. Sometimes the most amazing clouds roll in and Gary can’t not take a picture of them. Sometimes he takes hundreds of pictures and gets nothing worthwhile. Other times he rounds a bend to find an old tree perfectly lit in the late afternoon sun and one shot is all he needs, even though he takes a dozen. Sometimes he turns around to see if I’m making it up the hill behind him and is surprised by a sweeping panorama he would have missed otherwise. That’s why he says you always have to turn and look behind you every so often to see where you’ve been. Some of the best shots happen that way.
In other words, there’s a lot of trial and error involved in being an artist. You don’t make a great work of art just by being creative. It’s called a work of art for a reason. What the casual observer doesn’t realize is that the artist has spent years honing his craft. The first necklace or painting or photograph was a far cry from what you see now. So being creative requires gumption, perseverance and dedication, because the work will likely be horrible at first. Being an artist is not for the faint of heart. You must be willing to keep working on it, even if it seems like it will never be right. Especially then.
People seem so curious about creativity. They long for it. Deep down I think even the most logical left-brained person wants to set loose their inner creative spirit and let it run free, to be an artist.
So the questions come. What’s it like to be creative? How do you know what to take a picture of? Like it’s a mystery than can be solved with a simple answer. They might as well be asking: Where do we come from? What are we here for? Maybe one question answers the other: Being creative is knowing what to take a picture of. Better yet, being creative is going ahead and taking the picture, even if you don’t know how it will turn out. Then taking another and another and another. Observing. Playing. Exploring. And every so often turning around to see what’s behind you.
Copyright 2011 by Liz Zuercher
Amazing how you just wrote about writing without actually writing about writing. I guess you just sit down and stare at the blank page until characters, or ideas, or thoughts just crawl out of your brain and onto the paper!
ReplyDeleteThanks for making me think. Loved it.
I think being creative has a lot to do with believing you are creative and maybe not caring that much whether other people believe you are.
ReplyDeleteNice, thoughtful piece. I'm glad you emphasized the "work" aspect of creativity, the time and effort it takes to get good at something. Flashes of insight can come, but usually after priming the brain with lots of knowledge and practice.
ReplyDeleteWell I'm late commenting and while I like to think of myself as creative, I really have no creative excuse for being late and thinking of myself as creative may just be self-indulgence, but as Annie said, maybe thinking has a lot to do with being so perhaps thinking it so is not such a bad thing, but it would probably be a better thing if, like Susie notes, I "worked" a little harder at it so like Nancy says "the thoughts" could "just crawl out" of my brain but then "crawl" is associated in my creative brain with slimy, creepy things so I'd rather the thoughts "spring" or "flower" or "bloom" which, by the way, reminds me of the walk I took on the Brooklyn bridge this Sunday with a city park ranger and discovered that love blooms on the Brooklyn Bridge with little padlocks that couples lock onto the iron bars after they swear their undying love to each other and then throw the key into the East River and this idea is really "blooming" in my head and thinking maybe it should be a poem but I'm not sure I have enough insight at this point, but maybe as Liz says, with a little "gumption and spirit and perseverance" it might be possible to actually create a poem out of this experience if I just play around with it and explore and maybe every now and then "turn around to see what's behind me" like this wonderful essay, which I am now going to reread, and then maybe I can be creative and really, Liz, just thanks a lot for this and I wish I had more to say about it.
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