"Big Magic" & Coincidence

A few weeks ago I wrote about "Those Times When I Can't Get Motivated." When I shared this post, several friends commented on it in ways that felt supportive and helped me feel better about my slump. One of these commenters suggested I should read Elizabeth Gilbert's Big Magic. The person who suggested it, Cheryl Hahn, is an amazing artist and someone I respect both as a person and as an artist, so I put the book on my library hold list.

The Cheryl Hahn painting in my dining room.

And then, while I was doing the dishes or something boring, I decided to catch up on some episodes of By the Book, a hilarious podcast about self-help books that I've been listening to on and off for most of a year. I don't actually like self-help books, but I enjoy the podcast. Anyway, the book they were doing was Gilbert's Big Magic. What?

Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert

At the time I listened to By the Book's take on Big Magic, I hadn't read it and had only just heard of it, but now I know that, according to Gilbert, the coincidence of the personal recommendation followed closely by the book's appearance in my podcast feed is, basically, "big magic."

The funny thing is, the way By the Book described Big Magic made me want to run from it. I hadn't read the subtitle, "Creative Living Beyond Fear" and that combined with it being pegged as a "self-help" book made it sound like something I would not enjoy. It sounded sappy, cheesy, and like something that's been done, even though the By the Book ladies both ended up recommending it.

By the Book Podcast

By now my library hold had come in, but I still didn't get started reading it immediately. It didn't sound like fun. But, since Cheryl had recommended it, I gave it a try. I thought I'd speed read through it and see if it was worth anything. And I did speed through the first part, but then I started getting tripped up on coincidence.

This past Thursday was advising day and among many, many conversations about which courses are required for the AA, I had a really exciting conversation with a student about the feasibility of being an artist or, specifically someone who makes things with their hands. I basically told this student that if they really wanted to "make stuff" in their life, they could "make-up" the jobs that went along with it. I did a bunch of that in the years before and during my graduate school career, proposing art classes that didn't previously exist to city park and rec programs, and being paid only if the classes filled, teaching computers to senior citizens in one of those city programs (most surprisingly difficult class I ever taught), and selling my "boxes" and fountains at all manner of arts and crafts fairs.

the fountains were really a blast to make, a pain to set up each time, but overall lots of fun

Just after having this conversation with the student, I'm reading this book where Gilbert is basically saying that if you want to "make stuff" in your life, you should just make time to do it, even if it isn't your "real job" and even if it doesn't make you any money. It wasn't exactly the same conversation, because ours had to do with making money and the benefits and challenges of "making stuff" for other people to pay the bills, but it was similar. And it resonated, as did the remainder of the book, with me about why we make art.

No Artist Left Behind: The Janet Essley Story from Peter Monahan on Vimeo.

Around this time another coincidence of sentiment showed up in my life. One of my colleagues, Peter Monahan, is both a Spanish teacher and a filmmaker. He shared with me this video he had made about Janet Essley, an artist and educator in the Washington/Oregon area. The video is short, so definitely watch it. In the video, the artist talks about needing to make art, even though it isn't how she makes a living.

By this time I was really getting excited about Big Magic, the book and the stories within. Some pieces of it are a little woo-woo, like I'd rather call them coincidences or even stuff that reaffirms what I think is important, whereas Gilbert gives inspiration and creativity a kind of agency of its own. It reminded me of Marie Kondo thanking inanimate objects for their service. But I really enjoyed Gilbert's light hearted approach to both the book and "living a creative life."

Another thing mentioned in the book was that if you don't feel inspired, just follow your curiosity, even if its barely there. I've been spending a bunch of time in the the last few weeks drawing and coloring complex Valentine's Day cards with my daughter for her classmates. They are weirdly fun and relaxing to draw and color. 

She recommends taking risks, doing the work, following what seems like a random tangent in the work and not asking for any results in return: "Sometimes I think that the difference between a tormented creative life and a tranquil creative life is nothing more than the difference between the word awful and the word interesting." Gilbert recommends just finding everything interesting. Oh, I failed miserably? How interesting.

Last night when I was finishing up my latest sculpture, I starting thinking about how I might use marks on the surface of my ceramics that are similar in character to the marks in the zentangle-y Valentine's Cards.

The best part of the book is the way Gilbert adds in these stories of "Big Magic" in her life or in the lives of her friends. The stories are funny, and fun, and inspiring (in a not sappy way). She tells the stories so well that I'm not going to try to capture them, because I actually recommend this book very highly, especially to people who want to "live a creative life."

I will relate one story, though; in it Gilbert recounts a situation where she sent in a short story for publication which was rejected with a nice note, then happened to (accidentally) send it in again to the same publication where it was accepted. "I saw it as another example of Big Magic....I saw it as proof that you must never surrender, that no doesn't always mean no."

My summary doesn't do Gilbert's writing justice, but I love the sentiment. This is how I approach improvements to our art program at YVC. A "no" one year might simply be a "not yet" and I tend to ask again when I feel the request will improve our offerings. I got one of these "no"s last week, and the book's reminder was nice, though I'd already put it on my "not yet" pile to be requested again next year.

I'm very glad I read the book. I will recommend it. It probably won't change my life, and the information and sentiments in it weren't exactly brand new to me, but they were a refreshing, joyful, engaging, and funny reminder that maybe I'm approaching this the right way.

Creativity = Time?

It's critique day, the students have their work lined up on the tables, ready to present. They were all working on the same assignment, though they may have taken vastly different approaches. They all had the same amount of time to work on the project (usually 2-4 weeks in my clay classes), but during the critique, several students explain that they ran out of time to make or finish their work.

I can't think of a critique I've led where someone didn't mention that they ran out of time on the project. Of course some students have legitimate challenges on their time: kid (and adults) get sick, tests and jobs interfere with studio time, and accidents happen, causing clay to collapse or dry too quickly. Throughout the class, different students experience busy weeks or difficult days at different times.

The progress of this flowery sea horse was as interesting to see as the final piece.

Last week, I wrote about banning the phrase "I am not creative" from the studio. I've been thinking about my reasoning ever since. In that post I argued that creativity is closely linked with time spent. I was thinking of my own experience, but also looking at examples from current and past classes.

In my (generalized) examples from just this quarter, I had students with more or less confidence (both students who identified themselves with a phrase like "I am not creative" and students who probably do consider themselves creative) spend significant time on projects that were impressive for the unusual approach, extra effort, impressive size or extra level of detail and consideration put into the piece. I would say that "creativity" is a reasonable, general term that encompasses all of the items above.

I banned the phrase "I am not creative" before our most recent critique, and again there were impressive pieces, creative pieces, that came in from different members of the class, though no one specifically identified themselves as not belonging to the creative group. The most creative (challenging, impressive, interesting) pieces were not necessarily done by the same people who put forth the extra effort in previous critiques. What the impressive pieces this time did have in common was that they were larger, more complex, more carefully made, or more challenging in construction than other works.

I'd be curious to know what people think this heart amidst trees, buildings, cars and tree stumps is meant to communicate.

It's tough to precisely identify the "effort" that students put into a work. I try to track how much time each student spends in the studio and at home, but it isn't always precise. I also try to approximate an assessment of the elusive "effort" each student puts into an individual piece with a section in my grading rubric about "challenge" (i.e. did the student challenge him or herself in this project?) but this can be subjective.

Though I may not be able to find a perfect algorithm for grading effort on a particular project, the students who share the studio space see who is working hard, who is in the studio all the time, and who is struggling. They also notice who is not in the studio. So on critique day, the students are presenting their work to the teacher for a grade, but they're also presenting their work to their classmates, who've often been observers for much of the process.

I like to let the students lead the critique. With a good group, in particular, the critique can be more interesting, more helpful, and more dynamic without the voice of authority interrupting the discussion and giving everyone the "right" answer. The best, most interesting, most fun and most rewarding thing to see in a critique is when the student have something interesting to talk about.

This work was inspired by an artist: Grandmaster Flash

The thing about having something interesting to talk about in an art critique, is that we've got to have something interesting to look at so we can talk about it. Those students who have put in the effort, who have tried to make something, generally have something interesting to talk about. Even students who show broken work or other evidence of mistakes, can show their classmates something interesting and worth discussing. The hardest critique discussions to lead are those where the students have done the bare minimum (or less) and don't have much to talk about.

I have an idea of who in my classes might consider themselves creative and who might not. But when I go to grade individual projects, I don't necessarily see much correlation between the "creative" students and the creative work, or, for that matter, between the "I am not creative, but..." students and the boring work.

I do, however, see a great deal of correlation between the students who are in the studio a lot and the creative, challenging work. I also notice a correlation between the students who have some sort of temporary time challenge (illness, work or family problem, etc), and work in a given critique that is smaller, less finished, less challenging or less interesting than the rest.

the assignment here was to persuade the viewer.

I'm still leaning towards a fairly simple definition of what makes someone creative: that creative people spend (more) time on what they create. However, I would also suggest that students who see themselves as more creative (or are viewed as creative or  rewarded and praised for creativity) may be more likely to choose to spend more time, sometimes vast amount of time, on a piece. A student who identifies as being creative may also be more willing to try a new approach, rebuild when the piece collapses or even scrap their original idea and start over entirely.

One piece of information I seem to be missing, or guessing at, is the students' opinion. I wonder if they'd agree with me. Maybe I should ask them.

Banning the phrase "I am not creative."

After our last class critique, I decided to ban two phrases from use in the clay studio. I banned the phrase "I am not creative" and I banned the phrase "I am not artistic."

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

These phrases show up during critiques, usually followed by "...but" and then an explanation of what the student created for his or her art project. In part, I dislike these statements because they generally aren't true, but they also cause further problems.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

Immediately, in the critique, a statement like this is used as a shield to protect the speaker from judgment or criticism of their creative or artistic pursuits. No one wants to point out a structural error in a sculpture made by a person who just said it wasn't any good. But these statements cause trouble outside of the critique as well. The student who says this is reminding herself (as well as her classmates) that she is not going to be successful in this type of work. He is reminding the instructor not to expect much from him. And if students hear these reinforcements enough, even from themselves, they are likely to start believing them.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

Initially I hadn't made a big deal of this little verbal tic. When it showed up in critique, I would shrug it off and move the discussion on. Occasionally I would gently negate it, telling the student that he or she could do the work, but I didn't strongly or loudly react to the statement. I think that was a mistake. I'm starting to think I should have made a big hairy deal out of it right away and addressed the issue head on.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

I've been thinking about this for a while now. I've been thinking, also, about my role as the instructor in this conversation. I need to run a safe and supportive studio. I need to teach the students how to work with clay. Somewhere in there, I should be encouraging the students to challenge themselves, try new things, express themselves, and take risks.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

In short, I should be teaching the students to be creative. Of course I should; it's an art class. But like "art", "creativity" is a word that gets used with the assumption that you already know what it is. I don't remember being taught a pat definition of creativity (or "art" for that matter) and I don't remember specifically sitting down to be taught creativity in class.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

I took plenty of art classes when I was in school, but mostly I remember being taught how to mix paint and how to measure for perspective and how fast the wheel should spin and what settings to use to control the focus on the camera. So much of what I specifically remember learning in art classes, from first grade through graduate school was how to manipulate or control a particular medium. The creativity that was taught, was mixed right in with the course content and the techniques and was never identified as a separate thing.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

There is a popular belief that creativity is something innate; that you either have it or you don't. I don't get the impression that that view is backed by much actual research, but it is a stereotype and I see the evidence of the stereotype's strength in my classes. There is the idea that some people are creative and some are not. Some people are artistic, some are not. Like it's a black and white issue, like there is no middle ground. And students who think they are "not creative" like to identify themselves right away, for some of the reasons mentioned above.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

I remember, as a kid, being praised for being creative. I suppose I learned what creativity was by doing whatever it was that got recognition. But when I try to think of a specific instance, I keep coming up with examples of things I worked really hard at. I drew this dragon in elementary school. My dad ended up framing it and it still hangs in my parents house. I worked hard on that dragon. I took so long on it, Mrs. Buckingham had to assign Derek Johnson to help me color in the cave in back so we could move on to the next project. (You can always tell a story's importance in your memory when you know the people's names 30 years later.) Derek colored with the chalk on its side, which basically ruined the cave. The cave was ruined, however, not because Derek lacked creativity, but because he took a shortcut that I wasn't willing to take. And it was a perfectly logical shortcut, one that Mrs. Buckingham, no doubt, approved of because she had a class to teach.

The famous dragon, still on my parents' wall. Dragon by Rachel, cave and volcano by Derek.

A few years later, I discovered this stuff called Friendly Plastic and started melting plastic jewelry and selling it to people at my parents' workplaces. I made a lot of these jewelry pieces because I liked making them. I kept trying new combinations and cutting new shapes because it was fun. My parents gave me free reign of the stovetop for these projects and people praised my work. Was this creativity, or the logical effect of time and effort?

Four cranes folded from one piece of paper. I used to do this but with, like 9 cranes together.

One last example from my own biography. I used to do a lot of origami. I followed the directions for making cranes and boxes and cats and people. Eventually I went through the basic origami books and started doing these origami crane sets cut from a single sheet of paper. I spent a lot of time, but I certainly wasn't being creative; I just had a more advanced book now, and it showed me how to make the connected cranes. Increasing the number was simple application of knowledge and a level of comfort with the basic skill.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

I was encouraged in my "creativity" by teachers, parents, whomever, and I was encouraged and allowed to make a mess and get more materials and take more time and leave tiny cranes in every single corner of the house and van. But I think a lot of my students have a different experience growing up. I think a lot of kids are told, at some point, that they are not creative. I simply hate the idea that any kid could be told he or she is not creative. It just seems pointlessly mean. But I also think adults can communicate a similar message by criticizing kids for doing things that are not standard: painting an orange sky, for example, instead of blue.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

A friend of mine was just telling me about a teacher complaining, in a class of early elementary school students, that the kids' drawings were too sloppy. Why anyone would ever criticize the drawing of a child is beyond me, but it seems like a good way to make a kid dislike drawing. Another friend told me she remembered, when she was a kid, being told that her mountains were wrong because she colored them purple. Just think about that for a minute (while humming our America the Beautiful).

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

So based on early experience, adult influences send kids down two paths. The creative, praised, artsy kids (who are really just the kids with strong support for this sort of thing) get handed Friendly Plastic and are offered cave painting assistance and allowed extra time to make stuff, while the not-creative, not artsy kids with purple mountains (majesty), orange skies and messy drawings, get, I don't know video games and a mop? Math homework? Uh, Barbies? I don't actually know what they get. But remember, the creative kids also created sloppy drawings with purple mountains and orange skies, they were just allowed to draw some more.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

So now we come back to the present and the adult (sometimes teenage) students in my college-level clay classes. These classes include the kids who grew up with praise and support and the identical kids, in my opinion, who were corrected and steered away from certain colors and certain approaches. The first group has learned that they are creative and may be more comfortable taking risks, trying new things, and expressing themselves. The second group knows they are not in the special creative group that is allowed to take these risks, try new things and express themselves. In fact, the simple act of signing up for the class might already be outside their comfort level.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

While at first I thought my concern about the use of phrases like "I'm not creative" was just a minor semantic issue and not worth addressing in class, I am starting to change my mind. I am starting to think that the semantic issue might capture a big part of the heart of what I should be doing in that class.

Artwork by a student who may or may not be creative.

I suspect that these statements, and the underlying beliefs that undergird them, are much more difficult for students to work through than technical difficulties that have to do with handling the clay or the potter's wheel. I think I'm going to have to ponder further, how to address these issues in class.

"...a genuinely creative accomplishment is almost never the result of a sudden insight, a lightbulb flashing in the dark, but comes after years of hard work." -Mihaly Czikszentmihali

I also see important connections between creativity and failure (which I wrote about a while back). And I'm starting to consider the relationship between whether someone considers herself creative or artistic and how much time she spends on a task. When art is assessed, we often consider quality, effort and a creative approach. I wonder how often the first two overshadow or obscure the latter. I guess I'll write more about this later.