Don't let constraints constrain your creativity

I’m feeling a bit behind on a large piece of work. Feeling the pressure, a part of me said, “You should skip posting this week. It would be irresponsible to waste time on something fun before your work is finished.” A variation on the childhood theme of, “Finish your chores before you can go outside and play.” 

And yet, after much trial and even more error, I’ve learned I must protect my momentum in a creative project. I’ve also learned that if I wait until my to-do list is empty, I’ll be waiting forever. (If I didn't know that before writing my dissertation I've definitely internalized it now!).

And so I struck a deal with myself. If I only spend fifteen minutes on a post what could it be about?

Constraints felt like an obvious theme.

It's also a theme that’s come up recently in conversations with my coaching clients. When they tell me they don't have enough time to devote to creative pursuits, I share with them a question Julia Cameron shared with me at a creativity workshop a few years ago.

What’s the tiniest next step you could take to make space for your creativity?

Not just tiny. Tiniest. The most minuscule movement you can think of. 

So making space for a long abandoned love for travel photography might look like simply taking one picture with your phone every day. Perhaps find a friend who would enjoy a similar practice, maybe one you’ve lost touch with, and commit to share your photos with each other. Maybe just start with 7 days and see how you like it. 

If that feels like too much then how about simply looking at some of your old travel photos for 1 minute a day. 

Or if that’s too much, how about finding a few photographers to follow on Instagram for creative inspiration.

You get the idea. 

A gorgeous image from my very talented former colleague and passionate travel photographer Emma Kandelaars (www.emmakandelaars.com)

It’s so easy to get caught up in “if only” mind. If only I had my own studio, then I’d be able to pick up painting again. If only I had “a room of one’s own” I’d be able to write again. But that’s a recipe for continued creative frustration. 

Rather than resist our current constraints and let our creativity suffer, we can make peace with them and maybe even turn those lemons into lemonade.

Beyonce showing us what it looks like to make Lemonade

The reality is that creativity can thrive under constraints. Constraints can act like the banks of the riverbed whose structure allows the water (creativity) to flow freely. 

A classic example can be found in children’s picture books. There are already some pretty narrow guidelines for the format: typically less than 500 words, 32 pages, 14-16 spreads. But a few examples take these constraints to the next level. 

I was delighted to discover a fun fact on the inside cover of our copy of Green Eggs and Ham. It turns out it came about because Dr. Seuss was challenged to write a book using just 50 words. His success inspired one researcher to call the way constraints facilitate creativity, “The Green Eggs and Ham Hypothesis.”

Another example is one of my childhood favourites, Animalia by Graeme Base. He followed the well established category of alphabet books—there are literally hundreds— yet managed to reinvent it at the same time. Spending three years working on highly detailed Durer-inspired illustrations, he sought to fill each page with as many objects beginning with each letter as he could, turning it into a tantalizing treasure hunt.

My favorite page. Can you spot the phoenix, porpoise, pagoda, pope, pram, porcupine and pegasus?

I credit this book with launching my lifelong love of alliteration -- a compelling case of constraints contributing to creativity. (I couldn't help myself).

Guess which letter has the most words in its little poem?

A post from the author's Facebook page.

This made me think of perhaps the most impressive and enjoyable example of alliteration I've ever seen. The scene in V for Vendetta when V meets Evey --surely one of the best character introductions of all time. The delight I get from watching this scene is a bit ridiculous. It makes my face hurt from smiling. Yes, I'm that much of a language nerd. (I've pasted the transcript below if you can't watch the video, although Hugo Weaving's voice takes it to a whole new level).

If I had more time I would think of a tidier ending to this post. But, suffice it to say, I hope you enjoyed these examples of constructive constraints and that you feel inspired to not let constraints constrain your creativity.

*V's monologue: But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona. Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a bygone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it’s my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

Shining your light

Friday mornings I often take my daughter to a local children’s center for a stay-and-play session. Walking back last Friday I was greeted by a delightful surprise.

A stunning new mural enjoining passersby to “shine your light”. 

East London is one of the centers of street art globally and it’s one of the things I love about living in Bethnal Green. It means I’m used to seeing street art on the side of commercial buildings on main thoroughfares, like this mural of boxer Ramla Ali. 

Photo credit: Hannah Judah. Follow her on Instagram for more street art inspiration.

But this new mural was on the side of a residential building in a pedestrian area. It felt surprisingly intimate. 

The surprise element of it reminded me of the time when, back in 2015, the mayor of Tehran overnight transformed 1,500 billboards across the city into works of art. For 10 days people enjoyed art in the most unexpected places. A powerful move in a country where harsh censorship can stifle artistic expression and many Iranian artists live in exile. 

The Son of Man by the Belgian surrealist René Magritte next to a painting by the Iranian artist Sohrab Sepehri. Photo credit: Hamed Khorshidi.

It turns out there's also an Iranian connection with my new neighbourhood mural. 

The mural is credited to the organisation Paint the Change.

Paint the Change was founded by Maziar Bahari, an Iranian Canadian journalist and filmmaker, with the vision to bring social action and street art together. They have produced 50+ murals and workshops all over the world as part of Education is Not A Crime.  

Maziar was initially inspired to raise awareness about the exclusion of the Baha’i community from higher education in Iran and made a documentary about his work with street artists “to fight brutality with art and creativity.” 

They have worked with street artists around the world to create murals that affirm that everyone has a right to education.

Like this one in São Paulo:

Artist: Apolo Torres.

And this one in Cape Town:

Artist: Freddy Sam

There’s something about street art that is inherently liberating. As the Tate website notes, “There are no rules in street art, so anything goes.” It challenges our assumptions about where art belongs and what and who it is for. 

And street art is inherently inclusive. All you need is a can of spray paint. 

Back in 2019, as part of a gathering of creativity scholars we went on a tour of street art in East London and then we had the chance to give it a try ourselves. 

Just another day in the life of a creativity scholar ;)

We took turns filling in the outline of the mural the artists had prepared for us. 

At one point, I stepped off to the side and felt compelled to scrawl “creativity” in Arabic. 

It felt like a declaration. I knew it wouldn’t be long before it was painted over. But that didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the permanence of the end product. What mattered was the act itself. It felt empowering.

Perhaps more than any other art form, I think street art is about shining a light in the darkness. 

In 2018 my friend Sarah and I went to Bethlehem and saw the separation wall. 

The wall as a structure is an abomination. And, the art that adorns the Palestinian side is inspiring and uplifting and confronting and invigorating. It is a declaration that the ugliness of the wall is not the end of the story.

The wall surrounding the Aida refugee camp in Bethlehem, Palestine. Photo credit: “Looking forward to the Dome of the Rock.” By Michele Benericetti

I’m so grateful to Paint the Change and artist Matt Dufour for this new weekly reminder to “Shine Your Light”, an echo of that famous quote: “It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” 

Although, as Lucy reminds us, perhaps lighting a candle and cursing the darkness are not mutually exclusive. A classic creative move to reject a false dichotomy ;).

Peanuts comic by Charles M. Schulz, 1965

3 inspiring lessons in creativity from Ruth Carter

Odds are you’ve seen her work. But you may not know her name.

Ruth Carter designed the costumes for many iconic films including Malcolm X, Amistad, Serenity, Do the Right Thing and most famously, the Black Panther movies for which she won two Academy Awards. 

This past week I watched the episode of Abstract on Netflix about Ruth and I wanted to share three things that inspired me about her creative journey.

I highly recommend this episode and the show overall.

1. Reframing rejection. Ruth was a theater kid. She loved acting in school plays and when she got to university she auditioned for a play by Molière. But she got rejected. 

But the director offered her another position. Costume designer. She didn’t know anything about it, but she said yes and gave it a go. And the rest is history. 

We hear a lot about how failure / rejection are part of the creative process, and it’s true. Most of the advice is to use it as a learning experience. But exactly what lesson are we supposed to learn?

We have a few options for how we respond to a door slamming shut in our face. We can take it personally and make it a painful sign of our inadequacy. (Tried it. Don't recommend it). Or we can take it as neutral information that we still have more to learn before we try knocking on that door again (#growthmindset).

But Ruth’s experience highlights a third way. We can see that closed door as a benevolent “detour” sign, saving us the pain and heartbreak of moving further down a path that doesn’t fit us. An affectionate nudge in the direction of our destiny. In this way we can move with the grace of water that when blocked simply finds another path.

So next time you face a rejection, consider relating to it as a gentle redirect.

An exhibit of Ruth's designs at the North Carolina Museum of Art, on now through August 6, 2023 if you happen to be passing through Raleigh.

2. Misunderstanding may be temporary. After graduation, Ruth started costume designing professionally and she invited her mother to her first show. After curtain call she came backstage and saw Ruth gathering up the costumes. Her comment? “You mean to tell me that you graduated with a four-year degree to come out and do somebody’s laundry?”

Not exactly the reaction we would hope for. It’s incredibly common to feel creatively misunderstood by our parents. Often the role of "parent" brings out a risk-averse preference for practicality. For myself and for people I interviewed, these can be painful moments, excruciating even. For some people it's enough to cut them off from their creativity for years.

But yet again, Ruth didn't take it personally. She didn't let her mom’s reaction get in the way of her creative work. And with time, her mother came around. In both her Oscar acceptance speeches Ruth dedicated the award to her mother the "original superhero". The second win came just a week after her mother’s death, at 101.

So the next time someone you care about just doesn’t get it, add the tiny word “yet” and remember they may change their tune. 

3. The fear never goes away. Ruth says, "When people say, 'Wow she designed the Black Panther. Tell me how your process is.' I’m like, 'Oh yeah! I go home and cry in my pillow every night because I’m scared.' [laughs] I think it was because of the level of stress, the level of responsibility. You know, I hadn’t done a superhero film before." 

At this point, I shouldn’t be surprised. A big part of my research involved looking at the emotional volatility that can accompany the creative process. And my own lived experience testifies to the emotional rollercoaster that creative work can be at times.

Yet still a part of me thinks that creative professionals, let alone those people inducted into the pantheon of their profession, have surely cracked the code and manage to stay cool, calm and collected during the creative process.

But the reality of creative work is that every project is new. And most creative people continuously seek out new challenges that stretch them in one way or another. So you're actually always operating at the edge of your comfort zone. 

This level of emotional honesty is refreshing and helps remind us that fear will be a constant companion on the creative journey. We can reframe the fear from a red stoplight to a flashing yellow "proceed with caution". And find a way to move forward with the fear rather that wait for it to go away.

There were so many other inspiring things about Ruth, but I'm committed to keeping this newsletter short. So if you're curious to learn more about how she is moving the culture forward by dispelling negative stereotypes or how she was inspired by Oprah to see art as a restorative spiritual practice, I encourage you to watch the full episode. Or for a more detailed look into her meticulous process you can check out these videos.

One final invitation. Ruth shared a creative exercise any of us can try.

"Especially when I’m in New York, I just love to go people watching. I look at people’s clothes, how they carry themselves. And I make up stories in my head about their lives and it’s all based on what I see. Clothing can tell you so much about a person."

So next time you're in a public place consider putting down your phone and letting your imagination be inspired to create a character from someone's clothing. Or, if you can't go out in public for whatever reason, simply browse the instagram feed of Humans of New York for gems like this:

The shadow side of creativity

We generally think of creativity as a positive thing. If you let me, I'll wax poetic about how creativity can improve pretty much every dimension of your life. Indeed, most research points to the positive consequences of creativity.

However, it would be dishonest to pretend it's all sunshine and rainbows. Because there is a shadow side to creativity. While research in this area has focused primarily on how creativity can increase unethical behavior, the side effect I've struggled with most is...

Penelope Cruz in her Oscar-winning performance as Maria Elena in Vicky Christina Barcelona

...chronic dissatisfaction. A default stance that there's something wrong with the way things are. That there's something missing. That reality is somehow fundamentally deficient and therefore disappointing.

But what does this have to do with creativity?

As we get more connected to our creativity we start spending more time in the realm of possibilities. And, in my experience, the easier it is to imagine possibilities, the harder it is to feel satisfied with the status quo. The more vividly we paint pictures in our mind of what could be, the more reality can seem colorless by comparison. 

Indeed, some research by Joshua Katz suggests that creative ideas serve as "upward counterfactuals" that make us more dissatisfied with our current experience.

Sometimes what we find lacking is the quality of our own creative work. What Malcolm Gladwell famously called “The Gap”.* That distance between the perfect outcome we envisioned and the imperfect outcome we actually produce.

Search #Pinterestfail for some hilarious examples of "The Gap" in action.

But often what we find lacking is the state of the world, or worse, other people. Why can’t my (colleague / friend / partner / child) be a bit more (considerate / compassionate / calm / conscientious)?

The problem is that this war with reality (just like any kind of war) consumes an insane amount of resources. And in exchange for all that energy expenditure we generally don’t get anywhere.

Tina Fey and Andrea Martin in the TV show Great News

We might call this the “No, But” approach. A refrain of: "But things shouldn't be this way." At times (including last Friday), I can get caught in the classic trap of binary thinking, assuming my options are either to rebel against reality or cave in complacently.

Friday lunchtime I had a call with two close friends, Alexia and Raluca. My Triad. We've met every other week for the past three years to pause and reflect on life as we're living it. I recommend it.

I was sharing my theory that a certain level of dissatisfaction is simply the cost of a creative mind. Yet, in the conversation that ensued, I had a realization (as I often do in my triad conversations). I realized there was (of course) a third way.

A “Yes, And” approach.

The concept of "Yes, And" comes from improvisational comedy where it acts as an injunction to performers to accept whatever idea their partner has just thrown out, no matter how crazy, and build on it. 

For more on how to apply Yes, And thinking, check out this book by improv legends.

But I think Yes, And can also represent a more creative way to relate to reality. A reminder that I can say YES to what is, even when it's awful or messy or incredibly inconvenient. A reminder there is a huge reward waiting when I relax my resistance because it frees up energy I can use to move in the direction of something more expansive, more life-giving.

While that may mean finding a creative solution, it equally may mean letting reality be as it is and growing myself into the person who can be in a friendly relationship with reality in all its limitations. 

It has been said that forgiveness is giving up all hope of a better past. Perhaps creativity requires that we give up all hope of a better present. Maybe making peace with the present is what provides us with the strongest launching off point to bring a better future into being.

How does the shadow side of creativity show up for you? What's a reality in your life you've been resisting? And what might it be like to greet it with an unconditional Yes, And?

*You may want to check out this 1-minute video with my interpretation of Ira Glass's concept of "The Gap"

Despair and hope

My inner critic has a name. Francois. 

Several years ago I traveled to Montserrat, Spain for a creativity workshop with the legendary Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way. 

The morning view from Montserrat Abbey

I found her playful approach to the inner critic so refreshing. She told us to give the voice a personality: age, name, occupation, nationality, gesture, and a catchphrase or two. 

Francois is a chain-smoking middle-aged French nihilist. A chronically unimpressed professional art critic. His refrain, with a dismissive wave of his cigarette-wielding hand, is, “What’s the point.” 

Something like I imagine Francois to look like (Charles Boyer, actor)

The truth is there are no shortage of reasons to despair if we drop our mental defences and actually pay attention to the state of the world. Hunger. War. Natural disasters. School shootings. Children abused. Books banned. The destruction of the Amazon. 

There are days when Francois (and the headlines (and London weather)) win, and I feel stuck in a grey haze of “what’s the point?” Intrinsic motivation evaporates and my creativity can feel completely inaccessible. 

And yet, it’s only a matter of time before a beacon of sunshine breaks through the clouds and a spark of hope is illuminated. And creativity usually deserves the credit for these life-affirming moments.

For example, yesterday my whole energy shifted when I stumbled upon this version of the song, 'You are the New Day'. I think it’s pretty hard listen to the song and not feel refreshed and hopeful. 

I was even more inspired when I read John David’s story behind the song:

“The inspiration for New Day was quite simple; I had just had a major blow in my personal life, and was sitting alone late at night on the settee feeling very low, and watching an ominous story on the news about the very real possibility of nuclear war.

“I started singing to the (hopefully) soon-to arrive New Day like it was an entity, that would rescue me from the depths. If the sun came up and the birds started singing as usual then I could believe that it really was the new day in which life would go on, and in which hope would survive.

“The tune and the words popped into my head at the same time, and it was all written in about 10 minutes, which is why (to me at least) it’s not perfect. But I didn’t feel I had the right to change anything.”

I find it impressive how he managed to make this beautiful song in the midst of a dark time. But even more inspiring for me, the song wasn't an expression of his dark feelings. It was a response to them.

So next time I'm feeling pinned down under the weight of despair, rather than simply tap out, perhaps I can practice some creative jiujitsu, shift my position and respond creatively. Or rather, let creativity respond through me. It's worth a try.

I’m curious, what are your creative beacons of hope? What poems or images or songs or stories or movies do you turn to to help restore your hope in humanity in the face of fatalism? 

The magic of metaphors

I love playing with metaphors. 

Metaphorical thinking is, according to some researchers, the main source of creative inspiration. Metaphors instantly shift our perspective, opening a range of previously imperceptible possibilities. 

Metaphors can unlock powerful creative breakthroughs, as seen in biomimicry: a kingfisher inspires a bullet train, a burr inspires velcro, a termite hill inspires a building that cools itself. They can create fresh insight as in Rick Rubin’s description of pro wresting as a metaphor for all of life. Or they can guide our personal development and form the scaffolding of a coaching engagement.

When I notice an interesting object or situation, I often think, what does this make me think of? What could this be a metaphor for?

As an example, the other day I passed a strange sight. Down the road from my husband’s family’s home in a residential neighbourhood of Nablus is a locked-up structure with a small brown sign.  

It turns out that Nablus is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. (It’s name comes from the Latin neapolis (new city) as it was called in the time of Emperor Vespasian c.72 CE).  

Behind this unassuming metal and concrete structure lies “The Eastern Roman Mausoleum.” 

In a different city on the northern side of the Mediterranean, this site might be a tourist attraction, maybe even part of a small museum. And yet, for many reasons this place is practically boarded up and all but forgotten. 

I found this to be an evocative image and wanted to play a bit with it as a metaphor for creativity. 

We all have a history of creativity in our childhood — a period that can certainly feel at times like ancient history. And yet, as we enter adulthood, many of us abandon that part of ourselves. We cover it over with layers of judgement and practicality. 

After neglecting this part of our inner landscape for many years, some excavation may be required. A process that can be slow and painstaking. But the reward is the recovery of long forgotten treasures buried below the surface. These precious objects (memories, interests, passions, talents) create an important link with our past, enrich our identity, and inspire new possibilities for the future.

And, like these ruins in Nablus, our dormant creativity is often hiding in plain sight. So many people I speak to claim, “I’m just not creative”, but often all it takes are a few probing questions to scratch the surface and reveal the way creativity is already showing up in their lives. In the the dinner parties they host. The games they play with their children. The poems they write to entertain their colleagues or friends.

Some of the people I interviewed for my research talked about a point in their past when their creativity “died the ultimate death”. The image of this boarded up archaeological site suggests a different process. I think our psyche steps in to protect our creativity when the conditions are no longer/not yet hospitable. It keeps our creative self safe until we have the resources to develop it. 

This makes me think of another metaphor — perhaps a more appropriate one given that today is the spring equinox in the northern hemisphere — of ice thawing. 

Image source: “Slow Thaw” by Arwen_7 on Flickr

In the past, I’ve felt grief for the years in which my creativity was “on ice”. It felt like a tragic wound or a sign of weakness. A painful story to try to live inside.

But a gift of this metaphor is that it reframes freezing/ice as a natural process. An instance of nature’s intelligence. An act of preservation. A necessary phase in a complete life cycle (at least in certain climates). Others’ creativity may live in a tropical location of constant and reliable warmth and abundance. But it seems my creativity is indigenous to a more temperate climate with the cycle of seasons. 

The wisdom of the seasons is that no state is permanent, no feeling is final. Patience will be rewarded with change. Ice will thaw and the stream will flow again without us having to do anything, with no efforting, no striving. All that’s required is allowing. For now I’m holding this image/metaphor as a talisman, a reminder to relax into trust and let Nature do her thing. 

This is the magic of metaphor -- the transformation of stuckness into life-giving movement.

What’s a metaphor that speaks to your journey with creativity -- past, present or future?

Don't fall for functional fixedness

Today I almost fell for one of the classic cognitive barriers to creativity.

This rainy morning my daughter and I were stuck inside. (I unfortunately left our rain gear in London and didn't think to bring it to Palestine.)

The view from my mother-in-law's kitchen window in Nablus

She started playing with a decorative table cover. Taking it off the table and putting it back again. 

Then she held it up to herself and said, “I want to wear this as a dress.”

Honestly, my first thought was, "This is for the table, it’s not for wearing".  

But then a little alarm went off in my head. Functional fixedness alert!

Functional fixedness is when we get stuck thinking that an object can only be used in one way.

In fact, functional fixedness is at the heart of one of the most common measures of creativity.* The Alternative Uses Task asks participants how many uses they can think of for a common object like a brick or a paper clip. Responding creatively to the task requires letting go of functional fixedness and accessing more cognitive flexibility.

Functional fixedness has been top of mind for me recently because I'm reaching that stage of parenting. Boundaries. We don't come into the world with functional fixedness. We learn it. Or rather we're taught it. And I find myself currently laying the foundations of my daughter's functional fixedness. "Chairs are for sitting, not for standing." "Crayons are for coloring paper, not walls." "Tables are for eating, not for resting our feet on."

When we're little, our brains need simple rules like these where the boundaries are clear. However, I think functional fixedness is among the many things we need to unlearn when we become adults. Once our brains develop to the point that they can hold and process more complexity we need to drop the artificial restrictions and open up to more possibilities.

I'm hoping to keep the functional fixedness to a minimum with my daughter, to limit the unlearning required and encourage her creativity.

So when I caught myself thinking the table cover couldn't also be a dress, I paused and made a conscious shift to cognitive flexibility mode.

How could I turn this table cover into a dress?

I needed a sash of some kind. 

I looked around me and saw a box of tissues.

Could I tie tissues together? Would they be strong enough?

Turns out the answer is yes.

An appreciative 2-year-old wearing an innovative table cover-dress. Next in Fashion here I come!

So next time you notice yourself using functional fixedness as an excuse why something can't be done, see if you can flip the switch to practice more cognitive flexibility instead. Your creativity (and any small children in your vicinity) will thank you.

*If you're curious to learn more about how creativity is measured including more about the AUT, check out my video below:

In praise of imperfection

What rewards lie in store when we pick the path of imperfection?

Several years ago, I took a 3-day coaching training. About halfway through, the facilitators told us, “Now, think of a song you know well. In a moment, we’re going to ask you to take turns standing up here and singing in front of everyone.” As you can imagine, a flood of panic spread across the room.

After watching everyone squirm for a minute, they came clean. They weren’t actually going to make us get up and sing. Phew! Rather, they wanted to give us a felt experience similar to our clients’ when we offer them a practice that takes them out of their comfort zones.

(Later, during my PhD, I learned that singing in front of strangers is so predictably anxiety-inducing that psychology researchers have used it as a task in lab studies when they want to induce anxiety!)

During the next morning’s check-in, a man with some grey stubble spoke up. “Last night I sang a song for my 5-year old granddaughter for the very first time. I don’t have a good voice, but she didn’t care. She loved it. She wanted me to keep singing again and again.” He became emotional, fighting back tears. “I never would have shared that special moment with her if it wasn’t for the exercise yesterday. It made me question what might be waiting for me on the other side of my fear.” 

Singing is on my mind this week because I recently received the link to this video.

Every Monday during term time, my daughter and I go to a singing circle. It’s not for children. It’s for adults with children. (A very important distinction also found in the amazing work of Mothers Who Make). So there’s no nursery rhymes allowed. Only folk songs, with the occasional popular tune thrown in for good measure. The video is our first concert. Pick any point at random and you’ll see immediately it’s a bit chaotic to say the least. Babies crying. Children running around. Singers coming and going mid-song. Just like the grandfather’s lullaby, objectively imperfect. AND perfection isn’t the point. 

The magic of the singing circle was apparent from the very first time my daughter and I showed up over a year ago. We were welcomed by name with beautiful harmonising. As the waves of sound washed over me, I almost cried. Children were running around, stealing each others’ toys and climbing on chairs. But the space was so steeped in soul. And in that moment, I felt a deep soul craving was satiated.

Reflecting on this, it occurs to me that there are two distinct approaches to creative pursuits. (Actually, I’d say it’s a spectrum but for the sake of simplicity I’ll focus on the two poles). 

The path of perfection says there is a right way and a wrong way to perform this craft. This is the path of ballet dancers, Michelin star chefs and Shakespearean actors. The path of perfection requires commitment and dedication and the results are elevating, transcendent and awe-inspiring. It stretches our imagination and challenges what we thought was possible. I’ll never forget seeing Abida Parveen perform at the Southbank Centre in 2017. Pure bliss. But an important part of the path of perfection is that it puts the performer on a pedestal. The glamour is only made possible by a certain remoteness. 

In contrast, the path of imperfection says this is real life. Messy. Gritty. Human. Vulnerable. This is the domain of the amateur. Of Moth storytellers. Of dance performances at friends’ weddings. Of homeless photography calendars. The point is not to achieve technical excellence but to experience meaningful human connection. 

Throughout my childhood and adolescence I sang in choirs: church choir, school choir, show choir. In those environments a lot of attention was paid to the technical aspects of singing well. I think most creative pursuits are taught from the path of perfection. The need to grade students translates into a focus on the quality of the outcome and a forced hierarchy. This comes at a real cost. It perpetuates the idea that if you’re not really good at something you shouldn’t do it. So people opt out. Sometimes for life. And that is a tragedy. For many reasons, but a major one is all the unrealized potential connection available when we follow the path of imperfection. 

I find it helpful to contrast the way singing is typically taught in schools, to how certain cultures have embedded singing into everyday life. In Wales, “singing is in [the] people as sight is in the eye.” They even have choirs at their rugby matches! It’s simply not the point whether you’re good or bad at it. The point is to connect. To express yourself and have a shared experience. 

So, in what ways have the paths of (im)perfection shown up for you? If you’re finding the path of perfection paralysing, know there is another way and the rewards are very real. 

Can creativity humanize "the other"​?

Does seeing someone as creative mean we also see them as more human?

This is a research question I developed during my PhD but never tested. (Any researcher out there, feel free to take it and run with it and I’d be happy to share some notes to help you get started).

But, perhaps you, dear reader, might join me in a little (non-academic) experiment.

What are the first words and images that come to your mind when you hear the word “Palestinian”?

I’m currently in Nablus, Palestine, visiting my husband’s family. Last week, the Israeli military entered a bustling market in the old city and killed and injured over 100 people, most of whom were innocent bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My daughter, Laila, walking in the old city of Nablus the day before the military operation.

In its coverage of the incident, the New York Times did not disclose any humanising details of any of the victims (nor did it use the word “victims”).

Why does this matter? Because it’s hard to care about a number.

But what happens when I tell you about the nurse at a local hospital who rushed to help an incoming patient only to realise it was his own father and who, despite doing everything he could to save him, witnessed his father die in his arms. 

And so, in the spirit of humanizing the other while also sharing some creative inspiration, this week I wanted to highlight three creative Palestinians along with some lessons about creativity we can learn from them:

Techno DJ Sama' Abdulhadi (image source: DJ mag)

Sama’ Abdulhadi is a techno DJ gaining global recognition (one of her sets has over 11 million views). I find her irreverence refreshing and admire her determination, her resilience, and how unapologetic she is about being who she is and doing what she loves. 

Her work is also a reminder of the power of creative work to provide an outlet for healthy emotional expression. In this BBC documentary she said, “The only way that Palestinians are still gonna survive is that they let out all the anger. Otherwise they’re gonna go crazy.” That insight emerges from her own experience. In an interview, she said, “Techno saved me, because I was an angry person…It became this healthy ritual for me that, whenever I was angry, I just danced to techno, because it let it all out.”

I also appreciated an insight about creative constraints she shared in this short profile. While working as a sound designer in noisy Cairo, she “had to learn a lot of tricks of how to clean sound.” But, she added, “It inspired me a lot with music. Now, I actually add street sound and noise a lot to my sets. I add cars and honks and planes and stuff.” This is a small yet inspiring example of how to turn a constraint into a catalyst for creativity.

Orange Grove (1984), by Sliman Mansour

Sliman Mansour is a painter and an all around legend. Born before the state of Israel, he is 76 years old and still going strong, still producing art and engaging publicly. That alone is an inspiration for me, an invitation to envision an old age that is still creatively vibrant and productive. 

In this video, he also offers a valuable perspective: “I’m doing my art for my people — the Palestinians — so this is my audience. So I don’t care if [others] don’t like it. Because my audience likes it.” A helpful reminder for all creatives to keep laser focused on who your work is for and not give power to the opinions of critics who are not part of your audience. 

I highly recommend his moving TEDx talk where he shares amazing stories about how he became and developed as an artist across the decades, despite many obstacles. 

Students participating in a science fair organized by Al Nayzak (image source: Al Nazyak)

Aref F. Husseini is a social innovator and recent recipient of the Schwab Foundation for Social Entrepreneurship Social Innovator of the Year Award. Twenty years ago he founded Al Nayzak to promote science and technology skills among Palestinian youth. I find his integration of science and arts inspiring. He’s developed creative approaches like Scientific Theatre, which uses educational theatrical performances to convey science concepts and stimulate critical thinking, and a range of educational games. He also built a small interactive science museum which we’re hoping to visit with our daughter in the coming weeks. 

I was also inspired when I saw on his website that, in addition to being an engineer, he has also published multiple novels. His story reinforces that we don’t have to specialise in just one thing, but can let our creativity flow into many outlets and we don't need anyone's permission to do so. 

So there you have it. Experiment over. Have these words and images impacted the associations in your mind with Palestinians? Would you say that any re-humanisation has occurred? 

Who would you like to humanize by highlighting their creativity?

Are you crushing your creativity with "Picasso pressure"?

Recently I caught up with a work friend I hadn’t seen in a long time (pre-Covid!). After chatting about our work and life updates the conversation turned to creativity, as my conversations have a tendency to do 😉. 

She shared that she had actually studied art originally, but practicality won out and she majored in business. Now she’s an organizations scholar at a top university. 

During her PhD she had managed to keep her creativity alive with photography, but in recent years it had fallen by the wayside leaving her feeling disconnected from her creativity. 

This story is all too familiar to me. Not only does it echo my own lived experience, but so many of the people I interviewed for my research had a similar path. They initially aspired to creative work but put their creativity aside and let it atrophy. But that wasn’t the end of the story. It was only the beginning — the tragic backstory before they embarked on the journey of reclaiming their creativity.

When I asked my friend what was holding her back, she said, “I don’t think I would be good enough at drawing to do it professionally. It sounds silly when I say it out loud…”

I’ve heard so may versions of this excuse that I gave it a label. I call it “Picasso pressure” because my only-slightly-hyperbolic distillation goes like this: ‘What’s the point of even picking up a paintbrush if I’ll never be Picasso?’*

Pablo Picasso (image source: Encyclopedia Britannica)

We don’t apply this same logic to athletic activities. I’ve never heard anyone say, ‘Oh, I couldn’t grab a basketball and go shoot some hoops because I’ll never be LeBron James.’ For some reason, we feel this pressure to professionalize our creative pursuits. And it’s paralyzing.

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron says it’s often the silliest reasons, the ones we’re embarrassed to admit even to ourselves, that can hold us back the most. They sabotage us from the shadows until we own up to them and subject them to the light of logic.

In addition to prescribing The Artist’s Way to my friend, I also suggested she carve out a small pocket of space for her creativity. It could be just 15 minutes a day for drawing during a work break or an hour a week for sketching in a cafe or a park. 

Her inner Resistance came back with this concern: “But I don’t think I could ever share my work. I’m just not comfortable putting my art out in public.” 

I told her, “Forget about sharing at this stage. Right now you’re just nursing your creativity back to health. Imagine it’s bedridden and you’re feeding it soup one spoonful at a time. There’s no point in trying to plan for it running a marathon. Just focus on helping it get its strength back. Then it will tell you what it wants to do.”

And I reminded her, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re in charge of how your creative life unfolds.”

What kind of pressure are you putting on your creativity? Consider giving yourself permission to just play around for a while and see where it goes.

The world doesn't need another Picasso. But it does need more people who are creatively lit up.

* I made a short YouTube video last year about this concept in which I break down 5 levels of creativity (inspired by and adapted from the “Four-C” model of creativity (Kaufman & Beghetto, 2009))