Creativity is not just for artists, in fact there is currently a tremendous amount of research into creative problem solving. Individuals (and teams) who are able to find new, innovative ways of approaching problems tend to be more successful in the business world. This is relevant for children, too. Who doesn't want to be able to solve problems that might ordinarily seem overwhelming? Wouldn't it be wonderful if everyone could turn their mountains into molehills?
There is a growing body of evidence that suggests that our emotional state may help us to do so. In their 2005 study, Friedman and Förster found that individuals primed to an "approach" state (in which they were actively seeking something) tended to use the right hemisphere of their brains to a greater extent. Individuals primed to an "avoidance" state used the left hemisphere more.
What does this mean? The right hemisphere is generally associated with creativity and the left with logic. Although logic is an important component of problem solving, use of the right hemisphere allows an individual to "see the big picture," getting a global view of things. This is part of what allows them to view problems from new angles, which can allow them to circumvent the problem (or block, if you are an artist). This evidence suggests that when we approach a situation that requires some creative thinking, we should prime ourselves to be in an open, "approach" frame of mind.
One of the aspects of Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way involves ridding yourself of your negative perceptions... of your inner critic, that little voice in your head that tells you that you cannot do something. She also recommends figuring out which people in your life play a similar role and minimizing contact with them. The inner critic and critical friends and acquaintances act to put us into an avoidance state. When we listen to their criticisms, we fear the potential outcome of a creative effort. We are sure, before we even begin, that we will fail to find the way to the other side of the mountain blocking our path. When we go into it with this point of view, we are guaranteed to fail.
But when we recognize those voices for what they are and tell ourselves that we can, it does, in fact, put us in a mental frame of mind that allows us to surmount the problem at hand (remember the Little Engine That Could?). Scientific research supports the anecdotal evidence, by demonstrating that individuals are better at solving problems when in an "approach" state of mind.
When we think we can, we quite often can. Perhaps not in the way we originally envisioned, but that's what creative problem solving is all about: finding an innovative solution. Maybe the mountain really is a molehill, and we can step right over it. Maybe it's a steep mountain that requires some switchbacks before we can reach the summit. Or maybe there is a valley to the side that provides a better, easier alternative for reaching our goal.
This ties in to the role of exercise in creativity, since physical activity has been shown to reduce stress and anxiety, two factors that elicit avoidance behavior. So find a way to relax... go for a walk, do some yoga, meditate, watch a movie... these should all help to get the creative, problem-solving juices flowing.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Creative architecture
Last week my husband and I visited the Neues Museum in Berlin. The newest museum on Museum Island was originally constructed in the mid-1800s but was severely damaged by bombing in World War II. The building stood for 43 years, weathered and forgotten, until reconstruction efforts began in 1986.
The first step of the restoration process involved recovery of 100,000 fragments of the original building, many of which had been scattered, almost all of which have been reincorporated into the existing structure. The architect selected to design the reconstructed building, David Chipperfield, opted to modernize the structure while adhering to the guidelines of the Charter of Venice, "respecting the historical structure in its different states of preservation."
His designs, opposed by some, who wanted the building reconstructed as it had been before the destruction, instead took the pieces that remained (those thousands of fragments) and filled in the gaps, drawing attention to the losses while modernizing the structure. The pieces from rooms that had been completely destroyed are on display in a small area called the Fragmentarium: heating registers, painted plaster from damaged murals, and pieces of statues adorn the walls and display cases of this room.
I have been fortunate to have had many opportunities to visit famous museums, but this was the first time I was completely taken by the architecture, rather than the collections housed in the building. The surviving columns that line the outer walls are riddled with bullet holes and damage from shrapnel. New columns have been added to fill in areas completely destroyed by the bombs. No effort was made to hide the historical events that led to the museum's reconstruction, preserving events of the more recent past alongside older structures.
Inside the museum, murals from the original walls have been restored to their original positions, with missing areas filled in with muted colors that allow the paintings to simply fade away. The overwhelming feeling is one of loss... you can feel how much was lost during the war and the following years when the building was left unattended.
The bust of Queen Nefertiti, which I had seen housed in a different museum prior to the reopening of the Neues Museum, stands on a pedestal in a vaulted, colorful room filled with hushed, reverent admirers. She gazes, with her one remaining glass eye, down a long corridor, looking upon the god Helios in his own vaulted room at the far end. The presentation is extraordinary.
The first step of the restoration process involved recovery of 100,000 fragments of the original building, many of which had been scattered, almost all of which have been reincorporated into the existing structure. The architect selected to design the reconstructed building, David Chipperfield, opted to modernize the structure while adhering to the guidelines of the Charter of Venice, "respecting the historical structure in its different states of preservation."
His designs, opposed by some, who wanted the building reconstructed as it had been before the destruction, instead took the pieces that remained (those thousands of fragments) and filled in the gaps, drawing attention to the losses while modernizing the structure. The pieces from rooms that had been completely destroyed are on display in a small area called the Fragmentarium: heating registers, painted plaster from damaged murals, and pieces of statues adorn the walls and display cases of this room.
I have been fortunate to have had many opportunities to visit famous museums, but this was the first time I was completely taken by the architecture, rather than the collections housed in the building. The surviving columns that line the outer walls are riddled with bullet holes and damage from shrapnel. New columns have been added to fill in areas completely destroyed by the bombs. No effort was made to hide the historical events that led to the museum's reconstruction, preserving events of the more recent past alongside older structures.
Inside the museum, murals from the original walls have been restored to their original positions, with missing areas filled in with muted colors that allow the paintings to simply fade away. The overwhelming feeling is one of loss... you can feel how much was lost during the war and the following years when the building was left unattended.
Photo by W. Bittner, http://www.stadtentwicklung.berlin.de/
The bust of Queen Nefertiti, which I had seen housed in a different museum prior to the reopening of the Neues Museum, stands on a pedestal in a vaulted, colorful room filled with hushed, reverent admirers. She gazes, with her one remaining glass eye, down a long corridor, looking upon the god Helios in his own vaulted room at the far end. The presentation is extraordinary.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Julia Donaldson and Giles Andreae
Our youngest celebrated a birthday last week, and two of the gifts were books by Julia Donaldson: Tiddler and Tyrannosaurus Drip.
Every member of our family loves her books, which are filled with fabulous tales written in nearly perfect meter and rhyme (most often with a good moral to boot). I don't know how successful her books are in the United States, but I know that The Gruffalo was (is?) wildly popular in both the UK and Germany (they translated it into German; I have not yet looked it over to see how they managed to translate the story while maintaining the very essence of out-loud-readability that characterize her books).
But even for the English-speakers out there, books written in meter and rhyme can cause problems, particularly when there are wide variations in word pronunciation. Case in point: in Monkey Puzzle, a young monkey has lost his mum. This can easily be changed to "mom" in the American version of the story, but "mom" doesn't rhyme with "come" and upsets the rhyme throughout (I don't know if this change has been made, since our books are the UK version).
With books like these (another is Charlie Cook's Favorite Book), I find myself reading with a British accent, which causes either giggles or eye rolls from our children and their friends. But the pronunciation is essential to making the story work.
Another gift last week was The Lion Who Wanted to Love by Giles Andreae, another British author who writes wonderful rhyming tales. It took me a while to figure out exactly how some of his rhymes worked, for example "roars" and "jaws" in A Rumble in the Jungle, "violin" and "thing" in Giraffes Can't Dance, and "hooves" and "move" in The Lion Who Wanted to Love. Reading with the accent of the author often helps smooth over the couplets that trip up the tongue.
But it is worth considering... how does a picture book author who writes in meter and rhyme avoid these pitfalls? Does one simply write for the local audience, or does one make an effort to write in such a way as to avoid these rhyming missteps when the book reaches a wider audience? Is it hubris to imagine that the latter might occur?
I don't know the answers, but it is something I keep in mind as I write my rhyming adventure tales. How would the story sound to someone speaking the King's English rather than American? Would the rhythm persist in both situations? And what about other English speakers... in Australia, New Zealand, South Africa? Is it possible to write something in this format that would work for everyone?
Perhaps this is part of the reasoning behind the strong caution against writing rhyming picture books. But if you do it well, I don't see why it can't be successful.
Every member of our family loves her books, which are filled with fabulous tales written in nearly perfect meter and rhyme (most often with a good moral to boot). I don't know how successful her books are in the United States, but I know that The Gruffalo was (is?) wildly popular in both the UK and Germany (they translated it into German; I have not yet looked it over to see how they managed to translate the story while maintaining the very essence of out-loud-readability that characterize her books).
With books like these (another is Charlie Cook's Favorite Book), I find myself reading with a British accent, which causes either giggles or eye rolls from our children and their friends. But the pronunciation is essential to making the story work.
But it is worth considering... how does a picture book author who writes in meter and rhyme avoid these pitfalls? Does one simply write for the local audience, or does one make an effort to write in such a way as to avoid these rhyming missteps when the book reaches a wider audience? Is it hubris to imagine that the latter might occur?
I don't know the answers, but it is something I keep in mind as I write my rhyming adventure tales. How would the story sound to someone speaking the King's English rather than American? Would the rhythm persist in both situations? And what about other English speakers... in Australia, New Zealand, South Africa? Is it possible to write something in this format that would work for everyone?
Perhaps this is part of the reasoning behind the strong caution against writing rhyming picture books. But if you do it well, I don't see why it can't be successful.
Monday, March 1, 2010
When you're falling
I'm having an incredibly productive writing day today, which means my Monday blog post is falling by the wayside. So I leave you with Afro Celt Sound System, whose music inspires me.
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