Following
“I am not ‘doing something,’ it’s more like following…”
These words from Stephen Nachmanovitch, the author of Freeplay, a book on creativity that has shifted many minds on how to pursue questions and projects in need of looser thinking.
And yet I find it a struggle to follow instead of do. I think, in my mind, it would suggest I were incapable, lazy or giving up control (and thus allowing myself to fail miserably!).
Isn’t it all up to me to be creative and think beyond my current capacity?
In a famous Ted Talk by Elizabeth Gilbert that received over 21 million views, the idea of creativity as something to follow (instead of a striving to claim personal genius status) is explained with candour, humour, and fascinating historical examples. I’d recommend a watch if you haven’t seen it.
Gilbert explains how in ancient Greece and Rome, people “believed that creativity was this divine attendant spirit that came to human beings from some distant and unknowable source, for distant and unknowable reasons…Romans called that disembodied spirit a ‘genius.’”
Gilbert then takes her audience to the Renaissance, when rational humanism kicked off and put the individual at the centre of the universe. At this point, creativity became a quality of thought that flowed completely out of Self.
“And then you begin hearing people being called the genius rather than having a genius.”
And yet, in modern times, artists, scientists and entrepreneurs continue to ascribe their creative genius to forces that are far bigger than themselves, forces that forge through when the curiosity flute in the mind is open to seeing in new ways and receiving (even what is messy, confusing or uncomfortable).
Mark Twain wrote to Helen Keller, “all ideas are second-hand, consciously and unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources.” Oscar Wilde argued that creativity relies on a “temperament of receptivity.”
The filmmaker David Lynch said “it’s like there’s a man in another room with the whole film together but they’re in puzzle parts. And he’s flipping one piece at a time into me. And at first it’s very abstract, I don’t have a clue, more pieces come, more ideas are caught, it starts forming a thing. And then one day there it is.” This short video with Lynch dives deeper into this process.
“There’s a part of you that’s in the way of solving a problem,” Music Producer Rick Rubin says. Our assumption that it’s all up to us, being perhaps one of our biggest blocks.
Illustrator and writer Josh Rosen and I get into these ideas, and Josh also offers tips on how he has learned to get out of the way in order to follow what the creative project is desiring.
Josh, you are a creative working in many different spheres: in illustration, in comics, in writing. What is your relationship with these mediums and with your creative energy?
Being creative, making art, telling stories can feel self indulgent or even selfish one moment, and altruistic and empathetic the next.
There’s nothing better than playing with an idea. It’s like pulling at the tail of some huge creature hidden behind a curtain, where more and more of it is revealed to you as you pull. And there’s an excitement as the shape of it becomes clearer. Sparks start firing. It’s the excitement of solving something, or landing on something. Like a dog digging to find a bone. That’s what the creative process feels like to me, at its best.
And that excitement is shared across mediums for me, both when drawing and writing stories. The thrill of discovery is always there.
Yes, the thrill of discovery and the buzz of following something you don’t fully understand, probably to be led through a story or an idea that will bring you to a fuller, richer perspective on it.
It makes me think of Michelangelo’s Slave sculptures, which appear unfinished.
The author Stephen Nachmanovitch writes that for Michelangelo “the sculpture is already in the stone, has been in the stone from the beginning of time, and the sculptor’s job is to see it and release it.” I can imagine Michelangelo seeing a torse in the rock and working vigorously to uncover the rest of the body he senses is inside.
I imagine there needs to be a degree of obsession, self-imposed and likely self-needed, but then you talk about the altruism of art-making. Say more.
There’s a whole other side to our creative work when it is completed. Through the act of sharing the work you’ve created, you're reaching out in an interesting way. Like sending a message out in a bottle and wondering if someone will connect with the work, experience something that helps them feel more connected to themselves, others and the world. At least that’s the hope.
My collaborator, Ted Staunton, and I released our graphic novel “The Good Fight” during the first year of the pandemic. And we weren’t able to get out there and connect with readers as much as we normally might have. So that was an instance of releasing a piece of art into the world and feeling a bit disconnected at first from its life in the public space.
But then it felt so strange and exciting to meet readers at the Toronto Comic Arts Festival this past year, the first larger in-person show I’d attended since the book’s release. And to encounter multiple people who had read the book and connected with it! Who the book had clearly meant something to! Total strangers who had found something interesting or inspiring in the work we had made. It was a reminder of why we do this sort of work, why making art can be so worthwhile.
Has it always been easy for you to be creative?
Ira Glass has a famous quote about how your taste develops before your ability. That was me for many years, early on in my career. I knew the quality of work that excited me but I struggled at the start because my abilities weren’t quite there, nor my instincts.
And that frustrated me. I tried to power through. I kept pushing, thinking if I willed my way through it, I’d get there. But then the creative process grew toxic, it curdled. I realized I wasn’t enjoying it anymore. And if you’re in a bad mood, I believe it will come through in the work.
I had to learn to take a step back and experiment. Break away from old habits. Try to reconnect with the joy of simple creation, with no expectations. Do art that no one would see. My sketch book became critical for this, as it’s critical to all artists. It’s a place to play with ideas and let things emerge. I’ve also had periods where I’ve kept a diary or played with free-writing.
The point is to create a space to draw or write for the fun of it. Which might seem trite, but I think it’s actually critical to maintaining a more healthy artistic practice. By nurturing a free and joyful headspace, you end up producing more confident and more interesting work.
It’s really about finding ways to warm up the mind to be loose, less judgmental, more playful - and doodling and journaling have always helped me find better ideas. Since then I’ve made a habit of ensuring they’re an active part of my creative practice. Often the best seeds for future work will emerge when you’re just playing around.
A student at a workshop I recently facilitated shared a great definition of doodling. She said it’s drawing without thinking too hard. I think there’s really something to that.
What a great definition. I know when I’m not so self-conscious and desiring to sound smart, something else certainly takes over that’s more instinctual and interesting.
Though, now, tell us, how do you transition from play to focus, for bigger projects where more pressure is attached?
I’ve developed some tricks. I try not to think of the whole project or else my brain will cave. I approach it page-by-page. I play the game of making one page the best it can be for now. Tackling a whole project at once can feel overwhelming, but one page is doable. And so you move forward like that, one page at a time.
I sometimes imagine it like climbing a mountain with a series of ledges. And each time I complete a chapter, it feels like I’ve reached a new ledge. So that the next time I start to feel like I’m getting lost or losing my grip, I know I’ll only fall as far as the last ledge. I won’t be going back to the bottom. Even if a chapter isn’t “perfect,” it’ll still be strong enough to catch you from going all the way back to square one. Get your first thoughts out and refine later.
I recently listened to an interview with film director Zack Cregger, who apparently writes “This is the bad version of [insert film title here]” on all of his first drafts. And I really like that approach. You’re naturally not as critical. It’s just the bad version! You’re just putting a bunch of raw material, like clay, on a table, so you can sculpt it later. Then with successive drafts you refine it. When I’m in that editing mode, I’m asking: is there a tighter version? Is there an idea I want to convey more clearly? Is it coming through enough?
Following that, I seek feedback, but I’m discerning in that process. I pay attention to the people who I feel understand my work - of course there are those who don’t connect with it and that’s ok too.
But good stuff can come from different views. Resistance can help you see something you’re not seeing or strengthen your conviction around a decision you made in the work. It’s always helpful to air the work out.
“This is the bad version”…I’m stealing that! Thank you Josh. Everyone should grab your brilliant book The Good Fight. My son and I loved it. We entered the immigrant slums of Toronto in 1933, and learned a lot through such wonderful storytelling.
You can follow Josh on Instagram @jrosen.illustration.
And in lieu of a song, I leave you with the cover of Josh’s next book (!) - and a question to follow in your own creative work:
What elements of your project energize you? Why not follow those parts and see what they want to become?
Other posts from The Dormer Window series on accessing our creative intelligence:
Thanks Nadia (and Josh) - food for thought - one page at a time. Love it.
Do the art that no one would see. So true! ❤️