How to Take Advantage of Boredom, the Secret Ingredient of Creativity

Pierre-Auguste_Renoir_-_La_Tasse_de_chocolat

Pierre-August Renoir, La Tasse de choco­lat

Last year we told you about the impor­tance of messy desks and walk­ing to cre­ativ­i­ty. This year, the time has come to real­ize how much cre­ativ­i­ty also depends on bore­dom. In a sense, of course, humankind has utter­ly van­quished bore­dom, what with our mod­ern tech­nolo­gies — com­put­ers, high-speed inter­net, smart­phones — that make pos­si­ble sources of rich and fre­quent stim­u­la­tion such as, well, this very site. But what if we need a lit­tle bore­dom? What if bore­dom, that state we 21st-cen­tu­ry first-worlders wor­ry about avoid­ing more than any oth­er, actu­al­ly helps us cre­ate?

Even if we feel no bore­dom in our free time, sure­ly we still endure the occa­sion­al bout of it at work. “Admit­ting that bore­dom to cowork­ers or man­agers is like­ly some­thing few of us have ever done,” writes the Har­vard Busi­ness Review’s David Burkus. “It turns out, how­ev­er, that a cer­tain lev­el of bore­dom might actu­al­ly enhance the cre­ative qual­i­ty of our work.”

He cites a well-known sci­en­tif­ic exper­i­ment which found that vol­un­teers did bet­ter at a cre­ative task (like find­ing dif­fer­ent uses for a pair of plas­tic cups) when first sub­ject­ed to a bor­ing one (like copy­ing num­bers out of the phone book) which “height­ens the ‘day­dream­ing effect’ on cre­ativ­i­ty — the more pas­sive the bore­dom, the more like­ly the day­dream­ing and the more cre­ative you could be after­ward.”

Burkus also refers to anoth­er paper doc­u­ment­ing the per­for­mance of dif­fer­ent sub­jects on word-asso­ci­a­tion tests after watch­ing dif­fer­ent video clips, one of them delib­er­ate­ly bor­ing. Who came up with the most cre­ative asso­ci­a­tions? You guessed it: those who watched the bor­ing video first. Bore­dom, the exper­i­menters sug­gest, “moti­vates peo­ple to approach new and reward­ing activ­i­ties. In oth­er words, an idle mind will seek a toy. (Any­one who has tak­en a long car ride with a young child has sure­ly expe­ri­enced some ver­sion of this phe­nom­e­non.)”

Writ­ing about those same exper­i­ments, Fast Com­pa­ny’s Vivian Giang quotes researcher Andreas Elpi­dorou of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Louisville as claim­ing that “bore­dom helps to restore the per­cep­tion that one’s activ­i­ties are mean­ing­ful or sig­nif­i­cant.” He describes it as a “reg­u­la­to­ry state that keeps one in line with one’s projects. In the absence of bore­dom, one would remain trapped in unful­fill­ing sit­u­a­tions, and miss out on many emo­tion­al­ly, cog­ni­tive­ly, and social­ly reward­ing expe­ri­ences. Bore­dom is both a warn­ing that we are not doing what we want to be doing and a ‘push’ that moti­vates us to switch goals and projects.”

“Bore­dom is a fas­ci­nat­ing emo­tion because it is seen as so neg­a­tive yet it is such a moti­vat­ing force,” says Dr. San­di Mann of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cen­tral Lan­cashire, one of the mas­ter­minds of the exper­i­ments with the phone book and the plas­tic cups, quot­ed by Tele­graph sci­ence edi­tor Sarah Knap­ton“Being bored is not the bad thing every­one makes it out to be. It is good to be bored some­times! I think up so many ideas when I am com­mut­ing to and from work – this would be dead time, but thanks to the bore­dom it induces, I come up with all sorts of projects.” (This also man­i­fests in her par­ent­ing: “I am quite hap­py when my kids whine that they are bored,” she said: “Find­ing ways to amuse them­selves is an impor­tant skill.”)

Nearly_the_weekend

“Near­ly the Week­end,” by David Feltkamp. Cre­ative Com­mons image

How to make use of all this? “Tak­en togeth­er,” Burkus writes, “these stud­ies sug­gest that the bore­dom so com­mon­ly felt at work could actu­al­ly be lever­aged to help us get our work done bet­ter,” per­haps by “spend­ing some focused time on hum­drum activ­i­ties such as answer­ing emails, mak­ing copies, or enter­ing data,” after which “we may be bet­ter able to think up more (and more cre­ative) pos­si­bil­i­ties to explore.” In the words of Dr. Mann her­self, “Bore­dom at work has always been seen as some­thing to be elim­i­nat­ed, but per­haps we should be embrac­ing it in order to enhance our cre­ativ­i­ty.” And so to an even more inter­est­ing ques­tion: “Do peo­ple who are bored at work become more cre­ative in oth­er areas of their work – or do they go home and write nov­els?”

David Fos­ter Wal­lace took on the rela­tion­ship between bore­dom and cre­ativ­i­ty in an ambi­tious way when he start­ed writ­ing The Pale King, his unfin­ished nov­el (which he pri­vate­ly called “the Long Thing”) set in an Inter­nal Rev­enue Ser­vice branch office in mid-1980s Peo­ria. The papers relat­ed to the project he left behind includ­ed a note about the book’s larg­er theme:

It turns out that bliss – a sec­ond-by-sec­ond joy + grat­i­tude at the gift of being alive, con­scious – lies on the oth­er side of crush­ing, crush­ing bore­dom. Pay close atten­tion to the most tedious thing you can find (tax returns, tele­vised golf), and, in waves, a bore­dom like you’ve nev­er known will wash over you and just about kill you. Ride these out, and it’s like step­ping from black and white into col­or. Like water after days in the desert. Con­stant bliss in every atom.

This, as well as the more every­day sug­ges­tions about work­ing more cre­ative­ly by doing the bor­ing bits first, would seem to share a basis with the ancient tra­di­tion of med­i­ta­tion. If indeed human­i­ty has gone too far in its mis­sion to alle­vi­ate the dis­com­fort of bore­dom, it has pro­duced the even more per­ni­cious con­di­tion in which we all feel con­stant­ly and unthink­ing­ly des­per­ate for new dis­trac­tions (which Shop Class as Soul­craft author Matthew B. Craw­ford mem­o­rably called “obe­si­ty of the mind”) while know­ing full well that those dis­trac­tions keep us from our impor­tant work, be it design­ing a sci­en­tif­ic exper­i­ment, com­ing up with a sales strat­e­gy, or writ­ing a nov­el.

Maybe we can undo some of the dam­age by delib­er­ate­ly, reg­u­lar­ly shut­ting off our per­son­al flow of inter­est­ing sen­so­ry input for a while, whether through med­i­ta­tion, data entry, phone-book copy­ing, of whichev­er method feels right to you. (WNY­C’s Manoush Zomoro­di even launched a project last year called “Bored and Bril­liant: The Lost Art of Spac­ing Out,” which chal­lenged lis­ten­ers to min­i­mize their phone-check­ing and put the time gained to more cre­ative use.)  But we all need some high-qual­i­ty stim­u­la­tion soon­er or lat­er, so when you feel ready for anoth­er dose of it, you know where to find us.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Walk­ing Fos­ters Cre­ativ­i­ty: Stan­ford Researchers Con­firm What Philoso­phers and Writ­ers Have Always Known

Why You Do Your Best Think­ing In The Show­er: Cre­ativ­i­ty & the “Incu­ba­tion Peri­od”

The Psy­chol­o­gy of Messi­ness & Cre­ativ­i­ty: Research Shows How a Messy Desk and Cre­ative Work Go Hand in Hand

John Cleese’s Phi­los­o­phy of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Cre­at­ing Oases for Child­like Play

Free Online Psy­chol­o­gy Cours­es

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How to Get Started: John Cage’s Approach to Starting the Difficult Creative Process

john cage 65 hours

Image by WikiArt, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

You know what they say: eighty per­cent of the work you do on a project, you do get­ting the last twen­ty per­cent of that project right. But most of that oth­er twen­ty per­cent of the work must go toward get­ting start­ed in the first place; you’ve got to get over a pret­ty big hill just to get to the point of writ­ing the first sen­tence, paint­ing the first stroke, shoot­ing the first shot, or play­ing the first chords. Avant-garde com­pos­er John Cage knew well the chal­lenges of just get­ting start­ed, and his thoughts on the sub­ject moti­vat­ed him, toward the end of his career, to do the writ­ten, per­formed, and record­ed project we fea­ture today, How to Get Start­ed.

Cage him­self only put on How to Get Start­ed once, at an inter­na­tion­al con­fer­ence on sound design at George Lucas’ Sky­walk­er Ranch on August 31, 1989. It worked like this: he brought with him ten note cards, each of which con­tained notes for a par­tic­u­lar “idea” he want­ed to talk about. On went a tape recorder, and he began speak­ing impro­vi­sa­tion­al­ly about the first idea. Then he flipped to the next card, and as he talked about its idea, the record­ing of the first one played in the back­ground. He con­tin­ued with this pro­ce­dure until, by the tenth idea on the tenth card, he had his impromp­tu speech­es on all nine pre­vi­ous ideas play­ing simul­ta­ne­ous­ly behind him. You can get an idea of what his read­ings sound­ed like in the three clips (from howtogetstarted.org) embed­ded here [first, sec­ond, third].

The ten ideas Cage jot­ted down on his note­cards come inspired by, and inspired him to dis­cuss fur­ther, his own cre­ative expe­ri­ences. In the first, he describes a new com­po­si­tion­al process that came to him in a dream, which involves crum­pling a score into a ball and unfold­ing it again. In the third, he thinks back to his work Roara­to­rio, an Irish cir­cus on Finnegans Wake, which con­vert­ed Joyce’s nov­el into music, and imag­ines a way for­ward that would involve turn­ing into music not one book at a time but sev­er­al. In the fifth, he ref­er­ences Mar­cel Ducham­p’s “The Cre­ative Act,” which brought home for him the notion of how audi­ences “fin­ish the work by lis­ten­ing,” which led to his cre­at­ing works of “musi­cal sculp­ture,” includ­ing one par­tic­u­lar­ly mem­o­rable exam­ple involv­ing “between 150 and 200” Yugosla­vian high school stu­dents, all play­ing their instru­ments in dif­fer­ent places.

Cage’s oth­er sto­ries of cre­ative epiphany in How to Get Start­ed involve a trip to an ane­choic cham­ber; find­ing out what made one dance per­for­mance at the Uni­ver­si­ty of North Car­oli­na School of the Arts so “tawdry, shab­by, mis­er­able”; dis­cov­er­ing the artist’s “inner clock” in Leningrad; and how he works around what no less a musi­cal mind than Arnold Schoen­berg diag­nosed as his absent sense of har­mo­ny. You can read a tran­script of all of them in a PDF of How to Get Start­ed’s com­pan­ion book­let. And depend­ing upon how inspired you find your­self (or how close you live to Philadel­phia), you might con­sid­er mak­ing the trip to the Slought Foun­da­tion, who have built a room spe­cial­ly designed for the piece. You might not come out of it feel­ing like you’ve absorbed all the cre­ativ­i­ty of John Cage, but he him­self points us toward the impor­tant thing: not the amor­phous qual­i­ty of cre­ativ­i­ty, but the action of get­ting start­ed.

via Mono­skop

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Uni­ver­sal Mind of Bill Evans: Advice on Learn­ing to Play Jazz & The Cre­ative Process

Cre­ativ­i­ty, Not Mon­ey, is the Key to Hap­pi­ness: Dis­cov­er Psy­chol­o­gist Mihaly Csikszentmihaly’s The­o­ry of “Flow”

Albert Ein­stein Tells His Son The Key to Learn­ing & Hap­pi­ness is Los­ing Your­self in Cre­ativ­i­ty (or “Find­ing Flow”)

Isaac Asi­mov Explains the Ori­gins of Good Ideas & Cre­ativ­i­ty in Nev­er-Before-Pub­lished Essay

John Cleese’s Phi­los­o­phy of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Cre­at­ing Oases for Child­like Play

David Lynch Explains How Med­i­ta­tion Enhances Our Cre­ativ­i­ty

Jump Start Your Cre­ative Process with Bri­an Eno’s “Oblique Strate­gies” Deck of Cards (1975)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How a Good Night’s Sleep — and a Bad Night’s Sleep — Can Enhance Your Creativity

Sleep

Cre­ative Com­mons image, “Sleep,” by Masha Kras­no­va-Shabae­va

You decide you need some med­ical advice, so you take to the inter­net. Whoops! There’s your first mis­take. Now you are bom­bard­ed with con­tra­dic­to­ry opin­ions from ques­tion­able sources and you begin to devel­op symp­toms you nev­er knew exist­ed. It’s all down­hill from there. So I’ll say this upfront: I have no med­ical qual­i­fi­ca­tions autho­riz­ing me to dis­pense infor­ma­tion about sleep dis­or­ders. The only advice I’d ven­ture, should you have such a prob­lem, is to go see a doc­tor. It might help, or not. I can cer­tain­ly sym­pa­thize. I am a chron­ic insom­ni­ac.

The down­side to this con­di­tion is obvi­ous. I nev­er get enough sleep. When­ev­er I con­sult the inter­net about this, I learn that it’s prob­a­bly very dire and that I may lose my mind or die young(ish). The upside—which I learned to mas­ter after years of try­ing and fail­ing to sleep like nor­mal people—is that the nights are qui­et and peace­ful, and thus a fer­tile time cre­ative­ly.

Med­ical issues aside, what do we know about sleep, insom­nia, and cre­ativ­i­ty? Let us wade into the fray, with the pro­vi­so that we will like­ly reach few con­clu­sions and may have to fall back on our own expe­ri­ence to guide us. In sur­vey­ing this sub­ject, I was pleased to have my expe­ri­ence val­i­dat­ed by an arti­cle in Fast Com­pa­ny. Well, not pleased, exact­ly, as the author, Jane Porter, cites a study in Sci­ence that links a lack of sleep to Alzheimer’s and the accu­mu­la­tion of “poten­tial­ly neu­ro­tox­ic waste prod­ucts.”

And yet, in praise of sleep­less­ness, Porter also rec­om­mends turn­ing insom­nia into a “pro­duc­tiv­i­ty tool,” nam­ing famous insom­ni­acs like Mar­garet Thatch­er, Bill Clin­ton, Charles Dick­ens, Mar­cel Proust, and Madon­na (not all of whom I’d like to emu­late). She then quotes psy­chol­o­gist Tomas Chamor­ro-Pre­muz­ic of Uni­ver­si­ty Col­lege Lon­don, who made the dubi­ous-sound­ing claim in Psy­chol­o­gy Today that “insom­nia is to excep­tion­al achieve­ment what men­tal ill­ness is to cre­ativ­i­ty.” Every­thing about this anal­o­gy sounds sus­pect to me.

But there are more sub­stan­tive views on the mat­ter. Anoth­er study, pub­lished in Cre­ativ­i­ty Research Jour­nal, sug­gests insom­nia may be a symp­tom of “notable cre­ative poten­tial,” though the authors only go as far as say­ing the two phe­nom­e­non are “asso­ci­at­ed.” The arrow of causal­i­ty may point in either direc­tion. Per­haps the most prag­mat­ic view on the sub­ject comes from Michael Perlis, psy­chol­o­gy pro­fes­sor at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­nia, who says, “What is insom­nia, but the gift of more time?”

Den­nis Dra­belle at The Wash­ing­ton Post, also an insom­ni­ac, refers to a recent study (as of 2007) from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Can­ter­bury that sug­gests “insom­nia and orig­i­nal­i­ty may go hand in hand.” He also points out that the notion of sleep­less­ness as pro­duc­tive, though “coun­ter­in­tu­itive,” has plen­ty of prece­dent. Dra­belle men­tions many more famous cas­es, from W.C. Fields to Theodore Roo­sevelt to Franz Kaf­ka. The list could go on and on.

Actor and musi­cian Matt Berry tells The Guardian how, after years of toss­ing and turn­ing, he final­ly har­nessed his sleep­less hours to write and record an album, Music for Insom­ni­acs. “I knew that this was dead time,” says Berry, “and I could be doing some­thing instead of sit­ting wor­ry­ing about not being asleep.” Anoth­er musi­cian, Dave Bay­ley of band Glass Ani­mals, “owes his career in music to insom­nia,” The Guardian writes, then notes a phe­nom­e­non sleep researchers call—with some skep­ti­cism—“cre­ative insom­nia.” Oth­er musi­cians like Chris Mar­tin, Moby, Tricky, and King Krule have all suf­fered the con­di­tion and turned it to good account.

The Guardian also notes that each of these poor souls has found “sleep­less nights inspir­ing as well as tor­ment­ing.” Insom­nia is not, in fact a gift or tal­ent, but a painful con­di­tion that Porter and Dra­belle both acknowl­edge can be asso­ci­at­ed with depres­sion, addic­tion, and oth­er seri­ous med­ical con­di­tions. One might make good use of the time—but per­haps only for a time. A site called Sleep­dex—-which offers “resources for bet­ter sleep”—puts it this way:

Occa­sion­al insom­nia appears to help some peo­ple pro­duce new art and work, but is a detri­ment to oth­ers. It is per­haps true that more peo­ple find it a detri­ment than find it use­ful. Long-term insom­nia and the accom­pa­ny­ing sleep debt are almost sure­ly neg­a­tive for cre­ativ­i­ty.

This brings us to the sub­ject of sleep—good, rest­ful sleep—and its rela­tion­ship to cre­ativ­i­ty. Sleep­dex cites sev­er­al research stud­ies from Swiss and Ital­ian uni­ver­si­ties, UC San Diego, and UC Davis. The gen­er­al con­clu­sion is that REM sleep—that peri­od dur­ing which dreams “are the most nar­ra­tive­ly coher­ent of any dur­ing the night”—is also an impor­tant stim­u­lus for cre­ativ­i­ty. There are the numer­ous anec­dotes from artists like Sal­vador Dali, Paul McCart­ney, and count­less oth­ers about famous works of art tak­ing shape in dream states (Kei­th Richards says he heard the riff from “Sat­is­fac­tion” in a dream).

And there are the exper­i­men­tal data, pur­port­ed­ly con­firm­ing that REM sleep enhances “cre­ative prob­lem solv­ing.” Euro­pean sci­en­tists have found that peo­ple were more like­ly to have cre­ative insights after a long peri­od of rest­ful sleep, when the right brain gets a boost. Like­wise, Tom Stafford at the BBC describes the “post-sleep, dream­like men­tal state—known as sleep iner­tia or the hypnopom­pic state” that infus­es our “wak­ing, direct­ed thoughts with a dust­ing of dream­world mag­ic.” It isn’t that insom­ni­acs don’t expe­ri­ence this, of course, but we have less of it, as peri­ods of REM sleep can be short­er and often inter­rupt­ed by the need to scram­ble out of bed and get to work or get the kids to school not long after hit­ting the pil­low.

Stafford points us toward a UC Berke­ley study (appar­ent­ly the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cal­i­for­nia has some sort of monop­oly on sleep research) “that helps illus­trate the pow­er of sleep to fos­ter unusu­al con­nec­tions, or ‘remote asso­ciates’ as psy­chol­o­gists call them.” Like near­ly all of the sci­en­tif­ic lit­er­a­ture on sleep, this study express­es lit­tle doubt about the impor­tance of sleep to mem­o­ry func­tion and prob­lem solv­ing. Big Think col­lects sev­er­al more stud­ies that con­firm the find­ings.

On the whole, when it comes to the links between sleep—or sleeplessness—and cre­ativ­i­ty, the data and the sto­ries point in dif­fer­ent direc­tions. This is hard­ly sur­pris­ing giv­en the slip­per­i­ness of that thing we call “cre­ativ­i­ty.” Like “love” it’s an abstract qual­i­ty every­one wants and no one knows how to make in a lab­o­ra­to­ry. If it’s extra time you’re after—and very qui­et time at that—I can’t rec­om­mend insom­nia enough, though I wouldn’t rec­om­mend it at all as a vol­un­tary exer­cise. If it’s the spe­cial cre­ative insights only avail­able in dream states, well, you’d best get lots of sleep. If you can, that is. Cre­ative insomniacs—like those wan­der­ing in the con­fines of a dream world—know all too well they don’t have much choice in the mat­ter.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why You Do Your Best Think­ing In The Show­er: Cre­ativ­i­ty & the “Incu­ba­tion Peri­od”

The Psy­chol­o­gy of Messi­ness & Cre­ativ­i­ty: Research Shows How a Messy Desk and Cre­ative Work Go Hand in Hand

David Lynch Explains How Med­i­ta­tion Enhances Our Cre­ativ­i­ty

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Brian Eno on Why Do We Make Art & What’s It Good For?: Download His 2015 John Peel Lecture

Eno Peel Lecture

Image by BBC Radio 6

“Sym­phonies, per­fume, sports cars, graf­fi­ti, needle­point, mon­u­ments, tat­toos, slang, Ming vas­es, doo­dles, poo­dles, apple strudels. Still life, Sec­ond Life, bed knobs and boob jobs” — why do we make any of these things? That ques­tion has dri­ven much of the career (and indeed life) of Bri­an Eno, the man who invent­ed ambi­ent music and has brought his dis­tinc­tive, at once intel­lec­tu­al and vis­cer­al sen­si­bil­i­ty to the work of bands like Roxy Music, U2, and Cold­play as well as the realm of visu­al art. Back in Sep­tem­ber, he laid out all the illu­mi­nat­ing and enter­tain­ing answers at which he has thus far arrived in giv­ing the BBC’s 2015 John Peel Lec­ture.

We fea­tured Eno’s wide-rang­ing talk on the nature of art and cul­ture, as well as its util­i­ty to the human race, back when the Beeb offered it stream­ing for a lim­it­ed time only. But now they’ve made it freely avail­able to down­load and lis­ten to as you please: you can down­load the MP3 at this link.

You can also fol­low along, if you like, with the PDF tran­script avail­able here, which will cer­tain­ly be of assis­tance when you go to look up all the peo­ple, ideas, works of art, and pieces of his­to­ry Eno ref­er­ences along the way, includ­ing but not lim­it­ed to the “STEM” sub­jects, Baked Alas­ka, black Chanel frocks, the Rie­mann hypoth­e­sis, Lit­tle Dor­rit, Morse Peck­ham, Coro­na­tion Street, air­plane sim­u­la­tors, the dole, Lord Rei­th, John Peel him­self, Basic Income, Lin­ux, and col­lec­tive joy.

If you haven’t had enough Eno after that — and here at Open Cul­ture, we nev­er get enough Eno — have a look at and a lis­ten to clips of a con­ver­sa­tion he recent­ly had with sci­ence writer Steven John­son, all of which have an intel­lec­tu­al over­lap with the Peel Lec­ture. The first deals with music, some­thing this self-pro­fessed “non-musi­cian” has done much more than his share of think­ing about. The sec­ond has to do with punch­lines, or rather, Eno’s con­cep­tion of a piece of art, not as a thing with val­ue in and of itself, but as a kind of punch­line on the order of “I used to have a car like that.” (To hear its set­up, you’ll have to watch the video.)

In the third, John­son and Eno dis­cuss an idea at the core of the Peel Lec­ture, Eno’s famous def­i­n­i­tion of cul­ture, and lat­er art: “Every­thing you don’t have to do.” That cov­ers all the afore­men­tioned sym­phonies, per­fume, sports cars, graf­fi­ti, needle­point, mon­u­ments, tat­toos, slang, Ming vas­es, doo­dles, poo­dles, apple strudels, still life, Sec­ond Life, bed knobs and boob jobs: “All of those things are sort of unnec­es­sary in the sense that we could all sur­vive with­out doing any of them,” Eno says, “but in fact we don’t. We all engage with them.” And if you want to know why we should keep engag­ing with them, and in fact engage with them more vig­or­ous­ly than ever, Eno can tell you.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 150 Tracks High­light­ing Bri­an Eno’s Career as a Musi­cian, Com­pos­er & Pro­duc­er & Stream His 2015 John Peel Lec­ture

Jump Start Your Cre­ative Process with Bri­an Eno’s “Oblique Strate­gies”

Revis­it the Radio Ses­sions and Record Col­lec­tion of Ground­break­ing BBC DJ John Peel

Bri­an Eno Lists 20 Books for Rebuild­ing Civ­i­liza­tion & 59 Books For Build­ing Your Intel­lec­tu­al World

Lis­ten to “Bri­an Eno Day,” a 12-Hour Radio Show Spent With Eno & His Music (Record­ed in 1988)

When Bri­an Eno & Oth­er Artists Peed in Mar­cel Duchamp’s Famous Uri­nal

Prof. Iggy Pop Deliv­ers the BBC’s 2014 John Peel Lec­ture on “Free Music in a Cap­i­tal­ist Soci­ety”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

John Cleese’s Advice to Young Artists: “Steal Anything You Think Is Really Good”

So you want to be a rock and roll star? Or a writer, or a film­mak­er, or a come­di­an, or what-have-you…. And yet, you don’t know where to start. You’ve heard you need to find your own voice, but it’s dif­fi­cult to know what that is when you’re just begin­ning. You have too lit­tle expe­ri­ence to know what works for you and what doesn’t. So? “Steal,” as the great John Cleese advis­es above, “or bor­row or, as the artists would say, ‘be influ­enced by’ any­thing that you think is real­ly good and real­ly fun­ny and appeals to you. If you study that and try to repro­duce it in some way, then it’ll have your own stamp on it. But you have a chance of get­ting off the ground with some­thing like that.”

Cleese goes on to sen­si­bly explain why it’s near­ly impos­si­ble to start with some­thing com­plete­ly new and orig­i­nal; it’s like “try­ing to fly a plane with­out any lessons.” We all learn the rudi­ments of every­thing we know by imi­tat­ing oth­ers at first, so this advice to the bud­ding writer and artist shouldn’t sound too rad­i­cal. But if you need more val­i­da­tion for it, con­sid­er William Faulkner’s exhor­ta­tion to take what­ev­er you need from oth­er writ­ers. The begin­ning writer, Faulkn­er told a class at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­ginia, “takes what­ev­er he needs, wher­ev­er he needs, and he does that open­ly and hon­est­ly.” There’s no shame in it, unless you fail to ever make it your own. Or, says Faulkn­er, to make some­thing so good that oth­ers will steal from you.

One the­o­ry of how this works in lit­er­a­ture comes from crit­ic Harold Bloom, who argued in The Anx­i­ety of Influ­ence that every major poet more or less stole from pre­vi­ous major poets; yet they so mis­read or mis­in­ter­pret­ed their influ­ences that they couldn’t help but pro­duce orig­i­nal work. T.S. Eliot advanced a more con­ser­v­a­tive ver­sion of the claim in his essay “Tra­di­tion and the Indi­vid­ual Tal­ent.” We have a “ten­den­cy to insist,” wrote Eliot, on “those aspects or parts of [a poet’s] work in which he least resem­bles any­one else.” (Both Eliot and Faulkn­er used the mas­cu­line as a uni­ver­sal pro­noun; what­ev­er their bias­es, no gen­der exclu­sion is implied here.) On the con­trary, “if we approach a poet with­out this prej­u­dice we shall often find that not only the best, but the most indi­vid­ual parts of his work may be those in which the dead poets, his ances­tors, assert their immor­tal­i­ty most vig­or­ous­ly.”

It may have been a require­ment for Eliot that his lit­er­ary pre­de­ces­sors be long deceased, but John Cleese sug­gests no such thing. In fact, he worked close­ly with many of his favorite com­e­dy writ­ers. The point he makes is that one should “copy some­one who’s real­ly good” in order to “get off the ground.” In time—whether through becom­ing bet­ter than your influ­ences, or mis­read­ing them, or com­bin­ing their parts into a new whole—you will, Cleese and many oth­er wise writ­ers sug­gest, devel­op your own style.

Cleese has lib­er­al­ly dis­cussed his influ­ences, in his recent auto­bi­og­ra­phy and else­where, and one can clear­ly see in his work the impres­sion comedic for­bears like Lau­rel and Hardy and the writer/actors of The Goon Show had on him. But what­ev­er he stole or bor­rowed from those come­di­ans he also made entire­ly his own through prac­tice and per­se­ver­ance. Just above, see a tele­vi­sion spe­cial on Cleese’s com­e­dy heroes, with inter­views from Cleese, leg­ends who fol­lowed him, like Rik May­all and Steve Mar­tin, and those who worked side-by-side with him on Mon­ty Python and oth­er clas­sic shows.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

John Cleese Explores the Health Ben­e­fits of Laugh­ter

John Cleese’s Eulo­gy for Gra­ham Chap­man: ‘Good Rid­dance, the Free-Load­ing Bas­tard, I Hope He Fries’

John Cleese’s Phi­los­o­phy of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Cre­at­ing Oases for Child­like Play

John Cleese, Ringo Starr and Peter Sell­ers Trash Price­less Art (1969)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Creativity, Not Money, is the Key to Happiness: Discover Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihaly’s Theory of “Flow”

The title of the TED talk above, “Flow, the secret to hap­pi­ness,” might make you roll your eyes. It does indeed sound like self-help snake oil. But as soon as you hear the speak­er, psy­chol­o­gist Mihaly Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi, describe the ratio­nale for his hap­pi­ness study, you might pay more seri­ous atten­tion. After liv­ing through the Sec­ond World War in Europe (he grew up in what is now Croa­t­ia), Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi says he “real­ized how few of the grownups I knew were able to with­stand the tragedies that were vis­it­ed upon them; how few of them could even resem­ble a nor­mal, con­tent­ed, sat­is­fied, hap­py life once their job, their home, their secu­ri­ty was destroyed by the war.”

He became inter­est­ed, he says, “in under­stand­ing what con­tributed to a life that was worth liv­ing.” Csik­szent­mi­ha­ly­i’s con­cerns are far from triv­ial, and his back­ground and wealth of research lend his ideas a good deal of weight and cred­i­bil­i­ty.

After chanc­ing upon a Jun­gian lec­ture in Switzer­land by a speak­er who turned out to actu­al­ly be Carl Jung, Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi embarked on a course of study in the field now wide­ly known as “pos­i­tive psy­chol­o­gy.” He now co-directs the Qual­i­ty of Life Research Cen­ter at Clare­mont Grad­u­ate Uni­ver­si­ty and stud­ies “human strengths such as cre­ativ­i­ty, engage­ment, intrin­sic moti­va­tion, and respon­si­bil­i­ty.” Yes, he may present his ideas in pop­u­lar self-help books and arti­cles, but this does not make his data or con­clu­sions any less sound than in his aca­d­e­m­ic work. “Flow” is the short­hand word he uses to refer to the the­sis of his book of the same name: “A per­son can him­self [or her­self] be hap­py, or mis­er­able, regard­less of what is actu­al­ly hap­pen­ing ‘out­side,’ just by chang­ing the con­tents of con­scious­ness.”

What does this mean? Youtu­ber Fight Medi­oc­rity’s short book video book review above—which also teach­es us how to pro­nounce Csik­szent­mi­ha­ly­i’s name—explains the con­cept in brief, not­ing the book’s ref­er­ences to Sto­ic philoso­phers Epicte­tus and Mar­cus Aure­lius and psy­chol­o­gist and Holo­caust sur­vivor Vik­tor Fran­kl to point out that the idea isn’t new but has been around for cen­turies: The idea being, as Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi says in his TED talk, that we nat­u­ral­ly expe­ri­ence the great­est hap­pi­ness when ful­ly absorbed in work we find mean­ing­ful and ful­fill­ing. What Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi calls “flow” is a med­i­ta­tive state we might com­pare to the ancient Bud­dhist state of ekag­ga­ta—or “one-point­ed concentration”—a state med­i­ta­tion teacher Shaila Cather­ine describes as “cer­tain­ty, deep sta­bil­i­ty, and clar­i­ty…. The mind is com­plete­ly uni­fied and ‘one with the expe­ri­ence.’”

Indeed, like the Bud­dhist con­cep­tion, which con­trasts ekag­ga­ta with a rest­less greed that can nev­er be sat­is­fied, Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi con­trasts “flow” with wealth, and cites research sug­gest­ing that above a cer­tain lev­el of basic mate­r­i­al well-being (which far too many peo­ple do not yet have), “increas­es in mate­r­i­al resources do not increase hap­pi­ness.” Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi part­ly reached his con­clu­sions by study­ing the emo­tion­al states of artists, musi­cians, sci­en­tists, and oth­er cre­ative indi­vid­u­als, who all report­ed expe­ri­enc­ing pure states of con­tent­ment and joy when so ful­ly con­cen­trat­ed on their work that they for­got themselves—or, more accu­rate­ly, the con­stel­la­tion of dai­ly anx­i­eties, regrets, wor­ries, fan­tasies, and pre­oc­cu­pa­tions that we tend to call the self. As Csik­szent­mi­ha­lyi strong­ly sug­gests in his books and talks, the more we can lose our­selves intense­ly in cre­ative activ­i­ties that bring us ful­fill­ment, the clos­er we come to being in har­mo­ny with our­selves and our world.

See anoth­er talk on “flow” and hap­pi­ness above, from a 2014 “Hap­pi­ness & its Caus­es” con­fer­ence in Syd­ney, Aus­tralia.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Psy­chol­o­gy & Neu­ro­science Cours­es

Albert Ein­stein Tells His Son The Key to Learn­ing & Hap­pi­ness is Los­ing Your­self in Cre­ativ­i­ty (or “Find­ing Flow”)

The Keys to Hap­pi­ness: The Emerg­ing Sci­ence and the Upcom­ing MOOC by Raj Raghu­nathan

All You Need is Love: The Keys to Hap­pi­ness Revealed by a 75-Year Har­vard Study

A Guide to Hap­pi­ness: Alain de Bot­ton Shows How Six Great Philoso­phers Can Change Your Life

Slavoj Žižek: What Full­fils You Cre­ative­ly Isn’t What Makes You Hap­py

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Daily Habits of Famous Writers: Franz Kafka, Haruki Murakami, Stephen King & More

stephenking

Image by The USO, via Flickr Com­mons

Though few of us like to hear it, the fact remains that suc­cess in any endeav­or requires patient, reg­u­lar train­ing and a dai­ly rou­tine. To take a mun­dane, well-worn exam­ple, it’s not for noth­ing that Stephen R. Covey’s best-sell­ing clas­sic of the busi­ness and self-help worlds offers us “7 Habits of High­ly Effec­tive Peo­ple,” rather than “7 Sud­den Break­throughs that Will Change Your Life Forever”—though if we cred­it the spam emails, ads, and spon­sored links that clut­ter our online lives, we may end up believ­ing in quick fix­es and easy roads to fame and for­tune. But no, a well-devel­oped skill comes only from a set of prac­ticed rou­tines.

That said, the type of rou­tine one adheres to depends on very per­son­al cir­cum­stances such that no sin­gle cre­ative person’s habits need exact­ly resem­ble any other’s. When it comes to the lives of writ­ers, we expect some com­mon­al­i­ty: a writ­ing space free of dis­trac­tions, some pre­ferred method of tran­scrip­tion from brain to page, some set time of day or night at which the words flow best. Out­side of these basic para­me­ters, the dai­ly lives of writ­ers can look as dif­fer­ent as the images in their heads.

But it seems that once a writer set­tles on a set of habits—whatever they may be—they stick to them with par­tic­u­lar rig­or. The writ­ing rou­tine, says hyper-pro­lif­ic Stephen King, is “not any dif­fer­ent than a bed­time rou­tine. Do you go to bed a dif­fer­ent way every night?” Like­ly not. As for why we all have our very spe­cif­ic, per­son­al quirks at bed­time, or at writ­ing time, King answers hon­est­ly, “I don’t know.”

So what does King’s rou­tine look like? “There are cer­tain things I do if I sit down to write,” he’s quot­ed as say­ing in Lisa Rogak’s Haunt­ed Heart: The Life and Times of Stephen King:

“I have a glass of water or a cup of tea. There’s a cer­tain time I sit down, from 8:00 to 8:30, some­where with­in that half hour every morn­ing,” he explained. “I have my vit­a­min pill and my music, sit in the same seat, and the papers are all arranged in the same places. The cumu­la­tive pur­pose of doing these things the same way every day seems to be a way of say­ing to the mind, you’re going to be dream­ing soon.”

The King quotes come to us via the site (and now book) Dai­ly Rou­tines, which fea­tures brief sum­maries of “how writ­ers, artists, and oth­er inter­est­ing peo­ple orga­nize their days.” We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured a few snap­shots of the dai­ly lives of famous philoso­phers. The writ­ers sec­tion of the site sim­i­lar­ly offers win­dows into the dai­ly prac­tices of a wide range of authors, from the liv­ing to the long dead.

HarukiMurakami3

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

A con­tem­po­rary of King, though a slow­er, more self-con­scious­ly painstak­ing writer, Haru­ki Muraka­mi incor­po­rates into his work­day his pas­sion for run­ning, an avo­ca­tion he has made cen­tral to his writ­ing phi­los­o­phy. Expect­ed­ly, Muraka­mi keeps a very ath­let­ic writ­ing sched­ule and rou­tine.

When I’m in writ­ing mode for a nov­el, I get up at 4:00 am and work for five to six hours. In the after­noon, I run for 10km or swim for 1500m (or do both), then I read a bit and lis­ten to some music. I go to bed at 9:00 pm. I keep to this rou­tine every day with­out vari­a­tion. The rep­e­ti­tion itself becomes the impor­tant thing; it’s a form of mes­merism. I mes­mer­ize myself to reach a deep­er state of mind. But to hold to such rep­e­ti­tion for so long — six months to a year — requires a good amount of men­tal and phys­i­cal strength. In that sense, writ­ing a long nov­el is like sur­vival train­ing. Phys­i­cal strength is as nec­es­sary as artis­tic sen­si­tiv­i­ty.

Not all writ­ers can adhere to such a dis­ci­plined way of liv­ing and work­ing, par­tic­u­lar­ly those whose wak­ing hours are giv­en over to oth­er, usu­al­ly painful­ly unful­fill­ing, day jobs.

Franz-Kafka

Image of Franz Kaf­ka, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

An almost arche­typ­al case of the writer trapped in such a sit­u­a­tion, Franz Kaf­ka kept a rou­tine that would crip­ple most peo­ple and that did not bring about phys­i­cal strength, to say the least. As Zadie Smith writes of the author’s por­tray­al in Louis Begley’s biog­ra­phy, Kaf­ka “despaired of his twelve hour shifts that left no time for writ­ing.”

[T]wo years lat­er, pro­mot­ed to the posi­tion of chief clerk at the Work­ers’ Acci­dent Insur­ance Insti­tute, he was now on the one-shift sys­tem, 8:30 AM until 2:30 PM. And then what? Lunch until 3:30, then sleep until 7:30, then exer­cis­es, then a fam­i­ly din­ner. After which he start­ed work around 11 PM (as Beg­ley points out, the let­ter- and diary-writ­ing took up at least an hour a day, and more usu­al­ly two), and then “depend­ing on my strength, incli­na­tion, and luck, until one, two, or three o’clock, once even till six in the morn­ing.” Then “every imag­in­able effort to go to sleep,” as he fit­ful­ly rest­ed before leav­ing to go to the office once more. This rou­tine left him per­ma­nent­ly on the verge of col­lapse.

Might he have cho­sen a health­i­er way? When his fiancée Felice Bauer sug­gest­ed as much, Kaf­ka replied, “The present way is the only pos­si­ble one; if I can’t bear it, so much the worse; but I will bear it some­how.” And so he did, until his ear­ly death from tuber­cu­lo­sis.

While writ­ers require rou­tine, nowhere is it writ­ten that their habits must be salu­bri­ous or mea­sured. Accord­ing to Simone De Beau­voir, out­ré French writer Jean Genet “puts in about twelve hours a day for six months when he’s work­ing on some­thing and when he has fin­ished he can let six months go by with­out doing any­thing.” Then there are those writ­ers who have relied on point­ed­ly unhealthy, even dan­ger­ous habits to pro­pel them through their work­day. Not only did William S. Bur­roughs and Hunter S. Thomp­son write under the influ­ence, but so also did such a seem­ing­ly con­ser­v­a­tive per­son as W.H. Auden, who “swal­lowed Ben­zedrine every morn­ing for twen­ty years… bal­anc­ing its effect with the bar­bi­tu­rate Sec­onal when he want­ed to sleep.” Auden called the amphet­a­mine habit a “labor sav­ing device” in the “men­tal kitchen,” though he added that “these mech­a­nisms are very crude, liable to injure the cook, and con­stant­ly break­ing down.”

So, there you have it, a very diverse sam­pling of rou­tines and habits in sev­er­al suc­cess­ful writ­ers’ lives. Though you may try to emu­late these if you har­bor lit­er­ary ambi­tions, you’re prob­a­bly bet­ter off com­ing up with your own, suit­ed to the odd­i­ties of your per­son­al make­up and your tolerance—or not—for seri­ous phys­i­cal exer­cise or mind-alter­ing sub­stances. Vis­it Dai­ly Rou­tines to learn about many more famous writ­ers’ habits.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Dai­ly Rou­tines of Famous Cre­ative Peo­ple, Pre­sent­ed in an Inter­ac­tive Info­graph­ic

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Lists the Three Essen­tial Qual­i­ties For All Seri­ous Nov­el­ists (And Run­ners)

Stephen King’s Top 20 Rules for Writ­ers

Hon­oré de Balzac Writes About “The Plea­sures and Pains of Cof­fee,” and His Epic Cof­fee Addic­tion

The Dai­ly Habits of High­ly Pro­duc­tive Philoso­phers: Niet­zsche, Marx & Immanuel Kant

Philoso­phers Drink­ing Cof­fee: The Exces­sive Habits of Kant, Voltaire & Kierkegaard

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Masterpieces of Western Art with All Gluten Products Removed: See Works by Dalí, Cézanne, Van Gogh & Others

Gluten Free Museum

left: Johannes Ver­meer, The Milk­maid. right: Arthur Coulet, d’après Johannes Ver­meer

It has been sug­gest­ed plau­si­bly that Ver­meer’s kitchen maid is mak­ing bread por­ridge, which puts stale bread—there is an unusu­al amount of bread on the table—to good use by com­bin­ing it with milk and a few oth­er ingre­di­ents to make a fill­ing mash or meal. 

Wal­ter Liedtke, Depart­ment of Euro­pean Paint­ings,  The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art

It’s a mat­ter for con­jec­ture. Per­haps Ver­meer want­ed to title his paint­ing The Bread Por­ridge Maid, but caved to mar­ket research sug­gest­ing that Milk­maid would bet­ter appeal to what Liedtke calls “male view­er’s amorous mus­ings.”

Recent­ly, graph­ic artist Arthur Coulet made bread a focal point in Vermeer’s Milk­maid and oth­er icon­ic works, iron­i­cal­ly by Pho­to­shop­ping it out.

His online Gluten Free Muse­um is a nod to détourne­ment, manip­u­la­tions of exist­ing works born of Let­ter­ist Inter­na­tion­al and the Sit­u­a­tion­ists. Gone are the crusty loaves, fields gold­en with wheat, and any­thing con­tain­ing grains that could cause dis­com­fort to those afflict­ed by gluten intol­er­ance or celi­ac dis­ease.

Gluten Free Museum 2

Even the pitch­fork in Grant Wood’s Amer­i­can Goth­ic gets the dig­i­tal heave ho…with noth­ing to har­vest, what’s the point?

Gluten Free Museum 3

Pieter Bruegel’s the Har­vesters gets the most rad­i­cal redo.

Gluten Free Museum 4

Cezanne’s Still Life with Bread and Eggs is now just Eggs…

Gluten Free Museum 5

…and Sal­vador Dali’s Eucharis­tic Still Life has been reduced to mere fish­es.

Gluten Free Museum 6

By con­trast, the pic­nick­ers in Édouard Manet’s Le Déje­uner Sur L’Herbe prob­a­bly don’t even notice the omis­sion.

See more, includ­ing work by Jean-François Mil­let, Vin­cent van Gogh, Car­avag­gio, Giuseppe Arcim­bol­do, and Jeff Koons in Coulet’s Gluten Free Muse­um.

A quick image search using the phrase “bread paint­ing” sug­gests that much work remains to be done.

via So Bad So Good

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philoso­pher Por­traits: Famous Philoso­phers Paint­ed in the Style of Influ­en­tial Artists

What Hap­pens When a Cheap Ikea Print Gets Pre­sent­ed as Fine Art in a Muse­um

Sal­vador Dalí’s Melt­ing Clocks Paint­ed on a Lat­te

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Her play, Fawn­book, is play­ing in New York City through Novem­ber 20. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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