In my last post, I wrote about the power of creating for its own sake and for our own selves, even if what we create isn’t “good” as defined by conventional standards. Here I want to talk about something that may seem like a paradox but isn’t: the power of not creating, of taking in instead of putting out.

The input phase

In my academic life, when I start a new research project, I begin with what I’ll call an input phase. I take in all kinds of information, like what’s been written before on the subject, what has yet to be studied, and what the implications of the topic are for public policy. This information-gathering doesn’t have to be targeted; in fact, it’s better when it starts out unintentionally and in free form. My best research ideas have come from simply being curious about the world around me. I get them from news stories, TED talks, conversations with colleagues, observations of family members and friends. I take it for granted that I can’t create any outputs without these inputs.

Art can and should be the same way. Just like nothing breeds success like success, nothing breads creativity like creativity. Yet, in my artistic life, I expect myself to be constantly producing. This isn’t to say that I lock myself in a studio with no input from the outside world. My life is rich with live music, dance performances, and art installations. But I mentally flog myself for going long stretches of time without creating anything that can be shown in public. It’s bad enough when what I come up with in the dance studio or on the computer screen never makes it to prime time; it’s worse when I’m not even opening the studio door or the Word document.

Taking breaks

But I’ve noticed an intriguing pattern over the last few years: sometimes my most inspired moments come after breaks when I’ve created little or nothing at all. And I know I’m not alone in this. I think this happens, in part, because the breaks refresh us as creative beings. But I think it’s also because the breaks give us a chance to take in inspiration – that is, to really take it in without splitting focus. And sometimes we have to make a very conscious choice to let ourselves take in rather than put out – or we have to be forced to.

After my son was born, I went to a dance event that, had I not been tired and in recovery, I would have participated in. I was surprised to discover how much pleasure I took in watching from the audience, absorbing inspiration from my friends and colleagues. I had no competing responsibilities, no pressure, and no disappointment about not being included. I went home from that night energized (as much as was possible given that I could barely drive home without falling asleep) and thoughtful about some unformed future projects and the future of our art form in general. Those creative thoughts are still spinning around, slowly and quietly, in the back of my head. I don’t know where they will take me, or when, but I do have faith that they are feeding my creativity in some way, even if I’ll never be able to trace how.

Letting up on ourselves

So here’s what I’ve decided: it’s time to let up on myself when I’m in the input phase. Even better: it’s time to encourage and enjoy that phase as a vital part of the creative process. I don’t want to sit out too many opportunities to create my own work, but I do want to remember that listening and watching are as much a part of the creative process as speaking and showing.

Where and how do you take in inspiration? Do you beat the bushes for it or beat yourself up for it? Has it paid off?

With open ears and eyes,