Living the Creative Life (Part II): Vitruvius

How do you live the creative life? I’ve gleaned tips from some of my favorite Creators. For five days I’m writing about these insightful suggestions.  Yesterday I wrote Leonardo Da Vinci’s Tips for Artists.

Walking the mile from home to work, my father looks down often to check his step.  The sidewalks throughout his home town are old and sometimes uneven. His city Cuenca, is almost 500 years old, after all. The town is named after the birthplace ( in Spain) of its first mayor.  But the European Cuenca with its meandering roads, sometimes yielding to hills– sometimes climbing them instead, are wide enough for only light pedestrian traffic.  The city grew based on immediate need,  like a house expanded by many individual additions, lacking a plan.  But my father’s Cuenca is set on a grid with streets wide enough for modern automobile traffic.  It’s streets are straight and evenly space.  Orderly.  Why such a difference in the layout of the two Cuencas?   Well, the South American Cuenca was built on a grid, using Vitruvian measurements.  It was an ultra modern city in the 1500′s.  The other Cuenca, however, developed in medieval time, ultra slow and had no plan.

Vitruvius, a Roman architect born half-a-century before Christ, was obsessed with order. He wrote books detailing his theories on city planning for the Emperor Caesar to peruse. When Rome fell these books were lost.  More than a thousand years later, they were re-found and used, among other things, to build my father’s city. But Vitruvious’ ideas reached beyond city planning.

Half-a-century before the founding of Cuenca,  Ecuador, when Leonardo Da Vinci needed ideas to perfect his drawing techniques he referenced Vitruvious.

Check out Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man below (based on Vitruvian measurements):

But Vitruvious influenced Da Vinci in more ways than just technique-refinement.  Without order-obssesed Vitruvious, Leonardo Da Vinci may have never become the iconic Renaissance man.

In the first chapter–  The Education of the Architect, of his first book, Vitruvius described what it takes to build worldly wonders. But, I think you’ll agree, his suggestions are universal for anyone wanting the Good Life for Creativity’s sake.

Check them out below:

  1. Equip yourself with knowledge of many fields.
  2. Have both practical skills in your field and a solid understanding of theory.
  3. Work for excellence but stay teachable.
  4. Learn how to draw.
  5. Study geometry and physics.
  6. Read history.
  7. Understand music.
  8. Have some knowledge of medicine.
  9. Know how the law works.
  10. Be acquainted with astronomy and the theory of the heavens.

Vitruvius added:

I think that men have no right to profess themselves architects hastily,  without having climbed from boyhood the steps of these studies and thus, nursed by the knowledge of many arts and sciences, having reached the heights of the holy ground of architecture.

The plan Vitruvius outlined for architects, Da Vinci used to become a true Vitruvian man.

Must Squash Play-dough?

This morning, while the baby took a nap in her stroller, my two-year-old and I opened our little beach pop-up tent to full size in the Music Room. She ran to the game closet in the hall and brought back a small container of play-dough, entered the tent and zippered the entrance shut.  I sat inside the tent, on the carpet with her.  She took the play-dough out of its container and squashed it into a lumpy pancake. Then she poked the pancake with the container in time to the music playing. She had no plan–but kept herself totally occupied for at least a half hour.  Then suddenly, she stood and said, Mom, can you make chocolate milk?

My daughter plays without a plan all the time.  Until she needs help.  And she does need help often.  Toddlers generally need help every three or four minutes. Their impulses are bigger than their capacity. Still, she needs less minute-to-minute attention than my ten-month-old. Babies and toddlers require so much adult help on so many levels.  I often marvel at the resources necessary to raise just one little person to adulthood. But why is this so?  Why do young humans need so much care?  Why can we not be more like, say, puppies, maturing much sooner? Wouldn’t we progress faster as a species if adults weren’t so preoccupied, so much of the time, with the needs of children?

Cognitive psychologist Alison Gopnik has studied babies for more than a decade. She says,

The evolutionary answer seems to be that there is a tradeoff between the ability to learn and imagine — which is our great evolutionary advantage as a species — and our ability to apply what we’ve learned and put it to use.

Children are like the R&D department of the human species. They’re the ones who are always learning about the world. But if you’re always learning, imagining, and finding out, you need a kind of freedom that you don’t have if you’re actually making things happen in the world. And when you’re making things happen, it helps if those actions are based on all of the things you have learned and imagined.

The way that evolution seems to have solved this problem is by giving us this period of childhood where we don’t have to do anything, where we are completely useless. We’re free to explore the physical world, as well as possible worlds through imaginative play. And when we’re adults, we can use that information to actually change the world.

My two-year-old can keep the electric mixer steady in the batter bowl when she helps make pancakes and she can dress herself pretty well. Still, she spends hours following her whims–trying things out.  She hops. She puts on lipstick.  She cleans the interior of my car with baby wipes.

We all used to play this way, but most of us live very directed lives as adults.  Yet, Creativity requires us to play with thoughts, ideas and mediums, pointlessly–like a two-year-old.

Improvisational violinist Stephen Nachmanovich says,

The most potent muse of all is our own inner child.

Writer Julia Cameron suggests you take time to find this inner muse by taking yourself on an Artist’s Date.  She says,

The Artist Date is a once-weekly, festive, solo expedition to explore something that interests you. The Artist Date need not be overtly “artistic”– think mischief more than mastery.

If my two-year-old’s impulses are bigger than her capacity–my capacity is bigger than my whims. Looks like I need an Artist’s Date–but I doubt I’ll spend it squashing play-dough!

To Draw, to Cook, to Create?

Four of my children are gathered around our dining room table this morning, coloring with pencils.  An art-loving college student–Elizabeth, who is on Winter break, is sitting with them.  She says,

In realism, you never draw the sun in your picture because if you did all your figures would need to be shadows.  So, if you want the lighting to seem real when you draw, pretend the sun is at your back.

They follow her instructions and draw pictures with no sun in sight.  Are my children being Creative?

My children are just learning the most basic techniques of art–by following directions.  They are far from changing the domain of Leonardo Da Vinci or Andy Warhol.

Last night, I really wanted to make broccoli soup. I opened my laptop and Googled “brocoli soup”.  Several recipes came up and I began to gather the ingredients for the one with the most butter and onions. But as I started chopping those onions my nine month old baby started to fuss– warning me, she had no patience to wait around for me to cook.

I love following recipes when I cook because I like to be surprised with new tastes.  I often get bored with my own combinations and want to try someone else’s.  Am I being Creative when I cook  someone else’s recipe?

Creativity is not a moment,  It is process that grows developmentally.  The first step in the creative process is imitation, but if you stop your creative development there,  you never create anything new and you slide into non-creativity.  My recipe-following could lead to Creation–if I put in thousands of hours and invest my life for Creativity in cuisine. But I’m not planning on that.  I cook because I love to eat, essentially for fun and pleasure only.

My husband can’t understand where the joy is in following a recipe.  He makes his own dish every time–he doesn’t even follow his own recipes.  He cooks on the fly.  Is he being Creative when he invents a never-before-tasted-exactly-this-way combination of flavors?

Although he is not imitating–few of the world’s grandest chefs would call on him to improve a gourmet dish.  My husband wants no access to that world. If he made the planet’s tastiest lasagna,  he’d get a kiss on the cheek from me and not much more.  He cooks for the same reasons I do.

My eleven-year-old daughter paints in her spare time.  She often takes her easel out to the front yard and paints some part of the landscape.  She isn’t following someone else’s instructions–she’s letting her inner eye and outer vision dictate what goes on the canvas.  Is she being Creative?

Actually, when she’s painting with no recipe, she has moved to a possible second stage in creative development–she’s re-creating what she sees.  She’s painting  the truth in forms present in the natural world outside our home.  If she does this for the next forty years,  her creative development will continue. But when she stops pushing herself to improve, she’ll begin sliding into non-creativity and remain a technician.

Creative development is long and has many stages.  Imitation is only the initial stage–the door to eventual Creation.  Recording is the second base stage–the doormat to Creation.  Of all the above examples,  my husband’s recipe-free cooking puts him farthest along on the Creative development path.  But he has light years to go to change the foodie’s domain,–so he’s also pretty green creatively.

Creativity is life and time-consuming.  It is much more than coloring in flow or cooking for fun.

Setting my Family’s Emotional Thermostat

Two seasons have passed since I started Creating Brains earlier this year and my biggest challenge remains time management. Penciling in time for me to write just isn’t enough. Minutes for me to think and write are held at bay, far from me, until my home’s emotional thermostat is set to positive.

The days are getting shorter and some my family is waking a little later and a little slower every morning. Six in the morning is still pitch-black on a moonless Autumn day, but my littlest children, the 7 month old and the two-year old are up, regardless.

I light two candles, place the baby with teething ring in hand on her bouncy recliner and pick up my toddler.  If I start the day in whispers, the others will sleep an extra hour. But there is a price to pay for such quiet.  When my older children are asleep, the younger ones don’t like it. They prefer singing, dancing and loud planning of things to come, first thing, before sunrise. So the little ones are confused.  They aren’t sure why they are wide awake in the darkness but the others are not.

I had planned to write this morning,  but my laptop will stay lonely until I care for my little people.

If the children feel neglected, thoughts crash. If the children have not yet found their own flow, interruptions come and my running mental stories, good or bad, vanish.  Insight fizzles. Brilliance dangles unfinished.  My mental life melts to inconsequence and I no longer remember what was so exciting about women in Science or David Bohm.

With the new early morning darkness the homeostasis of my hours is changing. Setting my family’s emotional thermostat to positive so my children get busy with their own projects is like directing a chamber ensemble.  It is an art.  This week I will embrace this art and nitpick to find the sore points of our morning routine so I can write and think and Create.

Painting To Find Beauty & Meaning

Highly Creative people keep favored routines.  For ten days I’m posting about the routines of individual Creators, historical and current. My last post: Predictable Life with Scrabble.

Le Corbusier

Swiss Architect & Designer, Writer, Pioneer of Modern Architecture

Le Corbusier’s working hours were implacably regular. During my four years at the atelier, he worked at the rue de Sévres from two in the afternoon to around seven. The hour of 2:00 P.M., I soon learned, was holy. If you were a minute late you risked a reprimand. At first Corbu arrived either by subway (a convenient, direct metro line connected his Michel-Ange- Molitor station with the atelier’s Sévres-Babylone) or by taxi. Later on he started driving his old pistachio-green Simca Fiat convertible. In his last years it would be the taxi again. The process of returning home revealed quite a lot about Le Corbusier’s character. If the work went well, if he enjoyed his own sketching and was sure of what he intended to do, then he forgot about the hour and might be home late for dinner. But if things did not go too well, if he felt uncertain of his ideas and unhappy with his drawings, then Corbu became jittery. He would fumble with his wristwatch – a small, oddly feminine contraption, far too small for his big paw – and finally say, grudgingly, “C’est difficile, l’architecture,” toss the pencil or charcoal stub on the drawing, and slink out, as if ashamed to abandon the project and me — and us — in a predicament.

During these early August days, I learned quite a bit about Le Corbusier’s daily routine. His schedule was rigidly organized. I remember how touched I was by his Boy Scout earnestness: at 6 A.M., gymnastics and . . . painting, a kind of fine-arts calisthenics; at 8 A.M., breakfast. Then Le Corbusier entered into probably the most creative part of his day. He worked on the architectural and urbanistic sketches to be transmitted to us in the afternoon. Outlines of his written work would also be formulated then, along with some larger parts of the writings. Spiritually nourished by the preceding hours of physical and visual gymnastics, the hours of painting, he would use the main morning time for his most inspired conceptualization. A marvelous phenomenon indeed, this creative routine, implemented with his native Swiss regularity, harnessing and channeling what is most elusive. Corbu himself acknowledged the importance of this regimen. “If the generations come”, he wrote, “attach any importance to my work as an architect, it is to these unknown labors that one as to attribute its deeper meaning.” It is wrong to assume, I believe, as [others] have suggested, that Le Corbusier was devoting this time to the conceptualization of shapes to be applied directly in his architecture; rather, it was for him a period of concentration during which his imagination, catalyzed by the activity of painting, could probe most deeply into his subconscious.

(Thank you to the Arch Society and Mason Currey)

You Need a Manifesto

Stanford’s Design Institute fits its reason for existing, its manifesto, on an ordinary napkin. Could you?

Think about your reason for existing.

To Design Your Manifesto On a Napkin:

  1. Grab a stack of napkins.
  2. Find a Sharpie Marker.
  3. Ask the following questions:

What keeps you awake at night and wakes you up in the morning?
What will you do to have no regrets on your deathbed?
What is your reason for taking up space on the Earth?

Then…

  1. Write.
  2. Trash the apathy.
  3. Write again.

    What Defines Creative Work? The Negative Spaces

    The laws of nature not only describe the results of observations, but the laws of nature delimit the scope of observations. -Robert Oppenheimer (Theoretical Physicist, 1958)

    While in college, time stood still for me inside a speeding Benz one very black night.

    My hands, each white-knuckling a clutch of passenger-seat piping and leather. My arms, each locked at its side in upward shrug position. My heart skipped more than a beat. I froze in a silent scream. One. Two.

    Snap. Like bullets, my words shot out,

    Sarah!!!!  What ARE YOU DOOOO-ING!!!!

    My good friend Sarah laughed and turned the headlights back on.

    Blacking-out any definition between car and unlit country road brought Sarah two seconds of joy or ecstasy or ultimate control. Maybe she just acted on some latent daredevil’s impulse. I don’t know. I still don’t care why she did it. And fortunately, we did not crash and suffered little more than a break in my trust of Sarah’s capability as driver. But that night I understood full-on, why seasoned artists ponder on Negative Space.

    Scottish artist, Marion Boddy-Evans says,

    Artists use negative space to define a subject. Negative space works when there’s a balance between the positive and negative spaces. Negative space also works when it draws the viewer’s eye into the subject at hand.

    Before  my friend Sarah turned off the headlights, light showcased the country road.  But without light, she had no subject, no road before her.

    Betty Edwards, author of Drawing On the Right Side of the Brain, explains the concept of negative space with a Bugs Bunny analogy. She says,

    Imagine Bugs Bunny speeding along and running through a door. What you’ll see in the cartoon is a door with a bunny-shaped hole in it. What’s left of the door is the negative space, that is the space around the object, in this case Bugs Bunny.

    Highly Creative people, in all fields, figure out negative space to define their work.  Albert Einstein found time (the speed of light) to be the limiting factor defining energy. Only with energy’s limit defined, could he formulate the Theory of Relativity.

    What limits Creative work, highlights it.

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