On creativity and sleepwalking

| March 21, 2014

Creating any form of artwork can be a long and sometimes painful process. Ursula Kolbe recounts how her book about children’s art came to life once she stopped trying too earnestly to be rational.

I’ve long been fascinated by accounts from fiction-writers about what happens when they write. Fascinated, because just as novelists find that they have to surrender to their characters and let them ‘take over’ in a story, I too, as a painter, know well the moment when I have to ditch my ideas and let what’s happening on my canvas tell me what to do next.

However, as a writer of nonfiction books for early childhood teachers about young children and their art, I didn’t expect that this sort of ‘sleepwalking’ approach would play a part while writing my latest book. Yet it certainly did—after of a long and painful gestation.

My publisher’s goal for me was to write a practical book for parents that would encapsulate some of what I had previously written for teachers. Not sure how to start, I began by inviting families to share with me their observations of their children’s play with materials of all kinds. As word of mouth spread about my project, I soon amassed interesting and delightful anecdotes and photos.

With my ‘educator hat’ on, I organised the anecdotes into sections to support points I thought I had to make. Yet the more I dutifully wrote, the deader the book became. After many drafts it became obvious that I wasn’t clear in my own mind what the book was about. Thousands of words had to go and I almost abandoned the project.

After months of inaction, feeling I owed it to the children and their families to have one more go, I began again. I remember sitting at my kitchen table when suddenly a startlingly new idea struck me: What if the anecdotes were on scraps of paper that I could throw on the floor? Would I see them in a different light? What could they tell me?

It was then that I saw that anecdotes appeared to link into groups in ways that I hadn’t noticed before. These new and unexpected connections spoke to me about elements that spark creative thinking. Elements such as surprise in the look and feel of found objects, the enticements of empty spaces—on the floor, inside a box, on a sheet of paper, or in the great outdoors; the warmth of company, or how the unexpected can fire ideas. The book mapped itself on the floor!

I remember my mother (a fan of author Arthur Koestler) telling me of his idea that great scientists have been at their best when they allowed themselves to behave as “sleepwalkers” instead of trying too earnestly to be rational. I would say that the metaphor applies to artists of all kinds too.

Excited, I then knew what I wanted to write about, and in support of this, knew that I also needed more anecdotes from my own observations. Here is one of my favourites: a chance happening that describes beautifully how I see creative thinking. Michael (barely three) and I had just gone outside to ‘look at things’. Almost immediately two brightly hued glossy leaves fell in front of us and Michael pounced on them. Swiftly rearranging them to form a V in his hand, he turned to show it to me triumphantly, and said: ‘Flower!’

He had taken two things and created a third, something original, something of value. The very essence of creativity! An ordinary moment had become extraordinary because of a child’s response to the unexpected. Perhaps this blog should end with a subtitle: On learning about creativity from children’s play.

Boy with leaves 1Boy with leaves 2

SHARE WITH: