Imagine: How Creativity Works

by Jonah Lehrer

Review by Jamie Dunsdon

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If Malcolm Gladwell and Gray’s Anatomy hooked up and had a love child, the result would be Imagine: How Creativity Works by Jonah Lehrer.  

I am, of course, referring to Malcolm Gladwell - the best-selling author of The Tipping Point, Blink, Outliers, and What the Dog Saw -  and Gray’s Anatomy, the formative textbook on anatomy (not the television series about a hospital in which I pray I am never stuck).  In his latest book, Jonah Leher takes on imagination, both as a biological process and a cultural phenomenon.  What happens in our brains when we create?  What colour should we paint our walls to stimulate creative output? What can math teach us about how creative ensembles function best?

Like Gladwell, Lehrer excels at using story as a hook for those of us who still like characters in our non-fiction.  Each chapter focuses on a facet of creativity using case study and historical anecdote to frame Lehrer’s arguments.  In order to examine creative insight, Lehrer tells the story of Bob Dylan’s near-retirement from music, and how a change of scenery prompted the most revolutionary artistic discoveries in his career.  Want to know where where masking tape came from?  Lehrer tells you, explaining conceptual blending and objective creative perspective.  Yo-Yo Ma becomes the poster boy for how letting go of perfection leads to artistic excellence, and PIXAR is highlighted for its approach to promoting creative environments.  

Also like Gladwell, Lehrer shines when he focuses on social psychology.  The most resonant chapters in Imagine are those that paint a broad societal picture.  Lehrer does an outstanding job of explaining how an understanding of the the creative tendencies of individuals or small groups can be extrapolated to understand the creative tendencies of theatre companies, corporations, and even large cities.  To Lehrer’s tremendous credit, this analysis makes this book accessible to any reader.  As a theatre artist, I found both new insight and confirmation of some creative ideas those of us who spend our lives creating probably already know, but this book isn’t just for artists; it’s for entrepreneurs, managers, salespeople, teachers, and mayors.  Lehrer tells us the way the world works.

As the author of Proust Was a Neuroscientist, Lehrer has had past success with a scientific approach to social psychology.  However, the biological science is less useful in this book, a disappointing revelation for this reader who is a bit of a neuroscience nerd.  The first three chapters of Imagine are layered with more neuroscience than the rest, and they are the most difficult to work through.  Ironically, Lehrer’s explanation of creative insight (as explained by neuroscience) lacks insight.  He uses Bob Dylan’s miraculous come-back as a case study, which is fine, but goes so far as to detail exactly what was happening in Dylan’s brain at the time.  His science may be solid, but his assumption of Dylan’s creative process is a leap.  Lehrer gets a bit bogged down by cranial hemispheres and cortexes, making those first three chapters a strange introduction to what is, essentially, an ethnography.

Despite a few leaps on Lehrer’s part, I love the book.  I find myself quoting it at least two times a day, a rather good sign that the book has ideas worth discussing, even if you don’t agree with them all.  For my arts colleagues, it is full of interesting tools for creative process.  One of my favorite parts of the book is where where Lehrer cites and analyzes a study that demonstrates how creative ensembles function over a period of time.  Should the ensemble bring in new blood to ensure fresh ideas and connections, or does the group benefit more from the same people working together again and again to develop a group rapport?  Lehrer finds that there is a tipping point (pure Gladwell), a “Q” quotient that can mathematically determine what the ideal make-up of a creative group should be for the most interesting output.  Lehrer even dives as far into Gladwell territory as to explain how creative outliers, such as Shakespeare, are often born into conditions that nurture artistic genius.

Imagine is an insightful and - forgive me - imaginative exploration of what drives culture: creative innovation.  If you can work through the first couple of chapters, and if you can forgive Mr. Lehrer’s editor for not telling him that each of his chapters is about six pages too long (his support material and language does become a tad redundant at times), this book is full of little rewards.  

A confession: my work has, on occasion, been compromised.  By me.

Is it ever okay to make artistic compromises?  It’s a problem I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.  Is compromise equivalent to artistic failure, or worse, to “selling out?”   

I should offer this disclaimer: I’m incredibly proud of most of the work I do.  Since forming Verb, I’ve directed The Shape of a Girl, John and Beatrice, Marg Szkaluba (Pissy’s Wife), Noise (in workshop), Jim Forgetting, and Marg Szkaluba again.   I consider each of these productions an artistic success, and I wouldn’t have allowed an audience had I thought otherwise. 

And yet, invariably, each production carries with it a small amount of baggage.  Some element didn’t quite work out the way I wanted it to.  Sometimes this realization happens during or after the run of the show, and these are always valuable lessons to learn.  However, as or more commonly, I find that these little kinks are the result of a compromise I made during the creative process.  

For those of you who haven’t experienced it, here’s how it goes:

You’re sitting in auditions/ at design meetings/ in rehearsal/ at your computer when all of a sudden, a limitation presents itself.  The budget is too small/ the venue won’t allow it/ the actor is unavailable/ somebody forgot to tell somebody something/ you screwed up/ somebody forgot to do something/ somebody was lazy/ somebody disagrees artistically with somebody’s choice/ we’re out of time/ a political or social issue has presented itself/ the production manager said no, etc.  

As the director, I am left with a choice:

a)  Stick to my guns and refuse anything but what I want.  My art, unpolluted.   

b)  Make a compromise or a new choice.

Perhaps real artists, those with more integrity than I, choose option A.  Anything else would be a bastardization of the art and the artistic process.   The problem is, this option puts at risk everything from money to relationships with collaborators to the ability to put the show up at all.  

It’s not as if I’m a door mat; I’m definitely stubborn, and I fight hard to get what I want.  I get into more fights - the phrase, “it’s the PRINCIPLE of it!” on my lips - than I can count, and I’m sure I’ve burned a few bridges over what others would consider the minutiae of artistic practice.  I also generally trust my artistic instincts; years of training and experience as a director have honed those instincts, so I’m usually disinclined to toss them out without good cause. 

Example: While working toward my MFA at the UofC, I once got into a battle over the right to have a basin of water on stage.  The primary metaphor for my approach to the script revolved around steam, and my proposal included the use of steam jets on stage, and a basin of water.  I wanted to turn the theatre into a sauna.

The production manager nixed the steam immediately.  Dangerous, he said.  Might do bad things to the lighting instruments.   Same thing for the basin of water.  Might spill.  People might slip.  Water might damage the electrics under the floor, blah blah blah.  

I fought.  Actually, I agreed to cut the steam (it was an idea I hadn’t fully thought through anyway, and it turns out I was more interested in the sound and aesthetic of steam than in the tactile experience, and I could use sound design to do something similar), but I refused to cut the water.  The department had accepted my proposal, water and all (it’s the PRINCIPLE!), and more importantly, I needed the water to do the show I wanted to do.  Plus, it was just a bucket of water for Pete’s sake.   Could I have cut it?  Yes.  Could I have found a new approach to the show?  Yes.  But the art I wanted to created included water, and after a number of meetings, I finally got my basin.  I had to put down a false floor and put a special faux bottom in the container I was using, but I had water.  And I used it and I made the show I wanted to make.

I also pissed a lot of people off.  

The bridges I burned on that show are still being repaired, and while I’m glad I didn’t cave, I also wonder how many relationships I ended because of my stubbornness.  

Conversely, sometimes the limitations these circumstances present prove beneficial.  One artistic door closes, and another, more interesting artistic window opens.   Example: While working on Noise, one of my ideas was challenged by a Deaf cast member.  I wanted one of my hearing actors to play a Deaf woman in the show, but a Deaf actor who was in the room at the time found that incredibly offensive.  After a long debate, I decided to sleep on it.  That night, I asked myself “What if the character ISN’T Deaf?  How would that change things?”  I came to the realization that I was using the character’s Deafness as a storytelling gimmick, and I could create a much more interesting story by finding other motivations for the character’s actions.  Wonderful!  Today, the character isn’t Deaf, and I don’t consider it a compromise at all.  Doors and windows.

Unfortunately, sometimes a door closes, and there’s no window to replace it.  Ie, sometimes I make compromises that don’t positively affect the show.  As I write this, I find I’m really hesitant to admit to you what those moments are in the past few shows.  Seems like I’m apologizing for my art, and I don’t want to do that.

Here’s one I feel comfortable telling you about:

Last year I directed/produced Marg Szkaluba (Pissy’s Wife) at the Ironwood Bar and Grill.  The venue itself was the set design, maybe even becoming a character itself.  It was great and so I swore up and down that I’d never do the show in a real theatre.  The bar setting was necessary, vital, too good to give up.  Fast forward to June 2012, and I’m watching my production Pissy’s Wife in the Motel Theatre.  I suppose this means I compromised.  Given the opportunity, I felt it was more important to share the story (even if in a theatre), than to not share it at all.  The wonderful people at Downstage and Magnetic North offered us an amazing opportunity to share the play with others, and I said yes.  Did the theatre venue “ruin” the show?  Certainly not.  Did we lose something really wonderful that we had at the bar?  I think so.  

Today, as I write this, I question whether I would do it in a theatre again.  My impulse is to say no.  No, never ever again.   Probably.  

Does compromise = failure?

Does stubborness = integrity?

Or is compromise an important part of the process that teaches us to open our minds and consider possibility?

And finally, should I be more comfortable talking about artistic failures?  I found this entry really unsettling to write - admitting that I’m not proud of some of my choices is a vulnerable experience, and I barely shared anything. 

One of my big tasks this fall has been to prep for our spring show, A Thousand and One Calgarian Nights. While Col is off working with at-risk youth groups (from which we will cast our Aladdin, Sinbad, Genie, and more) I’m working with a group of my own. Stardale is an Aboriginal Women’s group dedicated to providing support and mentorship for women of all ages, but especially girls. Over the course of the year, I meet weekly with a group of girls, usually about 14 of them aged 10 to 16, teaching them acting, storytelling, and leadership. The Stardale girls will provide the Chorus for May’s show, so we’re going to be spending a lot of time together… and I’m already in love with this special bunch of gals. Incredibly intelligent, deeply empathetic to their peers, and surprisingly hilarious, I’ve already set my expectations high because I know they’ll meet me there!

This week, we were creating fairy tales! Take a look!

If you are like me, on Friday you missed the opportunity to hear Ben Cameron of TED fame give an inspiring talk on the importance of artistic innovation.  Luckily CADA taped the event; you can watch (but I recommend that you listen) to the entire talk at this website, or by clicking the link at the bottom of this post.

Cameron’s talk is challenging in the truest sense of the word.  He wants us to take action, and gives a number of concrete ways other organizations are making positive change to help art become an important part of the everyday lives of those in our community.  I was pleased to see that Verb actually implemented many of these strategies long ago, but it occurs to me that we may not have been terribly diligent about spreading word about these policies.  

So, without further adue, here are:

Five Things You Might (Not) Know About Verb Theatre: 

1. OPEN DOOR POLICY - If you want to observe Verb’s process, we’ll do whatever we can to bring you into our rehearsal room.  The sensitive nature of our work sometimes prevents us from completely unscrewing the hinge from the door, but if you are interested in being in our rehearsal room, we want to encourage you contact us. You may have an educational agenda (artists can learn a lot from watching each other work), or you may simply be a community member interested in getting involved.  Either way, we’re happy to have you!
2. VERB SAP -  What’s a “Verb show,” and how do we pick them?  I’ve been asked in the past if Verb is all about doing theatre for the disenfranchised.  It’s a tricky question to answer, because we tend to be interested in marginalized voices, but I think what’s connotated in the above question is if Verb only works with community groups in a sort of therapeutic role, providing forums for their self expression and voice.  It’s a practice commonly called APPLIED THEATRE.  It’s fair to wonder, given some of the communities we’ve worked with: at-risk youth, homeless Calgarians, Deaf and Hard of Hearing Calgarians, troubled teens, queer artists, and women’s groups.  So, here’s the answer: Applied Theatre is an important part of the way we express our mandate here at Verb, but it is only one way.  Our mandate, which pivots on a focus to engage our community, can also be realized by programming work that is accessible or finding links to our city or province.  When I started Verb, my goal was to create theatre that could be accessible to new theatre goers, but also challenge even the most seasoned theatre goers.  I wanted to create work that speaks for itself; Ie. you won’t be required to read the director’s note in the program to understand any Verb show.  
   The original mandate of Verb was two words: verb sap.  It’s Latin for “enough said.”  So how do I pick the shows I want to produce with Verb?  I ask myself this one question: “If I bring both my artistic mentor and my cattle-ranching dad to this show, will they both find something to chew on?”  If the answer is yes, it’s probably a Verb show.
3. TICKET SALES - Can’t afford theatre?  You can still see one of our shows.  Whenever possible (some limitations apply when we are performing in festivals, conferences, etc.), we set aside a number of tickets for those who want to see a Verb show, but are prevented by financial limitations.  I believe that nobody should be kept out of the theatre by the cost of a ticket.  Email for more details, or stay tuned to the website.
4. KIDS, KIDS, KIDS - Col and I place a lot of importance on creating theatre for youths.  Though we were unable to program a Theatre for Young Audiences performance in our last season due to venue limitations, we have plans to include one in every season to come.  
5. NO, WITH A B - It’s Verb Theatre, not Verve Theatre.  Apparently Verb is a difficult word to understand over the phone.   

Video streaming by Ustream

Col was a rapporteur at the First Annual Calgary Arts Champions Congress today.  At the end of the day, he participated in a panel summing up his thoughts on the day’s discussions.  This is a long talk, but fairly interesting, and you can hear some of the things we think about here at Verb.  

You can listen to other talks from the day here.

Video streaming by Ustream

“I run a theatre company.”

“Huh?”

“I run a theatre company?  Like, live theatre?  I run a company that does that.”

“Oh.  You’re an artsy-fartsy type!”

I think he meant that as a compliment.  It was not his unintentional condescension, however, nor his use of the word “fartsy” to describe the field I’ve devoted years of training and practice to that made me laugh at his remark.  

It was the word “artsy.”  

Running a theatre company is 99% administration, and 1% art.  We suffer through the 99% so we can get to the 1%.  We live for the 1%.  

Today, Col and I had one of our many company meetings.  The dramatic lighting in the room we used is about as artsy as these meetings get. 

Verb’s incredibly creative, inspirational pile of paperwork to get through.

Trials and Triumphs

New theatre companies in the city face many challenges but persevere.

Published July 21, 2011 by Andrew Torry

It’s a question many theatre artists ask themselves at one point early in their career: Do I go where the work is, or do I stay where I am and create my own opportunities? Many emerging artists opt for the former because taking the bull by the horns can be fraught with challenges. But every community needs its artistic pioneers, and it’s because of those trailblazers that Calgary is home to companies like Theatre Calgary, Alberta Theatre Projects and Downstage Theatre. Those spearheads are the reason the city is far from being a cultural wasteland. The initiation of a theatre company demands vision, buoyancy and courage.

Jamie Dunsdon and Mike Unrau are two such architects. Dunsdon founded Verb Theatre in 2008 and is the company’s current co-artistic director. Unrau is the co-artistic director of Theatre Encounter, another relatively new company that showcased its first production in 2007.

Establishing a theatre company often starts when an individual recognizes a need in the community, a gap they believe they can fill. Early theatre pioneers may have blazed the trail, planting a theatre company where there weren’t any to begin with. Those following in their footsteps often refine the trail, helping to make it a rich and varied experience.

Dunsdon started Verb because she thought non-theatregoers found much of the theatre being offered in Calgary to be too esoteric. She wanted to start a company that would make theatre accessible to even those least likely to attend a play. Over time, she admits, the company has incorporated new missions into its mandate, but the original essence remains a guiding principle. Last year, Verb presented a performance featuring actual people who live in poverty.

Unrau saw a different need in Calgary’s theatre community. He saw the opportunity to bring to Calgary a more experimental and edgy performance style. Theatre Encounter presents classic western European literature refashioned and performed with its true essence through provocative language and movement, which Unrau admits can sometimes be controversial.

Both artistic directors set out on their quests eager to accomplish their goals, but their journey has not been without trials.

For Dunsdon, the main challenge is financial.

“Most granting bodies won’t let you apply for at least two years once you are incorporated,” Dunsdon says. “And during that time, you aren’t allowed to apply for individual artist grants either. We’ve had to do a lot of fundraising and we’ve created a lot of partnerships to get through the last two years. A hundred dollars means the world to a small company. A thousand is a dream.”

Unrau says one of his company’s biggest challenges has been finding suitable performance space that is affordable. Theatre Encounter also struggles to sell tickets because they offer very unconventional productions. “People often want to see feel-good comedies,” Unrau says. “Our work challenges convention and social norms, and we feel this is important, so it is taking time to warm people up to seeing something different.”

Those growing pains are often accompanied by small victories along the way. Theatre Encounter is slowly building its audience base despite some initial difficulties. Unrau cites the company’s recent production of Everyman as an example where audiences left the theatre “mesmerized” and speaking highly of the almost entirely movement-based performance that featured only five lines of dialogue.

Dunsdon is walking on air because Sharon Pollock recently received a Betty Mitchell nomination for Best Performance by an Actress in a Musical or Comedy for her role in Verb Theatre’s production of Marg Szkaluba (Pissy’s Wife).

“Sharon’s brilliant. This woman, this legend of Canadian theatre, agreed to take part in this little independent show, having never sung before onstage. And she did it! Two hours! At 75 years of age!”

Those leaps forward and small triumphs are what these companies need to raise their profile and buoy themselves to march onward. Unrau hopes Theatre Encounter will one day be performing not just in Calgary, but across Canada and the world, collaborating with other companies devoted to experimental theatre. Dunsdon hopes Verb will blaze the trail for new cultural trends in Calgary.

“I feel like Verb is at the front of something right now, like we’re surfing in front of a wave. Hopefully in 10 years that wave will have come and we’ll be riding in front of the next one.”