Each day, we live in a constant swirl of creative activity. We write, draw, sing, cook, solve problems, and tell stories. In the busyness of our own imaginations, we plan trips, script conversations and make meaning of our experiences. In a sense, creativity is simply a function of being alive.

For those of us who are creative for a living, the process can seem more involved. We court inspiration. Inspiration is the difference between needing an idea and having one—between wanting a solution and finding one. At times, inspiration seems completely elusive. Then, usually once we’ve decided to rest for a while and think about something else, inspiration arrives, not unbidden but on its own schedule.  

As a writer, I am always in search of inspiration. Lately, I’ve discovered something interesting: When I am cultivating a sense of curiosity—about people and their stories, about the world around me, about my own experience of life—I find that inspiration is soon to follow. How do you invite a stream of inspiration and creativity into your daily life? Is inspiration a necessary prerequisite for being creative? Is genius really only one percent inspiration? Click on the "comments" link above to join the conversation.

One of the greatest secrets I learned about writing was from author Julia Cameron. When writing, she says, don’t edit as you go along. Write freely.  Let it flow. Then, later, you can go back and edit, rewrite and polish. This advice seems to follow the rhythm of the seasons. Summer feels like freedom. It’s a time of wild growth and blossoming, of expansiveness and energy.   

Eventually, we begin to notice that the sun is setting a bit earlier. We wake up to a chill in the air. Then one day, in the midst of a congregation of green leaves, we see a flash of red peeking through a tree’s branches—then a spot of gold. The seasons are changing.

Autumn is a time of transition and preparation. It’s a time of harvest, a time to reap and take stock of all that we’ve grown. When it comes to creativity, we often place our focus on generating, producing, and yielding. But what if we followed the seasons and took some time for reflection—for inventory? What have you created this year that can give you a sense of accomplishment and quiet inspiration? Click on the “comments” link above to join the conversation.

 

I’m curious about Bill Buxton. A veteran designer and computer scientist, Buxton was asked to join the research team at Microsoft in 2005. Credited with being an early contributor to the design and innovation of touch-screen technology, Buxton is also known for speaking with almost sermonic passion about the importance of design in business and technology.  

Here is what’s interesting: Buxton started out as a music major in college, training to become a composer and performer. He also had an interest in electronic synthesizers and instruments—not just playing them, but building them. eHis first experience with multi-touch technology evolved from a desire to build a digital percussion instrument in 1984.  His passion for music inspired his motivation to design and develop technology.

This blending of art and science comes together easily when viewed through the lens of creativity. Yet it seems that there has been a kind of divide between art and science in the public imagination. We make room for Leonardo da Vinci as a one-of-a-kind “renaissance man” but what would happen if we continued to view art and science as two members of the same creative family? How would our view of art, science and technology evolve? Click on the “comments” link above to join the conversation.

In June, I went to New York to visit my family for the weekend. Early Sunday morning, we piled into two cars and made the drive to eastern Nassau County to the Planting Fields Arboretum in Oyster Bay. The lot of us, from my 92-year-old grandmother to my 3 ½-year-old nephew, walked the grounds for two hours admiring flowers, plants, and trees. We pointed at ferns and appreciated the vivid colors of ginger lilies and birds of paradise.  In nature, there is an unspoken connection to creativity. To create is to make, to generate; what could be more generative than nature itself?

I have walked trails, peered at treetops, and listened to birds and crickets to soothe writer’s block into a welcome rush and tumble of words and phrases. It seems that nature supports and expands creativity. I can depend on a change of scenery, a walk in the park or a simple breeze through an open window to bring to mind a new train of thought.

Has nature had an impact on your creative process? Have you used a connection with nature for inspiration or for generating new ideas? Click on the “comments” link above to join the conversation.as H

My aunt gave me a beautiful photograph of my paternal grandmother. In the picture, my grandmother wears a wide-rimmed white hat and a crisp, white dress. Her manner is elegant and reserved. She stands with her hand resting on the shoulder of an ornate wooden bench. Her back is erect, her expression somber. My grandmother died when I was quite young, and in many ways, I have come to “know” her through this photograph.

A few weeks ago, another of my dad’s sisters came to visit and I plied her with questions about my grandmother. “She was pretty serious,” I remarked, thinking of my grandmother’s solemn expression in the photograph. “Oh no, she was funny!” my aunt declared. “She loved to laugh.” Later, when I looked at the old, sepia-toned image, I saw something new—a quiet smile forming just beneath the corners of my grandmother’s mouth. I knew that she had laughed that day.

In the quest for creativity, we see and absorb the details of life, but what we see changes. New information leads to new insights, and new insights to new expectations. The creative process invites us to take on a flexible posture towards life—and be willing to stretch, review and revisit. 

Culture and creativity go hand in hand: Music, language, art and cuisine are elemental expressions of who we are. Experiencing a new culture is a gift—an invitation to consider the world with new eyes. As a junior in college, I spent a semester in Kenya. My sixteen weeks were split between the busy capital of Nairobi, the coastal towns of Malindi, Mombasa and Lamu, and an old coffee plantation in rural Katheka Kai, Machakos. Every day seemed packed with novelty and I wrote incessantly: on the plane, in taxis, and on buses.

During my travels, I met journalists, artists, students and families. I ate street food—warm maandazi or samosas with fresh lime—and was invited to share home-cooked meals of chapati and githeri, stewed vegetables and ugali. I wore beautiful fabrics with decorative patterns and vibrant colors (kangas and vitenge—see a favorite kitenge above) and took lessons in Kiswahili. I visited ruins in Pate, a sparsely populated town once settled by the Portuguese, where fragments of centuries-old pottery still littered the ground.

Being surrounded by the creative expressions of others inspires my own creativity. Have you taken a trip abroad that inspired you? Share by clicking the "comments" link above.

I began my career as a graphic designer. Design school was an exciting time for me. I relished this new world—a swirl of math and art, word and image. My dad bought me my first Print magazine in 1993 and I devoured it. Later, I moved on to Design, Form, and Chaos, the now-classic text by American designer Paul Rand.

Rand was responsible for many of the world’s most iconic logo designs, including identities for IBM, Westinghouse, UPS and ABC. During my second semester of design school at the University of Baltimore, I had the great fortune of hearing Rand share his thoughts about design during an AIGA lecture at the Baltimore Museum of Art. Recently, I found my notes from the 1994 lecture. Rand, who died two years later, gifted the crowd with sage advice: “It doesn’t take school to get information on art and design; it takes looking.”

Our ability to look—to see, absorb, and take in the world around us—is a key element of developing an aesthetic, and finding a unique, creative voice. How does observing the world around you inform your creative process? Who are your greatest influences? Join the conversation by clicking the "comments" link above.

I went to graduate school at The Annenberg School for Communication at the University of Pennsylvania. Having completed a fairly pragmatic course of study during undergrad—a major in journalism and a minor in speech—I was unprepared for the lofty, academic discourse I encountered at Penn. I spent hours with my dictionary, struggling to decipher the in-speak of the philosophers and social scientists who authored our texts. Eventually, I got the hang of the new vocabulary, but more importantly, I was lucky enough to take a class that changed my way of thinking.

The course was called The Social Construction of Reality, and the instructor was Dr. Klaus Krippendorff, a kind-eyed professor from Germany who encouraged dialogue and critical thinking. The takeaway from the class: Every thought that is communicated comes from a specific perspective—whether or not the author of this perspective is named or acknowledged.  

In the midst of a creative project, we may find ourselves bound by assumptions and rules that seem immovable. But are they? If reality is constructed—by all of us and by those who came before—then true creativity may begin with questioning assumptions. Do you ask questions as part of your creative process? Join the conversation by clicking on the comment link above.

Recently, I listened to Maya Angelou tell a story. After only a few minutes, I felt like I’d traveled to another place and time. Part of it was Dr. Angelou's lyrical use of language, but after her story was done I had another thought: “That was passion.” Passion is the juiciness that enlivens and expands creativity.

In movies, creative people are portrayed as being deeply passionate; everyone has seen the fictional painter splashing color onto a canvas while dramatic, classical music swells in the background. In real life, however, the creative process has different stages. We may plod and struggle for a bit and then, magically, find ourselves soaring and creating with ease.

In the wake of a new creative project, you start where you are—whether brimming with excitement or battling uncertainty. Still, there are ways to tap into passion and transfer that energy to the project at hand. When you find yourself facing a creative block, switch gears: Connect with someone or something that matters to you.  Take a walk or a dance break. Get moving. Sing along to your favorite song. You’ll return to your endeavor with more energy, and a bit of fairy dust on your fingertips.

Five years ago, I went to Michigan in the dead of winter. I was on a writers’ tour, scoping out the arts scene in Grand Rapids and Saugatuck for a travel magazine. One bitterly cold day, the group left the warmth of our van to walk through the plaza next to Grand Rapids City Hall. We were there to see what our guide called “The Calder”—Alexander Calder’s gorgeous, crimson sculpture, La Grande Vitesse. I had never heard of Calder, and as I walked across the open square, head down against the sharp, whipping wind, I couldn’t help but wonder if this experience would be worth braving the cold. It was.

Seeing Calder’s sculpture that day changed me. It changed the way I thought about public spaces and the importance of art in daily life. Art inspires me, and there’s something about art on a grand scale that is particularly exciting. I returned to this thought when I stumbled upon the work of Janet Echelman, another artist infusing life, imagination and creativity into the world’s public spaces. She talks about her work with such clarity and passion, that I am inspired once again to appreciate art in the public square.