Last night I went to a show (Wilco!), at a gorgeous outdoor venue in upstate New York and was swept up into the magic of live music. For a few blissful hours, I forgot about moving, forgot about my to-do list, and was wowed by people making art.
This morning, as I reflected on the show it occurred to me how many parallels there are to making art, regardless of what kind of art you’re creating. I talk about this a lot with my friends who are musicians and visual artists—how writing music can be similar to writing a story, how revising a painting can mimic revising an essay.
I was also struck by how new ideas for my writing came from listening to some of the songs last night.
There was a very particular feeling that came through one of the songs, something between longing and tortured love, that made me relate to one of my characters. That feeling helped me understand them more, and that understanding helped me solve a problem I was wrestling with in their story.
That is the power of art, it ignites universal feelings, especially feelings that are hard to define.
Tolstoy said:
“Art is a human activity consisting in this, that one man consciously, by means of certain external signs, hands on to others feelings he has lived through, and that other people are infected by these feelings and also experience them.”
This also helps explain why engaging with other art forms can be so valuable for our own creative practice.
As writers, it’s easy to think that becoming a better writer means writing all day, every day. That matters, of course. But I have found that some of my most important creative breakthroughs happen when I’m doing something that seems to be unrelated to writing.
Listening to music. Visiting museums. Watching figure skaters. Going to the theater. Walking through a garden. Paying attention to the way another artist expresses feeling.
It’s kind of like cross-training for the creative brain.
Athletes cross-train because focusing on a single movement pattern can lead to stagnation, imbalance, or injury. Creative work can be similar. When we engage only with our own medium, we risk becoming trapped in familiar habits of thinking. Other art forms invite us into different ways of perceiving, feeling, and making meaning.
A songwriter might teach me something about pacing. A painter might show me how to work with contrast. A choreographer might reveal the power of repetition. Last night, Wilco helped me understand a character’s emotional landscape more clearly than hours of staring at a draft ever could.
So if you’re feeling stuck in your writing, consider stepping away from writing for a moment. Go listen to live music. Visit a gallery. Watch a film. Wander through a neighborhood you’ve never explored before. Give your creative brain something new to chew on.
You may come back with exactly what your work needed.
Have you gotten inspiration from another artist recently? I’d love to hear—shows, exhibits, dances, books, anything.
Share in the comments.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.