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kimberleigh a holman

  • Home
  • About
    • Bio
    • Artist Statement
  • Work
    • What's on the line...
    • Common Circus
    • Contradictions + Casual Self Loathing
    • rabbit hole cycles
    • Between Words & Space
    • Clay Installation
    • Roadtrip Dances
    • Garden
    • The Last Days of Summer
    • Getting There is Half the Battle
    • Chronology of Concert Dance Works
    • Theatre | Design | Commercial
  • Press
  • Blog
  • Luminarium

Losing Creativity

I was spending time with a dear friend last week and in the midst of our afternoon-long conversation she remarked "perhaps I'm just not creative anymore,"  in regards to career. (This friend, might I add, is a talented writer who has acted, directed, improvised, etc., I could sing praises of her creative self for days.)  This interaction made my brain respond by pulling in two separate directions: a triggered worry and reassurance. How fleeting is our creativity? Why must there be a sense of fear in regard to something that functions as a release? In contrast to my questions, I'm a firm believer that everyone is creative but recognize that it's a tool that requires utilization to access with ease. More on that later.

I'd be lying if I said I had never worried that my creativity would dry up, that one day I would wake up unable to produce an idea for something new to try, and the longer conversation between my friend and I certainly stirred that whispering voice in the back of my head. As an artist attached to a company with a regular performance schedule there's an additional sense of pressure that there always needs to be a next new idea. The truth is there doesn't always need to be an immediate next idea, that worry is entirely self-imposed, but I do feel it and the superficial need to keep the company relevant. Perhaps that's a ridiculous concept to acknowledge, constant production for the sake of production does seem to defeat the point of being an artist, but the point of a blog is to be candid for everyone's betterment and shared experience, right?

Why does worry surround art and creativity? Professional artists to creative hobbyists and all in between, everyone seems to be afflicted with at least a touch of stress, mainly when it comes to sharing one's art publicly. By worrying about how what we make is received I think that we are losing the point of making. Considering if masses will love or hate what we put into the world obscures the major fact that by putting something into the world we are contributing to society's culture - important! There is also no way to win that internal debate; if everything you make and share is 'good', your lack of lows diminishes the success of your highs (the idea of success alone merits its own post), in my own opinion. 

Worries aside, I think that any human being can practice creativity and even more that the regular practice of being creative stimulates naturally occurring creativity - a mutually beneficial cycle. Taking the pressure off making a product by, you know, removing the product leaves us simply with the worry-free act of making. The act of practicing creativity is not so much to be able to produce or not, but more so to refine one's craft and make new discoveries.  By doing, by practicing, both doing and practicing become such second nature that the creative person can narrow their focus when we finally return to that idea of making something. 

In order to be more proactive here are of my favorite exercises that are perfect for non-movers or movers, career artists or those who pursue creative endeavors recreationally - anyone who wants to ease access to regular creativity that's already lurking beneath the surface!

  • Authentic movement/improv exercises. A set amount of time or not, filmed or not filmed, every single day I like to very briefly let my body do what it pleases. No 'dance' required, unless my body feels like adhering to technique. 
  • Movement sketches. Observe something, find a way to pay quick/easy homage to it in movement. Last week it was mall-goers.
  • Regular sketches. Really, doodling. I do this in an attempt to become better at drawing people and movement (no signs of improvement yet, by the way) but also to practice the skill of finishing things as it's really hard for me to abandon a sketch.
  • Transcribing. Going into a coffee shop, riding the subway, sneakily eavesdropping on family and friends... the best justification for snooping on others. Write down all that you hear for a set period of time or for the duration of a conversation. I've found this provides an additional interesting exercise of taking apart and reassembling/generally tinkering with the structure of the original conversation.
  • Writing! The old standard. I wish I was better at doing this regularly, but when I remember I enjoy picking a number of pages or a number of minutes to write and just getting words on paper. I can't do this on a computer, and I often rip the paper from a notebook and recycle it when I'm done. Not because I care about the quality, I like the temporary-ness.

What do you do for a regular practice of creativity? 

In wrapping up this entry I think it's important to note that one doesn't have to be an artist or dabble in making art to be considered creative. Creative problem solving is something most individuals do regularly and is no less valid of a form of creativity than making art; thinking outside the box is a vital skill to practice. Also, before I finish I must thank the friend mentioned in the anecdote at the beginning of the post! She inspired me to craft this piece, and I'm notoriously terrible at starting, finishing and publishing my thoughts - practice in action. I like to think our conversation, in some small part, also reinvigorated her need for daily practice, and I'm really excited to see where it takes her. 

For those of you still unconvinced of your own creativity, pick up a copy of this brilliant (and yet remarkably common sense) read and get going!

tags: creativity, creation, making, art, worry, practice, process
categories: Topics for Discussion, Reflection & Exploration
Tuesday 05.03.16
Posted by Kimberleigh Holman
 

Working with Sound

Often when I engage in a conversation about what I do, the topic of music comes up. I'm frequently asked 'how I find music to make dance to', which is hard to answer since I so rarely work that way.

My process typically begins with making movement based on thought; the generated material is soundless, or danced over something minimal to set a general tone. When I start this way I can clarify what I'm trying to say and determine how I can then use sound to develop and enhance the idea.  I often end up either making the piece some sort of sonic environment to live inside, or listening to music endlessly - live, recorded, recommended by friends, stumbled upon by accident - to find a fitting match. This is not to say I don't ever work narratively with music, it's just less common in my methodology. When I do work from music, I gravitate towards work with certain character of its own that demands I create movement to it - it often feels like my current Bach piece choreographs itself - or I opt to work alongside a composer to make dance that compliments music and vice versa.

However there is a third way music comes into my work (and probably many more ways beyond that), which is music as strictly early-phase inspiration. I experienced this to a new level of intensity over the last several months.

In the early days of planning for Spektrel I was lucky enough to get to join the talented musicians of Jaggery on stage at the Museum of Fine Arts for a collaborative piece in their da Vinci inspired show. The opener was Rabbit Rabbit, a duo comprised of musicians Carla Kihlstedt and Matthias Bossi, and while at the time I was unfamiliar with their music, I was so quickly blown away by their gorgeous sound and lyrics. Towards the end of their set they played a song called Hush, Hush, and I fell in love on first listen. More importantly, the song catalyzed early ideas for a new work (coincidentally/tentatively already named rabbit hole cycles at the time) that had been slowly marinating in my brain.

Rabbit Rabbit's Hush, Hush is beautiful, an ambient acoustic lullaby that morphs into a creepy sing-song omen and then to terrifying rock ballad before returning to its original sound. Live, it was haunting, lush, devastating, lifting. (Possibly interesting to note: before I had the good fortune to be exposed to Rabbit Rabbit's Hush, Hush, I was struck by Timber Timbre's Run From Me - which also borders sweet and scary - as I thought about my new work.) Each transition to a new style in Hush, Hush is seamless, and unquestionably the right decision for where the lyrics wander. As for the lyrics, they paint very specific and familiar images through scenic metaphors; vague and yet incredibly universal glimpses into life. The music, words and flow to the song grabbed my interest in such an intense manner that I found myself painting mental pictures for several bits of the song. These in-head images started growing into the seeds of a warped piece that transpires across several separate worlds in the same stage space, like all of the events transpiring in one house, one life, that Rabbit Rabbit's Carla Kihlstedt sings of. 

Now here's the weird part.  After making a new piece that was so heavily fertilized by the composition, performance and overall feel of a song, there was no way I could use said-song in this piece (even if the artists obliged)! It is just too complete a creation of its own to think I could/should add anything to it. It should exist just as it is forever. Also, for all of the inspiration and thought Hush, Hush provoked, its sonic aesthetic didn't end up as the perfect fit for what I was making (I decided instead to utilize a lot of altered sound from varied environments to make a new world for this work).

While rabbit hole cycles has developed its own very specific identity as we explore, experiment and refine in the studio, I'm incredibly grateful to have snuck into the MFA audience before I danced that night as so much of the development of my new work is due to what my ears and brain took in in that seven minute song.

To the artists reading this post, how do YOU work with sound? What are your experiences of being heavily influenced by visual/auditory stimuli that aren't visible in your final product?

Side note: Take a minute to check out the musicians/groups mentioned above, maybe even more than a minute... I promise it'll be time well spent.

Spektrel tickets and info here!

tags: rabbit rabbit, rabbit hole cycles, modern dance, spektrel, inspiration, music, creation, composition, sound
categories: Work in Progress
Monday 10.12.15
Posted by Kimberleigh Holman