On Chpt. 5 ('Flow') of 'Creativity...' by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi- Reading Response #2

Upon re-reading the fifth chapter of Csikszentmihalyi’s Creativity this week, I got the distinct sense that this section of the book could be treated as a sort of user’s manual for all artists aiming to better understand their creative process, and remind themselves what practices and perspectives are most necessary to access the mental state in which they best excel in their artistic endeavors. Maybe it read as such because of my own struggles to find traction and cultivate consistency in my writing practice this semester, or because the author’s comments on the force of entropy, and the urge to “park the mind in neutral” when some semblance of “free time” momentarily presents itself, rang so familiar. One of the pieces I most appreciate about this chapter, however, is the author’s gentle insistence that, for the self-identified creative individual, “the least-effort imperative” never feels as rewarding as the experience of immersion in a creative project, with all the hard work such an immersion entails. In exploring the various components that define an artist’s sense of accomplishment and enjoyment in their specific craft, and the particularities of accessing “the flow of creativity,” the author reminded me of the power and conviction I’ve gained when tapping into the sort of focused/automatic state of mind named as emblematic of all artists’ most heightened moments of creation, and accordingly motivated me anew to create space for a series of writing projects I’ve relegated to my mind’s back-burner this past month.

In particular, the nine elements of the creative process Csikszentmihalyi documents on pages 111 to 113 resonated quite strongly. While I might disagree with his focus on “enjoyment,” and the corresponding claims that these elements were what regularly provided pleasure for artists in the experience of creating their work (since my own experience of tapping into “flow” has rarely been about a conscious pleasure when in it, but rather a commitment to following that “flow” through to its logical conclusion, and perhaps finding satisfaction in the work I’ve created after the fact), I do find value in what he essentially identifies as states of consciousness/awareness mandatory to access a space of elevated creativity. The clarity of purpose and goals, the ability to give oneself feedback based on one’s familiarity with the realm they’re working in, the balance of challenges and skills, the merging of action and awareness, the disappearances of self-consciousness… each of these components read as quite familiar, when I actually paused to reflect on how my own creative process usually plays out. I’ve never been one to spend too much time trying to define how art happens, or what states of consciousness allow for my own writing to emerge without hindrance, but reading the author’s nine steps and corresponding descriptions made me realize the value in having them handy as a sort of checklist, even a stimulant, to perhaps access “flow” more readily (i.e. if I regularly remind myself what needs to happen in order to get to that space of unobstructed creativity, maybe I can inhabit it with less delay).

I found several of the author’s elaborations to be especially noteworthy, offering food for thought that I trust will be of real use as I move forward in my own creative writing work. In discussing the merging of action and awareness during the course of expressing one’s creativity, he quotes writer Freeman Dyson as stating the importance of having a “design in view,” and how not having “a clear architecture in mind,” may prevent a project from getting off the ground (no pun intended on the “architecture” and “ground” connection, though it does make sense!). While this perspective seems to differ significantly from that of the Taoist theory of creativity, at least around poetry composition, we’ve read about this week (in Tom Pynn’s article, ‘The Wonder Of Tao: Entering The Primordial Source Of Creativity,’ the author suggests that the Taoist perspective on poetry is that it’s meant “to reveal what it is hidden,” and as such, “the activity of poetic composition must be a spontaneous and natural response to things as they are… poetry, as effective communication of Tao must be a deferential activity… realized through non-coercive naming and non-coercive desire”), I know that my most meaningful writing projects (multi-part poems, or mixed genre work that had specific themes and intentions woven into it even before the writing began) have benefited immensely from the sort of scaffolding Csikszentmihalyi cites Dyson as discussing. “The trick is to start from both ends and meet in the middle, which is essentially like building a bridge,” says Dyson. I mesh with this perspective because my own writing practice rarely sees me launching out into an entirely unknown space or project, but rather building into and towards a specific set of ideas or goals, and needing to figure out how an initial impulse or image that begins a poem or story is going to “meet” the message or aim I might hold for the piece as a whole. As such, completion rarely occurs when I get to the other side of a ravine or valley I’m writing across (to run with that bridge metaphor for a minute). Instead, I know I’m done when I’ve tightened up the connections, and smoothly linked the tangible content of the piece to the broader themes or aims from which the writing was actually spawned.

The author’s descriptions of avoiding distractions, and forgetting about time and surroundings when immersed in creativity’s “flow,” also served a useful purpose, namely that of reminding me that my most developed or powerful work as a writer will more than likely come about through a commitment to tuning out external commotion and submerging myself in the solo practice of my craft. This of course raises a slew of questions about how best to create such space, when a school and work schedule, to say nothing of the desire to have some semblance of a social life, make it particularly difficult to find. If anything, Csikszentmihalyi’s emphasis on removing disturbances in order to create one’s work again brought to mind the importance of seeking out writing residencies, especially during breaks from school or work, in order to facilitate accessing the mental space needed to engage in one’s creative practice. To the extent that a change of venue, and time away from the site of our work or school lives, can aid the process of entering that psychological location most conducive to creativity, the residency model seems especially useful, and I certainly feel some extra urgency around researching and applying to them in order to ensure at least a few thoroughly productive weeks per season.