A few years ago, I helped Twyla Tharp with The Collaborative Habit, the sequel to this book. It was a learning experience on several levels, but mostly this: the intensity of the work. I thought I work hard. Twyla worked harder. And regularly. She set a schedule. And we met it. And when we turned the book in, on time and pretty much word perfect, the publisher sent me a bonus, which is not something that happens in book publishing. But I’d already received a bonus — from Twyla. It was the gift of regularity, building a cathedral a stone at a time, caring enough to show up again and again. (This is pretty much the same gift that Steven Pressman bestows on readers in The War of Art.) On my Facebook page, I see many “friends” who are still frozen in the headlights of the events of November. Here’s a way to get beyond that and own your life again and add your stone to the cathedral.
The movies have done us all a great disservice. Here is Mozart the brat, tossing off a symphony. Or van Gogh, sketching frantically under a scorching sun. Or, more recently, Jackson Pollock, madly throwing paint.
In every case, it’s the same message: GENIUS AT WORK. KEEP OUT.
And we do. We dutifully accept that artists have skills not possessed by lesser mortals — and we plod along the more traveled path, coloring between the lines.
That is why Twyla Tharp’s book is so important: It explodes that harmful myth and, in the process, returns our creativity to us, whether we’re “artists” or accountants. And she does it in language that could convince anyone from a timid l6-year-old to an elder who “wants to write” but has just never gotten around to it.
Let’s be clear: This is NOT a book about dance. Her biography as a choreographer may be vast — Tharp has choreographed 130 dances, five Hollywood movies and two Broadway shows, including the greatly acclaimed collaboration with Billy Joel called “Movin’ Out” — but there is almost nothing in these pages to suggest the glory of her career. Or even her brilliance. “The Creative Habit” is about one thing, and one only: the habit of working — and working hard — at something you care about. [To buy the book from Amazon, click here. For the Kindle edition, click here.]
“Natural genius?” Tharp scoffs. Mozart became a “genius” because his father recognized the boy had talent — so he pushed him. “By the time Mozart was 28 years old,” she notes, “his hands were deformed because of all the hours he had spent practicing, performing, and gripping a quill pen to compose.”
So this is what Tharp wants you to know about her: In the years when she was creating dances, she woke up every morning at 5:30 and went directly to a gym where she lifted weights for two hours. Why? For physical strength. And more: because the ritual of lifting steel jumpstarted her creativity in her real work.
That’s right. Tharp sees creativity as a blue-collar work — as real, honest, sweaty labor. And in that work, repetition is crucial; you are, in effect, training your muscles to do the heavy lifting that creativity requires.
Ideas? They come last. That’s because they spring from all of your life experience, your reading and viewing and listening. There may be many false starts and dead ends. So you try things a different way.
Read this book with a pen in hand — you’ll want to mark it, for it is full of big ideas and helpful tips. Here’s a tip: “Fix the things you know how to fix.” And here’s a big idea: “I associate mastery with optimism.”
Proof that Tharp’s way works? Turn to the last page of the book. It’s 9/11. She calls her dancers to tell them they didn’t need to come to rehearsal the following day. But they all show up. “We could have easily become absorbed by the tragedy, lost in it and paralyzed by it, but what came back to us was the instinct to dance.” Her conclusion: “Even in the worst of times, such habits sustain, protect, and, in the most unlikely way, lift us up.”
Amen.
BONUS VIDEO
My 2016 Top 10 Movie List
Moonlight
A significant advance in filmmaking
Manchester by the Sea
There’s a scene on a street near the end…
Hell or High Water
The first smart, laid-back thriller. And… Jeff Bridges.
(To buy or rent the video stream from Amazon, click here.)
Indignation
A good Philip Roth adaptation? Yes.
(To buy or rent the video stream from Amazon, click here.)
Captain Fantastic
Vigo! Vigo! Vigo!
(To buy or rent the video stream from Amazon, click here.)
Green Room
Not quite a horror film, but close enough.
(To buy or rent the video stream from Amazon, click here.)
Eye in the Sky
The Small Person: “This film is making me nervous.”
(To buy or rent the video stream from Amazon, click here.)
Arrival
Smart. Hopeful. A rare combination.
The BFG
Spielberg. Roald Dahl.
(To buy or rent the video stream from Amazon, click here.)
20th Century Women
How Does That Make You Feel? True Confessions from Both Sides of the Therapy Couch
Sherry Amatenstein is a New York City-based licensed clinical social worker. She’s written 3 three books on relationships. Now she’s edited “How Does That Make You Feel? True Confessions from Both Sides of the Therapy Couch,” with essays by 13 therapists and 21 patients. “I wanted to humanize shrinks to the shrunks,” she says. “I wanted patients to see that therapists are neurotic as hell, too.”
Her contributors — they include a noted screenwriter and a writer for “Seinfeld” — are just as honest. “Has my drive been solely about proving to my narcissistic [Jewish] mother that I am indeed worth her sagging labia?” one writes. A woman whose parents sent her to a pedophile therapist, writes about her mother: “She never met a boundary she couldn’t or wouldn’t cross.”
Most of these essays are more heartfelt than shocking; they not only provide a valuable window into therapy, they give us an appreciation for the process. This includes Amatenstein’s reason for becoming a therapist: “My father was at Auschwitz and had to watch his parents and little sister walk away, knowing they were going to the ovens. My mother was sent to a work camp. I never knew my grandparents.” So she grew up hearing other people’s pain and wanted to ease their suffering. This book helps. [To buy the paperback from Amazon, click here. For the Kindle edition, click here.]
A delicious new guide: “Shop Cook Eat New York: 200 of the City’s Best Food Shops”
I’ve scoured New York in search of exotic and esoteric food suppliers for 60 years, but a woman from France who’s lived here only a decade makes me feel like a first-time tourist. Nathalie Sann and photographer Susan Meisel set out to find 200 of the city’s best food stores, and in “Shop Cook Eat New York” they’ve done just that. Some were obvious: Katz’s Deli, Murray’s Cheese Shop, Magnolia Bakery, the shops on Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. But the majority of their favorites are real finds. Like Arcade Bakery (it’s hidden in the lobby of an office building), which makes the best ham-and-cheese sandwiches in town. And Harlem Shambles, my favorite butcher (the name is from Corinthians: “Whatever is sold in the shambles, eat, asking no question for conscience sake”). And Andrews Honey, which attracts bees on 50 rooftops, including the Waldorf-Astoria. And SOS Chefs, a favorite find of mine. The writing is brisk and stylish (“Lobel’s is the Fabergé of meat”), the photos are crisp, and Sann enriches the book with 27 field-tested recipes. A great resource for New Yorkers, an obvious gift for visiting foodies. [To buy the book from Amazon, click here.]
Nam Prik Asian Chili Hot Sauce: the next Sriracha?
When I met Erick Yi, he was an investment adviser at Merrill Lynch in Los Angeles. (I can personally attest: honest, creative, successful). And then he was gone — to launch a hot sauce. I thought he was having a pre-midlife crisis. In fact, he was having a genius insight: He invented Nam Prik, an Asian chili sauce that was both spicy and sweet. Erick launched Nam Prik at farmer’s markets in LA, and was soon as popular as Adele. Again, deservedly: Nam Prik (pronounced: nam-preek, literally “fluid chili”) isn’t like all the other smartly-labeled sauces you see on grocery shelves. It delivers fire and flavor, adding personality to eggs, Mexican food, Asian dishes, meat and chicken entrees. Now Erick’s in the big leagues —you can buy Nam Prik on Amazon as well as on his web site. And in the full-service spirit of the banker he used to be, Erick offers some recipes. Try the crispy Nam Prik chicken wings — you’ll forget all about Buffalo.
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This article originally appeared on The Head Butler
Photo credit: Getty Images