Creativity requires many different types of brain activity, including both divergent and convergent thinking, or what we might once have labeled “right brain” and “left brain” processes. We now know that to bring a creative idea to fruition, we must employ both associative, or non-linear, thinking that plays with different ideas and images, weaving them together in new ways, as well as more logical, linear thinking that clarifies the required steps to complete a creative project and share it with the world.

Many of us in the creative fields are quite good at associative or divergent thinking. We’ve come to trust our ability to weave together ideas or patterns that might seem, at first glance, unrelated. Some might say that this is the essence of creativity. If we examine deeply creative people such as Leonardo Da Vinci, we see much of his genius lay not just in his technique but also in his interest in a wide swath of subjects. To diverge, to explore many possible solutions or connections, is to approach the world through an expansive, curious lens.

Linear thinking, on the other hand, applies a structure or set of goals to a given project, suggesting a pathway for completion. Learning to move between these two kinds of thinking with discernment and agility is key for anyone on a deadline or who wants to enjoy both process and product. It’s fun and meaningful to brainstorm and consider possible associations and connective threads between disparate elements, but at some point, most of us feel the urge to move into forming a concrete plan for delivering on our ideas. 

For example, a songwriter may begin with a simple phrase or musical refrain based on an emotional experience, a dream, or an image. From this basic poetic or musical element, she may then write out a set of lyrics based on associations with that primary image or element in order to tell a story or create a musical tapestry out of it. This is the associative phase of the creative process. But then she must edit and hone the lyrics so that they flow and rhyme and fit together with a specific melody, and then practice the song over and over, solidifying the arrangement, and rehearsing it until it is ready to be performed. This is the more linear phase of the process.

Once we start to apply linear thinking to a project, we’ve entered a new phase of creativity, and this phase is one we’d like to celebrate a little more. It’s not just that we get things done, but that new associations can arise as a result of integrating these two types of thinking. In other words, we need both types of thinking and once we learn to use them with more agility and discernment, we can become open to the lovely synergies that can occur. It's not just about one mode or another, but how we bring all of them together.

At Syncreate, we’re excited about the ways these two types of thinking can enliven the creative process, build community, and help a greater number of people know the joy of both process and product. We’re working on a set of tools that will foster all of this, and we invite you to check out Syncreator, your digital creativity coach.

By Charlotte 

Recently, I had the opportunity to meet Danish writer and editor Simon Fruelund. We have both recently been published by the Santa Fe Writers Project, and we did a mini book tour together to help support the release of our work. Over the course of our travels, we spent much time together, discussing writing, family, and teaching. Simon met my husband Dreux briefly twice, and on the way to the airport, Simon expressed how drawn he was to Dreux, remarking that he possesses a quality of being that is both alluring and pensive. “I believe that certain people carry ancestral pain,” Simon offered, and it struck me how very true this is of Dreux. There’s a bit of hesitancy about my husband, a sense of brooding usually offset by his lively sense of humor. Perhaps the humor masks the deep ways his spirit is still figuring something out. 

A few days later, I was in Maryland with Dreux’s parents for another book gig, and while we looked at and discussed the family Bible, I told them of Simon’s comment. My father-in-law, a scientist through and through, simply nodded his head. “That makes sense.”  Dreux’s mixed heritage—Swedish, Saponi, Cape Verdean, African—tells a complex story of intense loss and violation, as well as joyful celebration of family and connections. It surprised me that Simon’s comment resonated so much with Dreux’s parents, that they immediately understood the power of this possibility for their son. Given Simon’s comment and the conversation with Dreux’s parents, this article caught my attention: ‘Memories’ pass between generations. In this study, researchers explored the ways genetic memory may pass from the sperm and egg to the fetus.  The article got me thinking about how we might all carry ancestral pain and/or genetic memory. 

Right now, Melinda is at Auschwitz, bearing witness to the losses and pain perpetuated there, as well as connecting with her Jewish roots in Eastern Europe. Today, she posted on Facebook about the 1.5 million Jewish children killed in the Holocaust. In the post, she included drawings made by children in the camp, including simple, powerful expressions of love. Those hearts, confined in imprisoned bodies, must, on some level, still be a part of our world, and for some of us, those hearts reside in the blood, the memories housed in our cells. 

The link across time is not merely imagined—it is a compelling aspect of our personalities, and a powerful way to encounter this link is through the creative process. Familial messages run deep, and artists must contextualize their work within a potent backdrop of both spoken and silent beliefs, many of which have been passed down through the generations. Exploring our habits, self-talk, and generational patterns, while giving breath to the imagination, are essential to the creative process—to connect to legacy and meaning, we must listen to our deepest selves and see what messages, directives, and impulses may be waiting there, ready to guide us to our most meaningful work.

By Charlotte and Melinda

At Syncreate, we’re interested in what the brain has to teach us about how to grow connections, transform communities, and foster adaptability.  So far our investigations have lead us into discussions and presentations about the neuroscience of creativity, and the ways in which educators and leaders can strategically build creative communities. As community college professors, we are currently exploring the ways neural pathways grow, strengthen, and become pruned.  

We constantly keep these questions in mind:

• Can educators take inspiration from neural networks to create relational links that weave students and content more tightly together?

• If we encourage students to see themselves and their peers as resources, could we create a buzz within learning communities that encourages new and meaningful connections between people, ideas, and real-world challenges?

• How can play, ritual, and community-building exercises create new neural pathways through kinesthetic, embodied learning?

We don’t necessarily have all these answers to these questions, but we believe asking the questions may reveal the path to becoming more effective, engaged, and collaborative in our educational work.

New insights into neural architecture, (also known at the connectome) such as the work of Dr. Van J. Wedeen of the Martinos Center for Biomedical Imaging at Massachusetts General Hospital, reveal the deeply interwoven quality of the brain’s structure (see “New Discoveries in Brain Structure and Connectivity”). In addition, current neuroscience research offers exciting insights, such as the brain’s incredible ability to artfully enhance helpful connections or prune away unused pathways.  Every synapse creates a connection and the more times a neuron fires, the stronger a synaptic connection becomes. In other words, the brain changes with every new experience and nothing exists in isolation. We’d like to suggest that with every experience in the classroom (and within the institution itself), the student’s brain, thinking process, and understanding of the world changes. Educators who embrace this idea become empowered to skillfully plan classroom lessons, discussions, and activities to facilitate more powerful and lasting connections.

Each student is part of the classroom “brain,” if you will. It’s not that teachers stand in the front of the classroom and transmit ideas; instead, teachers can facilitate connections and pathways between students. However, in order for this to work well, we first have to acknowledge the creativity, unique perspectives, and resiliency of each student present. If we don’t, we might unwittingly “prune” the student from the necessary pathways he/she needs to connect, comprehend, and succeed. For example, the website Mindfulness Starts Here states, “Neural pruning is the process of removing neurons that are no longer used or useful in the brain.”  For those students who don’t have a positive family history or positive personal experiences with school and/or higher education, the figurative neural connection to the classroom may be shallow or tenuous, and therefore it only takes a few experiences of isolation to “prune” the student from engaging in the classroom.

Educators interested in enhancing connection can welcome a sense of play and associative thinking by conceptualizing the classroom as a type of extra-neural network that fosters meaningful connection, encourages empathy, honors student well-being, implements strategic collaboration, and emphasizes creative problem solving. At the heart of the neural classroom is a faith in creativity to forge new pathways and to connect students in meaningful ways so that each person is woven into the fabric of the learning environment. Many teachers already do this by encouraging students to work together outside of the classroom on collaborative projects. Learning to work with others isn’t just a social skill; it’s essential in both drawing out the strengths of each student and interlacing individuals to ensure the resiliency of the entire classroom.

We suggest that promoting creative/associative thinking can teach students how to value their own ideas and learn to enjoy the process of thinking. How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci author Michael Gelb offers many creativity-enhancing activities, including an exercise of comparing two seemingly unrelated items or concepts. Taking this into the classroom, teachers can ask students to consider what two disparate ideas have in common and write all of their answers on the board. Students thus learn to take risks (for example, a bird is like a typewriter because they both can involve pecking; the array of typebars is similar to a bird’s rib cage) and create connections to other students who resonate with their analogies. If educators can prioritize a portion of teaching time to making creativity a daily exploration, students learn courage, adaptability, and collaboration. Indeed, Linda Smarzik, author of The Mind of Thuse!! Thriving With Effortlessness, observes, “Taking small risks, and doing so consistently, shifts us out of our comfort zones into the process of creativity.”

Additionally, the instructor who emphasizes collaboration, active listening, and dialogue might, in fact, be using neural mimicry to weave together a classroom that breeds student success. Creativity can enhance neuroplasticity (the dynamic process of brain rewiring), which can serve as a classroom strategy for reaching all students and weaving them into the fabric of engagement and success.

If you find this concept worthy of further exploration, please vote for our proposed “The Classroom as a Neural Network” topic at the 2014 SXSW Education Conference (SXSWedu) PanelPicker forum. It will take about two minutes of your time. Voting opens Monday, August 19 and closes Friday, September 6, 2013. Thank you for your support!

By Charlotte

In the creative process, so many challenges arise, and as a writing teacher, these challenges seem to boil down to two essential cries of the critic:

1)    what you want to create has no value, and/or

2)    you don’t have the skills to deliver on the idea that has come to you

What I have learned to live and learned to teach centers on this concept: since the idea has come to you, there is no one other than yourself to birth the message to the world. It is through your own five senses that you will be able to bring forth the vision–it is the air you breathe, the road under your own specific feet, the smell of cumin in the Israeli souq that epitomizes your year in Tel Aviv—it is these exact things that will bring forth the idea that has been born within your private landscape. There is no other filled with the sense of this specific story, this specific sculpture, this painting. What you sense is worth bringing forward has arrived singly to you, and it is this singularity that both thrills and terrifies us.

Once a person can accept that the idea, the vision, is worthwhile, he or she has to come to terms with the reality that the necessary skills may not be available in one’s current tool kit. I would offer that it is only through time and practice that one can find the insight necessary to birth the message.

More specifically, I am thinking of my friend Amy, who lived for a year in Israel, working for a time at the Diaspora Museum, the Museum of the Jewish People. She lived in an apartment that held a sentinel tree in the courtyard and a door barred by a large piece of furniture. One night she decided to re-arrange and moved the wardrobe. To her surprise, she discovered a small room and in it, a box of letters from a woman to her brother, both political refugees from Russia; the sister resolved to be part of the Jewish settlement in Israel, and the brother went to Paris to cultivate his screenwriting/directing (and when the Nazis invaded he had to flee France, being on a list of most wanted of theirs. He made it to the US and finally to Hollywood where he continued his career).

I won’t give away all the electrifying details, but Amy’s discovery of that box has led her to meet new people and to know the world through an important, altered lens, and yet, the book that is waiting to be born remains unborn because Amy needs to arrive—to the place within herself that understands process, the development of skills, and the power of drafts. There is no one else to tell this story, and I firmly believe she is only one to bring this story to the world.

Like so many of us, Amy struggles with her faith in her ability to do justice to the story. Perhaps we sometime confuse humility with doubt—perhaps there’s more comfort in discounting our ideas because we sense the amount of learning we will have to embrace. Amy’s experience is profound and worth sharing; I only hope she comes to the point where she allows process to teach her what she needs to know about the story, about the nature of the human experience.

I’m ready to read the book of her experience. I’m trusting she will write it when both the confidence and the faith in process combine to give her the courage to pen the story.

By Melinda

Have you ever felt so connected to a story you read or heard that it changed the way you think about your life? Have you experienced the cathartic process of journaling, such that the act of writing about a trauma or challenge allowed you to release and transform it? I remember when I moved to Austin from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, and then experienced the traumatic breakup of a long-term relationship; around that same time, I had the good fortune to come across Pema Chodrön’s book When Things Fall Apart. Reading Pema’s story about how her own marriage ended under similar circumstances, as well as her advice for sitting with difficult emotions, helped me through the panic attacks and allowed me to start rebuilding my life. I began practicing meditation and journaling about the anger, the betrayal, the hurt, and the sadness, until slowly my world opened up again, allowing me to live in a fuller and richer way than ever before.

In recent years, scientific research has demonstrated the profound effects of writing and storytelling, both on the people who share their stories and those who receive those stories. Storytelling, perhaps the oldest distinctly human pastime, allows us to make meaning of the events of our lives, to teach and transmit information in a compelling way, and to share our experiences with others. Writing, a newer and more sophisticated human invention, helps us to solidify our learning into memories and makes it possible to address a much wider audience over a broader span of time than oral communication alone.

Recent studies have shown that storytelling (rather than simply relaying facts or bullet points) exerts a powerful influence on our emotions and thoughts, and helps us relate to others. When we hear a story, our brains activate as though we’re actually experiencing the events of the story firsthand. Writing your story and reading others’ stories can also have a calming effect on breathing, blood pressure, and anxiety. For example, a study published in 2011 showed that medical patients who listened to others’ stories of similar health problems received benefits in the form of lowered blood pressure. And the benefits may go well beyond the physiological: a National Public Radio report also from 2011described how end-of-life patients encouraged to write down their life stories often find new meaning in their lives and create a legacy that they can pass on to their families.

Dr. James Pennebaker at the University of Texas, has spent his academic career researching the effects of writing on health. In one study, he asked trauma survivors to write about the traumatic events they experienced. Those that did were able to make sense of their experiences in new ways, leading to healing and long-lasting health benefits, even years after writing about their traumas. Dr. Pennebaker’s website offers helpful instructions for writing about traumatic events to improve your physical and emotional health.

Syncreate embraces transformation through the creative process; this is one of our major areas of interest. Have you experienced the physical, mental, and emotional benefits of writing and storytelling? We’d love to hear your stories!

Links:

Visual News – How Does the Act of Writing Affect Your Brain?http://www.visualnews.com/2013/05/28/how-does-the-act-of-writing-affect-your-brain/

The New York Times – When Patients Share Their Stories, Health May Improvehttp://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/10/health/views/10chen.html?_r=0

National Public Radio – Dignity Therapy: For the Dying, A Chance to Rewrite Lifehttp://www.npr.org/2011/09/12/140336146/for-the-dying-a-chance-to-rewrite-life

Weebly.com General Psychology – How Can Writing Improve Your Health?http://general-psychology.weebly.com/how-can-writing-improve-your-health.html

Dr. James Pennebaker – Writing and Health: Some Practical Advice http://homepage.psy.utexas.edu/homepage/faculty/pennebaker/Home2000/WritingandHealth.html

By Charlotte and Melinda

Syncreate grew out of Melinda and Charlotte’s weekly coffee meetings, where we felt continually inspired by each other’s ideas. Together, our individual interests amplified in an exciting and innovative fashion, and this synergy began to expand out to other people and the wider world, and so we formed Syncreate.

Our first offering, “The Art and Science of Creativity: Exploring the Path and Expanding Your Tools,” took place at Case de Luz, in Austin, Texas, with seven lovely participants. From the get-go, the room sparkled with a collective desire to take risks and explore how the neuroscience of creativity might enrich any artistic process.

Wanting to make the most of our time together time, we emailed the participants ahead of time, asking them to reflect on:

1) What engages and inspires you?

2) What assets do you bring to this experience?

3) What do you hope to learn or take away from this workshop?

These questions form the basis of Syncreate’s vision.  We want to help you ignite your powers of innovation, tap into your inner resources, and enhance your tools so you can radiate your contributions to an ever-widening sphere of positive influence.

The workshop explored the neuroscience of creativity, presenting several strategies for deeper explorations of artistic pursuits.  One key component of creativity is the ability to create connections between seemingly unconnected ideas and objects, also known as associative thinking.  Participants engaged in a personal exploration of what a necklace and a prayer might have in common, and then worked together to build upon the initial connections.  This simple exercise can reveal our individual perspectives, and how—with a little time and supported space—we can bridge seemingly disparate ideas. To increase our insights, collaboration can be an essential aspect of the process.

We encourage people to spend a little time each day considering how vastly different elements of our world have common characteristics. We believe that this kind of activity can both bolster creativity and knit together the social and neural pathways so that our work might move toward more clarity and precision.

Here are a couple of interesting links for more information on associative thinking and creativity:

The Handbook of Creativity, edited by Robert J. Sternberg – Chapter 7, “The Biological Bases of Creativity,” by Colin Martindale, touches on this topic:http://books.google.ca/books?id=d1KTEQpQ6vsC

“Being Creative with Associative Thinking,” by Thomas Cotterill:http://thomascotterill.wordpress.com/2012/09/25/being-creative-with-associative-thinking/

By Charlotte

I believe in the power of art to transform the frightened heart, the scarred psyche, the unquiet mind.  In the tradition of Spider Woman, I have been taught that the story is a co-creation woven by what we each bring to the circle, that to tell is as important as to listen.  Storytellers use the web of story to inform, educate, enlighten, explore how we might live as social beings, capable of inflicting the worst kinds of pain and dispensing the deepest moments of compassion.

I believe that humans crave narrative, and that storytelling offers a path for healing, growth, and clarity.  It is through the story we learn to know each other and to overcome our bigotries and our pettiness.  I believe art should be available to all, no matter a person’s education, class, race, gender, sexual orientation—any of those small-minded categories where too many of us get confined or lost.  I believe that art needs to remember to be humble, that accessibility is just as important as aesthetics, that the garbage man is just as important on the stage as is the senator.

Specifically, I believe art has taught me my most important lessons: to be patient with process, to keep an open heart toward all people; that to there is more risk in vulnerability than there is in intellectual posturing; that sentimentality is too easy.  Instead I want pursue the quiet moments of potential change that are housed in every moment of our lives; that stories are a certain kind of magic, one that we willingly seek out so that our lives might seem brighter, wholer, more intact.