In research for my Creativity Class, when I first came across the Logical Thinking Skills aspect in Tardif and Sternberg’s Cognitivie Characteristics of Creativity, it seemed an apparent contradiction to state creativity, a concept previously understood to me to be something unpredictable, free flowing, and original, had anything to do with a system of formal logic. My text (Creativity in the Classroom, Starko) justified the seeming paradox by claiming “highly creative people [must] have excellent logical thinking skills…to be effective in gathering information about a situation, to focus on important issues, or to evaluate potential ideas.” It goes on to argue that “logical thinking can even be a tool for dealing with novelty.” These arguments seemed to make some sense to me, so I accepted them and moved on. It was not until last night, however, that I really began to understand the many ways in which logic helps us to creatively respond to the world.
This past week, I have shut myself away in my Modern Philosophy studies. When beginning to study for my midterm and first paper, I found that I had not kept up with the semester’s studies. As a result, Descartes and Spinoza have become my best friend. Preparing for my midterm was the first situation in a long time in which I have found myself truly stressed. I started panicking at times; adrenaline kept me alert, but unfocused; I had a very difficult time relaxing when with friends. Last night, I went to the home of a friend who had taken Modern Philosophy previously, in preparation for the midterm, so that I could talk to her about some of the concepts.
She amazes me. Not only did she clearly and distinctly remember Descartes’ proofs from when she had taken the class two years earlier, but through our conversation, sometimes more far reaching than the arguments of the philosophers, I found that she was able to, when she read philosophy, not only brilliantly analyze it for its validity, but is also able to directly apply it to her life. Oftentimes, when I approach a great thinker, I can take in their comments, but I have great difficulty looking through the eyes of their worldview either to analyze its appropriateness to my own life, or to step into their P.O.V. to compare it to the thoughts of others. I have found that there are many logical cross-connections I am missing. My thoughts are very context dependent and memorization based; I can understand the philosophers through themselves, but trying to apply them to different situations is extremely difficult and confusing. This is why my friend’s approach to philosophy stunned me. When she analyzed the arguments of the philosophers, she easily filled in the logical steps to transfer their claims to her own life. She then argued back. Writing to me which seemed unapproachable became undefendable under her scrutiny.
This experience led me to once again more deeply question the link between creativity and logical thinking. My friend’s ability to clearly hold on to arguments and follow them through to their implications allowed her to take viewpoints and deduce resulting effects and assumptions in a multitude of contexts. Whereas I read a text and can explain it, she reads a text and can explain some element of life. My conversations with her renewed my determination to focus on further training my mind in logic. Although it may seem simple or inflexible at times, logical thinking is an incredible tool for taking a wisp of a feeling, an inkling of an idea, and extrapolating it to the far reaches of perception. Logic is central to the generation and analysis of ideas in novel situations. Therefore, it must necessarily be a key component of creativity.
2.3.10
Eh Eh Eh!!!!
So tonight I was affectionately referred to as "Bald Guy" by an old Brazilian man. Check that one off my bucket list.
I just got home from a capoeira demonstration hosted by Alpha Mu Gamma for National Foreign Language Week. Steph Eckman arranged for Mestre Doutor and his students to come to West Chester for a Capoeira demonstration. When I saw the flyer, I knew that make time to attend.
Expecting a few college students to be talking at us and doing flips, I was surprised to find a Brazilian man with a wonderful accent standing on the stage with Capoeiristas of all ages arranged in a semi circle on the stage. After a few light hearted jokes, Mestre Doutor said "you know what, just watch. Just watch." Then the music began.
Two men started playing their berimbaus - wonderful stringed/percusion instruments - to set the tone. A tambourine and a conga joined in. I've seen people practice Capoeira before, but usually by themselves, and never with the accompanying instruments. Let me tell you, it is a ritual unlike anything I've ever experienced before.
As the first two dancers stood, Mestre unleashed his wonderful tenor into a Brazilian song, punctuated by the claps of the audience. Then the dancing began. Head stands and kicks and sweeps and leaps; bounces and dance steps, all started and ended by the partner's gentle touch of each other's hands.
I had forgotten how good it was to watch martial artists use their bodies. Even before the music started, I felt like I was back at a TSD tournament just by observing how everyone stood on the stage; completely comfortable with their bodies, balanced and limber. Its easy to read Gardner and agree with the multiple intelligences, but tonight, I remembered how much I believed in kinesthetics.
Each dancer had their own personal style. A 6 and a half foot tall lanky frenchman with dreads relied on sweeping kicks and a few low turns. One girl twisted in stalls on the ground and slid along kicking for knees. A fibrous man with a mowhawk had complete control of his movement and could jump three feet into the air from any position. The Mestre himself liked to scream like a girl and headbut his partner when they weren't prepared for it. The reason I enoy martial arts so much, especially capoeira, is because it is a perfect model of creativity expressed through the beauty of ritual. The community knows the songs to sing, the beats to clap, the entrance into the ring and the touch that starts the dance. Each dancer has a repoitoire of moves which can be played with at any moment. But the combination of moves, in sync with another creator, is what makes each round unique, priceless, and hopelessly fun. As the dancers spin around each other, throwing moves, bending, always filling the space and never touching, mimicking then complementing each other, I wonder at the pathways in the brain that are orgasming as they decide which new, smooth movement to insert into this timeless dance. On stage everything I used to love about Tang Soo Do, the give and take, response to breath and extension, and of course, all of the silly moves I used to love, were exalted. Within five minutes I knew two things: this was my style, and I wanted to dance.
That's when the Mestre called for audience members to come and join the group. James, Lanie, Nick Magno and I instantly emptied our pockets, kicked off our shoes, and leapt onto the stage. We were joined by a wrestler, whose low stance was lumbering, yet smooth and purposeful. AN out of practice martial artist showed the skills that used to be refined. Nick would switch into breakdancing steps and freezes in between exchanges. James dropped low, before striking like a cobra, and smilling as he dodged the moves. Lanie had perfect form, each kick an expression of a lifetime of dancing. I spun and swept and crouched as the Mestre and I played and struck and waltzed. Every style was welcomed. When in the circle, every participant was praised for their originality, their uniqueness, their creativity. Never had I experienced such a beautiful representation of the enjoyment of freeflowing human movement.
So now, after eating a handful of grapes - nature's snack food - I thank the stars for the dance that released me from a very gray day of disapointments and misgivings. Energized, I am ready to write some papers, and perhaps make myself some eggs. Either Steph or James had better start a capoeira club as their capstone. I don't think I'll be able to live my life without this ritualized celebration of spontaiety.
The Mestre Doutor's style was playful. Whether he was holding his back in mock anguish, screaming like a girl, or cracking jokes in front of the audience, his goodwill carried through his loving teasing. He explained to us that because capoeira was developed as a secret fighting form, each capoeirista received a special Capoeira nick name to hide their real name. When James put on his army jacket, his became Matrix. If I ever start practicing, I feel like I already know what my name would be. Man, I had even let my hair grow for about a week since I last shaved it. I guess there are just some battles you can never win.
I just got home from a capoeira demonstration hosted by Alpha Mu Gamma for National Foreign Language Week. Steph Eckman arranged for Mestre Doutor and his students to come to West Chester for a Capoeira demonstration. When I saw the flyer, I knew that make time to attend.
Expecting a few college students to be talking at us and doing flips, I was surprised to find a Brazilian man with a wonderful accent standing on the stage with Capoeiristas of all ages arranged in a semi circle on the stage. After a few light hearted jokes, Mestre Doutor said "you know what, just watch. Just watch." Then the music began.
Two men started playing their berimbaus - wonderful stringed/percusion instruments - to set the tone. A tambourine and a conga joined in. I've seen people practice Capoeira before, but usually by themselves, and never with the accompanying instruments. Let me tell you, it is a ritual unlike anything I've ever experienced before.
As the first two dancers stood, Mestre unleashed his wonderful tenor into a Brazilian song, punctuated by the claps of the audience. Then the dancing began. Head stands and kicks and sweeps and leaps; bounces and dance steps, all started and ended by the partner's gentle touch of each other's hands.
I had forgotten how good it was to watch martial artists use their bodies. Even before the music started, I felt like I was back at a TSD tournament just by observing how everyone stood on the stage; completely comfortable with their bodies, balanced and limber. Its easy to read Gardner and agree with the multiple intelligences, but tonight, I remembered how much I believed in kinesthetics.
Each dancer had their own personal style. A 6 and a half foot tall lanky frenchman with dreads relied on sweeping kicks and a few low turns. One girl twisted in stalls on the ground and slid along kicking for knees. A fibrous man with a mowhawk had complete control of his movement and could jump three feet into the air from any position. The Mestre himself liked to scream like a girl and headbut his partner when they weren't prepared for it. The reason I enoy martial arts so much, especially capoeira, is because it is a perfect model of creativity expressed through the beauty of ritual. The community knows the songs to sing, the beats to clap, the entrance into the ring and the touch that starts the dance. Each dancer has a repoitoire of moves which can be played with at any moment. But the combination of moves, in sync with another creator, is what makes each round unique, priceless, and hopelessly fun. As the dancers spin around each other, throwing moves, bending, always filling the space and never touching, mimicking then complementing each other, I wonder at the pathways in the brain that are orgasming as they decide which new, smooth movement to insert into this timeless dance. On stage everything I used to love about Tang Soo Do, the give and take, response to breath and extension, and of course, all of the silly moves I used to love, were exalted. Within five minutes I knew two things: this was my style, and I wanted to dance.
That's when the Mestre called for audience members to come and join the group. James, Lanie, Nick Magno and I instantly emptied our pockets, kicked off our shoes, and leapt onto the stage. We were joined by a wrestler, whose low stance was lumbering, yet smooth and purposeful. AN out of practice martial artist showed the skills that used to be refined. Nick would switch into breakdancing steps and freezes in between exchanges. James dropped low, before striking like a cobra, and smilling as he dodged the moves. Lanie had perfect form, each kick an expression of a lifetime of dancing. I spun and swept and crouched as the Mestre and I played and struck and waltzed. Every style was welcomed. When in the circle, every participant was praised for their originality, their uniqueness, their creativity. Never had I experienced such a beautiful representation of the enjoyment of freeflowing human movement.
So now, after eating a handful of grapes - nature's snack food - I thank the stars for the dance that released me from a very gray day of disapointments and misgivings. Energized, I am ready to write some papers, and perhaps make myself some eggs. Either Steph or James had better start a capoeira club as their capstone. I don't think I'll be able to live my life without this ritualized celebration of spontaiety.
The Mestre Doutor's style was playful. Whether he was holding his back in mock anguish, screaming like a girl, or cracking jokes in front of the audience, his goodwill carried through his loving teasing. He explained to us that because capoeira was developed as a secret fighting form, each capoeirista received a special Capoeira nick name to hide their real name. When James put on his army jacket, his became Matrix. If I ever start practicing, I feel like I already know what my name would be. Man, I had even let my hair grow for about a week since I last shaved it. I guess there are just some battles you can never win.
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