Twyla Tharp demystifies concept of creativity

The 185 Nassau building is to the dancer, poet and painter what a sequestered study space in Firestone is to the economics student feverishly working on his problem set. There, Princeton's mecca for the creative arts, the aspiring writer and photographer can find solace and a place to develop those skills that are often not as recognized inside Princeton's proverbial gates.

Appropriately, in the Stewart Film Theater last Friday afternoon, Twyla Tharp delivered a prophetic speech, "How to Tap the Creativity within Each of Us." The theater was packed with people whose interests ranged from songwriting to computer science.

Tharp, the renowned choreographer, was introduced by Ze'eva Cohen, head of Princeton's dance program. After glazing over Tharp's accomplishments in choreography—creating more than 125 dances for Broadway, including her most recent Tony Award-winning musical "Movin' Out"— in film, ballet and modern dance, Cohen honored Tharp in a way that entirely justified the prophetic tone in which Tharp delivered her lecture.

Cohen declared that this choreographer had entirely altered "the way we think and enjoy dance."

Tharp, whose introduction declared her to be a giant of her time, approached the podium, dressed all in black, diminutive and hidden behind elegant but conspicuous glasses. Draped over her shoulders, like a sable throw, were two long green flowers that she had taken from the flowerpot in front of her. She began, in a voice too large to come from her fragile yet taut body, by asking if anyone in the audience knew what the flowers were.

Tharp's lecture continued in this manner: imbued with eccentricity, hardened with a striking confidence, an abrasive tone and an unrelenting indifference to how she was perceived and yet softened by the instant connection she made with her audience.

The body of Tharp's lecture was on her most recent book, "Creative Habit."

Tharp's demystification of this elusive topic of creativity was part cultish doctrine, part Thoreauvian example, part self-help guru. She was doggedly serious, but not without a sense of humor. She was the preacher at the pulpit and the lauded master of creativity, but also its eager student.

Citing Mozart, "her dear friend Wolfie," Tharp explained that we "all have the potential to see new things" and are "creative beings," but the key to augmenting the creative process is in "preparation." She cautioned that creativity is both "a skill and a craft." Though Mozart did have "God's gift," he also had extraordinary ambition and was always ready. Preparedness to Tharp is to not let fear be an obstacle, "not to be judgmental and to get down to business" and to "assume you'll have a good idea every idea." To do this, she added, one "needs movement."

Movement, as Tharp described it, "is the first thing we do" every morning. Everybody knows how to move. If we can all acknowledge our expertise in movement, we can allow it to help us "tap into our creativity."

Tharp's last piece of advice was to realize that you can never be too good at something, you can always get better and that one must learn to use criticism and take hold of failure, which is inevitable.

Tharp's message was neither hackneyed nor trite. Rather, her audience departed energized by her message, and ready to make their own attempts to create. Tharp had cautioned that "in order to think out of the box, you must have a box," a starting point. Her speech was the box for creativity.