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Note: The following article is an extract from Yanni's biography 'Yanni in Words'.
Throughout this book about a life of challenges, lessons, dreams, and obstacles overcome, I’ve used one word again and again: creativity. Without it there would be no book. The act of creation gives me an alert mind, a physical rush, and an overall sense of well-being. Creation leads to satisfaction. The music I write is so in tune with who I am that when I play it back, it heals me.
Next to my loved ones, my ability to write music is the most important part of my life, and for years I have explored what that requires with a single minded passion. In these pages I have called the creation process “going into the music,” and “facing the black.” I have talked about love in the unknown instead of fearing it. I have said that creativity is about surrender, not control. But what do I mean by creativity? Is it a thing? A place? A quality? An action?
For me, creativity is best described as surrender and clarity. Picture it taking place in a zone, or in a private music universe in my head. There, I am one with what I create. I don’t think about the music; I just wait in the light at the edge of the black, or unknown, and bathe in the silence until the music comes to me, all at once. It is abundant and flows freely. I don’t observe the process- if I do, the process stops – I am the process. I don’t analyze or manipulate what comes, and most of all I do not judge. Creativity and judgments are opposite; both are valid, but they cannot exist in the same place at the same time. The instant I judge my creation-good, bad, indifferent- I find myself on the outside looking in, and creating moment vanishes.
People ask: is this kind of creativity accessible and available to everyone? Must you have a “gift” or natural talent? (No.) Does it require lots of money, a secluded aerie, and leisure time to spare? (No.) How about a dank garret, personal demons, and a drinking problem? (I think not.) Can a middle class housewife who wants to write a novel be creative even though she has three kids, a grumpy husband, and a full schedule? (Yes.) Can students be creative? (Naturally.) The elderly? (Absolutely.) Everybody, from the company CEO to the janitor who cleans the office building, from the chef to the teacher, salesperson, and two years old, is in some way creative every day.
Creativity is extremely easy. Effortless. So why does it seem so tough to achieve?
When people want to express themselves artistically, in any genre, at the beginning they tend to confuse the journey to creativity with the destination. The road to creativity is full of mental potholes. The mind plays games, has doubts, and lacks clarity. We are so diffused and unfocused in society. We are juggling so many different things all at once. You wake up in the morning and have to take the kids to school, make the insurance payment, take the car to get fixed, go to work; you get home at 7 and you are fried. Then you prepare dinner, watch the news, deal with the kids… your brain is anything but sharp. How could you create under these circumstances?
Life gets in the way.
There is learning curve, no question. Creativity requires commitment. That adage about genius being 5% inspiration and 99% perspiration – it’s true. The challenge is in setting up and getting to the place where you can be creative. To do that requires only this - passion, hard work, discipline, patience, focused will, and an open mind. Like I said there is a learning curve.
In the beginning, I played the piano in a college dormitory lounge, improvising without thinking, having no clue about the elements that make creativity possible. It just happened but not necessarily when I willed it to. Later, when I confined myself to my basement studio and promised not to emerge until I had written something, I came face to face with my limitations, and conductive to creativity, a place where the music in the black is revealed. I don’t know what’s going to come, but I know it will be exciting. “The black is the source of everything. The idea of the unknown usually scares people, but to me it is a great friend. I love standing at the very edge of the lit area-my knowledge-trying to see what’s beyond. My second album is called Out of Silence for a reason: that’s where the music is. In silence.
Tom Paske used to say with smile, “you go to studio and don’t talk to anybody for two weeks, and that’s weird. You are weird.”
I have learned over the years that certain preconditions aid the creative process. Before I could focus my will, I had to learn to detach. I am a natural worrier about all I have to do. Anxiety about the minutiae of daily life keeps us from being creative. Most people can’t avoid these tasks, but concern about them can be handled by making a list. I write down what I need to accomplish outside the creative space, when I’ll do it, and how. For instance, “Tomorrow at ten call the book editor to go over changes.” Then let go because I have already decided on a course of action. In the same way, you can temporarily put aside worries about insurance payment, your girl friend’s birthday or about who said what to whom at the party last night. Make the list; let it go. The more you do it, the easier it becomes. It’s over. Done. Empty your plate.
It helps to have a personal, protected space. I have my studio. You could close the den or bed room door, or whatever. Just find peace, quiet, solitude. I dim the lights because seeing distracts me while I’m playing. The darker it gets, the more my ears take over. The less external input my brain has, the better off I am. If you are a writer or a painter, you cannot turn out the lights, but you can limit noise and other diversions. Then allow your mind to fly.
It is not easy to do; especially you have got to forget who you are. To enter creativity, you must leave baggage outside. Preconceived notions and fears and insecurities can’t, by definition, come through the door. Inside you are naked.
Your creative space should also be clear of distractions. In the old days, I would be in the studio, zoning out, clearing my mind, focusing on only one thought-and the phone would ring. Like an idiot, I would answer it. On the other end somebody would want to talk about everything except what I was doing. I would get upset. “Why are you calling me? What are you saying? I can’t think about it right now. “Then I would hang up and feel bad because I had been rude. When I would try to go back to work, I couldn’t, I was upset. I would have to call back and say “Listen I ‘m sorry. I am writing this song and …”
I learnt to tell everyone, unless there is a nuclear explosion, don’t knock on my door. On second thought, even if there is a nuclear explosion I‘ll find out soon enough.” Eventually I learnt not to answer the phone. My father says it can be the most inconsiderate visitor.
Creativity is my job. My life is devoted to writing, recording, touring, and if I have learnt the lessons of this book, living. When I am in the studio, I have the luxury of being able to leave my creative sessions open-ended. I can say, “I am going to work for 2 hours or twenty.” But as a rule I don’t give myself a deadline. I just say, “I’m going to do this now.” Whatever happens. I don’t force it. When will it end? It doesn’t matter.
Most people can’t devote the time I do, but for however long you work, when you are there. Don’t push or feel you have to come up with anything. Take what comes. Even if nothing happens, the time is well spent. Learning how to focus is good practice.
When I am finally comfortable, sitting in my studio, I don’t just begin playing the piano. I roll my DAT tape, relax, focus, and wait for the music to come. The emotion appears first. Sometimes it has been with me for a day or two. I felt it, pushed it away, noticed it pushing back, as if it were telling me, I must write a piece of music with that feeling. I don’t know what the notes are yet; I just sense the emotional quality. Once, the emotion might have taken a week to reappear. Now it takes 15 minutes, half an hour, an hour at the most. After many years I have trained myself to become open and receptive fairly quickly. Once I get to the edge to the black, there is nothing left to do but surrender.
After I know the emotion, it‘s easy for the appropriate rhythm, melody, instruments, and so on to come to me. For example, will the song begin with the cello, a drumbeat or a big orchestra hit?
What I do not do is say,” Here’s the drumbeat, now let’s put a bass line underneath it.” I don’t play piano waiting to accidentally stumble on a riff. The song appears to me all at once. At first, it’s in liquid form. The structure isn’t absolute. It’s more of a general sensibility, like a splash of paint on a canvas. I know that in one corner I’ll have a tree, so I put a bit of green and brown. I don’t have to do every leaf. I’ll do that later. Then I see where the ocean goes, and a little boat, and may be some people walking on the beach.
These choices are easy because the emotion fills me and my whole body vibrates on that frequency. Even more important, when I latch onto that feeling, I don’t let go. I don’t spend an hour and then pick up the phone and call my friends. I’m in the process until I‘ve finished recording most of the songs. I stay with it. That’s why everyone knows to leave me alone and not call or come by. You may not have the same luxury of time that I do, but in whatever time you got, stick with the emotion and don’t let go.
The emotion is the key. I know that if a piece of music touches my soul, it will touch the souls of others. It’s no different for any creative person: what’s true inside of you connects to the truth inside everyone.
When I first began composing in earnest, nothing happened right away. In fact, despite my list making and other techniques, life kept popping up in my head. I eventually figured out to fight it. Unlike some meditators who seek to empty their minds, I just go whatever thoughts arise. The trick is to pick one thought and focus on that intently. For me, it can be a about a difficult adagio or my dry cleaning; there is no such thing as a wrong thought. I simply immerse myself in whatever comes up in the same way I do at night, sitting at the foot of the bed, reviving the day of my emotions.
Follow the thought all the way to the end. You can have mundane thoughts; that’s ok. “Did I leave the iron on?” or “was I a little harsh on the phone today?” even, “why aren’t I creating?” don’t resist. More serious thoughts will emerge. You are training yourself to concentrate on one idea or an emotion, to stay with it, to go deeply into it, to become it. At first, your mind will be mish-mash of turbulence. But as you learn to focus and become one with that thought you transform. Like a diamond, you cut through glass. A single focus thought is very powerful. Eventually your art will show itself and when it comes it is unconditional. The creative moment is made of truth. Your creations are your truth. It’s the pure you.
I don’t have to be in the studio or creating music to focus so intensely. I might be able to create a butterfly landing on my finger, or stop the wind before a concert. Why? Because creativity is not only about creative music; it is about creating your life. While I’m in this phase I’ll often close my eyes and surrender and ask life to give me what is good for me. I see life as I want it to be.
Focused intent is the instrument of power. The source of power is in faith. How clear you can be and how much faith can you have? How little doubt can you have in what you’re creating? The more doubt you have, the less likely it is that the creation will come to life. Creating music teaches me how to create life. I cannot prove it and I don’t want to. What matters to me is that I had faith, when the butterfly settled on my index finger and I stood up with her still there, it blew me away.
The process is extremely personal, and sometimes because I have been embarrassed to close my eyes and do it in public, I have even done in a bathroom. But focusing is focusing. It doesn’t matter where you do it. You don’t have to be by the beach or on a dramatic cliff with the wind howling.
In the studio, when I am in the music and the moment of clarity happens, when I ‘m flying and the music is coming, and I ‘m feeling the rush and having a great time, it’s very easy to spotlight on my life and say, “here’s what I want.” I try to do it well. I approach it humbly and allow the wisdom of life to make the decision. In my experience, when I feel that strongly, when I am that passionate, what I see usually happens. Remember, passion is the fuel.
That is magic. It’s also matter of fact. I don’t like to use big words or concepts to describe it because I don’t think of the process as a big deal. In fact, it might all be just a giant coincidence, and may be a universe is playing a joke on me. But I don’t care. Whatever is happening works for me. I’ve learnt to trust that it works. It’s not mystical, it’s not difficult (now), and it’s not mysterious. Either it’s true and it works for everything, or it wouldn’t work for anything. There’s no middle ground.
Everyone can learn how to tap into creativity, trust, belief and focused will form the pool of creativity; all that’s left is to dive in and let the magic begin.
The more time you spend in that space, the more creative you’ll become, and the more effective you’ll become. But just as with everything else in life, you have to work at it.
Part of difficulty is getting there is that in our culture we are really not taught to trust the instinctive moment. We are told to reply on facts and figures, probability and analysis, history and reason. All are fine – in their place. We also have voices in our heads- parents, teachers, the media, ourselves- that interfere by judging. “That’s not good enough.” “Who do you think you are, Mozart?” “No one will care about what I’m doing.”
When I was younger I got into my own way by asking myself questions like, how long does a piece need to be? What kind of music should I write? The answer is to write what you like. The piece is going to be as long as it keeps you interested. If it bores you, cut it.
Society does everything it can to fill you with distrust of yourself and others. We grow up in an environment where we are laughed at or criticized for thinking that we create could profoundly affect people and may be make a difference in their lives, or be worth doing for nobody but ourselves.
Even when you are not trying to be creative, you should work on getting rid of those voices. To take some time each day to sit quietly in a room without any distractions, or to walk, or even just to turn off the TV is probably one of the most valuable things you can do. Left alone with your own thoughts, you will exercise focusing your mind.Like a muscle, the ability to focus will keep getting stronger.
If I could keep someone in a room for few hours with no outside distractions, she’ll be amazed at what she could create. She may spend only few minutes or few seconds in the zone, without judgment and come up with only one line. But what if the line is, “to be or not to be, that is the question”?
With time the process gets easier and there are rewards along the way. Just don’t expect to be Shakespeare overnight.
When a creative moment happens, no matter how briefly it lastly, you will recognize it forever more. Physically, I get hot. Sometimes I get goose bumps. I feel the rush. I can try to describe it until I turn blue in the face, but words fall short.
You’ll know it, I promise.
Then you will try to get it back as often as possible. The levels I go to when I write a re pretty high. I float. I feel happy, peaceful, empowered. It’s an incredible experience. To me, it’s heaven, if you will. There is enormous pleasure associated with creativity.
Creativity is addictive.
Everyone and I mean everyone, falls into trap of judging material as it emerges. That kills the creativity. I have screwed up the process in every which way possible. I always felt intelligent and experienced enough to think I could mould the music instead of just letting it happen. That’s using logic and knowledge and experience, and sometimes I messed up so badly, I had to throw away entire songs. They weren’t among my best ones, and you never heard them.
It took me years to accept this truth- let it be.
Once I’ve let go of everything and I am calmly facing the unknown, the music comes. Give up control and something comes. I guarantee it.
However, be prepared. What comes out may not be what you are expecting or hoping for. Remember, creativity is not linear. Like I said before: you may know A and B and end up finding Q without knowing quite how. It’s a quantum leap. You’re just there.
Was Shakespeare thinking, “I’ve got to come up with a line that contains the essential dilemma of existence?” he didn’t think the words “To be or not to be” before he thought them – impossible, right?– they just came. He wrote. Did he cause them; did they cause him to write?
Once, in an hour and a half, I worked on six different pieces of music, and all six of them made it onto the Tribute album. It’s all on a DAT tape, number thirty, in my safe. Every 10 min a different piece of music came out. On the tape you can hear me play “Tribute” the entire piece for the first time. A couple of minutes later, “Renegade” came out.
When I get into the zone, I find an unlimited amount of music. My most difficult decision is which piece of to do. What do I bring down into the world? It can be a rock ‘n’ roll piece, a jazz piece, a classical piece. When I decide, I bring it down by surrendering it, not grasping at it. It has to come to me the way a butterfly lands on your fingertips. I can’t say it often enough: trust there is light at the end of the tunnel. Trust the outcome and don’t destroy your creation. If you don’t trust, you ain’t got jack.
Trust is also important because when I play, I don’t know whether the music tells me where it wants to go or I tell it where to go. Any writer will tell you this: at first he tells his characters what to do, and then they tell him.
Writing a piece of music is like being on a roller coaster. You go up and down, they are twists to the left, twists to the right and there are no rules. Take a song like “Nostalgia” with a run coming down and series of runs climbing up. It’s may be twenty years old and I played it in every concert. It taught me about ups and downs. I remember playing it for the first time: at the very moment I felt like changing directions-as in diving-the music had already begun diving. The moment I felt it should turn, it had already turned. I didn’t know if I was telling it to turn or if it was turning and I was just following. Now, I describe the process as allowing. I allow the piece of music to tell me what it wants to be. Logically I must be causing it, but in my experience I can’t really tell. All I know is that at the outset I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I retrospect, I realize the song couldn’t have turned out any other way.
At first the feeling of creativity lasted only seconds but I have learned how to make it endure. I spent years investigating this. Could I make 10 seconds become 11 seconds and how do I get it started in the first place? What do I have to do to get there? Eventually, rules emerged and made sense - and I have tried to share some of them here.
Creativity has always been practical and down-to-earth to me. It just comes slowly, like learning how to play your piano. I didn’t practice for 3 hours and know everything. In fact, after playing for month I thought, I’m never going to learn how to do this. Often the process is more disappointing than encouraging, but there is always a little bit of encouragement every time, and you must trust the outcome. I trust instincts; I always wanted to find out for myself. I trust that life will guide me into this power. It’s like learning to shoot skeet. You fire and first have no sense of how to hit anything- and you don’t. But after you actually hit the clay pigeon, your improvement is ten-fold because your mind and body have a sense of what it took to hit it. It’s the same with creativity. Once you have the first positive outcome, the next few positives are quicker and easier because you have a sense of what your body and psyche feel like when it happens. Once you know how it feels you know what to look for.
If you have a passion for anything-painting, writing, music, whatever-these suggestions might help, because creativity is the same for everybody. We all go to the same place.
You can talk about anything you want, but you can only truly know what you actually experience. That is yours. If you use your art to express only what you know, then your art will be original. Just tell the truth about what life feels like to you.
I show what life feels like to me.
The reward has always been discovering that I am far from alone.
So dive in, and let the magic begin.
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