We were all creative once

Taking the kids to a New England Regional Art Museum workshop over the school holidays, 'Clay and Play', allowed for some reflections on creativity. The task was simple- to make an incense holder, or do whatever else they felt like doing with the clay. What happened in the room was more interesting than the task. 

Some kids made exactly what was asked. Some made animals. Some pressed fingers into the surface, experimented with the tools on the table, and fully absorbed into the material itself. No outcome in mind, and no product at the end. 

Nobody hesitated. Nobody asked if they were doing it right. 

What the research says:

In the 1960s, Scientist George Land worked with NASA on a divergent thinking study (the ability to hold multiple possible solutions to a problem at once, as opposed to converging on a single correct answer). 1,600 children were tested over time. 

By age 5, 98% scored at genius level.
By age 10, 30%
By adulthood, just 2%. 

We aren't born uncreative. This study shows it is quite the opposite. Rather, we're taught out of it. 

What this has to do with Architecture:

Architecture holds an interesting postion here. It's a profession that requires creative thinking, and yet similarly operates within systems that demand efficiency and therefore reward repeatability and predictable outcomes. Fee pressure is real. Time pressure is real. The temptation to reach for what worked last time is always there. 

Here we are though, pushing back against this, fighting the good fight, and it's crucial we do so. Every site catches light differently. Every family moves through their day differently. Every brief, if we sit with it long enough, asks for something specific.

We need to hear and being willing to not know the answer yet; to hold the question open a little longer than the larger economic engine is comfortable with. 

This engine might tell us this is inefficinecy. Instead, this is where good design outcomes stem from. 

The kids in the room weren't worried about the incense holder. They were paying attention to the clay; what it could do, what it felt like, what happened if they pushed or pulled it differently. The brief was the starting point, and what came after was entirely their own. 

That capacity doesn't disappear; it just needs permission to show up. 

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