Master the Creative Process | Twyla Tharp

Tharp's daily 5 AM, two-hour gym routine is not a 'ritual' she enjoys, but a 'reality' she adheres to out of necessity. She views her body as an instrument that must be constantly challenged and maintained. This rigorous physical discipline sets the tone for her entire day, establishing a foundation of hard work and readiness. Her internal dialogue on days she doesn't want to go is simple: 'If you don't work when you don't want to work, you're not going to be able to work when you do want to work.' This highlights a core philosophy of consistent effort regardless of immediate desire, which she attributes to her upbringing on a farm and her mother's emphasis on practice and not wasting time.

The 'spine' is a critical concept for any creator, representing the core idea or central theme that anchors a project. Geometrically, it's the center that connects and coordinates all lateral and vertical elements. In creative terms, it's the fundamental purpose or intention that guides the work, preventing it from becoming fragmented or losing direction. Tharp illustrates this with Agatha Christie novels, where the 'who did the crime' is the spine, and the author's job is to delay that conclusion while maintaining trust with the audience. For the creator, understanding the spine from the outset is paramount, even if the audience doesn't immediately perceive it. It's about knowing 'why are you doing this?' and what your purpose is, which can range from fulfilling a contract to exploring a personal interest.

Tharp advocates for the power of consistent, scheduled practice in creative endeavors, likening it to 'brick laying.' For someone aspiring to be a writer, for example, the act of showing up at a specific time each day, even for a limited duration like an hour and a half, is crucial. This regular engagement, regardless of inspiration, builds the habit and allows the individual to internalize the identity of a creator. It's about putting 'something on the page' and trusting that this consistent effort will eventually lead to the work finding itself, evolving, and potentially becoming something significant. The expectation is not for immediate breakthroughs or enjoyment in every session, but for the cumulative effect of sustained effort.

Tharp strongly advocates for classical ballet training as an indispensable foundation for any dancer. She compares it to a musician needing to understand the circle of fifths, arguing that ballet offers a centuries-old, highly evolved system for understanding and controlling the human body in motion. The 'bar' work, with its specific exercises like pliés, tendus, rond de jambe, and frappés, is designed to strengthen the body's structure, develop a strong center, and build the power needed for jumps and complex movements. While she doesn't insist on perfect classical alignment for all forms of dance, she emphasizes that having this 'gear' allows a dancer to precisely control movement and understand trajectory. She contrasts the rigorous, sometimes brutal, training in places like the Kirov Ballet, which aims for absolute uniformity, with her own approach that seeks to accommodate individual body types while still achieving a unified 'center' in her choreography.

Tharp strongly links sustained physical movement to longevity and the preservation of cognitive function and curiosity. She observes that people tend to move less as they age, which she believes directly contributes to neurological atrophy, particularly in the distal parts of the body (fingers and feet) and then moving inward. This atrophy is not just physical but also impacts the brain's capacity for curiosity and engagement. She emphasizes that it's not just about moving 'more,' but also about the 'degree' of movement and maintaining a 'fearlessness' in pushing physical boundaries. While acknowledging that the body's capabilities change with age, the goal is to continue seeking 'push back' and friction, adapting to new limitations rather than retreating from physical challenge. This active engagement helps maintain independence and prevents the demoralizing effects of a declining body.

Tharp explains that while many might assume success provides momentum and confidence, it actually presents a unique and often more difficult challenge. After a major success, the question becomes 'Now what?' The pressure to replicate or exceed that achievement can be immense, and finding a new path forward without simply repeating past formulas or abandoning one's core artistic beliefs is a complex task. She contrasts this with failure, where the path forward is often clearer: learn from mistakes and try again. Success, paradoxically, can leave a creator feeling adrift, searching for the next meaningful endeavor.

Tharp contrasts the artistic environment of the 1960s and 70s with the present. In earlier times, artists were deeply interconnected, constantly observing and reacting to each other's work, leading to a dynamic and continuously evolving creative landscape. This was facilitated by a lower cost of living, which afforded artists the freedom to pursue their craft without immediate financial pressures. Today, however, the sheer volume of information and the way art is consumed through media (rather than direct experience) has changed the game. Tharp now intentionally isolates herself from much of the contemporary art scene, choosing to view culture through a 'media perspective' to understand how consumers receive it. This shift necessitates a different approach to discerning what is 'grounded' and 'productive' amidst the 'swirl of stuff.'

Tharp suggests a profound connection between an individual's relationship with their own body and their capacity for ethical leadership. She speculates that if those in power consistently prioritized the care and honor of their physical selves, they might be less inclined to devise policies or systems that are detrimental to others. The implication is that a deep understanding and respect for one's own physical being could foster a greater sense of empathy, propriety, and a desire for excellence that extends beyond the individual to the collective. This perspective challenges the common separation of mind and body, suggesting that physical neglect might contribute to a disconnect from fundamental human needs and values in decision-making.

Tharp notes a significant shift in how young dancers are trained and motivated due to the proliferation of competitive dance events for children as young as six. While these competitions create a larger talent pool and can harden performers against nerves, they also instill a different kind of purpose. Instead of focusing solely on the intrinsic development of technique and artistic expression, young dancers are incentivized to 'sell it' to judges and audiences for points and external validation. This can lead to a performance style that prioritizes immediate impact and manipulation over the rigorous, internally driven pursuit of craft. Tharp contrasts this with her own training, which emphasized stoicism and internal drive, and expresses concern that this extrinsic reward system might shortchange the development of a deeper, more versatile technique and artistic range in the long run.