Cross-training as a creative

Top athletes are known to engage in a myriad activities outside of their core sport. Basketball players run, it helps with their agility on the court. Runners do yoga, it helps condition muscles that have been strained. Swimmers and tennis players lift, it helps them build body strength. Dancers attend conditioning classes, it helps develop every inch of their body for jumps and pirouettes.
Creatives do the same, either deliberately or organically. But it’s not common knowledge that artists also cross train. Non-creatives think artists specialize in a craft or technique, and that’s all they do.
You don’t have to be a creative or artistic professional before you start cross-training. By exposing yourself to a wide variety of art forms and activities, you not only think more creatively and see the world with an eye for beauty, but you’re also able to reflect on the nuances of your craft that you may tend to overlook because of familiarity.
Majority of my college career was spent writing. I looked at writing as my craft, my creative output and contribution. And I was also a voracious reader. I read anything and everything that came across me. Works of literature, print magazines, college publications, academic journals, blogs…
Writing helped me read better and pick up insights from articles more sharply and at great speed; reading helped me understand the structure and style of prose utilized by some of the world’s greatest writers and thinkers.
Reading also helped put a distance between me and writing. I stopped being too precious about what I wrote, and I didn’t have to pressure myself to produce my best work every single time I write.
A few years ago, I took a violin class because I wanted to learn an instrument. The instructor is a young and kind woman from Japan. In our weekly 1-hour violin lessons, she taught me more about the technical aspect of playing than the music itself — how to position my shoulders, how to hold a bow, where to place my fingers to find the right note. In the beginning, it all seemed forced. I felt I was holding the violin awkwardly, even when she’d tell me I was holding it right.
After class, and throughout the week leading to our next session, I would practice on my own. I would listen to the great violin masters. I would watch Youtube videos of people trying to study the violin. There I learned the creative aspect of playing, the “music” itself — as if I put myself through music theory class again. I learned about the process: which is all about practicing.
Violin to the chin, hand to the bow, bow to the violin, glide the bow on the violin.
I looked at the music sheet.
Then again: Violin to the chin, hand to the bow, bow to the violin, glide the bow on the violin.
I played the practice pieces slowly, then quickly, then note by note.
And again: Violin to the chin, hand to the bow, bow to the violin, glide the bow on the violin.
When the technical part becomes familiar, that’s where creativity happens.
As with my own writing, when I read enough works and write enough words, I’m able to better visualize a story and develop characters’ personas. When I listen to enough conversations and write enough dialogue, conversations between characters become more natural.
Some musicians paint. Some painters play music. Some artists dabble into sports. And the point is not being an expert at all of the activities outside one’s core craft — having focus is crucial after all — but by recognizing that giving attention to other activities can complement one’s craft.

