"Most artists have experienced the creative block. We get stuck in our work. We beat our head against the wall: nothing. Sometimes, it is because we are trying something at the wrong time"
About this Quote
Creative block is not always a lack of talent or effort; it can be a timing problem. Lukas Foss points to a simple but often overlooked truth: ideas have their own tempo. Forcing them can be like pushing a string. The mind sometimes needs a shift in season, mood, skill, or circumstance before it can move. What feels like a dead end may be a misalignment between the task and the moment.
As a composer, conductor, and champion of improvisation, Foss understood timing not just as a clock but as a living rhythm. On the podium, he shaped entries and silences; in the studio, he navigated phases of inspiration and revision. His work often invited spontaneity and chance, suggesting a faith that material can ripen if given space. That sensibility underlies the idea of the wrong time. A contrapuntal passage might demand technical clarity that is unavailable at midnight fatigue. A bold experiment may require the distance of a later stage, after foundations are laid. Sometimes the emotional register does not match the project; sorrow will not write comedy, and exuberance cannot score lament, at least not honestly.
Cognitive science mirrors this artistic intuition. Creativity relies on a dance between divergent and convergent thinking. If you try to converge when the mind is still generating possibilities, you strangle the work. If you brainstorm when the piece needs pruning, you drown it. Incubation matters: stepping away lets unconscious processes sort, sift, and surprise.
Foss offers permission to trust cycles rather than punish oneself against a wall. The wiser move is to change the tempo: switch tasks, play, listen, walk, rehearse a different passage, or wait for a day whose light suits the material. The work is not gone; it is simply not yet. Timing, like form, is part of the craft.
As a composer, conductor, and champion of improvisation, Foss understood timing not just as a clock but as a living rhythm. On the podium, he shaped entries and silences; in the studio, he navigated phases of inspiration and revision. His work often invited spontaneity and chance, suggesting a faith that material can ripen if given space. That sensibility underlies the idea of the wrong time. A contrapuntal passage might demand technical clarity that is unavailable at midnight fatigue. A bold experiment may require the distance of a later stage, after foundations are laid. Sometimes the emotional register does not match the project; sorrow will not write comedy, and exuberance cannot score lament, at least not honestly.
Cognitive science mirrors this artistic intuition. Creativity relies on a dance between divergent and convergent thinking. If you try to converge when the mind is still generating possibilities, you strangle the work. If you brainstorm when the piece needs pruning, you drown it. Incubation matters: stepping away lets unconscious processes sort, sift, and surprise.
Foss offers permission to trust cycles rather than punish oneself against a wall. The wiser move is to change the tempo: switch tasks, play, listen, walk, rehearse a different passage, or wait for a day whose light suits the material. The work is not gone; it is simply not yet. Timing, like form, is part of the craft.
Quote Details
| Topic | Art |
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