The art of great storytelling lies not just in the conclusion but in the skill of prolonging the journey. The creator knows the ending but strategically uses red herrings and tension to keep the audience engaged and away from the truth for as long as possible.
Twyla Tharp outlines the creator's spectrum of audience engagement: from complete manipulation to serve their desires, to total disregard in favor of pure self-expression. The optimal approach depends on the context, such as whether the work is a commercial contract or a personal artistic exploration.
When working privately, don't label early attempts as successes or failures. Instead, choreographer Twyla Tharp suggests evaluating them based on their utility. The crucial question is not "Is this good?" but "Is this useful? Does it generate the next question and move the process forward?"
Twyla Tharp defines a successful performance as a service provided. The key metric is not technical perfection or critical acclaim, but whether the audience leaves in a better state than they arrived—with a renewed sense of optimism or joy. This frames artistic creation as an act of public service.
Renowned choreographer Twyla Tharp defines the "spine" of a creative project as its central focus. This core idea connects all disparate elements, preventing the work from becoming disjointed and providing a grounding point from which all decisions must originate.
Gaining more knowledge as a creator doesn't make the process easier; it expands the field of options and raises the stakes, creating bigger challenges. Choreographer Twyla Tharp cites late-career Beethoven, whose deafness forced him into a unique, mature creative space.
To test the commitment of aspiring dancers, Twyla Tharp’s default advice is "don't do it." This seemingly discouraging response serves as a powerful filter. It weeds out those with fleeting interest, ensuring that only individuals with an absolute, undeniable internal drive will persist.
Twyla Tharp argues that a major success creates a more difficult creative situation than a failure. Success raises expectations and leaves the artist with the daunting question of "what now?" whereas failure provides a clearer, albeit painful, path forward to improve and try again.
While knowledge is valuable, choreographer Twyla Tharp argues that a creator's most difficult and essential work is "protecting but refining instinct." The challenge is to prevent intellectual understanding and external feedback from diluting the pure, immediate, and often correct, gut reactions that drive original work.
Twyla Tharp reframes her famous 5 a.m. gym routine not as a cherished ritual but as a "loathsome" reality. The purpose isn't enjoyment; it's the non-negotiable work required to prepare her "instrument" for the challenges ahead. Discipline is about necessity, not passion for the routine itself.
Twyla Tharp’s self-talk to combat a lack of motivation is a simple, powerful rule: "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 frames discipline not as a choice but as a prerequisite for future performance.
To avoid losing a project's initial spark, Twyla Tharp recommends keeping a literal box of tangible items. An object like a rock isn't a symbol; it holds the actual sensory memory—weight, texture—of the original idea. This physical anchor helps recall the core instinct when the creative process becomes confusing.
When building an elite team, choreographer Twyla Tharp looks beyond skill. The crucial factor is the collaborator's own intense desire to work with her and tackle immense challenges. The best team members effectively select themselves by demonstrating a commitment so strong they're willing to "go through the wall."