As most of you know, I teach English and creative writing at a local high school. My creative writing classes are working on creative nonfiction, and I typically spend a week or two helping them collect dozens of ideas. Creative nonfiction lends itself well to childhood memories, and I decided to try something to shake some of those memories loose, while helping students analyze their own creative process.

I assigned a day of play.

It took me a couple days to pull together the materials: play dough, legos, water paints and paper, coloring books and pencils, and fort-building materials (sheets and duct tape). On the day of play, I dragged four bags of fun from my car to my classroom and waited in anticipation— this was either going to be phenomenal or a complete flop.

As they came in, I directed them to choose one of the activities from a list on the board and to play for the period. I wish I had video. The questions came rapid-fire:

“How will this be graded?”
“What for?”
“Are you serious?”
“Is there a rubric?” (I nearly died.)
“What’s the catch?”

I had decided ahead of time that I would not interrupt the process with explanations or analysis. I was determined to get them to play. My answer repeatedly was: “No catch, no grade, just play.”

Most cheered. Some whined. But everyone chose something and began. As soon as the lids came off the play dough and the sound of digging in the lego bin ensued, the mood shifted.

“I remember this smell!”
“Can you find another wheel for my car?”
“I haven’t done this in a long time.”
“Can I stay in here the rest of the day?”

Most were relaxed and jubilant by the end of the period. Some spent the period frustrated with their creation. Most telling? No one was on their phone, except to take pictures (which I asked them to do). When I called for five minutes until cleanup, there were groans and protests.

As they left, I heard statements like:

“I feel so relaxed.”
“That was more fun than I thought.”
“Can we do this again tomorrow?”
“I forgot how much I loved doing this.”

And my favorite, from a junior with a pretty intense schedule:
“I really needed this. It was completely therapeutic.”

The next day, we had a debrief, first in writing and then aloud. When asked how they felt when told to “play,” the answers were all over the map:

“I kept waiting for the catch.”
“I wasn’t sure what you meant.”
“It felt stupid and condescending.”
“I thought maybe you didn’t have lesson plans.” (HA!)
“I was so happy.”

When asked to analyze their creative process and choices, most students admitted they chose something they knew they could do and either replicated something they had done before or followed a model online (yes, some students looked up examples— from play dough to drawing inspiration). Most noted that they took a minute to envision the final product and then set about making the medium match their vision. Others just began playing and let the free form become a shaped product. Only a few (out of 100 students) tried something they had never done before.

I think their experience mirrors what we see in a society where failure is associated with shame. Students (and adults) are either afraid of or completely oblivious to opportunities to take creative risks, even in non-threatening environments where the price of failure is low. I expected to see some of this, but I was surprised how many didn’t take more risks. I shared the findings from Tom Wujec’s Marshmallow Challenge (it’s a design challenge–not an eating challenge). He found the groups who developed and tested prototypes, failing multiple times in the process, tended to be more successful than those who sat and tried to plan it out in advance in their heads—and kindergartners were one of the most successful groups.

We discussed how they felt emotionally, intellectually, and socially during the activity, and all but my few frustrated artists said it was the most relaxed they’d felt in school in a long time. When asked why it was relaxing, students had a number of ideas from “no grade pressure” to “being able to use my hands to create something.”

Many gleaned memories to use in their writing. Some were nostalgic, “I realized this was the last time I would probably play at school, which made me a little sad.” Some students found their story in the actual activity, like the student who was thrilled to help build a fort, saying she had never done it before.

At the end, I revealed the three-fold purpose of our activity:

1. Collect childhood memories for writing.

2. Analyze creative process and risk-taking.

3. Demonstrate the need for space and down time for optimal creativity and performance in any field.

When I planned the activity, I thought the second objective was likely the most important, but after hearing their reflections, I found the third one was nearly foreign to my students who stand in front of a firehose of information and connection all day long, both academic and social. A few students came in later that week and said they had dug out their coloring books or paints at home— to help them relax. As we fight depression, poor social skills, over-dependence on devices, and over-scheduling in our lives, I wonder if creating more directed and undirected down time and space would help us reconnect with the best versions of ourselves. I think it’s worth exploring with a bit of play.