The Art of Not Knowing

In every percussion workshop I lead — whether in a school, a university, or a company in Amsterdam — I am reminded that ignorance is not just the absence of knowledge. Sometimes, it’s the beginning of connection.

We often think of ignorance as a flaw, something to be corrected. And yes, there is the kind that isolates us — the refusal to listen, the resistance to what feels unfamiliar, the comfort of certainty. I see this often: musicians who close themselves off to other traditions, organizations that speak about diversity but ignore the cultural roots behind the rhythms they celebrate.

But there is another kind of ignorance — one that doesn’t separate, but opens.
Creative ignorance begins with humility: the simple awareness that we don’t know everything. It is what makes true learning possible, and what allows music to do its work — to surprise, to reveal, to connect.

In a percussion workshop, this happens when people let go of control and listen to the group pulse; when a room of strangers finds a common rhythm without speaking a word. It’s in that moment of “not knowing” that creativity appears — fragile, human, alive.

Music reminds us that knowledge alone doesn’t build connection. Openness does.
To teach rhythm is not to fill people with information, but to guide them toward presence — to the place where listening becomes creation.

Ignorance, then, is not an enemy of learning. It’s the doorway to it.

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