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 often see this: musicians who close themselves off to other traditions, and organisations 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.