On “Creativity”
Often we hear the expression “creativity and problem-solving ability.” What does this refer to? Initially, the term strikes us as pretty much a straightforward concept. But on reflection, we can see that it seems to signify an ill-defined but widely accepted notion of a generally admirable capacity by certain people (“creative types”) to perceive obscure connections between things, to discern aspects of something which to lesser intelligences are imperceptible, to leap past the traditional, conventional, and hidebound to the new expression--in a word, to be innovative. Why do we not say so? Why do we disguise this desirable skill, discernment, with the fuzzier word “creativity”?
By doing so, do we try to evoke grander qualities in our work than those which mere discernment, insight, or deduction convey? Has this uncritical use of the term “creative” in fact become a form of intellectual social-climbing?
In actuality, we can only know creativity retrospectively. We cannot look ahead and intend to achieve creativity, because to do so would be to jump over the actual work we would have to do. Quite the contrary: in order for us to encounter our own creativity, we must look back on what we have made, and it is there that we see manifested what we name “creativity” for lack of a more precise word. Nor can we establish creativity as our goal any more than we can aim for articulateness or sensitivity or gracefulness as a goal. That would be akin to aiming for height as a goal of growing up. Our goal should be to speak articulately, to dance gracefully, to play the piano sensitively, to paint . . . well. Surely, we are misguided when we aspire to paint creatively, because to do that is again to look past the work of the artist to the manifestation of the work.
It in not uncommon to speak of wanting to get more opportunities at work to do the really creative jobs in distinction to the more humdrum. It is misguided to expect to find the opportunity of doing “more creative” in one job work than in another. The opportunity is always there in every job to do "creative" work. Usually one means to say that some jobs are more suited to more overtly spectacular treatment and qualify for larger budgets which allow more color, or costlier paper, or custom photography, etc. It is this grander treatment that challenges their skills, visual imagination, discernment and taste, intellectual comprehension, and technical grasp of production matters, and which by successfully accomplishing the purposes of the job gives them a greater sense of satisfaction. Thus, it is this nexus of intellectual concentration, sensorial satisfaction, purpose, and moral fulfillment that swells up in the “creative” job that make it more attractive than the mundane, the rote, the trivial.
But to be sure, what we call “creative” properly refers to these other properties and aspects.
It is instructive to look at our usage of these terms. The OED defines "creative," but it does not list the word “creativity” at all. The 1969 edition of the American Heritage Dictionary only lists “creativity" as a derivative word under the entry, "creative." The widespread use of "creative” and "creativity" with its sheer honorific sense is a late-twentieth century phenomenon.
What does “creative” mean? According to the OED, it is the quality of being able to create, the ability to bring something into being from nothing. That kind of creating has typically been left to God (or, the gods); and in its alternate manifestation of “procreating,” it refers to what parents do. It also designates those who make corporations and knights and refers to the first actor to play a part and thereby give the role its characteristic portrayal. And lastly the OED refers to those whom we deem to be the most creative, the artists, writers, musicians, etc.
Well, now, what is going on here? Why do we want so desperately to be allowed to be creative? Why do we want our children to be creative in school? Why do we elevate their drawings to the status of artwork, and exhibit them in the Salon de la Refrigerator Door? Why do we lament mere graphic work and pine for the chance to do “creative” work? Why is it as certain—and as frequent—as the seasons that there will be lengthy discussions mulling the ways to engender and nurture and expand and gain recognition for and praise for and more money for . . . creativeness? Why do we announce with great alarm the antagonists of creativity, to wit, commerce, management, dullards, in a word, Babbitt?
Shall we proclaim that creativity is what happens when we do our graphic design work. That creativity is what happens when we take photographs and design layouts and make a new font and draw a picture. Uh, no. Design is what happens when we do graphic design work. Photography is what happens when we take photographs. Typography is what happens when we make a new font. Drawing is what happens when we draw.
Creativity is that abstraction that allows us to speak about the confluence of skills, experiences, discernments, sensitivities, perceptions, deductions, sensorial responses, and emotions that envelop the act of making something. “Creativity” is the fancy word we now prefer that replaces the more correct term "making." There is nothing wrong with making, by the way. Remember, in the beginning, God made the world. Okay, okay, so he created it—same thing, right?
Is this not just a quibble about words? Why do we care about the difference? Our concern is that precisely when we exalt “creativity,” we reify an abstraction that exists only in our intellects and forsake the reality behind the abstraction. It reminds me of when I was in art school and we all said to each other, “I’m going to the studio and make art.” Well, what we were going to do was paint or sculpt or whatever. We were going to do what we were going to do. The old aphorism has it right: heroes are made, not born. That is, they (the heroes) become what they are called later by what they do. We are creative to the extent that we make things.
When I am confronted with a design difficulty, I don’t go to a resource called “creativity.” I can’t; it's not there! Instead, I look at the material things in front of me, find the sticking point, and figure out a resolution. When I am painting, at some point I may say to myself, “What now? What's wrong here? Why am I at a stopping point?” I never ask myself, “What is the creative way out of this muddle?” The good or right way out is creative, not the other way around.
And what about this business of “problem-solving”? Some have described “problem-solver” in vaguely Jungian archetypal terms as someone who helps others see through their predicament to some hidden truth. It is a great error to suppose that there is a métier called “problem-solver.” I am reminded of a scene from the movie Cat Ballou (I think): In the American frontier circa 1880, two men get off a train in a western town. They are “facilitators” lately come from Washington to help the town. (Of course, they are comic characters who parody the very notion of having people trained in ungrounded skills like “facilitating.”)
If I have a car engine problem, I call a mechanic (a car-engine-problem-solver); if I have a plumbing problem, I call a plumber (a plumbing-problem-solver); if I have a heart problem, I call a cardiologist (a heart-problem-solver). If our leader has a Bosnia problem (whatever that may be), I hope he calls Bosnia-problem-solvers; if he has mad cow problems, I hope he calls mad-cow-problem-solvers. I shrink from the idea of “creative problem-solvers” advising the “Leader.” I want knowledgeable people doing that, not Jungian archetypes!
© 1996 Michael Brady
