A Response to "The Flow of Creativity"

When reading the chapter “The Flow of Creativity,” the section which seemed most interesting to me was the one which attempted to encapsulate the feelings of enjoyment that an artist or creator feels when dealing with their craft. The author states on the very first page of the chapter that a creative person both loves what they do, and do it because it is fun. This seemed to make sense, but as a person who likes to challenge everything, I began to think of certain creative people who may not be having too much fun while they are creative. You know, the tortured artist type who cannot find perfection in their own creation and thus is never happy with their work. Are they creative even if they are not having fun with the process?

The author goes on to say that the difference between someone like an Engineer who loves their job and one who doesn’t is not the work they are doing, but how they are doing the work. This notion of how you do your job affecting your level of happiness, again, seems to make sense, but professions like Engineers and scientists often have strict codes, procedures and policies which they must follow in order to maintain their status as a professional. Can their practices really differ that much?

The author answers this question by saying that the rewarding aspect of the creative process is discovery. The mountain climber, painter, and Engineer are all happy if they are attempting to discover. This seems to make perfect sense to me as an answer. To be creative, there needs to be an element of uniqueness to what is being created. Thus, the creator must be looking to “discover” something which makes them feel they are contributing, original and thus creative.

I followed up this thought process by analyzing my own creativity to see if my goals matched up with seeking something new. Initially, I thought I was just writing poetry or drawing in order to come up with something pleasing for myself or possibly others, but through the action, I will inevitably learn something new for myself.

This newness is not global, it will not cure cancer, but through my poetry I can better understand an emotion or situation by framing it in a way which I had never thought of it before. This seems to be the act of discovering something new in the monotonous, which I believe is a direct quote from Raphael on our first day of class. So while the scientist’s version of finding “new” would be vastly different from mine, we are both on a path of self discovery.

This notion of newness is something vital to teach to a creative writing class. It is dangerous to tell blooming creative souls that to be creative you must bring something completely new and innovative to the table that the world has never seen. Though it would be lovely to attain such a feat, it is quite unlikely. It is, on the other hand, much easier to make a new self discovery through art that will only make you a better and more knowledgeable creative person.

After asserting this idea of finding happiness in searching for something new, the author attempts to break down what it is to feel enjoyment. The word “enjoyment” is similar to the word “creative” in the way that we all seem to know what it means and yet it can be very hard to define. The author attempts to break it down seemed quite appropriate to me. The creator has clearly defined goals, gets feedback, knows their own skill set, is aware and intent, and doesn’t worry about failure or self consciousness, and thus looses themselves in time due to a level of contentedness with the activity.

All of these ideas seem to match up with what I feel whenever I get into that artistic groove or am doing something that I really enjoy. But what keeps us as creators from always feeling this “flow”? For me, it is definitely a combination of self awareness and the fear of failure. I know that as soon as I start thinking about how a poem will be understood or heard by the audience, I am sunk. That moment causes a disconnect between myself and the work being created which can be very difficult to repair.

As teachers, how do we instill in our students the capability to forget themselves in the work despite the fact they know they will be showing their work to others? I have just been told by my professors “don’t do it, don't think of the reader while you write,” but is that enough?

It seems to me that trust must be built up in an artist to believe in their own ability and to know that any idea they write on the page will be something worth learning from. It is often said you can learn more from failure than success and I don't think that is something that should be avoided in a classroom. It is good on occasion to look at what might not be so successful in a work (one that is not a students of course) in order to exemplify that recognizing that something doesn't work will make it easier not to do it.

In my first poetry class, the professor put up a mix of poems on the projector and we read and dissected them as a class. Some were remarkably good, some were painfully awful. By sitting and discussing the good and the bad on that first day, the beginning poets could get a chance to learn some of the terminology used in discussion, practice talking objectively about works, and could see a few basic qualities which worked and did not. This was a simple to put together exercise, but it seemed a very helpful tool to initialize students to the workshop process.

All-in-all I thought the author did a good job on this chapter. I appreciated that he moved away from defining who or what a creative person is, to what that person feels. I am not that excited about putting labels on individuals as a whole and making "creativity" some elite thing that is meant for the select few, but it is helpful and interesting to highlight the common emotions of the creative. Something universal instead of exclusionary.