Celebrating Creativity
“I’m not creative.” You hear people say it all the time. Dig a little and you’ll often find what the person means is they don’t play or work in the traditional arts (often referred to as “the arts”): the visual arts, the literary arts, the performing arts, and the culinary arts. Or they discount the art form they do express themselves in—cooking for example. They say, “I just do a little baking,” or “I just draw.”
Broadly speaking, creativity is the ability to conceive and/or develop something new and original: an idea, work, product, system, or service, to name just a few possible outcomes of creative thinking. We often classify people (and ourselves) as either creative or not creative, based on the type of work that’s produced. If the output of the work is a painting, the person is creative; if the output is a new coat of paint on a house, they’re not creative. But these broad categorizations paper over the telling details that demonstrate creativity. The painting may be the result of a paint by numbers exercise; the house the result of a creative design that highlights the unique features of the materials of the house and its unusual decorative elements.
We are drawn to and celebrate large expressions of creativity: paintings, sculptures, books, songs, CDs, plays, films, television shows, cars, homes, buildings, and more. But our lives are full of small expressions of creativity that we often miss: the beautifully planted garden, the perfectly appointed room, the eye-catching photograph on the wall, the beautifully designed and constructed wooden fence. We need to celebrate creativity in all its forms, wherever we find it—doing so honors the creators and opens the door to our own, kindred creative spirit. Perhaps, giving us the permission to say, “I’m creative too.”
The Joy of Being a Contented Amateur
A friend recently sent me a link to an essay by Matt Kloskowski, a photographer and photography instructor. Matt’s essay Coming Clean on What I Really Do with My Photos is about the joys of creating art solely for your own pleasure. Matt writes:
Over the years I’ve often had people say to me that they don’t do anything with their photography but enjoy it on their computer. But it never clicked. Then one day, I was talking with someone who is an amazing wildlife photographer, and she said something that really stuck with me. I was looking at her photos and she asked a question about noise reduction or something like that. And I said, “Well, it depends what you want to do with the photo.” She replied with “I’m not doing anything with it… look at that beautiful animal… I just like to enjoy it on my computer, and I want it to be as perfect as possible.
Earlier in the year, I had encouraged my friend to read The Practice—Seth Godin’s book on developing and maintaining a creative practice as a working professional. Godin makes the following distinctions between professionals, hacks, and amateurs:
The differences have little to do with skill, and a lot to do with resolve and intent.
The amateur contributes with unfiltered joy. There’s really no other upside–create your work because you can, because it helps someone else, because it makes you feel good.
The professional shows up even when she doesn’t feel like it. The professional understands the market, the customer and the price to be paid for work that’s worth paying for. But the professional isn’t a hack.
A hack is a professional who doesn’t care.
The hack has been beaten up enough times that he has emotionally disconnected. The hack has a short-term view, able to do what the client asks, without regard for how it will impact the culture or his long-term prospects.
Serviceable is for hacks. Memorable and remarkable belong to professionals and hard-working amateurs."
—Seth Godin (Seth’s Blog, July 15, 2020)
My friend thought Godin made several interesting points, but The Practice didn’t resonate with him the way it did with me. An avid and talented photographer, my friend has toyed with idea of “going pro” for years. But he hasn’t ever been comfortable with the trade-offs going pro requires, especially the fact that he’d no longer be doing his work first and foremost for his own pleasure.
Matt’s essay helped me understand my friend’s reluctance, and why The Practice made him uncomfortable. In the book, Godin acknowledges the “admirable, and even heroic” idea of being an amateur, but he makes it clear there’s no middle ground, you’re either an amateur or a professional:
"…you may choose the life of a professional. Or you can embrace the path of the engaged amateur. But the choice is a fork in the road. A professional is not simply a happy amateur who got paid."
A bit later he continues:
"It’s worth pausing for a moment to see the fork in the road again. It’s honorable for your art to be just for you. For you to choose to create for an audience of one. But that’s not professional work, because you’re not on the hook. There’s no one to serve but you and the idea in your head. The other route is to become a working professional, a leader, someone who chooses to ship creative work. And shipping means that it’s for someone."
Re-visiting The Practice, I understand why the book didn’t resonate with my friend—it’s not a book about developing and sustaining your creativity, it’s a book about what it means to be a working creative professional. The book didn’t encourage my friend to “go pro,” it helped crystalized all the reasons why he didn’t want to go pro—and that’s okay!
I recently completed the Akimbo Creative’s Workshop—the course developed by Seth Godin and the source for The Practice. The workshop gave me a much deeper understanding of what it means to be a working creative professional. But it also helped me embrace the creative work I do in areas I enjoy but have no desire to do professionally.
I love taking, editing, and playing with photographs. Like Matt and my friend, I enjoy my finished works on my computer and in my home. I create them for my own pleasure. Call me an amateur photographer… A happy, contented amateur photographer. It’s okay with me.