Guest Blog: Sarah Beach on The Metaphysics of Creativity
THE METAPHYSICS OF CREATIVITY
About a month ago on another website, there was a discussion about
fanfiction and professional writing, and the distinctions between them.
Some of the posters contended that it was a matter of the quality of the
writing, in terms of craftsmanship. Me, I think that’s a mistake. Some
professional writers can be sloppy craftsmen, while some fanfic writers
have exceptional talent.
Colleen and I (we’d both followed the discussion there) continued a
conversation spun from this discussion. Our conversation led into other
territory, and it seemed to me it would make an interesting guest blog
topic. So, here’s some wandering on where my thoughts went.
Professionalism in creative arts certainly begins with craftsmanship. The
fanfic writer might not be concerned with that aspect of writing, but
anyone with professional aspirations ought to be.
But the true distinction is not in the craftsmanship itself – whether in
writing or art or music or acting or any of the creative activities. What
is the true key lies in the creator’s passion for his or her work.
The effect of the creator’s passion is difficult to describe. It seems
ephemeral. Yet, everyone gets a feeling of “This is right” or “This is
wrong.” Something gets communicated, something extra.
I’ve occasionally called this effect “frozen telepathy.” What I mean by
that is that some inner passion the creator has for the story, the
characters or whatever, gets caught in the finished work and the audience
can see it, receive it. For actors, it is perhaps most obvious – there
are some actors who can take you all the way inside their characters, so
that even though the character “isn’t showing anything,” the audience can
actually see what is going on inside. Other actors who lack this ability
end up seeming flat, and the audience only gets the surface (which might
of itself be pleasing – many such actors are physically attractive and may
have great smiles). They may convey to the audience a nice picture but no
emotional content.
Whatever it is in this invisible communication, it is harder to pin down
in writers and artists. As I said, there’s a lot of “This works” or “That
doesn’t work” in our responses to creative works. Additionally,
individual creators seem to have some sort of internal signature that
identifies the work as something from a specific creator. It is that
unique touch that lets someone say at a glance of a painting, “That’s a
Van Gogh,” “That’s a Rembrandt,” “That’s a Picasso,” “That’s a Hirshfeld.”
Something similar can occur in writers as well: Hemingway’s prose is
different from Faulkner’s; Robert Howard’s prose is different than that of
his pastichers.
Years ago, I read a book titled SENTICS, by Dr. Manfred Clynes. Clynes
developed a finger pressure sensor that allowed him to measure emotional
response to stimuli. It turned out that there were specific pressure
signatures for specific basic emotions and the responses were consistent
cross-culturally and across the sexes (meaning men and women are not
really that different in their responses). Clynes then extended his
research to human response to music. In doing so, he discovered that
listeners would create similar pressure patterns in response to different
works from a specific composer, even if they were unfamiliar with the
works. And, by and large, the musical work created a consistent response
in listeners. This meant that an American, a Japanese, a rural African
each listening to a specific work would generate pressure signatures with
a pattern distinctive to that composer. Apparently, the only major
differences occurred when the listener was a strong individualist with his
own distinct response to music. Conductor Leopold Stokowski frequently
put his own stamp on works he conducted, and this showed up in his
responses in Clynes’ studies (Clynes knew many notables in the classical
music world).
Reading Clynes’ studies gave me a lot to think about in this matter of the
“invisible communication” in creative works. The fact that Clynes found a
way to measure emotional response and that the results could be consistent
and reproducible (an important factor in establishing a truly scientific
measure), made me much more certain about the aspect of objective
evaluation of art. Apparently, evaluation of creative works is NOT “just
a matter of opinion.” If it was possible to measure emotional response to
music, I extrapolated that it could also be done for visual and textual
art.
My point is (before I get sidetracked into issues of objective evaluations
of art and literature) that it was now obvious that “something invisible
and consistent” does indeed go on in art. And that something touches our
emotional responses. We DO communicate something in our works (beyond the
obvious intent of the art or storytelling), and the response of the
audience will depend on (1) how much we (the creator) “put into” the work
and (2) how much the specific audience member responds to our particular
emotional brew. This is where distinctions between a Debussy lover and a
Wagner or Philip Glass lover come in: neither listener is more right than
the other, they are just preferring different emotional responses.
Do some creators put into their work and “invisible something” that other
might find repellant? Oh, yes. It is apparently a reflection of some
attitude or outlook on the part of the creator that generates a negative
response in segments of the audience. And that, perhaps, is one of the
conclusions one can draw from Clynes’ studies: art (be it music, visual
arts or writings) is more revealing of the artist’s own nature than is
generally acknowledged. And when we say of some creative work “It speaks
to me,” we are being much less figurative than we imagine. Art talks and
it reveals the secrets of its creator. (Isn’t that a scary thought for
the reclusive artist? 😀 )
Sarah Beach trifles with artwork, but applies herself to writing with
much more diligence. She’s the author of THE SCRIBBLER’S GUIDE TO THE LAND OF MYTH, and uses material from the book as springboards for posts on her blog.
13 Comments
Allan
“What is the true key lies in the creator’s passion for his or her work.”
I don’t know that ‘passion’ can be declared the distinction between professional and fanfic writing. After all, many appalling fanfic writers are very passionate about their work.
And these subjects that underwent Clynes’s tests, did they then like the music they heard, or dislike it, irrespective of the similar response patterns? If they all had similar response, yet some liked the music and some disliked it, aren’t we back to the subjective argument again? It’s not what’s brought to the table, but how we respond to what’s on it.
Colleen
Allan, you make some great points. Very enthusiastic people produce enthusiastically bad work. The worth of the work isn’t always a question of creative passion.
Readers can have a lot of baggage that they bring to the experience of the work, and can dislike a book or piece of art intensely for personal reasons.
For example, some people may dislike a book with a gay protagonist because they dislike gay people. Art also talks and reveals the secrets of the people experiencing it.
Allan
Using Colleen as a handy example, I presume she brings similar passion to ADS, Lost Souls, and Reign of the Zodiac, yet there are folk out there who love ADS and hate Lost Souls.
scribblerworks
Allan, it’s been quite a long time since I read the whole of Clynes’ work, so I’d have to dig it off the shelf to be specific. But I don’t think he delved into matters of personal preference about the actual content of what he played for the subjects. His initial interest was trying to map the emotions. The “internal signature” of music was a secondary matter that grew out of his initial research.
As for the matter of “passion for the work” … yes, it is a tricksy matter, which is something Colleen and I were sliding all over in our email conversation. There’s a fine line distinction there somewhere, but it isn’t easy to find. That said, in Hollywood, I see a lot of writing where the writers are not really engaged with their story, but are rather putting it together with the elements they know will “play well” or they’ve been ordered to put in, and something in the heart of the work suffers.
Heh… it’s one of the reasons I put “metaphysics” in the title — it’s really hard to pin down. 😀
Colleen
It’s certainly an interesting subject, and I am glad it’s come up here. Thanks for writing this post!
Colleen
OK, I have given this a little more consideration. And this is more of a follow up to my email conversation with Sarah than a direct response to her thoughtful post.
People keep conflating good with professional. And they get wrapped around the axle when the obvious is pointed out to them: that the definition of a professional is in the meaning of PROFESSION.
It follows that a person MUST make money at their vocation in order to be a professional. But money has absolutely NOTHING to do with being any good.
Many semi-pros and hobbyists get angry when the obvious – a professional is someone with a PROFESSION – is pointed out to them, because they think that implies their work is no good and that they are unprofessional in their conduct or the quality of their work.
The money you are paid, and how well you exhibit basic craftsmanship skills has nothing to do with whether or not your work is Real Art. It simply means you get paid to perform your craft to the basic standards set by the client.
This then gives many hobbyists and semi-pros the in to make the dig that many professionals produce bad work, and the real mark of good work is passion.
No, it isn’t.
The only mark of good work is the final result.
Many very passionate people produce lousy work, and cannot see past their personal vision. They cannot see what others see.
Many craftsman-like professionals produce bad work, even though they dutifully meet deadlines and are paid very well.
The entire argument around professional versus amateur has more to do with bruised egos than anything else.
Pros remark that fans produce crap, and fans remark that pros produce crap and that fans could do better if they were just given the chance.
No amount of money and no amount of passion makes you produce good or bad work.
The only thing that matters is the final result.
I make the distinction between pro and amateur SOLELY on the basis of the craftsman-like skills the pro possesses that many amateurs do not. This has more to do with entrepreneurship and other basic business behaviors that are not a factor in the final work itself, but in how well you work in a business environment and can meet the standards set by a client.
Unfortunately, many amateurs can produce only when they want to, but not when other people want them to. They cannot produce on demand. I have only once had a good experience hiring a fan creator (and by this I mean someone with NO previous experience being paid: I’ve had good luck hiring semi-pros, i.e. people with paid credits, but who are not yet making a living at art.) Others cracked under the pressure.
It’s one thing to do whatever you want whenever you want in the comfort of your home with only your friends to comment on your work, and quite another thing to have to perform to the standards of a client whose decisions about your work can be alarmingly arbitrary. A pro can do that. Not everyone can.
There are many pros who are very passionate about their work, and yet who produce lousy work. There are many fans who are passionate about their work, and still produce lousy work.
And it really doesn’t have anything to do with pro or fan. Being a pro is about the PROFESSION. I don’t presume to be a professional plumber or carpenter just because I can fix a leak or hammer a nail. I don’t demand to be let in the union just because I have skills.
Amateur doesn’t mean bad, and pro doesn’t mean good.
And enthusiasm isn’t enough.
Allan
Or, to cut it down to a sentence: if you can do it to order for pay, you’re a pro; if you can’t, you’re not.
Colleen
My God! Now that’s editing!!! LOL!
scribblerworks
Wonderful, Allan!
😀
And I do agree with Colleen on the pro/amateur definition.
What I was musing on is that further etherial region where the creator’s passion and personality speak to the audience. Which, when looked at through Colleen’s clear pro/am lens, has precious little to do with either pro/am or good/bad.
Heh… at this point, I wander off with my head in the clouds wondering how to pin a whisp down to the ground. Aren’t the arts fun? 😀
But I do recommend Clynes’ book! I think you guys would find it interesting.
VT
On the pro v. amateur issue — I took myself off the internet for a few days, thinking I’d spend the time painting what *I* wanted, for a change. Yeah, that plan didn’t work out so well. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s been so long since I didn’t have a deadline looming over me, that I don’t know what to do with myself without one.
VT
How strange; I could’ve sworn there was more to my comment. Hrm. So here’s the missing bit:
Sarah — nice guest post! I’ll have to check out Clynes’ book. 🙂
scribblerworks
VT, I looked it up on Amazon, and it’s out of print, but some vendors have copies. It might also be in libraries, however, as it was featured in PSYCHOLOGY TODAY back when the book came out (which is how I got on to it in the first place).
Pingback: