What is creativity? John Fowles believed that men wrote
books in order to extend their lives beyond their lifetimes whereas women’s
lives were extended by creating children. But women write and the likes of Jane
Austen still live on through their books. Writing books is an acknowledged form
of creativity, though I notice a great disappointment, even within the Writers
in Oxford club, if it turns out that an author only writes non-fiction: the
novel’s the thing, the true creation.
Writing books, painting, composing music, producing poetry,
making movies, staining glass, potting, candle making: all of these are clearly
creative. Carpentry, blacksmithing, sewing, science, gardening, cooking,
photography, pornography: all of these are clearly not – or are they. There is
a fine line somewhere here. A candle produced simply to give light is surely
not creative, a candle wax creation of a pornographic scene may be.
Me, I roll stones. Some of the stones I use are so heavy
that there is no possibility that I can lift them – so I roll them. My friendly
adviser who occasionally pounces on my stoney creation, sorry building, saying “incorrecto”
or “feo” (wrong or ugly), tells me that Spanish women used to roll the stones
to the men who then did the tricky bit of fitting them into a wall. Sounds
crazy, but it does take more strength to place a stone in a precise location
than to roll it from one location to another.
My woman does not roll stones so I do both: the rolling and
the fitting. Is it creative? I’m not sure. My wall is much admired,
particularly since it mirrors an existing one and by that measure it is hardly
creative. I know of its flaws so am not moved by the plaudits it receives. But the
question still intrigues me: am I creating something?
Certainly there is something there now when before there was
nothing. That’s true of any building work, yet the average builder is clearly
not in the same league as a popular novelist and the builder’s creation is,
perhaps, only the implementation of the architect’s conception. I am both architect
and builder so I win, or lose, both ways. I have, through this experience,
learned how difficult it is to plan a building in three-dimensional detail and
how frustrating it is when the plans are just not practical.
When I am writing a novel I do turn my imagination free and
follow its inventions, selectively. When I am searching for a particular stone I
am thinking only of the hoped for dimensions and shape, though some imagination
is needed - particularly how an odd shaped stone might be knocked into shape.
When I roll a heavy stone down for an ‘audition’ in my wall my mind is entirely
full of the sheer effort of moving and controlling it, a little like the single
mindedness of a mountaineer, I believe.
My summit is the arrival of the stone in the right place
(often by rolling it up strong planks of wood or stepping it up temporary
staircases made of blocks), shaping it, then finally standing back to make sure
that it looks right. I then move on to the next. At times I stand looking at my
creation (sorry building) planning what to now next and how and what materials
I will need. When my mind is not engaged with stone then I sometimes sing. ‘Right
said Fred’ fits the bill, but for some reason ‘Winter Wonderland’ and that
awful unicorn song take over. Fortunately a song by my friend, Pete Madams is
also getting a look in, the chorus goes like this, ‘I’m the man, the man of the
moment.’
Is any of this creative? I’m sure that Pete’s song is.