THERE are many misconceptions about what “creativity” is.

To the average upper-middle-/upper-class Joes and Janes – the artless, corporate, square types – a “creative person” is the disengaged “other”, the subterranean, the one to envy, but trivial at most. To the average lower-middle-/working-class Joes and Janes – the artful – it denotes an “opportunity”, someone whose talents and abilities are seen as a possible means to a better life.

These are blatant generalisations (real life is of course more nuanced), but I have limited space to discuss the topic, and my pitch is brief.

This “othering” is often not the intention of the creative person per se, but of those around them and the community that shapes the collective perception of “creativity”. When they are young, this creativity is seen as a gift, some kind of “genius”, for which children get heaped with praises from their parents to distinguish them from the rest of the herd, when in actual fact, they are merely adapting and reacting to environmental stimuli without preconceived notions as to the detrimental question “What are you doing this for?”. They just do.

The creative act is a solitary one, and children brought up in a stable (both emotionally and financially) household have the luxury to focus on whatever obsessions they find joy in.

Nobody realises they are a “creative”. They just are. Sure, kids need some guidance from parents or other carers for safety purposes, but at 3 or 4 years old, imagination is their best friend. As they grow older, the process of forced assimilation and indoctrination begins – not with alphabets and numbers, but with the institution that is school.

The culture we live in valorises children’s activities to the point of absurdity (primarily because it’s a good “market” to capitalise on as there is perpetual demand), depleting the meaning of rituals meant to take place only after much toil. Like graduation ceremonies. These days, allegedly, children “graduate” every year (sometimes every semester), with ceremonies complete with miniature caps and gowns. By the time they are halfway through their primary education, the ritual would have become meaningless and dreary.

Then, we call these kids “spoilt brats” for not playing along.

There’s no need for such proclamations. A person needs to be instilled with the joys of celebrating “little victories” that occur in mundane instances more than public displays of “achievements” (hyper-realised further in this age of social media). In fact, some of my diploma students complained about not being given a mortarboard to wear on their graduation day until I explained that the caps are, by tradition, only for those with a degree onwards. Several of my more creative students simply didn’t attend the ceremony since they had to register and pay for it (and it wasn’t cheap). Sorry, I digress.

Competitions are another bane of creative pursuits. As the late Hungarian composer and pianist Béla Bartók once declared: “Competitions are for horses, not artists.” There is something convoluted and conceited about competitions. They have their roots in Roman gladiatorial combat, I suspect, and there is nothing noble or glorious about having to fight a fellow human being with all your might to emerge victorious. It’s cruel. As long as there are humans, there will be politics, and competitions aren’t exempt.

Naturally, awards are the cherry on top. Competitions and awards are not neutral entities that bestow honour on the best creative works out there. There’s the drudgery of processes, entry requirements, fees (sometimes memberships), and finally, the bureaucracy of organisations and judges (I’ve been one many times over and experienced it first-hand).

Creativity is simply about survival. It encompasses all fields of the arts, spirituality, economics, the sciences. There’s no fanciness, no broad brushstrokes, no drama. It’s pure being and dealing with the elements. Creativity is problem-solving, troubleshooting. All sentient beings are capable of it, and they just need conducive conditions and predicaments to light the spark.

There’s no need for lessons, practice, tutorials and whatnot. The best teacher is trial and error. Make mistakes, fail gloriously. Liberate yourself from worry. Then, start over. – May 29, 2020.

* Azmyl Yunor is a touring underground recording artiste, and an academic in media and cultural studies. He has published articles on pop culture, subcultures and Malaysian cultural politics. He adheres to the three-chords-and-the-truth school of songwriting, and Woody Guthrie’s maxim “All you can write is what you see”. He is @azmyl on Twitter.

* This is the opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malaysian Insight. Article may be edited for brevity and clarity.