This past week, I read an interesting article about studying creativity. David Henry Feldman writes about how the study of creativity is often limited to one dimension developed by those deemed creative. He focuses on a study done by Howard Gardner (1983/1993) who “examined the lives and works of seven creative individuals in seven different fields” (Feldman 172). Keeping with the number seven, Feldman uses Gardner’s study to look at the seven dimensions of creativity. These dimensions are as follow:
1. Cognitive process
2. Social/emotional process
3. Family aspects: growing up and current
4. Education and preparation: formal and informal
5. Characteristics of the domain and field
6. Social/cultural contextual aspects
7. Historical forces, events, trends (Feldman 171-172).
This article looks at the relationship between these seven dimensions and seven examples of geniuses in their seven different fields (Albert Einstein – physics, Pablo Picasso – painting, Igor Stravinsky – music, T. S. Elliot – literacy, Martha Graham – dance, Mohandas Gandhi – politics). I will be using the three of the seven dimensions to explain the creativity (or lack thereof) for one fictional literary character and one real person in their respective fields. These characters and their respective fields are:
a) Dexter Morgan (from the Dexter books by Jeff Lindsay) – serial killing
b) ME (from real life) – literacy
I will apply Gardner’s and Feldman’s research to these modern examples to see if they benefit from the three of the seven dimensions of creativity.
Cognitive
While not all of Gardner’s examples were child prodigies, Dexter and I exhibited both interest and talent in our respective fields as children. According to Lindsay’s books, Dexter started killing animals at a relatively young age, and, according to my mother, I started inventing imaginative stories and scenarios for my dolls when I was about six years old. Feldman’s article also suggests that a ten year period needed to move from amateur to expert in any given field. Dexter kills his first victim at the age of 18 (if Dexter was born in 1970, as is revealed in the books, this would make his first kill in 1988) and by the time the second book, Dearly Devoted Dexter in 2005, his body count is up to 41, 17 years later. From 1988 to 1993, he perfects his style of killing to include dismembering and disposing of the body parts more effectively. We can theorize that this is part of the mastery needed to be successful in his field, something he develops at the half way point of this ten year mastery scale.
I, on the other hand, have yet to move past the amateur stage in my pursuit for literary success. Unlike Dexter, I have developed asynchrony with my preferred field. I believe that writing and storytelling can be done in new and innovative way: I just haven’t figured it out yet. Dexter seems to be content with the domain of serial killing as it is, his asynchrony lies more with justice: he is unhappy with how many criminals are allowed to walk free and escape prosecution due to administrative errors.
Social/emotional
The most notable characteristic that defines Dexter is that he does not have the ability to feel, which prevents him from forming strong emotional bonds with others. Much like Gardner’s creative geniuses, Dexter benefits from intense relationships with a select few. In the first book, Dexter’s relationship with Rita (his girlfriend at the time) intensifies as he hunts his next victim. The intense relationship keeps his mind sharp and lets him focus on his craft. Once the hunt for his latest victim ends, his relationship with Rita cools off and he simply goes through the motions once more as a “pretend” human.
I also benefit from short bursts of intensity in my relationships, romantic or otherwise. These relationships give me inspiration for my writing, which is somewhat different then their function described in the Feldman article. There, the relationships are described as supportive: for both Dexter and I it is the intensity that inspires us.
Family
This section of Feldman’s article mentions that early childhood trauma can attribute to later creative success in a specific domain. Dexter suffered what can only be described severe trauma. At the age of three, Dexter and his brother witnessed the gruesome dismemberment of his mother and two other victims. He and his brother, Brian, were left in the shipping container where the murder occurred, with the victims, in two inches of blood before they were found and Dexter was adopted by his new family. This trauma has been directly linked to his serial killer, psychopathic nature.
Although I do not believe my early childhood incident is worthy of the term trauma, a chunk of ceiling (plaster) fell on me when I was six years old. While I attribute that event to my weird and eclectic personality, I do not believe that it would dictate my creative success in the literary field.
As we can see, there are similarities between different kinds of creative success in many different fields. Does this mean that these three (ultimately the seven that Feldman focuses on) dimensions are the only dimensions that define creative success? That is difficult to put in absolute terms. Although I share similarities with fictional serial killer Dexter Morgan, I do not believe that I can be as creatively successful he or any of the other aforementioned geniuses. In Dexter’s case, Raymond S. Nickerson explains that “creativity, ... can serve either good or bad ends and ... attempting to enhance creativity in a value-free way is a bit like teaching a child how to aim and fire a gun without providing guidance regarding what, and what not, to shot at” (Nickerson 397). This is why Dexter is seen as the hero in his books: his adoptive father nurtured his creativity and intelligence and guided him to use his skill to catch the “bad guys” who have gotten away with their crimes, in the eyes of the law.
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