Conventions of creativity
Conventionally discussing the limitations of conventions
Melissa Hiebert, Staff
“I’ve forgotten music theory, rhythm, tempo, notes and time signatures. I’m finally ready to make music.” – Steve White
Every art form has its conventions, commonly agreed-upon rules or guidelines that determine the content or make-up of a certain work in a certain field. Film has its 180-degree axis (the camera is not to venture past a certain horizontal line for purposes of continuity). Songs have their verses, choruses and chord progressions. Poetry has its stanzas and photography has its composition guidelines. Conventions can become even more specific when discussing what makes a surrealist painting surreal or what makes a film belong to a certain genre.
It is generally accepted that adherence to conventions enhances the quality of the work and, in some cases, preserves clarity. Often, however, conventions do the very opposite. Strict conventions can often seem as rigid as a stamp and inkpad. You can choose the colour of ink and the medium on which it is stamped, but there is limited room for deviation.
When someone introduces a standard, it suddenly seems impossible to imagine excellence and perfection independent of that standard. Conventionality works to take people’s independent notions of excellence and mold them to fit a certain vision of perfection.
The true spirit of the art and the unique methods of the creator can be lost in the process. Similar to the use of standardized testing in education, the end is held in high regard, but the means, growth and experimentation are largely ignored.
A technical masterpiece void of emotion is merely that: a technical masterpiece. A piece of emotion-filled work, void of technique, is usually at worst inspiring or passionate, at best a work of genius.
Peter Cole reiterates this point:
“I set as my task to write for meaning rather than correctness even at the risk of being misunderstood mis-takenwhich is part of what language is all about– risk.”
In scholarly writings or novels, writing styles and grammar rules are often strictly followed; sometimes the writing even loses coherence and emotion in the process. It seems that, at least in some cases, rules should be sacrificed in order to use language to its fullest; grammar rules should be tossed away in order to evoke a certain tone, mood or even a sense of rhythm. Sometimes writing down thoughts in no particular order can help one enter the mind of the creator in a way that a structured, flowing, mechanical essay cannot.
Many people think that everything creative that can be done has been done. This is hard to deny, for it seems impossible to conjure up something that is truly new and not just a revisionist account or a combination of previous styles. Perhaps this is because these conventions have been taught to us and pushed upon us since we were told to colour inside the lines in grade school. These conventions are subconsciously carved into our minds, and it seems like the true artists are the ones who are not just endowed with artistic ability, but also the ability to break free of current conventions and create something fresh and unprecedented.
If my little cousin scribbles on a piece of paper with a crayon for the first time, without seeing anyone else drawing in a similar manner (or at least not understanding what is ‘supposed’ to be drawn), then it seems to me that this is a true work of art that should be held in the highest esteem. If only we could hold on to our child-like naiveté while we practice and refine our talents in a way that makes sense to us.
If we used our own methods of improvement, independent of society’s dictations (and of what we see the guy next to us doing), and focused on art as we see it and understand it in our own minds, perhaps the outcome of each individual would be vastly different and equally as ‘good’ as the next. And all of them inspiring.
