The creative class has never been more screwed. Books about creativity have never been more popular. What gives?
By Thomas Frank
Salon.com - Sunday, Oct 13, 2013
The writer had a problem. Books he read and people he knew had been
warning him that the nation and maybe mankind itself had wandered into a
sort of creativity doldrums. Economic growth was slackening. The
Internet revolution was less awesome than we had anticipated, and the
forward march of innovation, once a cultural constant, had slowed to a
crawl. One of the few fields in which we generated lots of novelties —
financial engineering — had come back to bite us. And in other
departments, we actually seemed to be going backward. You could no
longer take a supersonic airliner across the Atlantic, for example, and
sending astronauts to the moon had become either fiscally insupportable
or just passé.
And yet the troubled writer also knew that there
had been, over these same years, fantastic growth in our creativity
promoting sector. There were TED talks on how to be a creative person.
There were “Innovation Jams” at which IBM employees brainstormed
collectively over a global hookup, and “Thinking Out of the Box” desktop
sculptures for sale at Sam’s Club. There were creativity consultants
you could hire, and cities that had spent billions reworking
neighborhoods into arts-friendly districts where rule-bending
whimsicality was a thing to be celebrated. If you listened to certain
people, creativity was the story of our time, from the halls of MIT to
the incubators of Silicon Valley.
The literature on the subject
was vast. Its authors included management gurus, forever exhorting us to
slay the conventional; urban theorists, with their celebrations of
zesty togetherness; pop psychologists, giving the world step-by-step
instructions on how to unleash the inner Miles Davis. Most prominent,
perhaps, were the science writers, with their endless tales of creative
success and their dissection of the brains that made it all possible.
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