The Train Series 4: Creativity

First published on August 25, 2016

My first school report was a good report. This probably came as a relief, as I was eight years old, and my family and I really had no idea how this school thing was going to go (I was home educated until that point - a story for another time, or another train journey). The report wasn't perfect, but in all but one area it came back positive overall. The exception was art. In my art report, Mrs Ramsey, a great teacher and woman who had a real effect on me and is now sadly missed, wrote 'Something something something but Robbie has no real talent at art.'

Now, only a few months later I won a regional painting competition everyone in the local schools entered, and had my painting turned into a post card which you can still buy in Ingleton. Ha! Take that Mrs Ramsey!

That competition is still one of the things in my life that I am most proud of, and part of that, perhaps, was the triumph over Mrs Ramsey's report. But at the time, I remember not being joyful about winning. The judges praised the depth I had given the pool around the swimmers (I had just refilled my paint, making it darker in some places purely by accident) or the straightness of the figure by the side (I had forgotten to paint his second leg). It all felt by chance that it was a good painting, and I suspect that my eight year old self didn't take joy in that, because, well, he knew he didn't have any talent.

Brené Brown says that almost everyone has a story from school about their creativity being belittled by a teacher. And they remember them clearly. (I'm on the train, so I can't double check this - if I've misremembered this, then replace 'Brené Brown says...' with 'I say, channelling my inner Brené,...'.) Now I don't want you to think that I am belittling teachers. Mrs Ramsey was one of thousands of brilliant people who, every year, make an immeasurable contribution to our country and the world through the care, hard work and inspiration they provide to young people.

But creativity is a fragile thing in people. Thinking of myself as 'operational' rather than 'creative' was a significant part of the decisions I took in the first ten years of my career.

No one told me that creativity was important for more than art. No one told me it was at the route of successful business, and politics. No one told me it was about using our ingenuity to solve the world's problems. No one told me it was important for health and wellbeing. No one told me it was about joy, accidental or otherwise, brought to ourselves and others.

Well, for the last one, maybe some people did; maybe even Mrs Ramsey, at a different time. And to them, I say thank you.