The Framed 1’s Life

According to economist David Galenson, there’s only two major kinds of Geniuses, namely:

1. The Conceptualists
2. The Experimentalists

The Conceptualists are those that gets hit by a creative spark at a younger age and are then able to produce works that alters the landscape. Here’re a few some of these folks:

LITERATURE: The Great Gatsby
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Age 29

PAINTING: Les Demoiselles d’Avignon
Pablo Picasso
Age 26

FILMMAKING: Citizen Kane
Orson Welles
Age 26

ARCHITECTURE: The Vietnam War Memorial
Maya Lin
Age 23

MUSIC: The Marriage of Figaro
Wolfgang Mozart
Age 30

Experimentalists, however, takes time to mature; henceforth, they usually produce their works at a later stage in their lives.

LITERATURE: Huckleberry Finn
Mark Twain
Age 50

PAINTING: Château Noir
Paul Cézanne
Age 64

FILMMAKING: Vertigo
Alfred Hitchcock
Age 59

ARCHITECTURE: Fallingwater
Frank Lloyd Wright
Age 70

MUSIC: Symphony No. 9
Ludwig van Beethoven
Age 54

Of course, there are still what Galenson would consider “Moderates,” but most geniuses fall under those two. Talk about a major paradigm shift — geniuses are both BORN and MADE. Some simply take time to mature. Here’s the parting shot by the articles author:

“Of course, not every unaccomplished 65-year-old is some undiscovered experimental innovator. This is a universal theory of creativity, not a Viagra for sagging baby boomer self-esteem. It’s no justification for laziness or procrastination or indifference. But it might bolster the resolve of the relentlessly curious, the constantly tinkering, the dedicated tortoises undaunted by the blur of the hares. Just ask David Galenson.”1

1Article and image from http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/14.07/genius.html

This is my 3rd blog tonight. I hate myself for accidentally closing the damn window and losing the other two.

I was originally ranting about how friggin hard it is to get ideas / inspiration / divine slap in the face. Now, I’m not even feeling that irritating nagging in my mind that I was supposed to write about. ARGH!

You know what’s so frustrating about capturing the best ideas? They hit you when your doing something. Like taking a shower or being sandwiched in the MRT at peak hour. Yeah, people love to tell you to “write that thought down” or “record it on your cellphone” (ah, the joys of technology!), but they never realized how “prioritization” can have such devastating effects on creativity.

I mean, seriously, who carries a notebook in the shower? Or dares to take out his cellphone to dictate to it in the train (talk about a fax paus)? Or tells a client/boss to suck it as he write his most precious ideas down? These things come so suddenly that its like attempting to bite a bullet in mid-air (ala Houdini; but alas, everyone knows it was an act). And, worst, it takes a lining of the planets, the perfect blooming of a million roses, and a right emotional disposition and intellectual state to labor out that baby idea. Which usually happens in the shower.

And ideas ain’t cheap. You gotta breathe, go out; eat some sunshine; swallow some rain; bathe in highway dust and inject yourself with a dozen books just to get those creative juices pumping. It takes time, baby. Time!

And I think its high time for me to write those thoughts I’ve been wanting to write about earlier. Cheerio.

In the sea of faces, only those that have impacted our lives are those that we remembered.

I came across a chain mail sometime back mentioning that awards and everything else doesn’t matter as much except for the people that truly made a difference in our lives. It went on asking if we can remember the last 10 winners of the Ms. Universe pageant and the Nobel Science awardees. We can barely remember them, if at all, can we? The letter then proceeded to ask if we can name the 10 most influential people about our lives. It’s so much easier, according to the letter.

But in the wider picture of it all, isn’t it that our own memory – this biological repository of abstractions from reality such as events, items, etc. –holds nothing different than your common hard drive? That is, it holds nothing more than information.

I once talked to a philosopher teacher online. Prior to meeting her again, we have had some interesting exchange of ideas. Upon bumping into her online again, she could barely remember me; although I can remember her fully. I questioned, curiously, as to how that can be; only to be replied coldly that “People online come and go after they talk to me.”

That was quite striking. My identity has been one of the faceless ones in the sea; information so useless I wasn’t even stored.