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We tend to romanticize creativity and innovation. We think of a select group of scientists, philosophers, inventors, artists, authors and composers as different from the rest of us. After all, the rest of us are mere mortals.
We put these individuals in a special category called "genius." We assume these individuals — like Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Mozart and Marie Curie — had what we don't, and thereby are the only ones who can be creative, the only ones who can
create. We assume creation is a magical, mystical process that regular people just aren't privy to. We assume creation happens spontaneously through aha! moments and epiphanies that strike like lightning. We assume creativity is like a stroll along a quiet street or a steady stream: smooth, effortless, graceful, forward moving.
We assume creation looks just like Mozart's own process, which he described in 1815 in a letter to Germany's
General Music Journal:
When I am, as it were, completely myself, entirely alone, and of good cheer; say traveling in a carriage, or walking after a good meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep; it is on such occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly. All this fires my soul, and provide I am not disturbed, my subject enlarges itself, becomes methodized and defined, and the whole, though it be long, stands almost finished and complete in my mind, so that I can survey it, like a fine picture or a beautiful state, at a glance...
Kevin Ashton features Mozart's letter in his new book
How to Fly a Horse: The Secret History of Creation, Invention and Discovery. The letter reveals that Mozart's symphonies came to him as whole creations. All he had to do was transcribe the compositions from his imagination.
Or does it?
Decades after Mozart's letter was published in the German journal, his biographer showed that it was actually a fake (which others have confirmed).
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