Two Encounters with Creativity Stereotypes

Sociocultural psychologists study the norms, rules and standards that societies create and maintain. To people outside the field, society’s influence on individuals may seem abstract. Since I began studying creativity, however, sociocultural psychology has often stared me in the face in the form of a stereotype: creativity belongs to the arts.

Let’s pause for a moment. What is your area of expertise?

If you were to draw a map of the areas of expertise developed in your society, where would you place your specialisation?

I’ve been drawn to the study of creativity since 2015. On a map of academic disciplines, I might draw knowledge about creativity as a tiny dot—no bigger than a pen point—on the outskirts of psychology. Yet on a map of all the areas of knowledge that people have worked hard to develop, I would place that barely visible dot at the centre. It’s my map, after all, so I can sketch it as I see fit.

Since 2015, I’ve also begun to notice the world around me through the lens of creative thinking, beliefs and behaviours. When I tell people that I research creativity, I can sense that they aren’t sure what that means. Perhaps they put me in the “odd professions” basket.

Here are two moments when people’s reactions seemed to reflect the challenge of questioning a creativity stereotype—and the choice to stick with it: “Yes, creativity is about drawing, playing music and dancing. What is there to study?”

The course on creativity

Years ago, I was discussing a proposed course on creativity for doctoral researchers with someone in a leadership position in the university. The course focused on habits of creative thinking. The person responsible for deciding whether it was worth investing in asked me:

“You know, I mentioned the course to my colleague, and he asked: “What artistic activities has she been involved in?”

They wanted to know whether I had written an award-winning novel, organized a painting exhibition or achieved anything else that demonstrated my credibility as an individual proposing a course about creativity.

I hadn’t received any public recognition for an artistic achievement. I had written scripts as a hobby, but that didn’t seem worth mentioning. I had completed a PhD, which demonstrated my creative thinking as a researcher, but explaining that would have taken too long. I was tempted to point out that designing a course on creative thinking habits was itself an act of creative thinking.

There was a pause in the office as the decision about whether I would be allowed to teach the course hung in the balance. I began to panic. Should I say nothing? What would that mean for my chances of teaching the course?

Then an analogy came to mind. I asked:

“Does a doctor need to have personal experience with a particular illness to help a patient who comes to their office with that illness?”

The discussion ended with a suggestion to contact the marketing department. They, apparently, were the creative ones among businesspeople.

The emotions creativity evokes

On another occasion, I was speaking with a neurologist. I was in their office describing headaches I’d been experiencing for some time when the doctor asked:

“Has anything unusual happened in your life recently?”

I replied, “I’ve written a book, and it challenged me.”

“What’s the book about?”, the doctor asked.

“Creativity”, I said.

“You wrote a book about creativity, and it challenged you?”, the doctor responded, sounding half-amused.

This was another moment when a creativity stereotype hit me in the face. People often associate creativity with positive feelings: curiosity, joy, excitement, etc. These feelings are certainly parts of the creative experience. But there is another side to the life as a creator: uncertainty, confusion and ambiguity as we work on an idea and try to turn it into something others might find useful, enjoyable or original.

If you’ve created something, you may know those moments when you can’t sleep because you kind of sense what’s next, but you have not reached clarity yet. Or, when someone is talking to you, but you don’t hear a word because your mind is on your work.

Eleven years ago, when I began learning about creativity and decided to build my expertise around it, I had no idea what to expect. The journey has brought personal discoveries and deeper understandings of how people form relationships. The blank looks I’ve encountered—and the sense that my role as a creativity researcher belongs in the “odd professions” basket—have made me realise that recognition of our professions is one way we connect with the people around us.

A few places to start

Creativity is an elusive concept, and creativity research is a fascinating, diverse field. These four references offer a good starting point – in my view:

• Feist, G. J., Reiter-Palmon, R., & Kaufman, J. C. (Eds.). (2017). The Cambridge handbook of creativity and personality research. Cambridge University Press.

• Glăveanu, V. P. (Ed.). (2017). The Palgrave handbook of creativity and culture research. Springer.

• Ivcevic, Z., Hoffmann, J. D., & Kaufman, J. C. (Eds.). (2023). The Cambridge handbook of creativity and emotions. Cambridge University Press.

• Reiter-Palmon, R., & Hunter, S. (Eds.). (2023). Handbook of organizational creativity: Individual and group level influences. Elsevier.

Oana Velcu-Laitinen, researcher, JATKOT research group