The Creative Process of Late Bloomers
In 2008, Malcolm Gladwell wrote an essay in The New Yorker called “Late Bloomers,” which I go back and read every so often because it comforts me greatly. Gladwell asks, “Why do we equate genius with precocity?” and delves into a study by David Galenson called “Old Masters and Young Geniuses: The Two Life Cycles of Artistic Creativity.”
Galenson compares the painter Picasso, who painted his masterpiece, “Evocation: the Burial of Casagemas” at 20, with Cézanne who, like Picasso, painted his whole life, but unlike Picasso, developed his skills gradually, through trial and error. He painted his most celebrated works in his 50s and 60s.
Gladwell names other artists who blazed onto the world stage with polished works of art at young ages:
T.S. Eliot wrote “The LoveSong of J. Alfred Prufrock” at 23.
Orson Welles directed and starred in his masterpiece film, Citizen Kane, at 25.
Mozart wrote his Piano Concerto #9 in E-Flat Major at 21.
I can add to his list:
Charles Dickens wrote his first novel, The Pickwick Papers, at 25.
Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein when she was 18 and published it when she was 20.
Stevie Wonder released his first album, The Jazz Soul of Little Stevie, when he was 12.
Aretha Franklin recorded her first album, Songs of Faith, at age 14.
I’m sure we could all come up with many more examples of artists who produced excellent works of art when they were young. But then, there are other artists, who produce their best work when they’re much older.
Galenson describes the creative approach of “late bloomers” as experimental: “Experimental artists build their skills gradually over the course of their careers, improving their work slowly over long periods. These artists are perfectionists and are typically plagued by frustration at their inability to achieve their goal.”
Cézanne was known for painting a scene, then repainting it, then painting it again, then slashing his canvas in frustration at his inability to get the painting right. Similarly, Mark Twain wrote and rewrote and gave up on and then returned to Huckleberry Finn over a period of ten years.
Late bloomers do not discover later in life that they excel at painting or music or writing. Neither are they “discovered” later in their lives after years of not having their talents appreciated. Gladwell writes: “The Cézannes of the world bloom late… because the kind of creativity that proceeds through trial and error necessarily takes a long time to come to fruition…. late bloomers bloom late because they simply aren’t much good until late in their careers.”
The first time I read this essay, I breathed a sigh of relief. As someone who has written and rewritten and given up on and returned to novels for what feels like a long time now, the one constant that keeps me going on this journey (aside from the simple joy of writing) is the belief that I’m getting better as I go. I can see qualitative differences in my own writing from thirty and twenty and ten and five years ago. There is no question that my early stories weren’t very good. But through experimenting, trial and error, writing and rewriting, I believe my stories are improving. If anyone reading this has also felt called to throw themselves into an artistic pursuit for year after year without producing anything to show for it—yet—take heart. You might be another Cézanne in the making.
Gladwell points out another critical factor in whether or not late-blooming artists ever reach their potential: the existence, or lack thereof, of a supportive community. Cézanne had a stalwart group of mentors and sponsors, as well as a father who, although frustrated, never insisted that his son go get a real job, but supported him financially during his decades’ long apprenticeship.
I’m so grateful for all the supportive people in my life who undergird me as I keep following my dream of writing stories that engage and entertain and move readers. I’m particularly grateful that with the support of my family, I’ve been able to reduce my work hours and have more time than I’ve had in the past to devote to my writing (not as much time as I’d like, but more than I had before). The production of any artistic creation is never a purely individual accomplishment. It takes a community to bring forth new works of art.