Everything we see around us is a product of human creativity. Creativity is at the
forefront of everything we see, everything that we feel, and everything we can touch. Everything
comes from something, and often that something is an idea that was molded through the lens of
an individual based on his or her perspectives. These perspectives are intuitively ingrained
through experiences, knowledge, and wisdom. This is where the term creativity comes from;
everyone’s “creativity” is different because everyone is inherently different. Everyone has a
different toolkit, and one person’s tool/s may function and operate differently from another’s.
Sometimes, individuals may have some tools that aren’t as strong as others, but maybe they
have other, stronger ones. Whatever the case may be, everyone has this toolkit; not everyone
digs into it to fix, build, and create. In this paper, I aim to explore how creativity has shaped my
life and to compare my experiences with the ideas of several thinkers who examine the role of
art in human flourishing. Creativity for me began, like many, in the early years of childhood.
One of my earliest creative accomplishments was a painting that I drew in elementary
school. We were asked to draw 2 people in a single elevator, but they couldn’t be touching the
sides. Although I never viewed the piece as anything more than a simple classroom project, the
school chose to display it, awarded me $150, and it is still hanging in the school to this day.
Walter Benjamin suggests that a work’s value is connected to the way it is received and the
context that surrounds it, what he calls its “aura” (Benjamin 4). In my case, the school’s decision
to display the painting shaped its significance more than the image itself. This concept intrigues
me as it shows how subjective one’s interpretation of work really is. Michael Fried echoes this
idea in Why Photography Matters as Art as Never Before, arguing that the meaning of an
artwork arises through the viewer’s engagement with it rather than from the object alone (Fried
9). In his view, art becomes significant only when someone attends to it, which further highlights
how subjective interpretation truly is. While this may be true on a surface level, I find it
inseparable from a deeper question: how does a piece matter to the artist’s own character,
independent of how it is received? Fried’s view risks suggesting that a work only becomes
meaningful once someone else attends to it, which I find limiting. Rick Rubin offers a contrasting
perspective, insisting that the artist should not create with the audience in mind and that the
value of a piece lies in its authenticity, not its reception. As Rubin puts it, “the audience comes
last,” and an artist must create “without concern for how it will be received” (Rubin 51). This view
reinforces the idea that a creative work can shape one’s character long before anyone else
encounters it. I find this especially prevalent in my own current work, as I am constantly aware
of what others consider interesting or aesthetically pleasing and even of what media algorithms
reward. Yet I believe that it is the discipline that one is to create for themselves, rather than for
external approval, that holds the key to genuine artistic growth, personal development, and
ultimately, to flourishing in life.
As Tom Kupsh describes in his biography of Alex Jordan, early imaginative experiences
often become the foundation for a person’s lifelong creative path (Kupsh 22). I naturally
gravitated toward exploring many different creative forms growing up. That ongoing
experimentation is how I have come to understand what feels authentic to me, and ultimately
how a creative niche and style emerge. Rick Rubin makes a similar point, arguing that an artist’s
identity develops through continual exploration, noting that “the goal is not to achieve perfection,
but to be engaged in the process” because it is through that process that authenticity becomes
visible (Rubin 27). Over the years, I experimented with painting, origami, duct-tape crafts,
leather work, and more. But the one craft that stayed with me for the last eight years is
photography. What began as a simple Christmas gift became the medium through which I
learned to pay attention. Photography taught me to pay attention to light, to detail, to emotion,
and to those quiet moments that often go unnoticed. Through the years, I would argue that this has shaped my character, sharpened my perception, and grounded me in a sense of purpose. It
is in creating that I now feel most present, most human, and most connected to the world
around me. Plato offers a framework for this idea, suggesting that creative acts emerge from the
soul’s desire to give birth to “beauty and goodness” within itself (Plato 206c–207a). In this
sense, the camera became more than a tool; it became a means of shaping my inner life,
allowing me to grow into the person I was becoming. Whatever medium or format you may
choose, creativity is at the forefront of flourishing and character development, which is why the
question of creativity’s future and the forces that threaten it matters so deeply.
The utilization of creativity in my eyes has always been inevitable through various forms
of play, education, and general navigation of life. However, with the recent mass adaptation
towards new artificial intelligence technologies that are widely accessible and now becoming
unavoidable, this is becoming questionable for the first time in history. For the first time in
history, everything and anything is available at the tap of a finger in a more intimate way than
ever before. If a model studies you, learns you, and mimics you, at what point does it become
you? This may seem a stretch, but we aren’t far from it becoming a reality; in fact, it is where
evidence is pointing. Nonetheless, there is no arguing that, like a phone, these intelligent
models are becoming an addition to people’s lives. People are no longer forced to ponder or
even think much at all, without thinking, how does one create? They don’t.
Why does it matter in the first place if we are creative, if we create in the first place? This
is generally where my mind goes, and where yours should as well. If the work can be done
faster, easier, and in some cases better on paper, what is the point, and why does it matter?
Well, in the Symposium (208d-209e), Plato argues that some individuals pursue immortality not
through having children but through intellectual and creative achievements. These “children of
the soul”, poetry, laws, virtuous actions, and works of wisdom, are, he says, “more beautiful and
more immortal” than biological offspring, because they preserve a person’s memory long after
death. Plato’s claim that creative works allow a person to “live on” through the lasting influence of their ideas is not an ancient belief; it is echoed today by contemporary thinkers who see
creativity as fundamental to human flourishing. In The Creative Act: A Way of Being, Rick Rubin
argues that creativity is not a luxury or a hobby, but an essential human function. He suggests
that creating is one of the few activities that tunes us back into the world and into ourselves.
According to Rubin, every person “is a creative being,” not because of talent or training, but
because the act of creating is bound up with human perception. We are, he claims, “receivers”
constantly picking up signals from the world, and creativity is the process of giving form to what
would otherwise remain invisible or unexpressed.
I feel this greatly expands on Plato’s argument that creation is not valuable merely
because it outlives us, but because it makes us more fully alive while we are here. Rubin states
that creating heightens our awareness, sharpens our sensitivity, and deepens our attention, like
qualities that atrophy when we outsource the thinking to machines. When we create, we wake
up to the subtleties of our environment, our emotions, and our inner life. In this sense, creativity
is a practice of humanization. It forces us in the present moment, demands engagement, and
makes us bring something inward into outward reality. In a world increasingly shaped by
automated systems that promise ease and efficiency, Rubin warns that the creative act is one of
the last remaining spaces where humans can exercise imagination, agency, and authenticity.
Creative work shows us who we are, what we value, and what we fear, often before we
consciously know it ourselves. The work becomes a record of our inner life, not just for others,
but for ourselves. If we relinquish this process to technology, we do not merely lose a skill, but
we also lose a vital mechanism for self-discovery. Creativity, then, matters not only because it
leaves something behind, but because it shapes the kind of humans we become while we are
living.
As humans, we take shortcuts, mental shortcuts that are instilled as a survival instinct to
navigate daily operations. While these shortcuts are often unconscious, it is known that it is
human nature to seek paths of least resistance and conserve energy whenever possible. If we are driven by efficiency, and we are prone to doing what requires the least amount of time,
energy, and resources, it is no wonder that AI adaptation has skyrocketed faster than any other
form of technology to date. Ideas can be generated in an instant, papers can now be written in
seconds, and pictures can be generated in minutes. This is happening on a very large scale,
and very few people seem to be alarmed. Just ask a student what they wrote about in his last
paper, go on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, and the majority of the content being displayed is
generated by a computer. The majority of the population sits on a screen all day viewing things
made by a screen, analyzed by the screen, to get you to stay on the screen. Think about what
this is doing and where we are headed. Human creativity is dying, and we must be conscious
and cognizant of its value, or we are headed down a dark path being led by technology with the
loss of human touch.
Another force that complicates the future of creativity is the increasing pressure to
monetize creative work. In a culture driven by metrics, algorithms, and market value, creative
expression is often reshaped into something transactional. I experienced this tension firsthand
while running my photography business. Although the work helped refine my technical skills, I
found myself creating with the viewer or the client in mind, because that is ultimately what paid
work requires. Rick Rubin warns against this shift, arguing that creating for external validation or
financial reward compromises the integrity of the work and distances the artist from their
authentic creative impulse (Rubin 51). While this kind of creative labor has value, I would argue
that it does not cultivate character in the same way as work done for oneself, work that is guided
by curiosity rather than consumer demand. This suggests that we must be conscious and
intentional about the kinds of creative work we pursue if we hope to develop character and fully
reap the rewards of the creative process; not all creative work is created equal.
One final point worth examining is the impact that diminishing creativity has on our experience of vulnerability. Much like creativity, vulnerability was once an inevitable part of
producing anything, art, writing, craftsmanship, and ideas, because what we create is, in many
ways, a reflection of ourselves. To share one’s work has always required a willingness to
expose a piece of one’s inner life. Yet as more tasks are delegated to machines, and as creative
processes are increasingly automated, this essential human vulnerability is beginning to
dissipate. When less of our own thinking, feeling, and effort is embedded in the work we
present, the “human touch” becomes diluted, creating a growing separation between the
individual and the work that supposedly represents them. Walter Benjamin warns that
mechanical reproduction diminishes the “aura” of a work, the unique presence and human
imprint that comes from the artist’s direct engagement with the medium (Benjamin 4). This
seems to be intertwined with Plato’s view that creative acts arise from the soul’s inner striving
(206c–207a). If any given person on any given day can generate an image, a paper, a video, or
any so-called “creative work” in a matter of seconds, how can they value it in the same way as
something they engaged with intimately for hours on end? There is no testing, no thinking, no
real effort involved. As a result, there is no longer a sense of pride in one’s work, and therefore
no real moral or personal repercussions in the feedback that work receives. If the work is not
truly theirs, how can they respond to criticism in a way that builds character or fosters growth?
When vulnerability is absent, there is no life flourishing fruit to be had.
Now that we have considered why creativity is essential to human life and how it shapes
character and flourishing, the question becomes: how can the average person cultivate
creativity for themselves? Creativity is modernly romanticized as a gift possessed by a select
few; however, it is far more accessible than most people assume. As previously explored, every
person is inherently a creative being; this is not due to skill or training, but because creativity is
a natural extension of perception and presence. Many people, however, never tap into this
innate creativity because they assume it must take the form of some artistic accomplishments.
These limiting beliefs prevent them from reaching into their own toolbox to use the tools already
available to them. If one never looks, one will never know they are there.
Creativity often begins in small, humbler acts of noticing, experimenting, and engaging
with the world in ways that challenge routine. Tom Kupsh’s depiction of Alex Jordan’s life
illustrates this beautifully. Jordan’s creativity did not emerge from formal instruction or desire for
recognition, but from a relentless curiosity and a willingness to follow imaginative impulses
wherever they led (Kupsh 22).
Inspiration is everywhere, as is impulse. Inspiration and impulse are inherently
intertwined, deeply on a complex dimensional level, often not seen or understood by man. I
have found this to be true in my own life as I used to read and write on the same bench in the
woods every day. Although each visit brought something new, the environment eventually
became familiar. One day, a random impulse led me to sit on a different bench, a small,
seemingly insignificant change. Yet that shift proved unexpectedly fruitful. The new
surroundings altered my perspective, sharpened my awareness, and ultimately enriched both
my reading and writing. In a completely unfamiliar environment, I could not feel the same way,
nor could I produce the same work; the change demanded new attention, new interpretation,
and a new creative response. Similarly, while photographing the same area multiple times has
its advantages, you know the landscape, the lighting, and the angles; there is a limit to what
familiarity can offer. Traveling to new locations forces a renewed sense of exploration and
demands a different kind of attention. In an unfamiliar environment, the very act of
photographing becomes something new; the work produced there cannot simply replicate what
was created in a place already known. The creative process shifts because you are required to
see differently, interpret differently, and respond differently.
One simple idea that I often return to is the power of human tendencies. Something as
ordinary as noticing that people naturally walk on the right side of a path led me to develop a
photo series and write about this behavior. It also pushed me to resist the habit myself. By
intentionally walking or running on the less-traveled side, I not only saw but felt a new
perspective. That small act of breaking from a norm opened a different way of experiencing the
world, revealing how even slight disruptions in routine can inspire curiosity and creative insight.
So, it is with this that I say take a different route to work, sit in a new place, break familiar
patterns, and spend time in nature; you will be surprised by all the open pathways to creativity.
To disregard these impulses is to overlook an opportunity for growth and discovery. These small
disruptions cultivate attentiveness and curiosity, qualities essential to developing character,
virtue, and a flourishing creative life.
Although creative work should not be made for the sake of pleasing an audience, it
would be a mistake to ignore the role that others play in our creative development.
Interpretation, both giving it and receiving it, is part of what makes creativity a distinctly human
practice. Even when a work is created authentically and without the viewer in mind, its
encounter with another person offers new layers of meaning that the creator alone could never
access. Engaging with someone else’s interpretation of your work reveals aspects of yourself
that remain hidden in solitary creation. Likewise, interpreting the work of others trains us to see
more deeply, to recognize perspectives beyond our own, and to cultivate empathy. Rick Rubin
suggests that while the artist should create without concern for reception, the sharing of work
can still be a generous act, an offering that invites others into dialogue rather than performance
(Rubin 53). This is a crucial exchange that strengthens character, sharpens judgment, and
enriches our understanding of the world. In this sense, creative work not only shapes the
individual but also contributes to the flourishing of a community, expanding our capacity to learn
from one another through the shared language of art. In this way, sharing creative work
becomes another avenue for growth. Hearing how others interpret your work reveals parts of
yourself you may not have noticed, and interpreting the work of others sharpens your perception
of the world around you. Assuming the work being exchanged is a genuine human creation, not
machine-generated artifacts, these critiques and criticisms carry real personal and moral weight.
They challenge you, refine you, sometimes even unsettle you, and often contributes to growth in
oneself. These exchanges deepen character and foster human flourishing in a way that solitary
creation alone cannot.
Creativity, then, is far more than a pastime or personal interest; it is a fundamental
aspect of what it means to live a full and examined life. Through thinkers such as Benjamin,
Fried, Rubin, Plato, and Kupsh, and through my own experiences, I have come to see that
creative work sharpens perception, cultivates discipline, and calls forth vulnerability. Creativity
requires a certain intention in a world that readily offers shortcuts, distractions, and
technological substitutes for human effort. It must be intentional and protected, practiced with a
kind of discipline that refuses the easy path in favor of genuine engagement. When creation is
replaced by efficiency, or when the impulse to make is overshadowed by monetization and
automation, we risk losing more than skill; we risk losing part of ourselves. To create is to pay
attention, to enter into a dialogue with the world, and to allow interpretation, our own and
others’, to refine our character. Creative work is a process that demands presence and offers
many fruits in return. For this reason, creativity remains essential to human flourishing. Whether
through art, writing, photography, or the smallest acts of observation, we participate in a practice
that both grounds us and expands us. In choosing to create authentically, we choose to resist
passivity and to pursue a life shaped by curiosity, virtue, and growth. And in a world increasingly
mediated by machines, the decision to create, genuinely, vulnerably, and intentionally, may be
one of the most human acts left to us. Everyone has their own toolbox. How will you use it?
Works Cited
Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Web MIT allanmc,
1936, https://web.mit.edu/allanmc/www/benjamin.pdf.
Fried, Michael. Why Photography Matters as Art as Never Before. Yale University Press, 2008.
Kupsh, Tom. Never Enough: The Creative Life of Alex Jordan. Wisconsin Historical Society
Press, 2010.
Plato. Symposium. Translated by Benjamin Jowett, University of Wisconsin–Madison, School of
Education, 2012, https://web.education.wisc.edu/halverson/wp
content/uploads/sites/33/2012/12/Symposium.pdf.
Rubin, Rick. The Creative Act: A Way of Being. Penguin Press, 2023.