Genius Is a Place, Not a Person
The Power of Creative Scenes & Where to Find Them
Note: This is an edited excerpt from my book Real Artists Don’t Starve, which is only 99 cents on Kindle this month (not available everywhere, sorry). Grab your copy here.
Some places have an “it” factor. There is just something special about them. We see this most obviously in historic sites such a Rome or Paris, where it is impossible to go far without coming across an incredible work of art or architecture.
Other places serve as hotbeds for industry, attracting top talent from around the world, like the computer revolution did for California or Wall Street still does for New York City.
It is undeniable that certain places carry with them an unfair advantage, an indelible offering the rest of the world can’t possibly compete with. And as humans, it’s only natural to want to find such places, to go where there are others just like us, where we can be ourselves and belong to something bigger, and where, we hope, our work can thrive.
When
was asked why she moved to New York City in the 1970s, along with so many other young artists and musicians, she said, “It was cheap to live here, really cheap. There were so many of us, so many like minds.” Finding “so many like minds” is a necessity to doing interesting creative work. You have to surround yourself with peers who will not only encourage you but challenge you to get better, to not settle for less than what you are capable of creating.In her memoir Just Kids, Smith recounts instances of running into people like Jimi Hendrix and Andy Warhol and many others on a fairly regular basis. These were not unique occurrences. They were what it was like for anyone of that era to be part of the scene at that time. Where we live and who we surround ourselves with, in large part, determines who we become. Which is why we ought to be careful.
Where we live and who we surround ourselves with,
in large part, determines who we become.
“The most important factor in the success of your career,” researcher Richard Florida once shared with me in an interview, “is where you choose to live.”
He’s right, of course, but most of us act in a way that contradicts this truth. We think talent more a feat of human ingenuity than a product of environment—in spite of overwhelming evidence suggesting the contrary. “Genius,” travel writer Eric Weiner remarked in his study of the most creative places on earth, “is a place, not a person.” These places, sometimes called “creative clusters,” are where writers, artists, and creatives tend to flourish.
In the early twentieth century, Paris was such a place. It was inexpensive, tolerant toward alternative lifestyles, and full of inspiring people (to name a few: Pablo Picasso, Gertrude Stein, and James Joyce). These individuals got together often and shared their work with one another. They met in cafes to discuss ideas, as the Impressionists had done fifty years before them and as the Inklings were doing in Oxford around the same time. It was a scene, a creative cluster, and eventually everyone wanted to be a part of it.
So, it’s 1921, and you’re a fledgling journalist from Chicago who wants to become a serious writer. What do you do? You follow the advice of a prominent author and board a ship bound for France to join the community of expats living in Paris at the time, embedding yourself into that scene, befriending some of the leading literary minds of the day.
Ernest Hemingway would later credit himself for his ascent to literary immortality, but it’s clear that he profited from the scene he was a part of early on in his career. We all want to believe the myth of the self-made person, but the truth is without Paris, you do not get a Hemingway. And without a scene, you do not get a creative genius.
Granted, not everyone can set sail for another continent or drive across the country to write the next great American novel. Most of us have bills to pay and commitments to keep, and we can’t simply uproot ourselves for no “good” reason. Does this, then, mean we can’t fulfill our artistic potential? Not at all. Sometimes, the scenes we need most are the places where we already find ourselves. Because for every Hemingway in Paris, there’s a Brontë in Haworth.
In the mid-nineteenth century, Haworth was a small town in northern England, described by one writer as “a dirty village of weavers’ cottages, where death came early.” It was a bleak place with few trees and constant wind, and the Brontë family called it home.
Patrick Brontë was an ambitious young minister from Ireland who had brought his family to Haworth to open a local parish. There were six children in total: five girls—Maria, Elizabeth, Charlotte, Emily, and Anne—and a boy named Branwell.
It was a hard life. Brontë’s wife died in 1821 when the children were all under the age of seven. Three years later, the girls were sent to school, which ended up being a horrific and abusive experience for all of them. The eldest, Maria, was sent home at eleven with tuberculosis and died. The same fate visited Elizabeth later that year. Brontë removed his three remaining daughters from school and brought them home where he continued their education alongside their brother.
During their studies, the children memorized Bible passages and studied grammar, geography, and history. Reverend Brontë read them classic works such as Shakespeare’s plays and Milton’s Paradise Lost. The bookshelves were filled with Romantic literature and poetry, and they absorbed it all.
Once when returning from a trip, the reverend brought home a set of toy soldiers for the kids to play with. The four siblings took the small figures and invented an imaginary kingdom of their own, acting out plays in a made-up world. They drew maps and wrote stories, poems, and histories to go along with their fantasy land. Storytelling was the Brontë children’s way of coping with an otherwise harsh world, and it would eventually pay off.
“The most important factor in the success of your career
is where you choose to live.”
—Richard Florida
As the children grew, the girls pursued short-lived careers as teachers and governesses but always ended up back home. They just couldn’t seem to escape Haworth for long. One day in 1845, Charlotte found a hidden notebook of poems by Emily. Flipping through the book, she found verses with a surprising level of skill that stirred her heart “like the sound of a trumpet.” Shortly after, Anne shared some poetry of her own, and it wasn’t long before all three sisters agreed to submit a book of poems for publication together.
The book was published in May of 1846 under male pseudonyms but sold only two copies. Still, they wondered, could they make enough money from writing to support themselves? It was a near-impossible dream for three unmarried women living in nineteenth century England. But they were curious enough to try, and sometimes that’s all you need to make the impossible happen.
Two months after publishing their poems, the three sisters each submitted for publication a novel they’d written. The two from Anne and Emily were accepted, but Charlotte’s was turned down seven different times. On the seventh attempt, the publisher asked if she had anything else. She did: a story about a simple English woman not unlike herself called Jane Eyre. The other two books, which Anne and Emily paid to publish, were Agnes Grey and Wuthering Heights.
The Brontës did not have to move to another city to find success. If anything, they did the opposite of what Hemingway would attempt some eighty or so years later. Nonetheless, these women didn’t wait for their opportunity. They sought it out, persevered in spite of failure, and made their dreams come true.
But how? They had no special advantages. No network, no scene. And yet, their work still endures today. Where, then, did the Brontë sisters come from?
They came from Haworth, of course, a town so small that the young women were forced to cling to one another, sharing stories with each other on a daily basis, encouraging and critiquing one another’s work. The sisters had each other, and that wasn’t nothing. Whatever opportunity they lacked, they created for themselves. Over the years, they accumulated thousands of hours of practice and millions of words written. Their success wasn’t by any means a given, but with hard work and persistence, it became a possibility.
For years, I wanted to be a writer but felt frustrated by a seeming lack of opportunity. It was easy in the early 2000s to look at my peers living in LA and New York City and wonder what my life might have been had I ended up in those places. Soon, though, I saw what was available to me right where I was and began to embrace my place, noticing how many authors, bloggers, and entrepreneurs were emerging from my small but growing city. Maybe opportunity did exist, and I just lacked the vision to see it.
Curious if I could connect with some of those who were “making it,” I started showing up in coffee shops where I knew other writers were hanging out. I attended meet-ups and happy hours where digital entrepreneurs and social media marketers were getting together. And I tried to befriend some of those people. I wasn’t sure they were my people, but they were doing interesting work and I wanted to be a part of something that felt out of reach to me.
The more I engaged with this growing scene, the more at home I felt. Soon, the resulting combination of friends and acquaintances began to conspire, in a way, for my success. My blog began to grow, then a publisher offered me a small book deal, then I started growing a business and others wanted to help me. Through this blending of place and people, I learned that a scene was already available to me, waiting for me to join it. All I had to do was play my part.
Hemingway once described Paris as “a moveable feast,” something more than a place, an idea. If you understood this, he reasoned, you could take it with you wherever you went. If you’ve ever been somewhere like that, maybe even Paris itself, you know how deeply a place can embed itself into your psyche.
Historically, creative work has been contingent on where a person lives, but increasingly that’s becoming less important. Scenes exist all around us in a variety of forms. There are communities and spaces we can join where we may feel not so alone.
But these places, wherever we encounter them, still require action on our part. We must move in some way. Whether across the room or around the globe, a willingness to step out of one’s comfort zone is essential to finding a place and a community that will help you thrive.
Without Paris, you do not get a Hemingway. And without a scene, you do not get a creative genius.
To begin, try putting yourself where the work you want to do is already happening.
Then, show up and be seen. Make yourself known without being obnoxious. Persistence and generosity are key here. Yes, go to that coffee shop or conference. Join the community of creatives who want to help each other, but don’t stop there. Become part of the scene. Find others who can help you—and who also need your help. And then, help them. Make a unique contribution. Offer your services to someone who needs them. Do something to stand out from everyone else who is waiting to be noticed.
“Papa” did not just hunt down the most famous authors of his time and pick their brains. He became their friend and helped his heroes and mentors however he could—from teaching Ezra Pound to box to editing a literary magazine for Ford Maddox Ford to assisting Gertrude Stein in getting published.
Success in any endeavor is contingent on the scenes we are a part of and the contributions we make to those people and places. Sure, you still have to show up and share something. But you also need to build a network of peers by giving more than you take from them. If Hemingway had to do it, what makes you think you won’t need to?
Don’t just connect with others but connect them to one another. That’s what joining a scene really means. As you make more connections and contributions, your relationships will take on a new quality, one where you can bring them with you wherever you go. They become a sort of moveable feast.
And just as the Brontes did, if you are resourceful and wise, you may also be able transform your place, wherever it is, into something powerful and creative. You must join a scene. And if you can’t find the next “it” place, you just might have to create it.
For more on this subject, check out the following books:
Just Kids by Patti Smith
The Geography of Genius by Eric Weiner
The Rise of the Creative Class by Richard Florida
Group Genius by Keith Sawyer
And be sure to check out Real Artists Don’t Starve by yours truly where these stories, and so many others, appear. It’s on a deep discount for the month of July, if you order it via Kindle.
How have you benefited from, or felt held back by, the Rule of the Scene?
Great post. Thank you. I had to pause on this: "Where we live and who we surround ourselves with, in large part, determines who we become. Which is why we ought to be careful." I've heard we become the average of the five people we spend the most time with. It's essential to choose wisely those people who will inspire us to recognize our potential and then act. Thanks again.
This post is featured on my Substack feed. I probably read it in July but it really hit home today. Lots of great quotable material here. I loved the “connect people TO one another” idea. It’s something I have tried to do much of my life. I am less interested in becoming a “star” and more primed to help others become a success. And you know what? Others have done this for ME!