On visions (and who gets to have them)
I studied English Literature at university and, as part of my course, had to read many, many Shakespeare plays. This was mostly a pleasure (apart from the ones with Richard or Henry in the title, which, in my view, can mostly be summed up as “men running around”) and made it clear to me why Shakespeare is still performed today - the beautiful language, the timeless themes, the way his stories hold up a mirror to ourselves. However, I also learned something else about Shakespeare: that he was not quite the pure original I’d assumed him to be. Hamlet is based on an earlier play, now lost, known as the Ur-Hamlet (catchy title). King Lear’s story can be found in an early history book by Geoffrey of Monmouth, with his name spelled differently and a bit less death at the end. And Romeo and Juliet - referenced and reinterpreted by everyone from Baz Luhrman to Taylor Swift - is based on an Italian story that was then translated into English twice before Shakespeare created his own version of it.
In some ways, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. All artists borrow - whether directly, by retelling an existing story, or indirectly, in the way that their style or structure mirrors or is demonstrably influenced by other artists that have come before them. But it is also contrary to one of the great myths of our culture - that there are some amongst us who are visionaries. Shakespeare is perhaps the OG in this regard - a singular creative genius, whose stories are performed time and time again all over the world, translated and reinterpreted by each generation afresh. And yet. Those stories weren’t his. They didn’t leap, fully formed from his brain, he didn’t suddenly spring from his seat and dash to put quill to paper because the idea of two lovers kept apart by their families had just occurred to him. They existed already - he borrowed them, made them his own, and the rest is history. That doesn’t mean they aren’t great - they are. They’re just not his alone.
I think we’re kind of obsessed with the idea of visionaries. Shakespeare. Einstein. Newton. Gates. Jobs. (Anyone spot what chromosome these folks have in common?). Perhaps it goes back to our need to make sense of the world through stories, which tend to centre upon a lead character and the physical, emotional or spiritual journey that they go on. And given that most societies need or want leaders, you can see how we’ve evolved to tell these kinds of stories about the people who lead - to help people believe in them, to gather behind them when unity is needed. Maybe it’s also comforting for us - that if, say, a company is in freefall, with a toxic culture and crumbling finances, the solution lies in finding that exceptional, special leader that can be hired in, sees right to the heart of the problem with their X-ray vision, and pulls off the kind of turnaround that we’d all want to write a film about.
The arts has its own specific flavour of this instinct, and that is about who is deemed a creative person and who is not. We speak about visionary artists with reverence and will often deem anyone in a role that is not directly related to the creation of what happens on the stage or in the gallery as “admin”. People like me, doing my kind of leadership role, are often included in this term, alongside additional descriptors like “pen-pusher”, “management” and “corporate”.
This kind of language and distinction between different ‘types’ of people helps literally no one. It devalues the many many people that work in different kinds of roles that all have a part to play in creating a work of art (or, depending on your industry, a product, a service, or a piece of research). By putting artists into their own special category, we obscure the fact that making art is work and should be recompensed as such (including with such mundanities as paid holidays and pensions, just as the “admin” folks do). I’ve worked in and around a number of Artistic Directors over the years, and all the good ones have the capacity to activate a corporate or commercial mindset when they need to - in the financial systems that we all work within, organisations go bust if they can’t. And it also buys into this myth that artistic creations spring from the minds of their creators fully formed - rather than, say, benefitting from a paid week of research and development with other artists, or a conversation with a casting director to work out exactly which combination of actors could create the special chemistry that might make a show a hit.
Whilst many, including myself, do not have the talent, experience or skills to act, design, direct or paint for a living, that does not by default make us un-creative, or un-visionary. Seth Godin (a regular reference on this blog) has a great definition in his book Linchpin of what he thinks an artist is. He writes: “Art is about intent and communication, not substances. An artist is someone who uses bravery, insight, creativity, and boldness to challenge the status quo.” Adam Grant, in his book Originals (which, one might argue, is an adjacent word to visionary), writes something very similar: “The hallmark of originality is rejecting the default and exploring whether a better option exists.” These are things we can all do - and, better still, we can do it together.
Because that’s the other problem with the myth of the visionary - it’s all about the individual, not the collective. Many would argue that society is prioritising the former over the latter to a greater and greater degree, as we see fewer people in real life and have more interaction with our self-curated social media feeds. In its extreme version, we look to people with a singular level of self-belief to help us solve all our problems (if you’re in doubt of this, watching a few clips of the most recent Republican National Convention might convince you). And yet the big issues societies are facing - climate change, the need for greater equity and inclusion for marginalised groups, the advancement of AI - are all things that cannot be solved by one person, no matter how creative or visionary they are.
This calls for a different, more radical way of leading. A way that acknowledges where we’ve been and draws on the collective ideas, visions and artistry of every person to forge a path forwards. For our aforementioned struggling company, this might look like hiring a leader that doesn’t sweep in with a grand plan of what’s needed, but instead uses a different set of skills to pool the knowledge and expertise of the people who are already there to build a collective vision for how to turn things round. As leaders, this requires us to de-centre our own ego - to not immediately prioritise our own ideas over those of our colleagues, to not assume that we have all the answers or, for those struggling with imposter syndrome, to free ourselves from the idea that we need to have all the answers in the first place.
I went to see an exhibition last week - There Is Light Somewhere by the artist Tavares Strachan. His work is beautiful, thought-provoking and visually arresting - visionary, you might say. And yet, one of the most profound things about his art is the way it consistently highlights the work (artistic or otherwise) of people whose contributions to society have been overlooked because of their race - whether through a neon sculpture of a quote from James Baldwin, pottery that cracks open to reveal the face of Mary Seacole or Nina Simone, or his monumental Encyclopedia of Invisibility, an alternative encyclopaedia with thousands of entries on hidden histories and the achievements of marginalised people. As with all artists, his work builds upon and is inspired by what has come before - and in this exhibition, that interconnection is front and centre, enhancing his creativity, not detracting from it. It made me think about how, as a leader, I can make the creativity and artistry of all the brilliant people that I work with visible. Perhaps we don’t always need the same handful of senior people talking to our donors, funders or investors; maybe the person that gives the quote to the press could be from the department that’s pertinent to the subject matter, rather than from the person who is considered the figurehead. And, perhaps more importantly, we should challenge ourselves to build cultures within our organisations that acknowledge and celebrate everyone’s contributions and embrace the radical idea that the greatest visions are those that we create together.