I
suspect the methodology used was similar to the Myers Briggs system of
character-analysis, in which you discover where you are placed in four
categories of personality trait. There are two options in each category, and
through various tests, discussions, and self-discovery, a person not only gets
to understand themself but also, in a rather Jungian sense, is able to access
their ‘shadow.’
For
years I have struggled to work out where I sit on the second of these
categories: introvert/extrovert. The general
understanding of these terms is based on behaviour: he/she is such an extrovert
(ie, showy) or an introvert (ie, shy.) But in Jungian typology, it is about where
a person finds ‘energy.’ Are you energised by having other people around, or do
you re-charge your batteries when alone? There has been quite a lot said lately
about ‘quiet types,’ and an attempt to re-assess the notion that there are,
indeed, perks of being a wallflower. (An aside: what a great film!)
For
a creative person – a writer, an artist, performer or whatever – the need to
shut oneself in a room and create stuff may be at odds with the desire to ‘get
out there.’ Conversely, the prospect of having to ‘strut one’s stuff’ in public
is daunting for an artist who would rather hide in his or her turret. As a performer in one field of the arts (ie,
singing), I am glad to share my voice in public. But performing my writing is a
terrifying experience that deeply challenges my extrovert nature since, as a
writer, I would describe myself as an introvert.
Last
week I was relieved to find an article that has finally resolved this issue, at
least in terms of being pigeonholed. It seems that artists, or ‘creative types’
as we tend to get called, can be both introvert and extrovert. Simultaneously! We are smart and naïve, humble and
proud, rebellious iconoclasts and somehow
traditional and conservative. It may sound (or feel) schizophrenic or
paradoxical, but how else can we be passionate about our work yet at the same
time, objective?
The
article also said that ‘creative
people alternate between imagination and fantasy, and a rooted sense of
reality.’ How true. What’s
more, it said ‘creative
people's openness and sensitivity often exposes them to suffering and pain, yet
also to a great deal of enjoyment.’ Not every artist buys into
the ‘no pain, no gain’ idea, but I fail to see how anyone can create or perform
a work of art without giving something of their soul away in the process.
No two people are the same, and artists hate being
put into boxes. For this reason, I prefer to use the nine-fold system of character-analysis
which I have alluded to before. (see Monday, 12 August 2013 – Canto VIII) The ‘Enneagram’ comes from the Sufi religion,
and divides the character into three groups of three: three body-centred types who
tend towards gut-instinct; three heart-centred, with a developed emotive
response, and three head-centred who rely more on cognitive processes.
People
discover for themselves (rather than being told) which of the nine types fits
their personality best. Being plotted on a circle, they are then able to access the other
eight points, or travel around the circumference to understand and empathise
with those who may seem distant from their own way of thinking, behaving,
or
feeling. The film, The Wizard of Oz, advocates a clockwise walk around the
circle in order to come to terms with one’s buried function – for example, the
Tin Man, who sings, ‘If I only had a heart,’ must also reflect on his thoughts and
behaviour to control his emotions.
This
is a long-winded way of introducing the ninth of my Twelve Tones of Blue sequence. Having spent many years trying to
write novels that explore this nine-fold typology, I can only present here a
nine-line poem that attempts to summarise the points of the enneagram. Were life,
and people, so simple as to sum up the complexities of character in a mere poem,
we wouldn’t need creative people, with all their foibles, to try and make sense
of it. This is why we all, naturally, fail. And thrive.
Twelve
Tones of Blue
Canto IX
The governor, who'll quickly come
to your aid;
The stickler, who beats himself
with his own tirade.
The trust who strives to achieve
and stays alive by stealth;
The gust of creative beauty, who
survives by Art, not wealth.
Rodin sculpted a figure whose
thought was masked by avarice;
Joni constructed a palette of
indigo: governed by loyal cowardice.
