By Atiq Raja
When we talk about creativity, the conversation often veers toward the modern—technology, startups, innovation labs. But long before we had buzzwords for creativity, there lived a man whose life still speaks louder than any TED Talk or design-thinking seminar. Leonardo da Vinci was not simply an artist or inventor—he was a way of thinking, a philosophy in motion. He didn’t just paint the Mona Lisa or dream of flying machines. He observed life so deeply that his mind refused to accept limits, and therein lies the timeless lesson. Leonardo teaches us that creativity is not a lightning strike. It’s a quiet discipline, a curiosity nurtured every day. He wasn’t born with secrets others didn’t have. He simply refused to stop asking questions, refused to see art as separate from science, and refused to give up when ideas failed.
The brilliance of da Vinci is not only in what he made, but in how he thought—and we have every reason to follow his path. Start with curiosity. Leonardo was famously obsessed with questions. Why is the sky blue? How do birds stay aloft? How does the heart move blood through the body? To most, these are passing thoughts. To Leonardo, they were invitations to explore the edges of human knowledge. He didn’t wait for someone to teach him; he taught himself through endless observation and inquiry. That’s the first lesson. Ask better questions. Not just about your work, but about the world. Don’t accept the obvious. If something puzzles you, don’t dismiss it—dwell in the puzzle. A creative life begins when we stop being satisfied with easy answers. In the spirit of da Vinci, write your questions down. Carry a small notebook. Fill it with wonder. Let the act of questioning become a ritual.
Leonardo also teaches us to erase the artificial lines we draw between disciplines. His notebooks contain anatomical studies beside designs for war machines, poetic reflections beside architectural plans. He did not see art and science as opposites, but as two lenses on the same truth. Today, we too often confine ourselves—“I’m not a numbers person,” we say, or “I’m not creative.” Leonardo would have laughed. The brain thrives on connections, and creativity grows at the intersection of ideas. So if you’re a coder, read some poetry. If you’re a teacher, take up sketching. If you’re a scientist, listen to jazz. Cross-pollinate your passions. The best ideas often emerge from unexpected combinations. Then comes the habit Leonardo was perhaps most known for: deep observation. He could stare at a swirling stream for hours, just to understand how water moved.
His fascination with detail was not obsessive—it was meditative. He trained himself to see what others overlooked. It’s why his paintings, like the Last Supper, pulse with lifelike emotion. He didn’t just paint people; he studied them—how they moved, how they thought, how light fell across their faces. This is a practice we can all adopt. Take ten minutes each day to truly observe something—your hands, a leaf, the way your dog’s eyes move when you speak. Draw it. Describe it. Not to share on social media, but to learn how to see again. Most of us rush through life in a blur. Leonardo slowed down, and that slowness led to insight. Another crucial lesson: embrace failure. Leonardo left behind designs that never worked, machines that never flew, and sketches that never became final works.
But he never saw these as defeats. They were steps in his process. Today, we avoid failure as if it’s proof we don’t belong. But for the creative mind, failure is not evidence of incapacity—it’s a necessary teacher. So build something that might not work. Write something that might not be good. The act of trying expands your boundaries. Creativity is not the gift of the perfect—it is the reward of the persistent. Lastly, Leonardo reminds us to stay amazed. He never outgrew his sense of wonder. At 67, he was still dissecting cadavers to understand the human form. Still sketching inventions. Still dreaming of what could be. He blended childlike awe with grown-up discipline—and this mix is the true secret of the creative life. In our adult lives, we’re encouraged to be efficient, strategic, and productive.
But wonder doesn’t live in efficiency. It lives in awe, in mystery, in the moments we let ourselves get lost in beauty or bafflement. So visit a gallery, wander through a forest, read something that confuses you. Let your imagination stretch. Leonardo da Vinci’s legacy is not just in his genius, but in his attitude. He believed that creativity is not a talent reserved for the few. It is a way of seeing. A way of thinking. A way of being. And it is available to anyone willing to look closely, think freely, and keep asking questions. So don’t wait for permission. Don’t wait to be called “creative.” Open your eyes. Pick up the pen, the brush, the camera. Ask questions. Try something new. Fail a little. Wonder a lot. And as Leonardo might remind us, saper vedere—learn how to see. That’s where it begins.
(The writer is a rights activist and CEO of AR Trainings and Consultancy, with degrees in Political Science and English Literature, can be reached at news@metro-morning.com)
