Everything Is a Remix: The Myth of Originality and the Truth About Creativity, inspired by Kirby Ferguson
“Good artists copy. Great artists steal.” — Picasso (maybe)
“A text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination.” — Roland Barthes
In 1964, Bob Dylan was 23 and on fire. Critics were calling him the voice of a generation. He was writing anti-war anthems, protest songs, and poetic ballads at a seemingly supernatural pace. But among the praise, a small but persistent murmur followed him: Dylan was stealing.
These critics weren’t entirely wrong. Dylan borrowed melodies, adapted lyrics, and reworked traditional folk songs into something fresh. What they missed, though, is that this is what folk music is — and more broadly, this is what creativity is.
Copy, Transform, Combine: A Creative Formula
In 2004, Brian Burton — better known as Danger Mouse — released The Grey Album, a mashup of The Beatles’ White Album and Jay-Z’s The Black Album. It was fresh, brilliant, and legally radioactive.
Burton didn’t “write” new music in the traditional sense. He copied, transformed, and combined. And in doing so, he revealed something critical about how culture moves forward: it’s always remixing itself.
This triad — copy, transform, combine — isn’t just how you remix. It’s how you create. From the Renaissance to rock’n’roll, from Gutenberg to Google, these three acts form the backbone of innovation.
The Dylan Dilemma: Folk as Found Footage
Let’s go back to Dylan. His early songs were built, often directly, from traditional folk tunes:
- “Masters of War” borrows the melody and structure of the ancient ballad Nottamun Town.
- “With God on Our Side” shares striking similarities with Dominic Behan’s The Patriot Game.
- “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” echoes the lyrical rhythm of Paul Clayton’s Who’s Going to Buy You Ribbons.
And this wasn’t lazy. It was lineage. Dylan’s mentor, Woody Guthrie, gave this advice:
“The words are the important thing. Don’t worry about tunes. Take a tune, sing high when they sing low, sing fast when they sing slow, and you’ve got a new tune.”
It was about arranging, not inventing. A sentiment beautifully echoed by bluesman Blind Willie McTell:
“I jump ’em from other writers, but I arrange ’em my own way.”
Creativity vs. Property
American copyright law tends to treat creative works like private property, but that metaphor breaks down quickly.
What happens when your property is an idea? A style? A gesture?
This tension came to a head in tech. When Apple released the iPhone in 2007, Steve Jobs unveiled multi-touch technology like it was the Second Coming:
“And boy, have we patented it.”
But a year earlier, Jeff Han had demonstrated nearly identical tech at TED. And he admitted, candidly, that multi-touch had been around for decades.
Jobs was right: they had patented it. But the truth is, Apple didn’t invent multi-touch — they polished it. Marketed it. Packaged it. Remixed it.
Enter Roland Barthes: The Death of the Author
French theorist Roland Barthes would’ve seen Dylan not as a thief, but as a liberated artist. In his seminal 1967 essay, The Death of the Author, Barthes argued that the idea of a singular, original creator is a myth.
“A text is made of multiple writings, drawn from many cultures and entering into mutual relations of dialogue… the author is a modern figure, a product of our society.”
Barthes understood what remix culture makes obvious: meaning isn’t authored — it’s constructed by readers, listeners, and viewers. Creation is inherently collaborative, even when it appears solitary.
In this light, Dylan’s borrowings weren’t limitations. They were portals. Each song was a collage of cultural memory, shaped by countless invisible hands before his own.
Ownership, Illusion, and iPhones
American copyright law treats creative works like private property, which creates friction in a world where remix is the norm.
Take Apple’s iPhone. In 2007, Steve Jobs introduced multi-touch technology as if Apple had invented it from scratch:
“And boy, have we patented it.”
But in truth, researchers like Jeff Han had demoed nearly identical interfaces a year earlier — and the technology dated back to the 1980s. Apple didn’t invent multi-touch; they polished, branded, and marketed it. Creativity is cumulative. Yet the law often rewards the final assembler, not the network of ideas behind the screen.
What Bernays and Berger Knew
To understand how this plays out in society, let’s bring in two thinkers: Edward Bernays, the father of public relations, and John Berger, the Marxist art critic and author of Ways of Seeing.
Bernays taught us that the public doesn’t just consume products; it consumes meaning. And meaning is manufactured through association, symbolism, and repetition — essentially, through remix.
“The conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organized habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in democratic society.” — Edward Bernays, Propaganda (1928)
Sound sinister? It is. Bernays understood that modern creativity isn’t about originality; it’s about influence — and the control of influence. John Berger, meanwhile, argued that:
“Every image embodies a way of seeing.”
In other words, creation is always interpretation. When Dylan sang a borrowed melody or when Apple borrowed from Han’s demo, they weren’t stealing — they were framing. Changing context. Altering gaze.
Berger’s insight flips the originality myth on its head. Seeing is not passive. Creating is not pure. It’s all a remix.
Remix Culture and the Law
Unfortunately, the law hasn’t caught up. Creativity today is trapped in a paradox:
- We are encouraged to innovate,
- But we are punished for borrowing.
- This paradox fuels absurd lawsuits, billion-dollar patent wars, and stifles the very progress these laws claim to protect.
Steve Jobs again:
“Great artists steal.”
And later:
“I’m going to destroy Android because it’s a stolen product.”
In other words: steal, but don’t get stolen from.
This is what behavioral economists call loss aversion. We fiercely protect what we see as “ours,” even if we built it from the work of others.
The Liberation of Remix Thinking
The idea that everything is a remix might sound defeatist — but it’s actually liberating.
It frees us from the impossible burden of originality and gives us permission to start where others left off. It reminds us that creativity is not a solo act — it’s a chain of inheritance, a conversation across time.
To create is to copy, transform, and combine. To remix. And to remix is to be part of a lineage.
So stop waiting to be original. You already are — just by arranging things your own way.
“We are not self-made. We are dependent on one another. Admitting this isn’t mediocrity — it’s liberation.”
— Kirby Ferguson
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