When in 1982 I traveled from Rudjer Boskovic Institute in Zagreb, Croatia, to University of California in San Diego, to continue my education, my intention was to learn how to be a true researcher. My commitment to this pursuit made me change Ph.D. advisors two times. My third and final advisor, JĂĄnos KomlĂłs, challenged all my ideas about how a creative researcher should be: His bookshelf was conspicuously empty; and he worked mostly by taking long walks.
JĂĄnos came from the excellent Hungarian school of discrete mathematics of AlfrĂ©d RĂ©nyi and Paul ErdĆs, where he evidently learned this technique. âWhat might be an advantage of walking?â I wondered, âYou donât have access to literature, or even a paper and pencil to write on!â I began to read about creativity. I observed JĂĄnos and other creative people. I remember watching a documentary where Picasso paints and talks about what goes on in his mind, and realizing that Picasso too worked in a similar way as JĂĄnos. I understood that creative genius was a result of a different way of thinking!
Jånos once told me about his close friend and colleague Endre Szemerédi: "Szemerédi does not do mathematics; God dictates it to him." I knew that this was not rooted in religion but in phenomenology. I also knew that the same was true for Jånos himself.
A couple of years ago I stumbled upon the front page of Wikipedia, and learned that Endre Szemerédi had just received the Abel's prize (an equivalent to Nobel's prize in mathematics).