The Art of Art
I was talking to a friend of mine, Eric, a few days ago, and we got to talking about what we had been up to over the past week. I had 3 days of Kali, a day of Jujitsu, did some drumming for Shab (who is now officially the best bellydancer in the country after winning her fourth national belly dance title in four years last weekend) and her dance troupe Ooh La La, and helped her where I could for her competition. That meant sending out a bunch of emails to some news media outlets (she was only interviewed by one local newspaper, though). I also consulted with some friends on their new Voice over IP startup all in addition to my regular nine-to-five. I don't think I did any juggling or racing though.
E's reaction to all that activity seemed to imply that I had a lot on my plate, and it occurred to me that he might be right. However, in the process of doing all of this stuff I'm finding that new things are a lot easier to pick up. Fighting (in any style), racing, juggling, drumming, graphic design, illustration, programming, or just dealing with people can all be taken to a high level of expertise. The people who reach those levels I consider to be artists - and I'm finding that in the painting sense of the word that is literally the case.
In fighting, the most effective moves require the least effort, but generate the largest returns. For example, if someone punches at you, move. Many people are so stunned they can't do that. Some styles teach you commit force to force. Block the incoming punch with all of your might, which uses up a lot of energy. Energy that could have been saved by leaning 3 inches to the left or right. To deflect an opponent's strike and use that energy against them, however, requires a movement that is very similar to an artist stroking with a big paint brush to create a curved line or a highlight.
In racing, it's the same. If you can find the smoothest path from point A to point B, you can stay on the gas longer and use the brakes less. Abrupt movements in racing is always an easy indicator of an inexperienced (i.e. slow) driver. What's more, when you hit a turn perfectly, it's like the tires are your paint brush and the road is your canvas. The more evenly and smoothly your tires begin and end their skidding, the easier it becomes to manipulate the gas and brake and gain a few seconds (I need to get back on a racetrack soon).
Programming is a different kind of art. It's not really physical, but it still shares many of the same traits. The best path from point A to point B again requires the least amount of computing time and energy. This is why an expert programmer's code is so valuable.
One of the traits of a great programmer that I just realized recently is that the better the coder is the more failure he or she is willing to put up with. In other words, frustration tolerance becomes really high. As with drumming, and especially juggling, you know you're going to fail. What will turn someone into a true artist though, is how much failure can be endured.
It seems that failing frequently has a direct relationship to how good a person can get in any given field. In that failure, I've learned the easiest way between points A and B in a lot of different areas because I've done it the hard way enough times to know which way takes more energy than another. I guess it boils down to understanding wasted effort. I don't really consider myself to be good enough to be considered an "artist" in any field, but I am finding that the more I do, the faster I learn new things. To me the art of art is being willing and able to endure failure, and quickly identify the difference between useful and wasted energy.
E's reaction to all that activity seemed to imply that I had a lot on my plate, and it occurred to me that he might be right. However, in the process of doing all of this stuff I'm finding that new things are a lot easier to pick up. Fighting (in any style), racing, juggling, drumming, graphic design, illustration, programming, or just dealing with people can all be taken to a high level of expertise. The people who reach those levels I consider to be artists - and I'm finding that in the painting sense of the word that is literally the case.
In fighting, the most effective moves require the least effort, but generate the largest returns. For example, if someone punches at you, move. Many people are so stunned they can't do that. Some styles teach you commit force to force. Block the incoming punch with all of your might, which uses up a lot of energy. Energy that could have been saved by leaning 3 inches to the left or right. To deflect an opponent's strike and use that energy against them, however, requires a movement that is very similar to an artist stroking with a big paint brush to create a curved line or a highlight.
In racing, it's the same. If you can find the smoothest path from point A to point B, you can stay on the gas longer and use the brakes less. Abrupt movements in racing is always an easy indicator of an inexperienced (i.e. slow) driver. What's more, when you hit a turn perfectly, it's like the tires are your paint brush and the road is your canvas. The more evenly and smoothly your tires begin and end their skidding, the easier it becomes to manipulate the gas and brake and gain a few seconds (I need to get back on a racetrack soon).
Programming is a different kind of art. It's not really physical, but it still shares many of the same traits. The best path from point A to point B again requires the least amount of computing time and energy. This is why an expert programmer's code is so valuable.
One of the traits of a great programmer that I just realized recently is that the better the coder is the more failure he or she is willing to put up with. In other words, frustration tolerance becomes really high. As with drumming, and especially juggling, you know you're going to fail. What will turn someone into a true artist though, is how much failure can be endured.
It seems that failing frequently has a direct relationship to how good a person can get in any given field. In that failure, I've learned the easiest way between points A and B in a lot of different areas because I've done it the hard way enough times to know which way takes more energy than another. I guess it boils down to understanding wasted effort. I don't really consider myself to be good enough to be considered an "artist" in any field, but I am finding that the more I do, the faster I learn new things. To me the art of art is being willing and able to endure failure, and quickly identify the difference between useful and wasted energy.
posted by moluv at 12:37 PM
1 Comments:
One of your more thought-provoking posts (for me, anyway). I've always hesitated to use the word "artist" to refer to myself, simply because I'm not sure what that particular term encompasses. (I've noticed though, that doesn't stop me from looking for something that I consider my "art.")
Connecting the "art of art" to "being willing and able to endure failure" isn't something I ever fully explored, but I remember asking a writer friend "How much of what you actually write or create is actually any good?" She said she throws out at least 90-95% of what she produces and considers herself very lucky to have even the remaining 5% of "maybe good stuff." She is considered quite an accomplished artist in her own right and at the time I was impressed with how much effort she expended to produce "only" 5% of usable material.
Hmmm. Art, failure, persistance, energy. You may have just given me another perspective regarding my recent distress over my Kali performance.
Anyway, just a rambling comment to say "thanks." =)
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