designates my notes. / designates important. / designates very important.
I am beginning to read this immediately after Catching the Big Fish. It is written in the same short chapter (a few pages) format. I don’t love this format at all. It feels like the complete opposite of the typographic age (see: Amusing Ourselves To Death) and the modern era of ultra short form everything. Just because you are creative doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to convey your thoughts in a more distilled and less disjointed manner.
Now that I’m 1/3 of the way through, I can say this book is much better put together than Catching the Big Fish. The focus is on creativity and art. While the “chapters” are short, they flow well from one to the other and are all well connected.
There have been more than a few good pieces of advice for the would-be artist or even the person who might want to “tune in” to the world a little bit deeper.
For me, one of the best takeaways was to treat each thing you do as an experiment. Don’t get too caught up in the result. Let whatever happens happen. Then, you simply take the results of the experiment and move on to your next piece with a little more knowledge - with a little more refinement in your craft.
- It’s helpful to see the piece we’re working on as an experiment.
- While the eyes and the mouth can be sealed, an ear has no lid, nothing to close.
- In the process of experimentation, we allow ourselves to make mistakes, to go too far, to go even further, to be inept. There is no failure, as every step we take is necessary to reach our destination, including the missteps. Each experiment is valuable in its own way if we learn something from it. Even if we can’t comprehend its worth, we are still practicing our craft, moving ever so much closer to mastery.
- You can train for anything.
There are no “chapters”.
In service of this robust instinct, consider submerging yourself in the canon of great works. Read the finest literature, watch the masterpieces of cinema, get up close to the most influential paintings, visit architectural landmarks.
If you make the choice of reading classic literature every day for a year, rather than reading the news, by the end of that time period you’ll have a more honed sensitivity for recognizing greatness from the books than from the media.
This applies to every choice we make. Not just with art, but with the friends we choose, the conversations we have, even the thoughts we reflect on. All of these aspects affect our ability to distinguish good from very good, very good from great. They help us determine what’s worthy of our time and attention.
Because there’s an endless amount of data available to us and we have a limited bandwidth to conserve, we might consider carefully curating the quality of what we allow in.
We’re affected by our surroundings, and finding the best environment to create a clear channel is personal and to be tested. It also depends on your intention.
Isolated places like a forest, a monastery, or a sailboat in the middle of the ocean are fine locations to receive direct transmissions from the universe. If instead you want to tune in to the collective consciousness, you might sit in a busy spot with people coming and going and experience Source as filtered through humanity. This secondhand approach is no less valid.
One step further removed might be to plug into the culture itself, constantly consuming art, entertainment, news, and social media. All the while noticing the patterns the universe is promoting.
One person’s connected place may be another’s distraction. And different environments may be right at different points in your artistic process. Andy Warhol was said to create with a television, radio, and record player all on simultaneously. For Eminem, the noise of a single TV set is his preferred backdrop for writing. Marcel Proust lined his walls with sound-absorbing cork, closed the drapes, and wore earplugs. Kafka too took his need for silence to an extreme—“not like a hermit,” he once said, but “like a dead man.” There is no wrong way. There is only your way.
Beginning a work, completing a work, and sharing a work—these are key moments where many of us become stuck.
We tend to think that what we’re making is the most important thing in our lives and that it’s going to define us for all eternity. Consider moving forward with the more accurate point of view that it’s a small work, a beginning. The mission is to complete the project so you can move on to the next. That next one is a stepping-stone to the following work. And so it continues in productive rhythm for the entirety of your creative life.
It’s helpful to see the piece we’re working on as an experiment.
Similar conventions are woven into most art forms: a book is a certain number of pages and is divided into chapters. A feature film is 90 to 120 minutes and often has three acts. Embedded in each medium, there are sets of norms that restrain our work before we’ve even begun.
These rules can serve or limit us. Be aware of any assumptions based on conventional wisdom.
Rules obeyed unconsciously are far stronger than the ones set on purpose. And they are more likely to undermine the work.
Listening is suspending disbelief.
We are openly receiving. Paying attention with no preconceived ideas. The only goal is to fully and clearly understand what is being transmitted, remaining totally present with what’s being expressed—and allowing it to be what it is.
innovation through ignorance
This is said in regard to approaching a problem with child-like eyes. Being so unaware of the literature, you come up with a novel solution. But ignorance is also useful in other ways. When we say something is too hard, we assume something about the task. If you had no idea how hard it would be (and your conclusions may very well be wrong anyway) you might make an attempt out of ignorance. There is something to being super intelligent to the point where you end up being too biased to planning - staying stuck in your head. If you, alternatively, were average intelligence you might not plan so much, might not even see the potential hurdles. But you got started. You might succeed. You might fail. The big brain who never even started won’t even be able to say they failed.
Zoom in and obsess. Zoom out and observe. We get to choose.
Take the long view and detach (to some degree) from what happens to you in life.
some create art that is completely context dependent. Andy Warhol’s Brillo boxes, for example. In a grocery store, they’re disposable packaging for useful kitchen items. In a museum, they’re rare objects of fascination and intrigue.
Or he was a complete hack, sponsored by the CIA as an agent of change, a harbinger of “pop” everything.
When receiving feedback, a useful practice is to repeat back the information. You may find that what you heard isn’t what was said. And what was said may not even be what was actually meant.
Ask questions to gain clarity. When collaborators patiently explain what aspects of the work they’re focusing on, we may recognize that our visions are not in opposition. We’re just using different language or noticing different elements.