Ask Yourself...

Against All Odds, Sometimes I Enjoy This

My mom and I were talking and laughing this weekend about something Gene Fowler once said about writing:

"Writing is easy: all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."

This perfectly describes the creative process for me. To quote another artist, it's only something I do when the pain of not creating overcomes the pain of creating. For me, being creative is a necessary struggle; it's something that I despise doing, but can't imagine living without.

Once I have created something, another struggle ensues, when I try to let go of what I've made. The more I work with something, the more I dislike it. There is a sweet-spot where I have to stop working and move on, or I risk over-working or over-thinking a piece.

So the times are few that I enjoy the entire process and end-result of something I've created. Usually there is just enough satisfaction that it keeps me from swearing off art altogether. But once in a long while, I have experiences with my art that are truly joyful. These are the ones that keep me going for another few months or years until I have my next break-through. And this has been one of those pieces.

There's something else that makes making art difficult that was different for this particular piece. In the process of creating something, I develop a sort of relationship with what I'm making. There is a struggle to pull out the finished piece from the mess of scraps, and in that investment comes an attachment and love for whatever results. So inevitably when I show my art to others, their response, no matter how well-intentioned, can be discouraging, not having experienced the journey and struggle that took place. It's similar to having a child. No matter how close someone is to you or your child, they will never see what you see, simply because it's not their child.

With this piece, however, I received some positive and enthusiastic feedback that was immensely encouraging. I wager that it was almost encouraging enough that I might (*might*) not hide my next piece from the world in the basement downstairs. We'll see.

The first illustration is for series we're having at our church. My friend James asked me to do it (thanks James). The next two pieces are collages that came together in the process that I thought were worth posting.

I started to write "I hope you'll enjoy these as much as I have," but realized that that simply wouldn't be possible. But I do hope you like it.

How We Work

I was reading Lev Manovich's book "The Language of New Media" about how he feels the computer interface has conditioned the way we interact with the world. As he puts it, when working through a computer interface, one must "work to forget," meaning that to delete a bit of information requires a deliberate act. In the real, physical world, however, one must "work to remember," meaning that to hold onto a bit of information requires a deliberate act; conversely, we naturally forget bits of information as time goes on.

In the same respect, our actions when using a computer interface are never quite permanent or destructive as they might be in the physical world. In most all cases, a simple "Edit > Undo" will restore lost data or correct a mistake when working through a computer interface. A feature touted by software marketers nowadays is the ability to edit "non-destructively": the film editor doesn't actually cut film, he only digitally rearranges it. The artist doesn't actually airbrush a photograph, she only edits a virtual layer. The writer doesn't erase, he "cuts" and later on, "pastes" the content into another section in his document.

I remember when my grandfather watched me typing on the computer some years ago he remarked that I used the backspace key a lot. I didn't think much of it until I realized his frame of reference was using a typewriter. For me, with a simple gesture of my finger, I could undo a mistake as if it had never been made. On a typewriter, however, a mistyped letter could mean a good deal of extra time and effort to correct. Thus there was a higher value placed on accuracy. This phenomenon plays out in numerous other areas as well. Think of how different our thought process is when writing with pen and paper instead of typing on a computer. Or how differently we take photographs when using film rather than a digital camera. I'm not arguing that either way is better, I'm simply observing that the thought process and method is very different depending on the ability to make right our mistakes.

In thinking about the art I make and the methods I use (cutting out scraps and gluing them by hand) I've learned to embrace the fact that it's a destructive process. Once something is cut or glued, there's no way to truly undo it. Corinne has started making handbags out of scraps of fabric that she finds at thrift stores. She and I have enjoyed talking about the similarities in what she does with fabric and what I do with images and text. As frustrating as it is, there is no "undo" command when you're cutting up and sewing together a handbag. When I cut up a photograph and glue it down, there's a point of decision -- a point of no-turning-back that I must embrace. There's a different way of thinking and acting when we're making physical things than when working through a computer interface.

Moving forward, I think it's important that we learn to maintain the ability to work in both of these worlds. As technology becomes more and more developed, it's as if we're moving towards eliminating human error. But with that, we would eliminate serendipity, improvisation, character, and spontaneity. We must learn to use the tools for what they're good for and simultaneously remember the beauty of learning from mistakes, embracing the serendipity, and experimenting with our craft.

Smuggled...

One of the biggest challenges in my art, my design, and my life is relinquishing control and learning to not take myself too seriously. I have been blessed with a spontaneous and fun-loving wife, and two messy, uninhibited children to keep me constantly guessing about what might come next.

Corinne encouraged me awhile back to loosen up with my artwork -- to have fun. These two guys are the result of a self-imposed assignment to do just that: loose myself from the binds of my typical, serious subject matter and have fun.

What's really beautiful, is that both these pieces took on lives of their own and transcended the funny, light-hearted joke; they have become ironic and sobering caricatures of their maker. They point back at me and laugh as an image in a mirror. And the only choice I have...

...is to laugh back. (Thanks, Corinne ;-)

"You have smuggled an Old World sensibility into your luxurious modern character. You want this, you need that, you shop only here, you kiss the cheek of the baker who knew your father. You love lightly in public. The world is opportunity. But in private you love to the death."

"Awake, I cannot retrace even the last seconds, cannot enter the dreamworld backward. I can only go forward, the day a blank sheet of paper I must tread, scuffing black letters to you as the planet turns so dumbly away from the light."

Can You Even Picture Me...?

This piece was inspired by Eugene Peterson's translation of Isaiah 46:4-5a in The Message. God asks this to the Israelites:

Listen to me, family of Jacob,
everyone that's left of the family of Israel.
I've been carrying you on my back
from the day you were born,
And I'll keep on carrying you when you're old.
I'll be there, bearing you when you're old and gray.
I've done it and will keep on doing it,
carrying you on my back, saving you.
So to whom will you compare me, the Incomparable?
Can you picture me without reducing me?

The part that strikes me is the last two sentences. Is it even possible for us to imagine God without putting him in a box?

I made two variations of this piece; between the two, I can't decide which one I like the most. The first I like better conceptually. The second I like better visually.

[ Update 4.17.08: This post dovetails nicely with James' post on Shadows and Reflections. Definitely check it out. ]