Author: James Chiang

Joining Things

Paul Klee was a phenomenally skilled traditional draftsman who morphed his love of nature with the rich imaginations of his heart. His work is both playful yet mature, both real yet abstract all at the same time.

“You adapt yourself, Paul Klee said, to the contents of the paintbox. Adapting yourself to the contents of the paintbox, he said, is more important than nature and its study. The painter, in other words, does not fit the paints to the world. He most certainly does not fit the world to himself. He fits himself to the paint. The self is the servant who bears the paintbox and its inherited contents.” — Annie Dillard

Great things happen when we join things: people to people, people to nature, and ideas to materials. This is what makes our humanity and its innovativeness. It’s also what makes art and how we arrive at synergy; the combinatory effect being greater than the sum of the parts. To make great art we need to join things together in ways both unique and personal. We see one idea and join it with another to arrive at something entirely new.

Here are some quick thoughts about the what and how of putting different things together:

  • Develop a workflow that allows you to comfortably flow between seeing the big picture and working the details. A painter does this when after applying a series of brush strokes, he periodically steps back to see the whole composition.
  • Work on both quality and quantity. Do not test drive one version of an idea but many versions. Make not one painting but ten (and maybe one will be good). Only by multiplying quality of attention by quantity of effort can art be elevated to the next level.
  • In posing, look hard to see both line and form. Line is primarily on the outside; it divides the positive space against the negative (background) space. Form is the shape of what’s inside, its mass, and gives depth and substance.
  • Make sure your compositions — whether an individual layout, or a choreography of movement — have both places of busyness (action) and areas to breathe (silence). This is paramount for creating good contrast and texture. Remember things don’t read without contrast or change.
  • Work both straights and curves into your poses/designs. There’s no formula in terms of a ratio of how much of each but an instinct can be developed. Look to the works of masters to get a better feel for it.
  • Put big things against small things. Creating visual hierarchies of “status” in a composition creates interest and harmony. It also strengthens storytelling.
  • Make sure there are elements in your work that indicate some sort of depth by placing items that are closer/larger against that which is smaller/farther. Sometimes, altering the depth of focus is helpful to create this when adding more physical elements is neither possible or desirable.
  • Join elements of different stylistic choices. Eg. It looks like Klimt but carries the vibrancy of Van Gogh.
  • Join together ideas that seem disparate. Eg. it’s a horror story but one about family values.
  • Find darkness or tragedy in something funny or sweet. Surprise the audience again, not with more information but the quality of information.
  • Consider using a wider camera on an acting shot. Let the characters action say something rich and emotional without depending on facial acting or lip sync. Alternatively, generate action with a series of closeups. For reference, see the final the climax in Sergio Leone’s The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.
  • Consider breaking the rules like using a series of jump cuts during a quiet or intimate action. This idea was successfully employed in Steven Soderberg’s movie Out of Sight.
  • Experiment approaching your work like an artist you admire who works very differently from you. Not only will you expand your knowledge/skills but you’ll develop techniques uniquely your own when you combine YOU to THEIR methods.
  • Work with people with ideas different from your own. Find out what can come out of such a challenge or the conflicts that may arise. Then work together as team once you discover new possibilities.
  • If you always fight your fear with boldness, then consider giving into the unknown and see where that takes you. If you tend to always give in to the situation, do the opposite; charge head with vigor and defiance.
  • Sometimes, just let the materials guide you. At other times, let your feelings push those materials around. Work with things like you would in a dance of togetherness, each of you taking turns.

This, of course, is by no means a comprehensive list of options but what you’ll find by exploring and joining things, is that it’s very nice to discover — especially as you age — that you can still surprise yourself. Such a happening is what’s both uniquely and beautifully human. And, in a time of accelerated domination of technology over human activity, nothing could be more relevant.

State of Mind

The magnificent Toshiro Mifune, in one of his most iconic performances — playing the role of a master samurai with a very powerful state of mind. From Akira Kurasawa’s Yojimbo.

“The object, which is back of every true work of art, is the attainment of a state of being, a state of high functioning, a more than ordinary moment of existence. In such moments activity is inevitable, and whether this activity is with brush, pen, chisel, or tongue, its result is but a by-product of the state, a trace, the footprint of the state.” — Robert Henri

In a cult of productivity and consumption — the preoccupation of our times — it’s all too easy to lose sight of our state of mind. What do we mean by this? Well, it means that we’re rarely aware of what and how we’re actually feeling when we’re doing what we’re doing.

For instance, we can be so busy trying to hit a deadline, to satisfy others or even to meet a pre-concieved expectation that we have of ourselves that we lose sight of the act itself. We’re animating/painting/writing etcetera but we’re really not because we’re not present. Instead we’re racing ahead. We mustn’t forget that the event itself is both unique and most important, just as the materials and tools themselves are, the creative challenges at hand, and the atmosphere in which the work takes place. To embrace it all physically first, then mentally, is what it means to be fully attentive, fully present.

“I want the hand to be, if not ahead of the mind, at least simultaneous.” — Philip Guston

It’s dangerous to have the head too far ahead of the body. When that happens, we’re no longer connected to the act. It’s one of the reasons why preparation is so important; once prepared and practiced, the artist can just “do”. The professional athlete in the heat of the moment has little to no time for thinking; all his/her energy is required to hit that ball when it comes, when it counts. When his mind gets too involved, he misses. An effective mind is a clear mind, one that is calm, engaged and proactive. That’s also when operates at its best.

“Separate thinking from doing. Man is a thinking reed but his greatest works are done when he is not calculating and thinking.” — Suzuki Daisetsu

Sometimes, the best thing to do when we catch ourselves thinking during the act is to stop. Calm the whole thing down. Re-align mind and body. Stopping things is also an opportunity for asking the right questions, like if the action we’re about to take is even relevant — that is, are we even making the right/best choice. Pain, either physical or psychological, like the pain of failure can also be, is a signal that it’s time to stop. Remember, it’s just as bad an idea to waste time worrying about doing the wrong thing as it is to keep rushing head doing the wrong thing. The artist that’s in sync doesn’t rush towards his goals nor does he avoid or escape his problems. He looks and reacts. Despite adversity, there’s self trust and acceptance.

“I can’t go on, I’ll go on.” — Samuel Beckett

Our state of mind defines the quality of our engagement. If we’re nervous, fearful or excessively ambitious, our work will reflect that since a muddled mind leads to muddied results. I experience this personally with my students and clients all the time. Their work tells me everything; I merely translate what I see to the artist who’s not quite ready to see it themselves.

“The eyes can see only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.” — Henri Bergson

In closing, remember this: attention is the key. The quality of one’s experience depends entirely on the qaulity of our attention and so, too, the outcome of our actions.