Elias Koteas plays Monsieur Gateau, the blind clockmaker who created a backwards-ticking clock to commemorate the loss of his son during the war. From David Fincher’s adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” — Soren Kierkegaard
During this most recent holiday season, I took a turn towards a purposeful and disciplined reprieve from work — teaching, painting, drawing, animating, and even the writing of this blog were all put on hiatus. (My apologies to readers expecting a post last week!) It wasn’t easy. At the start of this new year, I acted upon a ‘never done before’ fasting experiment — a 36 hour period of time where I refrained myself from any sort of consumption, including food, drink (except a bit of lemon water for the electrolytes) or any sort of exposure to digital media such as TV, radio, computers or smartphones. I also took a vow of silence for the entire period — I didn’t speak a single word to anyone.
Despite the short duration of the fast, the experience, to say the least, was enlightening. The day, which always seems too short, seemed long. The mind and body had all the time and space in the world with ample opportunity to reflect and respond to each thought or sensation. Each event took its sweet time and, during the last minutes of the fasting period as hunger beckoned and energy levels began to wilt, the minute hand of the clock appeared to move like molasses. The entire day felt meditative, slow, experiential and whole — a rich visceral journey all on its own.
“A particularly significant example of brain against body, or measures against matter, is urban man’s total slavery to clocks. A clock is a convenient device for arranging to meet a friend, or for helping people to do things together, although things of this kind happened long before they were invented.” — Alan Watts
Moved by this outcome, I thought more deeply about what Einstein stated — mainly that the sensation of time is relative, a phenomenon often referred to as time dilation.
Anne Hathaway hurries her mission in Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar, a film whose take on time dilation, black holes and space travel, were all topics subject to scrutiny due its efforts to examine bigger issues — issues yet to be resolved by our current knowledge of the universe.
In the theory of relativity, time dilation is a difference of elapsed time between two events as measured by observers either moving relative to each other or differently situated from a gravitational mass or masses. This special relativity shows that time slows down for anything moving, including people. In other words, two seemingly identical events, would give altered results or experience due to one’s relative positioning.
Herein lies the implication (and dangers) about our way of life; that perhaps our frantic experience of life is entirely due to our frantic choices and interpretation of our world. We don’t know what slowing down is, because we’re too busy to notice and hence experience — i.e. we’re unable to gauge what the real speed of our lives truly is because everything’s going so fast almost all of the time. So we keep stepping on the gas, asking more and more of ourselves each day, without rest, without reprieve. We chalk it up to being productive, growing up, being responsible, displaying mettle — all at the sacrifice of other things that are just as important to ourselves, such as rest, play, love, friendship, and of course, personal health. It’s not surprising that burn out, as well as mental and physical disease, are now common place even among wealthy, materially-advantaged societies where sustenance, time and peace should be in surplus. The human body, despite being in it’s most updated form, isn’t designed to operate at such speeds for such prolonged periods of time. We are not machines.
“The candle that burns twice as bright, burns half as long.” — Lao Tzu
The temptation of glory and achievement is a lure most artists are too ashamed to admit to, but it’s there. I witnessed it throughout my career, and even within me. Only by stepping away from the vacuum of our expectant and constantly busy, ever-to-be-producing, high-tech universe, can one gain a clearer and healthier perspective. My fasting experience was just another stark awakening of that reality. If, like me, you were born in an era and locale where radio and television (and for some of you, the internet) was already in place, it’s unlikely that you know what it means to be devoid of this bombardment of technology and it’s dirtier derivatives — advertising and propaganda — that has altered our very perception of time and reality itself.
Einstein was more than just a genius of science, but a deep and moral thinker. His theories reach far beyond E = mc 2.
Looking back into history, it’s not hard to realize that the fasting experience I had was likely common place. Any journey from one town to another likely took days if not weeks. People lived far away from one another. Food was carefully rationed and human contact would often be absent (or dangerous). The hunger for sustenance and connection must’ve been a regular experience in such time of minimal technological advances — which is to say during most of man’s 10,000* plus years of existence. We had to be self-sustaining, self-aware and mindful of our immediate environment just to survive.
Image from David Lean’s epic masterpiece, Lawrence of Arabia. In ancient times and remote lands, if human contact was friendly, it was to be cherished.
As profound as this information was when it came to light, what’s interesting from an artistic point of view is that during the entire fasting period, in almost no time at all, the urge to create and the surge of ideas and visions that you strive so hard to get during “regular” time, becomes easy and bountiful. I broke my rule of not working slightly by writing some of those thoughts down on some tiny post-it notes. It’s true, that like in relationships, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Absence creates a void, and even creative voids find ways to fill themselves. Absence from our hectic world, helps us live and perform better in it. Leaving things alone, including leaving ourselves alone, is sometimes the best solution to life’s problems.
“I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.” — Henry David Thoreau
I attended a discussion on marine ecology once, and it was shown how in one particular part of the ocean, where the coral reef was dead, it took as little as 3 years for the coral to come back fully healthy once the region was locked off and completely restricted from any human traffic and interference. It was previously estimated that it would take at least 15-20 years for any such recovery to occur.
Warming of the ocean temperatures leads to bleaching of the coral reefs and the death of many species.
A healthy coral reef is beaming with color, beauty and life. Sometimes it’s best just to leave things alone, for nature has a way of maintaining and healing itself.
Unfortunately, in today’s corporate-industrial age, rest and relaxation are probably the least appreciated and acted upon concepts. There may be ample play (for a price), but not absence from activity. People, both single and attached, run around from event to event, errand to errand, obligation after obligation, chasing the clock. There’s hardly a moment to breathe, hardly a moment for rest or recovery of the mind, body or spirit. There’s certainly little time for reflection.
As artists, this status quo is unacceptable. Our work is dependent on a mind, body and soul that is fresh, open and responsive to the world around us. How could we ever describe our impressions of it if our minds are locked into a loop of deadened, repetitive and worn-out thinking? Formula movies anyone? Or that same old burger marketed with trendy “ethnic” hot sauce? A sick and exhausted system is incapable of new interpretation or insight. The health of an artist is a necessity. R & R isn’t just a fancy acronym for temporary remission from the “grind” but a requirement for creative output.
“He that can take rest is greater than he that can take cities.” — Benjamin Franklin
For many people, audio-visual indulgence, such as gaming, television, or film, is their form of R & R, so it may seem ironic, given that artists in this field work largely in entertainment, that this form of interruption isn’t the hiatus that it could be. As visual artists, we have to go elsewhere.
Prolific director/screenwriter/actor, Woody Allen, is an equally accomplished musician. This physical and ever-present medium of activity allows him to become the filmmaker he is, by taking him as far away from his visual craft as possible, while at the same time fulfilling his need for physical expression and his love of jazz.
In conclusion, let me add that this subject felt important to discuss precisely because I’m also a victim of the system — I stand guilty of being a card-carrying member of this dominant mindset of constant “busyness” for far too long. As artists, the pertinent point to remember is that because the creative process can’t be forced (despite the discipline required to attain greater heights of expression and understanding), the artist must make a habit of rest. We must set aside time and space for ourselves, as human beings. The world, your art, your mind and body, and everyone you’re in contact with, will thank you for it. Healthy, sustainable efficiency comes from balance and effectiveness, not endless preoccupation with profit, production, and activity.
“A cheerful frame of mind, reinforced by relaxation… is the medicine that puts all ghosts of fear on the run.” — George Matthew Adams
