On puzzles

I’ve been solving chess puzzles as an exercise to improve my tactical intuition (read: stop blundering away pieces). The method comes from a highly influential book by Axel Smith and Hans Tikkanen, aptly named “The Woodpecker Method” (“tikkanen” means “little woodpecker” in Finnish, and the repetitiveness of the approach also fits the name very well.)

I find it somewhat difficult to work on the puzzles, though. Not because of their complexity, but because of my default result-oriented mindset. I see puzzles purely as training, rather like lifting weights to build muscles, without any potential for creative content. I feel similarly about solving the Rubik’s cube – it is a nice way to spend time and practice concentration but ultimately, the solution is already known, and it has been done many time before.

But it is the process itself that is valuable in puzzles, not so much the final result. Somewhat unexpectedly this fundamental insight comes from the same chess tactics book. I’ll let he quote speak for itself:

“‘Life puzzle’ is a Swedish expression which originates from a political campaign and points out the difficulty of organizing work, social media, household work, ‘quality time’ with family, and ‘time-when-you-do-things-for-yourself’ – another common expression which is shorter in Swedish (just seven letters). The essence is the core of the Swedish mentality: life is a puzzle to be solved, rather than chaos to be endured.”

Bishop’s search for love

Black bishop. Stll life with a chess piece.

I’ve recently discovered for myself a body of writings on chess by a Scottish Grandmaster and philosopher Jonathan Rowson. He is an exceptionally deep thinker, and his books are less about making one a better chess player and more about the metaphors about human life that are contained in the game of chess. I am particularly enjoying the prose he uses and the colourful characteristics that he attributes to various chess pieces, positions and concepts.

Here is an example from “The Seven Deadly Chess Sins” that is so brilliantly funny that I cannot resist capturing it here as a note for myself. The idea is that a bishop pair (the light- and the dark-squared bishops) are more powerful together than their individual point values (~3.5 points per bishop, one point being equal to the material value of one pawn) added together. It is intuitive, of course, because the strength of the piece, and therefore its relative value, changes depending on the position on the board). Still, in the case of the bishop pair in particular, there is an inherent power of the two of them being able to control all the squares, while one of them is capable of only controlling the squares of one colour. To illustrate the point, Rowson evokes Plato’s book Symposium, which describes a banquet attended by Socrates, a philosopher, Alcibiades, the politician, and a comic playwright Aristophanes. In the book these characters give speeches in the praise of Eros, the god of love and desire (strange enough for a chess textbook yet?) I am pretty sure that this classic text would not be able to stand against the modern tides of political correctness and such, but in it Aristophanes argues that men and women were originally not separate beings but hermaphrodites – creatures joined back-to-back and having eight limbs. They perfectly complemented each other and were so powerful, that Zeus feared that they would challenge the gods. So he bisected them and thus created men and women. Since then, they have been searching for each other in order to re-unite, according to the legend. The chess-related metaphor is that the light- and the dark-squared bishops should also be thought of as originally being one exceptionally powerful piece. In this poetic sense, the bishops are in love for each other and need to find a way to be together.

Stll life with chess pieces. Denker vs. Botvinnik. United States vs. Soviet Union, Radio Match, 1945. Move 16.

My 2020 reading list – non-fiction

I picked up most of these books after hearing them mentioned in various podcast interviews that I listened to while walking my dog or working out. The irony is that most of them are aimed at improving personal productivity and reduce time waste, but reading through them appears to be a rather significant time waste in itself (the new and insightful information is few and far between, to be honest). So because I loathe to dedicate time to reading about how to spend less time, I try to get the books of this type in an audio format and listen to them just like I do to podcasts – as a background to some relatively mindless activities. There are some exceptions, though. Certain non-fiction books are really quite excellent and would certainly deserve to be read rather than listened to, like the first one in the list below.

9. “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” by Marie Kondo. The main concept behind deciding whether to keep an item or to throw it away is asking the question of whether it “sparks joy” for you. My personal main takeaway was that it’s worth physically picking up and paying close attention to each item that you are evaluating as a potential candidate to be discarded. Kondo-san argues that the things that we accumulate take on some features of live beings, because we invest our emotions in them. Even the stuff that was an impulse purchase and has been long forgotten since then had served its purpose of sparking joy in you at some point. Therefore it deserves to be thanked for it by being mentally acknowledged for its service. I find that taking time to go through my old stuff in this mindful, unrushed way  actually saves time in the long run by clarifying the degree of my emotional attachment to various things and making the decisions of whether to keep them or not easier. Oh, and by reading this book I learned the therapeutic value of talking to my socks (and, as my daughter would say, “this is a compliment” for the book) and a practical virtue of not to rolling them up in balls in the drawer.

10. ”Make Time” by Jake Knapp and John Zeratsky (audiobook). I liked the idea of having one “highlight” activity during each day. It could be anything, from making progress on a work project to eating a delicious meal. The key concept is to plan for it beforehand and to be aware of it when it’s happening. This avoids the feeling that the day has slipped through your fingers without leaving anything to show for it.

11. “Tiny Habits” by B.J. Fogg (audiobook). The title is almost self-explanatory: small changes are easy to make, and they compound into significant results over time. I am a fan of the idea of evolutionary progress, rather than revolutionary one. I don’t recall whom to attribute the quote to, but one of my favourite expressions is that we tend to over-estimate what can be done in a day and under-estimate what can be done in a year.

12. “12 Rules for Life” by Jordan B. Peterson (audiobook). A rather obnoxious title and a controversial text that is just what you’d expect from a controversial author. I think it’s an inevitable pushback on the recent trend of taking political correctness to ridiculous extremes. All this to say that I enjoyed the book. It reminded me of Jocko Willink’s way of giving advice (see his excellent “Extreme Ownership”, for example): “if you want to do more pull-ups – do more pull-ups!” This might not be an exact quote, but the gist of it is hard to miss. Makes matter seem simple, which is quite refreshing.

My 2020 reading list – fiction

Continuing  the list of books I read last year. The beginning of it, where I list children’s books that we read with my daughter is here. The fiction category is my favourite, but ironically, this is where I actually have to put some effort into making a daily progress. Normally, I read quite a lot of technical literature related to my research, and that takes most of the available reading time. Even the non-fiction books, which I will list later, are somehow easier to read regularly. This is probably because I subconsciously view them as less of a time-waste than fiction. 

6. “A death in the Family” by Karl Ove Knausgaard. I heard about this book in some podcast (probably, the Tim Ferriss Show), and after looking at the reviews it became apparent that it was widely regarded as a masterpiece of modern literature. I must say, it’s not an easy read, and it’s almost unapologetically weird for my tate, but somehow I really liked it. So much, in fact, that I got the second book in the “My struggle” series by Kanusgaard, “A Man in Love”. Here is the conundrum, though – I liked it even better, but haven’t finished reading it, being distracted by faster-paced, more entertaining stories. I left it at 42%, according to my phone. It does give a really curious insight into the (relatively) modern lifestyle of the Scandinavia. Maybe, I’ll pick it up again.

7. “Cockroaches” by Jo Nesbo. Ah, this is what I dropped “A Man in Love” for! It’s a proper page-turner of a detective novel, the second in the series about Harry Hole (the first on is “The Bat”, which is equally good).

8. “Seveneves” by Neal Stephenson. That was my favourite book of the year by far – a hard science fiction that is both entertaining and educational. Dynamics of moving chains and whips with applications ranging from launching and retrieving space vehicles to hand-to-hand combat – if that’s not a worthy research topic, I don’t know what is! I also unexpectedly picked up one of my favourite productivity tips from the main character, Dinah MacQuare, who decided to dedicate fifteen minutes a day to her pet robotics project in the face of a global crisis that apparently demanded her entire time and attention. She did it because the alternative would have been to let the project die, and fifteen minutes a day was better than zero. As one would expect, that particular project turned out to be uniquely important, completely validating her decision.

My 2020 reading list – children’s books

At the beginning of the New Year, I had an idea of looking back at the books I’ve read last year to see if any particularly memorable or useful bits that I learned from them would spring to mind. So here it goes: books I’ve read in 2020, not including various technical books, papers, etc. that I read for work (some of which are actually quite entertaining, but maybe it’s just my nerdy opinion). I am not going to list all of them at once, but rather will try to do it one or two at a time. I think this way I’ll be able to reflect on them a bit deeper.

As a note, most of what I read is e-books, unless otherwise noted. I typically read them in the tiniest chunks of time I have throughout the day while waiting for something or someone. Notable exceptions are the books I read aloud to my daughter. Those are physical paper books, and we read them over longer intervals (15 minutes would be minimum – when we really want to know what happens next in the story, but the bedtime is really close).

1. “Percy Jackson’s Greek Heroes” by Rick Riordan. Just before the COVID lockdown, my daughter participated in a piano festival in Vancouver. After the performance, we stopped by an Indigo bookstore, and this book was recommended to us by a store employee. We got the hardcover version, illustrated by John Rocco. This book has been quite influential for us. It fanned my daughter’s interest in Greek Mythology and prompted us to read more of the Percy Jackson series (Percy is short for Perseus – just to give one spoiler to those who are new to this). I also used this book as a reference in one of the first videos that I made for my Energy Conversion course, when we were abruptly plunged into the online teaching mode in March.

2. “Percy Jackson’s Greek Gods” by Rick Riordan. We simply had to read this book after the “Heroes”, and it did not disappoint.
3. “The Lightning Thief” by Rick Riordan. As an adult, I personally really enjoyed this book. It has all the components of a good adventure story – fast pace, historical references and just the right amount of humour, which is equally aimed at the millenials (maybe even early generation Z’s), their parents and all the way back to the ancient Greeks themselves.
4. “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” by J.K. Rowling.
5. “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” by J.K. Rowling. In parallel with other books, my daughter and I have been slowly making our way through the Harry Potter series. These books need no introductions, and I can just echo what everyone probably already knows – they are practically perfect in every way, to paraphrase Marry Poppins.

Paying attention

I came across the idea that any activity can be made better by paying more attention in the incredibly inspiring book “Flow” by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. The original concept was that achieving the flow state is possible by focussing one’s attention on the activity in question (the process itself, rather than the goal) and consciously increasing the complexity of the activity over time. If you are studying chess, for example, it would be necessary to play higher- and higher-rated opponents and learn more opening theory to avoid stagnation when your level of understanding of the game increases.

More recently, I’ve started thinking that most problems can be solved by concentrating sufficient attention on them. I could use numerous examples from chess, music or martial arts, but the principle holds even in such mundane context as taking my dog for a walk. A dog trainer once told me that, as far as teaching the dog not to pull on the leash, the most important thing is to constantly pay attention to what he is doing and where his focus is. In my experience, as long as I maintain constant contact with voice, treats and changes of speed and direction, Bruno, my Lagotto Romagnolo, is more than happy to follow the lead and keep the leash lose. The problem is that as soon as my attention goes elsewhere (and it’s very easy to zone out during a walk), Bruno finds something else to entertain himself, which immediately leads to his pulling it the direction of his interest. As the dog trainer said, if on a particular day you are not in the mood of giving the puppy your complete attention, it would be better to skip walking on leash altogether to avoid developing bad habits.

On the value sketching

I realized a while ago that sketching is a good exercise for developing observation skills and, more generally, memory. It requires full concentration, because the subject is usually not standing still, and one needs to be able to consciously think about which features of the subject are essential and which are superficial. The deliberate thinking is important, because it is the mechanism that allows committing the visual information to long(er)-term memory. The short-term memory (the one in which information lives for a couple of seconds) is not sufficient for preserving the visual details until they can be captured on paper.

Lately, I’ve been recording video highlights to supplement lectures in my Advanced Fluid Mechanics course, and one of those is about the importance of being able to make conceptual sketches of flow features for understanding of the underlying physics. Incidentally, one of the forefathers of studies of fluid mechanics was Leonardo da Vinci, whose approach was based on (some would say it entirely consisted of) observation and sketching of the natural phenomena. We are not aiming at Leonardo’s level of artistry in my fluids course, but observation is an important skill for a scientist and an engineer, and sketching is way to develop it.

The book I am recommending in the video is “Boundary-Layer Theory” by Herrmann Schichting. It is one of the first technical books I bought as a grad student, because I knew that it would remain a classic.

Bending the rules

“Finite players play within boundaries; infinite players play with boundaries.”
James P. Carse “Finite and Infinite games”

Last week, I missed a deadline for a research funding proposal by several days. Originally, I was not planning to apply at all, but as I worked on a larger research plan, it became apparent that it would be great to add an ultra-high-speed camera to our arsenal. It also became apparent that I wouldn’t get the needed info from the supplier in time to meet the deadline. Being a good academic citizen, I asked the administration for an extension. No answer. Being in addition an optimist, I interpreted the lack of response as a go-ahead. After all, nobody said “no”. Long story short: I wrote the proposal, and it was accepted despite being late. That’s not a guarantee that we’ll get the funds, by the way, but did I mention that optimism is important?

I think that mild disregard for the rules is required for progress, generally speaking. It is very much in the spirit of Steve Jobs’ “reality distortion field”, brilliantly documented by Walter Isaacson. When told by his team that a certain goal was not possible due to various objective reasons, Jobs would still insist on pressing forward, ultimately proving everyone wrong (not always, but often). It is liberating to remind yourself that you are always free to make the rules of the game you are currently playing a mere component of a larger, encompassing game. As James Carse writes, “There are no rules that require us to obey rules.”

It is also easy to assume that the rules are there even when they are not. I am taking a painting class, where we copy a Rembrandt’s self-portrait. The other day, I was transferring a pencil sketch onto a canvas. To check the proportions, I projected the original painting on top of my sketch using a digital projector. In the end, I was quite pleased with the result and showed it to my mother (“Look mom, no hands!” kind of feeling). “Are you allowed to use that?” she asked pointing at the projector. I thought that it was ironic that we assume, by default, that using modern technology constitutes cheating when our goal is to study the work of old masters. I remember reading (also in a biography by Isaacson) that Leonardo da Vinci and his contemporaries went to great lengths to invent and build contraptions for projecting original images on their canvasses for copying. Some even went as far as making sketches of Florentine cityscapes on pieces of semi-transparent fabric stretched across a window. I am convinced that if Leonardo, Rembrandt or Van Gogh had access to an optical projector they would definitely use it.

Collective experience

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s book “Flow” is possibly the most enjoyable non-fiction book I’ve read. It makes perfect sense, of course, because the book is about optimal experiences. As I’ve been reading it, I notice the concepts described there everywhere around me. For example, one of the theses is that for an activity to be enjoyable it needs to be autotelic, i.e. deriving the meaning from itself. Ultimately, it all comes down to being present, which means paying close attention to whatever one is doing at the moment. Apparently, it helps if we have heightened expectations of the experience and also if large groups of people participate in the same activity. Csikszentmihalyi gives an example of live music performances, and I think that any kind of group activity or event works in a similar way to focus our attention. I see it regularly at my own kendo practices, tournaments and gradings. It is often difficult for me to convince myself to go, but it is seldom a question whether it was worth it once I am there.

Most recently, I saw an example of this effect last Saturday. I was taking photos of a rehearsal of the Christmas parade routine that will be performed by my daughter’s dance school next weekend. From an objective point of view, taking part in the parade should be a miserable experience. Last year, for example, it was pouring cold rain all through the event, and there is every indication that the weather could be the same this year. The rehearsal itself is also tough – more than 150 people cramped together in a dance studio for more than an hour. Yet, the dancers evidently have been having tremendous fun. My photo gallery of the last year’s parade is the most visited of the entire school year coverage. The camaraderie between the different age groups is amazing to witness. My daughter was eager to be part of the parade crew just for the experience of spending time next to the older dancers, whom she admires, and doing something together. I also cannot help but feel lucky that I have an opportunity to have an insider’s look at this collective experience and also to contribute to it by attempting to capture the elusive atmosphere of “flow”. An important part of any experience is our recollection of it, and photos not only capture memories, but actually shape them.

Simplicity

I’ve just finished reading a rather Machiavellian book “Extreme Ownership” by Jocko Willink and Leif Babin. Part of it’s appeal is simplicity of the concepts of military leadership that are presented there. In fact, the authors make a compelling case for simplicity being a necessary condition for effectiveness of a mission plan. Not-surprisingly, the book also plays on the universal applicability of the principles of military strategy. From my experience, I can attest that at least some of these principles apply in science and art.

As it happens, I’ve been working on a research proposal that is supposed to outline my research program for the next five years. The issue is that the adjudicating panel spans a range of expertise, but none of the panelists is exactly in my area. Hence the need to simplify the description of my work. This may seem like a limitation for the proposal, but it’s actually a great thing. I find it very helpful to have main objectives to be formulated with enough simplicity that I can keep them on top of my mind on a daily basis as I work with graduate students, who do the actual research work. This makes making everyday micro decisions easy: does this move us closer to the objective? When the description of the goal is simple, this loaded question reduces to a yes-or-no one.

The same principle applies to photography. My camera is pretty advanced, and there is a nearly infinite number of combinations or lenses and settings that I could use. However, I find that it is most effective to simplify things. I only have a few combinations of settings: for action (maximum aperture, fast shutter speed, auto ISO, high framing rate, continuous focus), for portraits (same as above, but slower shutter speed, sometimes, manual low ISO), for landscapes (narrow aperture, low ISO, single-shot focus, single frame drive). There are othe creative scenarios beside these, but they are exceptions. So the question of choosing the settings, which can be overwhelming to a beginner photographer, can actually be simplified to “what are you trying to achieve?” And the beauty is that there are only few answers: freeze (or blur) motion, separate the subject from the background (or maximize the depth of field). This classification of shooting scenarios is so simple that it frees me to mostly think about composition, which is always important.