What makes someone good

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I think that ability to clearly formulate what makes something or someone good, i.e. significantly better than average in the specific field, is crucial for making progress in one’s own development and for creating meaningful contributions.

There is a difference between evaluating performance and identifying traits that lead to greatness. Someone might have a potential to be a great artist, researcher, student, etc., but not be performing particularly well at the given moment due to various random reasons. I believe that evaluating performance is relatively easy, but recognizing patterns that lead to greatness is difficult. What might help is drawing parallels with other, seemingly unrelated fields, where such patterns have already been established.

In particular, I find that Japanese martial arts, such as kendo, offer a nearly perfect model for many other areas of human activity. Te reason for this is that nearly everything that we do involves interactions with other people, which can be modelled, at some level of fidelity, as conflicts of varying intensity. Kendo exemplifies an ultimate level of conflict, with all its characteristic elements. After all, it represents a fight to the death.

One lesson from kendo that applies to most areas where continuous improvement of some skill or ability is needed is that a combination of two factors can serve as a fairly reliable indicator of whether someone has a potential to become good at what he/she does: quantity and quality of practice. Quantity is self-explanatory. By quality, I mean presence, conscious engagement with the subject of the activity.

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Lock-in effect

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In vibrations, the term “lock-in” (or lock-on) refers to the phenomenon of an object oscillating at its natural frequency in response to an excitation by a different frequency. The system is said to be “locked-on” to the natural frequency of the oscillator. In marketing the same term refers to the difficulty of switching to a new product, service or technology, if the the consumer has already invested (often psychologically) into the old product or process.

In both cases the term refers to some inertia associated with the status quo. Since this seems to be a universal phenomenon, it is reasonable to generalize and assume that most people tend to lock-in to their current way of doing things. This refers to the tools and methods they use, how they seek and provide feedback, how they form their opinions, etc. Therefore, a reasonable strategy for differentiating oneself from the crowd (which is pretty much a necessary step for an any artist) would be to consciously fight the lock-in effect, i.e. to be responsive to new inputs (learn new techniques, change the workflow, etc.)

Of course, reacting to every new input has its dangers. Borrowing again the concept from engineering, if the system does not have sufficient damping, it will become unstable, so even small disturbances would lead to huge oscillations. I think that in a creative process, ability to stay true to one’s own “voice” and “style” has the effect of damping: not every subject or technique would resonate with the given photographer, for example. In this case, the unique style is analogous to the natural frequency of the system.

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Daily practice

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I recently read an excerpt from a relatively old (1992) article published by All Japan Kendo Association (Zen Nippon Kendo Renmei) about the status of kendo practice in foreign countries. One of the differences between kendo in Japan and abroad that the author pointed out is the frequency of practice. While kendoka in Japan practice every day, many European kendoka, for example, do not understand why it would be necessary.

Setting aside various dogmas about “the right way” to do something (there are many of them in the martial arts world in particular,) I think there are many advantages of doing some core activities (e.g. exercise, writing, kendo, reading, photography, etc.) daily. The benefits extend beyond simple quantity of practice, which is obviously important in its own right. Frequent engagement with challenging tasks reduces the psychological significance of a single event. Working on a particular task regularly, even if the length of a single session is rather short, has also been shown to be effective in the long run in the academic research and teaching.

Incidentally, blogging is considered an effective practice of overcoming a subconscious anxiety of creating a permanent public record of one’s opinions. Personally can subscribe to this idea, even though I am not particularly keen on receiving feedback on my opinions.

Of course, daily practice of any activity is the classical example of something that is easier said than done. The good news is that after a short while, a regular activity becomes a habit, which is self-sustaining by definition.

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Inspiration for the old age

Craft

I notice that with age, it becomes easy to lose motivation for starting new projects or even continuing to work on something that I have been doing for a long time. Inspiring stories of people who start something relatively late in life and through consistency and perseverance achieve results that are beyond average in that field, even for much younger people, work very well for me in such periods of uncertainty.

There are many inspiring life stories that can be found in books. For example, I have just heard an interview with Jack Canfield, who specializes in putting together collections of such stories.

In my own experience, one of the most influential encounters was the one with a Japanese lady, about sixty years of age, who visited our kendo dojo several years ago as part of the delegation of rather high-level kendoka. After the practice, she asked how long I had been practicing kendo. I was then in my early thirties and had started only a couple of years earlier. I thought that it was a hopelessly late age for starting kendo and that I had no realistic chance to ever achieving the level that this lady was at. However, she said the she started practice even later in life, after her children had grown up and left home. Naturally, this made me re-evaluate my entire outlook at kendo practice.

Activities that require certain level of physical fitness are the prime examples, where such inspiring stories are most impressive. I think that in other areas, such as arts, photography, studies, etc. there are even fewer excuses for not starting something new at any age. In fact, I recently read that from a psychological point of view, it is the joy of new experiences, and as a consequence, active seeking of new activities, skills and knowledge, that constitutes the essence of a youthfulness.

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On synthesis

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For a part-time photographer, finding time for photo projects is not always easy, as the main job, not to mention family and other obligations, demand a lot of time. I am fortunate that in my case, photography became an integral part of work, family life and martial arts studies.

This cross-pollination between the various spheres of life is very much in line with David Whyte’s point of view , presented in his book called “The Three Marriages: Reimagining Work, Self and Relationship.” He argues that the idea of “work-life balance” is fundamentally flawed, as neither of the two (or indeed, three) major areas of activities can be effectively quantified and balanced against each other. Perhaps, it is wrong to wear different hats depending on the roles we are playing at a particular moment, as doing so automatically limits our capacity to wholly engage with the activity at hand (as other “roles” that we have in our life would be tugging in opposite directions in the background.) Instead, it would be better (for the lack of a more appropriate word, as I think “productive” would miss the point, since the underlying issue here is the relationship between presence and productivity) to synthesize one’s various roles and bring all of them simultaneously into everything we do, taking advantage of the interconnectedness of the various fields and applying our skills and experience across the disciplines.

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No permit required

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Recently, I listened to an interview with Seth Godin, who wrote many famous business books like “Purple Cow” and more recently, “Linchpin.” He made a point that in the modern age of information technology, there is no objective need to ask a for permission to engage in any kind of art, trade or business from anyone other than ourselves. He used an example of book publishing, which nowadays has been reduced to typing the words and hitting “Publish” in WordPress.

The last remaining authority, the one the sits inside our head, is a tough one, though. I think the reason is that we associate ourselves with what we do so closely, that somehow our jobs (not necessarily the paid ones that we do to make a living, but practically any activity) subjectively become our identities. Although this may have nothing to do with reality, there is a real resistance to trying new things that we create for ourselves. In my experience, I sometimes have to consciously convince myself that trying a new kind of shoot, instead of “perfecting” the one(s) that I am already familiar with, would be fun (and almost always is, following the theory that new and challenging activities are most fulfilling).

The benefits of exploring new activities are definitely worth overcoming the internal resistance. For example, although sports photography was distinctly new, challenging and uncomfortable for me after starting initially in the landscape genre, shooting sports opened up an incredibly fun and rewarding area and generally prompted my interest in photographing people.

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Why children are like carrots

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Gretchen Rubin, who wrote “The Happiness Project” and more recently, a book about everyday habits called “Better Than Before“, pointed out that people are most satisfied with what they do if their activities are new and challenging, and also if the activities support an environment of growth. This means that a fulfilling pursuit has a cumulative effect, which we can see and enjoy over time. By the way, this does not mean accumulation of something material. The effect can be in the process itself, as in writing calligraphy with water on the sidewalk, for example.

Examples of activities that cultivate growth are gardening, collecting (stamps, coins, etc.) and raising children. The latter is particularly rewarding, since, as any parent would tell, kids grow very fast, both physically and psychologically.

I think that, by extension, photographing children (following the development of the same child over time) is an excellent long-time project. It develops the photography technique, provides a way to connect with the child and creates a cumulative record of memories that the child would be able to access later in life. Incidentally, having this visual reference is tremendously important for forming a post-factum impression of one’s childhood, since visual images can shape our memories.

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Facing challenges

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According to many psychologists, most satisfying activities are either new, challenging or both. The problem with doing challenging things, of course, is that the probability of failure is high. When we worry about failing, we tend to postpone the activity, reduce its frequency, over-plan and over-analyze past results.

Gretchen Rubin, who wrote “The Happiness Project“, points out that if something appears to be difficult, the best, although counter-intuitive, thing to do is to engage in this challenging activity more often. Doing so not only increases the quantity of practice, but also reduces the psychological significance of any single attempt. For example, if a research group regularly publishes technical papers, then if an occasional paper is rejected by a journal, this is not taken by the authors as a sign that their work is of inferior quality. Similarly, if I do not feel well during a kendo practice, I am not worried about not being able to put out 100% of the intensity on that particular day because I know that usually I practice well, and that very soon there will be another opportunity to do better.

Importance of practicing a difficult activity often, rather than shying away from it because of the fear of failure, is the reason why many top professional photographers say that one of the most important things for any photographer is to keep shooting new and challenging personal projects, even though they might not directly lead to commercial opportunities. After all, the difficulty and the novelty of such projects is what makes photography such a rewarding and satisfying activity for both pros and amateurs.

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Old news

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Most of the content that is being generated in research, art, literature, etc. is not new, but a re-statement of old concepts. This does not mean that re-visiting old ideas is a useless exercise. In fact, calling something an “exercise” implies that the activity has some intrinsic value.

My three-year-old daughter and her friends like listening to the same stories, watch the same cartoons and play the same games day after day. Of course, their preferences change periodically, but it is still fascinating to see how much children like repetition. Naturally, this is part of their learning process. Similarly, perhaps, re-visiting old ideas helps us learn the underlying concepts and even shape the ideas themselves.

Many authors wrote about the benefits journalling or blogging. One of these benefit is the ability to formulate an idea or point of view. For example, Kevin Kelly, the author of “What Technology Wants,” among other popular books, points out that the writing process does not start with formulating the idea in one’s head and then setting on expressing them in written words. Instead, we start writing, often on the same topics that we or others have addressed before, and through this process, the old ideas become clarified and (re-)formulated.

Similarly, photographing or painting a familiar subject, such as a still life or a landscape, not only refines the technique, but opens up new dimensions of the subject. Perhaps, this is why the old works of art are sometimes entitled “studies.”

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Conditional happiness

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I find that if I have some experience in a particular type of photography (e.g. travel, street, studio portrait, etc.), this experience makes it more difficult for me to improve in that area than in a completely new situation. I think it has something to do with what is referred in Zen Buddhism and Japanese martial arts as shoshin (beginner’s mind) – a condition of openness and lack of preconceptions in studying a subject. The very fact of gaining experience removes this openness, as we start to project the experience to form ideas of how further learning should occur.

This lack of mental flexibility is particularly frustrating in street photography, where photo opportunities are fleeting and highly variable, which makes them easy to miss, if the photographer’s mind is locked on a preconceived idea for a particular type of shot.

Interestingly, there is a parallel between letting the preconceptions shape (and constrain) our view of the learning process and the concept of conditions that we attach even to the notion of being happy. The following quote from Albert Camus describes the latter concept:

“Those who prefer their principles over their happiness, they refuse to be happy outside the conditions they seem to have attached to their happiness.”

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