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By sea and air

What is a more appropriate mode of travel to a fluid mechanics conference than a float plane? I think you have to try hard to find one. It’s a combination of hydro- and aerodynamics, so what else to wish for?

In any case, taking this small plane from Victoria’s Inner Harbour to the lake Union in Seattle has been a highlight to my conference trip. One of the coolest things is that there are no assigned seats, so if you are among the first in line for boarding, you can sit in the cockpit next to the pilot (yes, that’s one of the passenger seats!) On some routes, e.g., between Victoria and Vancouver, they even give you a headset, so you can listen to the pilot’s communications with the flight control.

The drawback of the float planes is that they don’t have much in term of navigation aids (i.e. radars), so they are much more weather-dependant than the larger planes. In my case, it was not certain whether the flight would get cancelled because of the cloud cover until 20 minutes before takeoff.

Still, the flight itself and the views from the cockpit are worth the hassle, I think – it sort of feels like an adventure. Besides, it cuts the total travel time a lot, compared to a more conventional mode (if the flight does happen, that is).

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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.

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On training and education

“To be prepared against surprise is to be trained. To be prepared for surprise is to be educated.”
James P. Carse “Finite and Infinite Games.”

One of the most rewarding aspects of art, painting in particular, for me is that the outcome is always somewhat different from the mental image of the finished product that I start out with. It is fascinating to see that the little details that initially seem out of place and that I try to fix in order to make them fit my original idea gradually begin to work with each other and eventually form a harmonious image, albeit different from what I imagined at first. This gradually revealed surprise is what makes it worthwhile to spend hours on a painting.

I recently took a figure painting course, and worked on a painting for about fifteen hours on and off, yet it’s far from being finished. Watching it take shape and being constantly surprised is what makes me going. In contrast, I routinely take hundreds of photographs during a single sports match or a dance class. What makes me engaged in that case is trying to become better at taking photos, so that my result is more predictable – I anticipate interesting action moments, compose and expose the shots better, develop a more efficient workflow. In other words, in photography I am mainly working on avoiding surprises, while in art I am working to cultivate them.

Of course, this is only true generally-speaking. In fact, I also work on developing my painting technique and really enjoy the unexpected shots that I capture with my camera every now and then. Still, this difference in how we treat unexpected events in our lives is remarkable. I started noticing it after I’ve picked up James Carse’s book “Finite and Infinite Games” couple of weeks ago. It’s one of the most deeply insightful books I’ve read in a while. Perhaps, it’s at the level similar to Robert Pirsig’s “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” which is a very high bar as far as I am concerned.

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Definition of creativity

Couple of days ago, I listened to an interview with Chase Jarvis, who gave an insightful definition of a creative process. A creative endeavour needs to have an idea-forming stage, a planning stage, and an execution stage. In addition, it needs to involve problem-solving during the execution. This definition is very broad, so it captures activities outside the realm of arts, which if what typically comes to mind when people think about creativity. For example, computer coding would easily qualify as a creative process. Ironically, I am struggling to fit martial arts into this definition, even though it has the word “art” in it. It might be because of how I personally have been approaching my kendo training – literally, not being creative enough to make the practice my own.

Being creative attracts and enables more creativity. When we take photos, sketch or play music, we not only become better at it and therefore can enjoy it more fully, but we also notice more opportunities to engage in these activities. This way, creativity really changes our lives in a tangible way. Chase talked about his mom, who became more outgoing, started to enjoy travelling, etc., because she initially developed an interest in taking photos and sharing them online. We personally met an airport mechanic-turned-painter in Milan, who has been a huge inspiration for my daughter and myself. This idea of exercising creativity like a muscle is similar to the abundance mindset evangelized by Peter Diamandis: doing creative things opens up an abundance of creative opportunities.

Creativity is woven in to the mundane details of everyday life. What matters is doing things with attention and intention rather than forcing a pretentious all-or-nothing artistic lifestyle on oneself, like wearing a beret and moving to Paris to surround oneself with a high art community. Because creativity is hidden in the small details, it makes sense to start small. Case gives an example: if you are an engineer, who dreams of opening a cafe (which would be a very creative thing to do), it would be a poor decision to quit your job, take out a lease on the building and to start running a business, about which you probably know very little. Instead, he suggests to begin baking scones and inviting friends over for brunch for ten Sundays in a row to test how it would feel. Taking things to the next level would be so much easier after you have had some first-hand experience with the core activity of the. Basically, we don’t need to make drastic changes to our lives to live creatively.

Maybe it is easy for me to say, because I am lucky to have both my main job (academic research) and hobbies that squarely fit into Chase’s definition of a creative process. Even so, I find that I often have to remind myself to do what Tim Ferriss’ favourite note to self says: “Notice the best part.”

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Kite-flying on a spring day

At the end of the last school year, I rode my new motorbike to the school at pickup time. My daughter had already started to ask me to take her for a ride as a passenger, but I was not ready to do it yet (I am still not ready). We went to fly our trainer kites at Clover Point, and I had my GoPro running the entire time. I thought it would make a fun vlog post, but I under-estimated how much time it would take me to edit it. I worked on it on and off throughout the summer, and finally today decided that it was time to declare it finished. It felt a bit strange today, on a cool, rainy day, to read a subtitle in the video telling how excited I was to see the spring sunshine that reminded me of the approaching summer. It’s another reminder to myself that the videos, as well as photos and written notes, are more relevant, and probably more interesting, if they are brought to a more-or-less publishable form in a timely manner.

Better late than never, I suppose…

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Things we enjoyed last summer

On the first day of school, my daughter was asked to bring a photo showing a summer activity that she enjoyed the most. We did many interesting things together, but she immediately said that she wanted a photo of her going paddle boarding.

Paddle boarding has certainly been our favourite thing this summer. We got into it last year, taking lessons and many guided tours. This year we were confident enough to go on our own little adventures – hopping between bays, going to the small islands, and even taking Bruno, our puppy, on the board with us a couple of times. Actually, on one of those occasions, he learned that he could swim after falling off the board.

Last year, it was my daughter, who was a passenger on a board, clinging to it precariously and frantically doggy-pedalling after occasionally tumbling off. This past summer, she was on her own board, pedalling by herself (well, sometimes just enjoying being towed behind my board) taking a keen interest in documenting our trips on camera and demanding “more adventures!” I am a bit overwhelmed that she is growing up so fast but still gladly poses for a back-to-school photo before going off to third grade.

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Old cars

During the last week of the past school year, after picking up our seven-year-old daughter from school, we went to a car dealership to trade in our old SUV for a new one. Our daughter was super-excited. As we were driving down the Douglas Street, one of the main roads in Victoria, she rolled down her window and shouted, “Dudes, we have a new car!” A few weeks later, she mentioned that she was missing our old one. This made me think that it is curios why we have such strong emotions towards such lifeless objects as our cars.

Of course, we spend a lot of time with cars every day and get used to them. There are also aspects of cars sometimes being luxury items and status symbols. But I could also see and feel genuine excitement at the old car show in Oak Bay that we went to in July. I think it is because of the human’s joint history and emotional connection with horses, which we project to our vehicles. In fact, this connection is particularly strong in the case of motorcycles. There is something about “riding”, rather than “driving” that makes the experience completely different. I think it has to do with the physical balance. On a bike, like on a horse, I need to be constantly aware of my body position, how far I turn my head to look into the turn, how tightly I grip the handlebars or the reins. Also, riding is both more technically challenging and inherently more dangerous than driving. And because challenge and risk help justify any activity, we are more likely to experience flow while riding a motorcycle. By the same logic, owning an old car and keeping it in a running order is a difficult pursuit, and this is what gives the meaning to the experience. We all understand it intuitively. Even if it is not our car, we are grateful to the owners for giving us a glimpse of this experience.

My only worry is that my daughter is now keen to ride my motorcycle. At least, it’s only as a passenger for now, but if my own experience is any indication, there is no going back from there.

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Barbie Expo

A girl of about eight walked out of the elevator in my hotel in Montreal, holding a brochure advertising “the largest in the world” Barbie museum apparently located just around the corner. I immediately decided to go there, because I wanted to bring a souvenir for my daughter. I find it slightly ironic that a Barbie museum found its way to the top of my list of places to visit. This is another example of surprising (to myself) things I became interested in because of my daughter. The others are ballet, violin and piano, to name a few major ones in our life at the moment. It turned out that you can’t actually purchase anything at the Barbie Expo, but the concept of a permanent exhibit of one-of-a-kind Barbie dolls dressed by the famous designers, whose clothes one can actually buy in the same shopping centre is quite cool. I was also lucky to be there right before the closing time, so the place was not crowded. Still, there were quite a few people, both children and adults checking out the displays. So it’s not just me. Good.
Oh, and by the way – there was also also a figurine of Daniel Craig as 007, which means that Barbie is not only a model, dancer, race car driver, rock star, princess, … , astronaut, doctor, etc., as the exhibit clearly showed, but also a Bond girl.

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Sculpting a show dog

Bruno, our six-months-old lagotto Romagnolo puppy, participated in his first-ever dog show this past weekend. While it was a true debut for Bruno, it was the first experience for all of us as well. In my teens, I used to take my Dobermann to shows, but (a) it was long time ago, (b) it was in a different country, and (c) I didn’t really know what I was doing, so whatever points my dog got, the credit goes entirely to him. This time, we had help from an experienced handler, Nicole, who directed Bruno, and most importantly us, at every step – from which category to register in to where to sit to avoid distracting Bruno while he was at the ring. By the way, this is yet another example of the fact popularized by Cesar Millan that dog training, and working with dogs in general, is really mostly education of their human owners.

“Grooming is a huge part of showing a lagotto,” Nicole told us even before our first meting. Although this breed is an ancestor of poodles, the official breed description – the standard – is quite explicit in that a lagotto should not look like one. With their curly hair, lagotti look deceptively scruffy. This look, called rustico, is in fact quite difficult to achieve. The coat cannot be too long, because otherwise it would mat (lagotti don’t shed – one of the reasons why we chose this breed). It cannot be too short either, because the dog should look as if it’s ready to work – hunt for truffles in a thick forest undergrowth, which is the breed’s official specialty.

A couple of weeks before the show, Nicole asked me to send her photos of Bruno to evaluate his current coat length and whether we should have him groomed. Her verdict was, “Don’t touch it! I’ll give him a trim myself right before the show.” When we met on Thursday evening, she gave Bruno a haircut using a pair of long, frighteningly sharp, curved scissors. Watching her do it dismissed any doubts in my mind about a hypothetical possibility of learning how to groom a dog myself. There is just no way I would be able to control Bruno’s wiggling and at the same time take very decisive cuts with the scissors to shape his silhouette, no matter how thoroughly I understood what it should look like from every angle. I am familiar with sculpting (modelling, to be precise), but unlike with clay, there is no going back after a chunk of hair falls off under a snap of the scissors. Achieving the “column legs”, the “carrot tail” and the “round head” with the hair on the ears “trimmed to the leather at the tips of ears” is not a mean feat. It took Nicole almost an hour just to transform Bruno from a wookiee into a lagotto.

A side note: I’ve been learning lot’s of useless fascinating facts since we got a dog. For example, I’ve learned that in written English, according to the Associated Press guidelines, parts of the breed names that are derived from proper nouns – names of places, surnames – should be capitalized, while the other words should not be (e.g., German shepherd, lagotto Romagnolo, etc.) The American Kennel Club says that all words in a breed name should be capitalized, but I say they are biased. I had no idea, until I decided to write this! My excuse is that English is my second language. I find this almost as fascinating as why “whiskey” is sometimes spelled with an “e” and sometimes without – but that is a totally different story.

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Intermittent reinforcement

Jump

I’ve been working on the photos from the year-end show of my daughter’s dance school. Processing thousands of photos that were all taken within two days of each other can be really boring rather monotonous. But coming across images like this, which I forgot I took, every now and then is what makes me want to keep going. “Every now and then” is the key point.

Something similar happens in golf, when I mostly play very poorly rather unremarkably but sometimes get to the green in one stroke. It doesn’t happen often at all, and that’s what makes me want to keep playing.

In dog training, this is called intermittent reinforcement. When a puppy has learned a trick or a command, he is no longer getting a cookie every time, but only once in a while, at random intervals. This makes him want to work and makes the learned skill more reliable.

Similarly, when I manage to capture a cool image, that’s an automatic “Good boy!” signal to me as a photographer. Hopefully, this motivation translates to more practice and, eventually, to some kind of qualitative change.

Anchors aweigh

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