Content vs design

The other day, we have been talking to a graphic designer about our magazine, and she mentioned the two basic approaches to putting an issue together – content first and design first. The former is about writing stories, the latter is about art.

I realized that it is a useful framework for other creative projects as well. For example, with blogging, I’ve been thinking that a neat productivity hack would be focus the posts around photographs. Simply letting the images speak for themselves and, at the extreme, allowing the viewers create their own narrative about them if they want. That would be analogous to the ‘design first’ approach.

Yet I personally prefer reading stories illustrated by images to watching slideshows with extended captions. Besides, every image has a story behind it, even if it is not necessarily a profound one. For example, this sketch could stand on its own, just as my doodling impression of a sunny day at the beach. But what makes it meaningful for me is that I made it trying out my birthday present – a set of design pens markers.

Sidney by the sea

Sidney is one of the special places in that it always feels nice, even after a short visit. Somehow, it has a feeling of getting away, even though it is only a few minutes drive from home. Probably, it’s the combinations of it’s small size and the fact that every time we go there, we have no particular agenda.

It is picturesque, for sure, but even taking photos there feels relaxed and unfocussed (not in the sense of lacking optical sharpness, but without a purpose in mind). I guess, I have this idea on the back of my mind that while this town is very pretty, it is, essentially, or backyard, and so there will alway be another chance to photograph the same view. Still, these views are some of my favourites, and I don’t mind taking the same photos of them time after time.

“Pure energy”. A sculpture by Armando Barbon in Sidney, BC, Canada.

Frozen

I’ve been walking across campus for several years now, but apparently there are still curious spots along the way that I haven’t noticed before. The reason is that as I walk from point A to point B, I almost alway take the same route. The force of habit acts as an autopilot of sort. A couple of weeks ago, I realized that my familiar route from the office to the gym is not the shortest one. There were some corners to be cut and diagonals to extend. Not that I was wasting a lot of time before, but the new route I found was was, perhaps, a minute or so faster, so as an engineer, I was compelled to increase the efficiency.

As a result, I discovered for myself a neat sculpture of a whale’s tail sticking out of the pond. I thought that it looked slightly comical, being obviously out-of-scale with the tiny body of water the implied animal is supposed to occupy. It reminded me of the monster-infested swamp on a planet in Dagobah star system, where Luke Skywalker crash-landed his x-wing fighter in Empire Strikes Back. Last week, we had a rear cold spell, and the sculpture looked even more fantastic, with the tail sticking out of the ice. A frozen motion indeed!

The greatest artistry

Leonardo da Vinci monument. Milan. Italy.

I’ve been reading the biography of Leonardo da Vinci by Walter Isaacson, and it’s insightful to learn that even an artist of such enormous stature as Leonardo had his own role models and influences. It is somehow liberating to find out the small, even mundane details about people, who are universally recognized as absolute giants of achievement. The more you know about your idols, the more human they become. In fact, some say you should never meet your idealized role models in person because of the risk of becoming disillusioned with them.

Leonardo, most likely, had never met his role model, Leon Battista Alberti, who was influential among artists and engineers of his time. Curiously, Leonardo strived to develop his uniques style, without much regard to the option of others, but in everyday, mundane matters, he aimed to exercise artistic approach, following Alberti’s maxim: “One must apply the greatest artistry in three things: walking in the city, riding a horse, and speaking, for in each of these one must try to please everyone.” Leonardo, apparently, became a model for his contemporaries in all three.

Panoramic vie of Florence from Pizzale Michelangelo. Italy.

To undo or not to undo

My daughter’s art teacher said that one of the problems she sees with the kids using digital media (tablets, computers) for drawing is the use of the Undo function. When they click Undo, the last brushstroke disappears not only from the screen, but somehow from their memory as well, as if whatever had been drawn before never existed. She suggested using the Eraser tool instead, because when you take time to move your hand over the drawing to erase the lines, you are still committing them to memory. That way, you have a chance to learn from your mistakes as you correct them.

Personally, I noticed another potential problem with the Undo function (and with digital art in general, for that matter) a while ago – it is the possibility of endless corrections. I know that with a digital file, there is always an opportunity to revisit a drawing, so I tend to linger over it while it would be more productive to declare it completed and to move on to a new one.

This is why I like sketching on physical paper every now and then, even though I am really enjoying ProCreate on my iPad these days. For my last couple of sketches, I decided to take the practice to the next level by using non-erasable brush-pens only. So effectively, no corrections are allowed – what you get the first time around is what you see.

Snow day

Last year, we missed the uncharacteristic snowfalls in Victoria, because we were in Milan on sabbatical, but today we had a rare glimpse of beautiful winter weather. The kids in my daughter’s class even got a break from homework to enjoy the snow.

We built a snowman. And if you think that our sculpting skills are wanting, our neighbour’s dog didn’t think so – he was baking at it for quite a while, trying to scare it off our lawn. I consider it indisputable acknowledgement of likeness by an impartial judge.

Crossing cultures

“Named must your fear be before banish it you can.”
— Yoda, from Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back

Yesterday, I noticed I’ve had this quote by Jigoro Kano, the founder of judo, hanging in an open Safari tab on my phone for the past year or so:

Face your fear, empty yourself, trust your own voice, let go of control, have faith in outcomes, connect with a larger purpose, derive meaning from the struggle.

I like it probably because it is so ambiguous that it seems all-encompassing and applicable to every aspect of life. As with many Japanese quotes, particularly in English translation, who knows what each part of Kano sensei’s writing really means?

It is curious how closely it resembles some of the western philosophy. The first part, about facing fears, for example, is similar to the stoic ideas of fear setting that Seneca wrote about:

Set aside a certain number of days, during which you shall content with the scantiest and cheapest fare, with coarse and rough dress, saying to yourself the while: “Is this the condition that I feared?”

Seneca was a contemporary of Jesus, but his work was largely unaffected by Christianity. Kano’s martial arts teachings are, essentially, modern, and they are also outside of Christian influence for obvious reasons. So absence of Christian influence is one commonality, but otherwise, the historical and cultural settings where these ideas came from could not be more different. Extrapolating my own experience as a foreigner practicing a Japanese martial art, Japanese culture and its Buddhism-based philosophy is initially attractive to westerners precisely because it is foreign and novel. But as one looks deeper, the same cultural gap makes it unapproachable at a more advanced level. So every now and then stumbling upon western counterparts to the foundational ideas of the East is useful and somehow comforting.

Still life

My daughter’s art teacher suggested a way of developing observation skills: setting up little still lives everywhere (at home using toys, at restaurants, at the playground) and drawing them either right on the spot or later, from memory. I thought it would be a neat exercise to try for myself, and yesterday I did it for the first time. I was sitting at my favourite cafe in the morning when I noticed that the direction of the shadow from a water glass on the table accidentally lined up with the milk pattern on the surface of my latte.

I cheated bit in terms of memory training – instead of sketching the scene right there and then or tying to remember it in detail, I snapped a picture on my phone and used it later as a reference for sketching.

Developing new skills

At the last tournament, I repeatedly tried to hit the opponent’s kote (lower arm just above the wrist), but judges gave me no ippons for any of the hits. I think this is because my strikes were not sharp enough. There is a particular quality of hits that’s needed to score points in kendo. It is not the force that counts, or even not the speed per se, although speed is important. It is precisely sharpness, snappiness of the hit. And I cannot do it at my current level. At least not consistently.

This presents a conundrum that applies beyond kendo to learning any new skill: how do you practice something that you cannot (correctly) do yet? If you practice using your current, incorrect, form, you risk reinforcing bad habits.

One option is to break down the skill into its constituent parts and work on them one-by-one before trying to connect them. This is how I work on the basics of violin-playing: First, work on the rhythm of a new song using a single open string. Second, get the left hand into position for playing correct notes without paying attention to rhythm or quality of sound. Third, focus on the sound quality (bow movement). Fourth, try to connect everything together and circle back to the rhythm.

In the case of a kote strike, however, the overall motion is already so short and simple that it doesn’t make sense to break it down further. But the overall quality of my kote hit is lacking, so something needs to be done. According to my sensei, the answer is to practice a different, but related, motion, which will eventually support and enable whatever you are trying to perform. In the case of the kote strike, the supporting exercise is matavari suburi – large-amplitude, straight swing of the shinai with maximum speed and an abrupt stop at the end of the swing. I’ve began doing it as my morning warm-up, but haven’t done enough yet to see any qualitative difference in my kote strikes. If anything, it will teach me not to over-extend my elbows at the end of a strike – something that’s annoyingly painful and potentially dangerous.

The best part of tournaments

In the past, when we went to kendo tournaments, driving at 5:30 am through the dark town on the way to catch the first ferry to Vancouver, we used to joke that it takes some kind of especially weird people to willingly get up that early and go somewhere to get hit by bamboo sticks, while having others scrutinize every inch of our movements. I think somewhere along the way I myself bought into this story and lost track of why we actually like doing this. I stopped noticing the best part of tournaments that makes all these things worth it.

It took me physically going to a tournament yesterday (lack of enthusiasm being no match to the force of habit) to recall what the best part of the competition was. For me personally, it is not winning matches (I wish it was one of the reasons, but unfortunately I mostly lose my matches), but the experience as a whole. I realized that I like meeting up early to carpool to the ferry, talking about kendo over ferry food, noticing the sunrise over the islands through the window and running to the upper deck with the camera to take some shots of it. And then, at the tournament, searching for my name in the lineup (it is fun to realize that I recognize many names after the years), feeling how adrenaline pushes away sleepiness right before my match, taking photos, watching matches, trying to see if I follow, and agree with, the shinpan’s decisions. On the way back, more kendo talk – what went wrong (inevitably), how things are not like they used to be, what we need to work on.

Overall, I am glad that we can to it every now and then. The actual best part? It’s hard to put a finger on. If pressed, I would have to say, it’s hanging out with others, who, for some weird reason, also find value in being hit with bamboo sticks.