Art and science: recipe for a breakthrough

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“Although motorcycle riding is romantic, motorcycle maintenance is purely classic.”

-Robert M.Pirsig, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” is a book that keeps surprising me with the depth of its inquiry into some of the very fundamental philosophical dilemmas. For example, it has an interesting discussion of two seemingly unreconsciable ways of looking at things, phenomena or processes: a “classic”, or analytic, and a “romantic”, or artistic way.

Needless to say, to be able to combine both approaches is very difficult, but perhaps a relatively straightforward way of making a meaningfull contribution in either sphere would be to apply state-of-the-art techniques and know-how from the other sphere. This idea is similar to multi-disciplinary scientific research, where breakthroughs often occur at the junction between two or more separate fields.

For example, one could use analytic classification as an approach to art. This, in fact, has been done throughout the ages by using the principles of geometry, psychology and optics in architecture and painting. An extreme example of perfect symbiosis of the “classic” and the “romantic” approaches in Seurat‘s theory of chromoluminarism, which utilizes optical mixing of colours (an additive process), instead of physical mixing of pigments (a subtractive process.)

The inverse (applying the “romantic” approach to science) is a bit less obvious, but I believe it can be done very effectively. There are two points of opportunity for this in a scientific workflow: 1) examining and communicating the impact of the phenomenon under consideration as a whole, before it has been analyzed and 2) looking for and pursuing the aesthetics in the analytic process itself.

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When less is more

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Using self-imposed constraints in the way the information is delivered can make the message more powerful. Similarly, economy of information, i.e. how much of it is being transmitted, is also an important concept. Amanda Palmer pointed this out in her interview with Tim Ferriss in relation to music, but I believe it also applies to visual arts and teaching.

In photography, painting, calligraphy, etc., the use of negative space allows the viewer to complete his/her own personal version of the image, given the limited amount of visual clues provided by the artist. Personally, being a fan of Japanese art, I would like to explore simplifying the composition and limiting visual elements in some of my typical shooting scenarios (sports, travel, landscapes, portraits) without necessarily resorting to minimalism.

On a similar note, teaching often fails by providing the students with too much content (for their level of knowledge, duration of the class, etc.) and rarely (if ever) by giving too little information. Leaving something for self-study allows the students to engage with the material and make it “their own”. I must say that having just finished teaching a relatively large course, I am looking forward to limiting the course-related information that I both receive and transmit to bare minimum for the next few months.

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Definition vs. understanding

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In his book “The Wisdom of Insecurity: A Message for an Age of Anxiety“, Alan Watts argues that to define a process or a phenomenon is not the same as to understand it. Of course, it is possible to become lost in the semantics of what the definition of “understanding” is, but in general, I believe this viewpoint provides a great insight.

Even though we can define something, we often lack the deep understanding of it until we can experience the concept in question. In kendo, for example, it is almost trivial to memorize the names and superficial biomechanical descriptions of various techniques (waza). However, the understanding of the implications of the techniques develops gradually, through practicing them in multiple matches (shiai) and training sessions (keiko) against different opponents. I suppose, a similar difference exists between defining the various mechanical processes and artistic concepts that are involved in extracting a piece of music from a violin and actually playing it. Practice, as in physical doing, is the key word here.

By extension, the same principle applies to photography. It is not sufficient to mentally grasp the concept of camera shake, for example, that is caused by excessive rate of pressure on the shutter release button. To really understand the effect in conjunction with various focal lengths, shutter speeds and lighting conditions, one needs to practice rolling his/her finger over the shutter button hundreds of times and examine the results.

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Learning to be an extrovert

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Any personality type has unique advantages and disadvantages. At certain times, though, it is important to be, or more precisely, to act, like an extrovert. This is particularly true in the case of teaching, where engaging the student(s) is of primary importance. Incidentally, this is a challenge to many academics in analytical areas, such as mathematics, where concentrated, solitary thinking process is an effective, perhaps even necessary, mode of operation, which naturally favours introverts. But since teaching is a necessary stage of any learning process, sometimes, even the most introverted person has to summon the ability to gladly engage other people at an emotional and intellectual level.

I believe that both martial arts and photography (or any visual or performing art, for that matter) offer excellent training grounds for the skill of behaving like an extrovert. Martial arts, by definition, involve communication with an opponent, and in photography, sharing photos, receiving and providing feedback and interacting with models, assistants, colleagues and the audience are the points of communication with other humans.

I do not suggest that one needs to change his/her natural behaviour in general. On the contrary, trying on a different personality type can enhance the inherent character strengths and, at the very least, help understand the other people’s perspective on the common issues.

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Creative direction

Lego sheep.

Although it sounds like an oxymoron, good creative direction can be very effective and make the creative process a positive experience. A good example of this are the instructions that come with LEGO blocks. They are very specific, which guarantees the successful result, and they teach important techniques, such as sorting the blocks by colour before starting a project, interlocking the blocks to make walls, etc. As a result, we feel that we have learned something and also created an interesting and aesthetically-pleasing object.

As my daughter reaches the age where she starts to appreciate the possibilities of making neat objects out of the heap of blocks, but still needs help with it, I had a chance to play with LEGO for the first time in a very long time. I really appreciated the thoughtful design and clear directions. The creative aspect was limited, of course, particularly since the subject was a sheep, which does not inspire thoughts of creativity and leadership. However, I think there are some interesting possibilities in terms of macro photography involving Lego.

I took the photo above with my iPhone. Its wide-angle lens is perfect for this kind of close-up shots. In fact, a combination of the focal length and sensor size in a smartphone camera would often outperform a DSLR in close-up photography, provided that the lighting is adequate.

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When not to give advice

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Throughout a learning process, it is important to be conscious about which advice to follow and which to ignore. Here, “ignoring” does not mean not noticing it, but rather choosing not follow it, upon processing the information that comes with it.

Just as important is to know when to voice an opinion or criticism and when to withhold it. This notion is particularly important in teaching. Sometimes, too much feedback can either discourage or mislead the student about his/her learning process. More importantly, certain things cannot be transmitted by words or even visual example – they have to be discovered and mastered through personal practice.

The restraint that is required to withhold or delay voicing an opinion, particularly when immediate response is expected, is a learned skill, and as such requires practice. This does not mean distorting the truth when speaking up is genuinely the right thing to do. Instead, the practice can focus on making the communication more laconic and efficient – using the minimum amount of words (indeed, information in general) to convey an idea. For example, Amanda Palmer explained that she spent two month polishing her viral TED talk to distill her life philosophy into a twelve-minute presentation.

I find that effort spent on self-editing my comments on other photographer’s images, reviews of other colleagues’ research papers, my lecture notes, etc. translates between these and other areas (e.g. practicing with novice kendoka). Ultimately, this capacity for restraint is based on being sufficiently present at the moment when my opinion is formed in order to realize that this opinion by itself is only a part of the overall communication and teaching/learning process, and as such does not automatically has to be made available to others. There might (or might not) come time when the opinion will be needed. Then, it would have benefited from being effectively formulated and delivered.

…These thoughts came to mind after I heard an interview with Amanda Palmer, and, being fully aware of the irony, I decided to put them into the blood post right away. In my defence, this is not an advice, just some notes to self…

More photos here: http://ow.ly/Hw3b9

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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When to quit

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There is a psychological stigma associated with quitting, yet most people quit many different undertakings over the course of their lives, from childhood hobbies to New Year resolutions to business projects. Seth Godin, actually wrote a book on the subject, called “The Dip.” He argues that quitting can be a valuable tactic, but it should be done not at the point when most people do it (e.g. the 23-rd mile of a marathon). It is best to either quit early in the project, when it is “cheap,” or to stick to it until the end. The definition of “the end” can vary, but imposing (early in the project) a limit on maximum amount of resources that would be spent can help alleviate anxiety towards the end.

I think that a similar approach can be adopted to photo projects. I wrote earlier about the importance of declaring a post-processing stage completed at some point instead of tweaking the image ad infinitum. Perhaps, additional insight can be obtained by analyzing when most photographers quit their processing projects. Once the typical quitting points in the workflow have been established, it would be best to either quit earlier or push beyond them.

The West Coast. Vancouver Island. Canada.

Seasonal references

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Many traditional Japanese arts, such as calligraphy, poetry, tea ceremony, flower arrangement include seasonal references. Those can be specific words (kigo) or particular plants and flowers used for ikebana. In calligraphy practice, poems that represent the current season are typically used. This month’s calligraphy that my wife use for practice is an unusual example of seasonal reference (see image above). What refers to the season is not the meaning of the writing, but its pronunciation. It is pronounced “fu jyo ki kyo”, which is supposed to resemble a song of a spring bird.

I am fascinated by a subtle, indirect way certain references are introduced in Japanese art. In fact the subject is rarely addressed directly. Instead, the consumer of the art (reader, viewer, listener, taster, depending on the type of the art) is invited to complete the image by him/herself, making the whole experience more personal. The use of negative space in Japanese ink painting (sumi-e) is a prime example of this concept.

Another insight from this month’s calligraphy is how effective a reference to nature can be. This notion is directly related to the importance of including an element of weather in landscapes, which was first explored in photography by Ansel Adams, and even in an action photos. In the modern world, we are so isolated from the effects of the weather (indeed, almost all my daily activities are weather-independent) that an image, which references the effect of weather on the subject, has a strong potential to stir up some primal emotions in the viewer.

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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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