Work or hobby?

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“First comes interest.”
— Angela Duckworth.

My former PhD advisor used to tell his graduate students that in order to develop expertise in one’s field of research, the study itself, i.e. reading scientific papers, working out the details of math and physics, has to become a hobby. This is what Richard Feynman called “The Pleasure of Finding Things Out”.

I recalled this as I have been reading an excellent book by Angela Duckworth called “Grit” on the importance of stick-to-it-iveness and ways of cultivating it. One point that she makes, which is kind of a truism if you think about it, is that it is easier to stick to something if you love what you do, i.e. if you have a personal interest in the subject.

What is less obvious is that this interest develops gradually. For example, I don’t expect my students to be gung ho about fluid mechanics right away, even at the graduate level. Likewise, my daughter didn’t have much enthusiasm for her first golf lessons.

Curiously, and conversely, what initially starts as an exciting personal interest inevitably acquires less enjoyable (read ‘boring’) aspects of a real job. With photography, for example, they say that to become a professional photographer is a sure way to kill a good hobby.

Personally, I am glad to have an opportunity to do photography at a professional level. I think that it adds a lot of quality to the craft, both technically and in terms of the purpose. It is satisfying to know that my photos have a life beyond my hard disk. This is the answer to the all-important “Why?” question that keeps me chipping away at processing a high-wolume dance photo shoot or getting out to a late-night basketball game.

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How to go down in history: being the first or the last

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In a recent interview, Chuck Klosterman, the author of “Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs”, mentioned that while it is difficult to predict, which musician/artist/scientist would be considered the most historically important figure of the current period many years from now, it is unlikely that it would be someone, who is considered as the leader of his/her field right now. Klosterman suggests that in order to have retrospective historical weight, an author (or a piece of art, scientific work, etc.) needs to meet at least one of the two criteria: he/she/it needs to offer true innovation, i.e. to be the first the first ever in the specific field, or he/she/it must represent the culmination of the development of the field that changes how people think, i.e. to be the last in the field – the finishing touch that completes it and points to a fundamentally new paradigm.

Basically, history likes those who are are either the first or the last in their area of work.

This concept has some parallels with the strategy for creating innovations outlined by Cal Newport in “Deep Work”: be on the leading edge of your field and then look just beyond it using patterns similar to those that exist (and are already known) in other fields.

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Of course, following the Newport’s strategy does not guarantee that the future generations will pick your work as singularly significant. However, stepping beyond the leading edge of your field gives you the chance to be the first in a completely new area, while getting to the leading edge gives you the chance to be the last in your field – the one who applies the unifying finishing touch to the existing body of work.

There are a couple of implications of this concept. First, you cannot be a narrow specialist. In order to apply known patterns from other areas, you need to have at least some knowledge of the fields beside your own area of expertise. As Miyamoto Musashi wrote in his famous “The Book of Five Rings, “Develop intuitive judgement and understanding for everything.”

Second, you cannot be a pure generalist either. You need to specialize in something in order to develop the deep expertise that would enable you to do cutting edge work in this area. Becoming an expert of that caliber is, of course, the hardest part of the process.

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Active waiting vs. procrastination

Moss Street Paint-in, July 16, 2016.

I have a copy of Robert Boyce’s “Advice for New Faculty Members” sitting on a shelf on top of my desk at home. As I was looking for an excuse avoid working on a research paper, I decided to flip through it. The book has been tremendously helpful during my first yeast at the university in terms of setting a framework for best practices in allocating time and efforts in teaching and research. The most effective practices are all laid out there in plain sight, supported by (sometimes too much of) statistical data.

Regarding writing in particular (as this is what I was avoiding) the first point that Boice makes is that it pays off not to rush into pouring words on the page. Instead, the best writers wait until they have sufficiently played with the ideas and supporting material in their heads to actually have something to say in their manuscripts. I was quite pleased with this idea: my procrastination was actually supposed to be productive in some indirect way.

There is a difference, however, between “active waiting’, how Boice calls it, and simply avoiding work. The former is a conscious, mindful process. It sets the stage for more efficient work.

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In my experience, active writing is absolutely crucial in a creative process. Photography or painting are great examples. Without some planning and taking time to create a mental representation the photo shoot or a painting season becomes a mindless going through the motions, a naive practice, to borrow a term from Anders Ericsson.

In kendo, the active waiting is formalized in the pre-practice ritual in the form of mokuso, a brief period of group meditation. Ironically, the meaning of it is not often discussed in modern dojos, as we are too focussed on getting to the practice itself, i.e. to literally just going through the motions.

Moss Street Paint-in, July 16, 2016.

Purposeful practice

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Anders Ericsson explains in his book “Peak” that simply repeating things over and over again does not lead to controls improvement (in fact, it is a recipe for stagnation). Ericsson differentiates between “naive practice”, “purposeful practice” and “deliberate practice”, in the order of sofistication and effectiveness. Basically, repeating something without focusing on a specific area of improvement is naive practice. In contrast, purposeful practice requires analysis of one’s progress and working out ways through or around the roadblocks that inevitably occurs once the current limit of ability is reached. The powerful message of Ericsson’s book is, of course, the argument that people’s minds and bodies are adaptable in way that a “natural” limit or ability can, in fact, be expanded. This means that we, in a sense, can increase our own “talent”.

Naturally, it would be great to spend our days with purpose, i. e. having a clear and specific goal to work towards. in the words of Annie Dillard, “how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” This is easier said then done, though. First, the really high-level goal is quite elusive – after all, we may be talking about the meaning of life. Second, it can be argued that continuously operating in the productivity mode is, ironically unproductive in the long run.

However, in specific situations, for example, developing a photography technique, it is quite easy to practise purposefully. All that is needed is a clear, attainable goal (e.g. learn to recognize and act upon photo opportunities suitable for using a phone camera in daily life), and a measure of progress (e.g. number of photos taken each day and, perhaps, feedback from peers on the selected ones).

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Monkey see, monkey scoot

Scooters are a big thing among my daughter’s preschool friends. Some time ago, we offered to buy her one, but she was not interested. Then one day, she saw a friend riding a Micro kickboard, and she could not wait to get one of her own. The next day, she rode it to school, and the following day, two more girls convinced their parents to buy the very same scooters (including the colour – it seems that pink and purple are the only two choices worth considering for four- and five-year old girls).

Naturally, a scooter had to be incorporated into the illustrated story that my daughter and I are making with a lot of help from my wife, who is the main actress in the re-enactment, playing the roles of nearly all characters (sometimes, simultaneously.

Here is the scooting episode.

“The Girl lent her scooter to the Baby Dinosaur, so that she could keep up with her friends. It was a purple scooter, with pink handlebars – Ella’s favourite colours! It turned out that Ella was a natural at scooting. It was handy to have four legs – when one of them got tired of pushing, she would witch to one of the other three.”

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Ups and downs

Any serious athlete would tell that motivation is easy to attain but difficult to sustain. This is true in creative activities too. For example, writers are famous for elaborate rituals they design to avoid procrastination and to ensure regular productivity. And quantity is indeed important if we hope to generate quality at some point. Adam Grant gives an example in his “Originals“, showing that most popular composers were also the most productive, with very rare exceptions.

Sustaining motivation in the audience is a slightly different matter. In order to keep the readers/viewers evaded, they should be exposed to a more-or-less continuous flow of material that is, at the same time, familiar and novel.

My four-year-old daughter and I are working through these issues in the picture book that we are making up (she creates the storyline through her make-believe games that she plays with her mom and I sketch it up). Sometimes, our motivation wavers, but we know that if we keep going, interesting things are bound to happen, just as in the book itself. Here is the latest episode about the newborn dinosaur discovering the world and her place in it.

“Baby Ella wanted to play with her new friends, but first, she had to learn how to walk. That was not easy, especially because she didn’t want to leave her cozy eggshell. The Girl gently nudged her to place one foot on the ground…”

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Social network

In the picture story that I have been drawing in collaboration with my daughter, based on her make-believe games, new characters are introduced almost on every page. Perhaps, this is not surprising, since the main character is a baby dinosaur, who, being a child like her creator, is being exposed to the world for the first time and is building her social network. Here is the latest episode, which I drew, very fittingly, as my daughter was playing at her friend’s birthday party.

“The Baby Bunny also came to visit the Baby Dinosaur. The Bunny and the Baby Squirrel waited patiently until Ella woke up and showed her the presents they brought: the carrot and the flower.

The friends wanted to play with Ella, but she had to remind them that she was only one-day-old and although she could was exceptionally smart and could speak perfectly well, she was still not sure if she could walk.”

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Friends and neighbours

I noticed that some of my favourite cartoons, anime, and children’s stories have a rather slowly developing storylines, without dramatic culminations. One example is Hayao Miyazaki’s “My Neighbour Totoro.” I’ve always wondered how it was possible to tell such a compelling story without either beginning or ending, at least in the Western, Hollywood-nurtured sense. The audience is simply allowed to watch over the main characters’ shoulder at a few days of their lives. Of course, there are a several places, where the plot thickens (e.g. Mei gets lost, for example), but I feel that this is not the main point. Overall, the pace of the story is quite even.

My four-year-old daughter is also a fan of Totoro, and her make-believe games also prominently feature friends and neighbours of whoever she pretends to be at the moment.

Here is the latest episode of the Girl and the Egg story that I have been sketching out based on my daughter’s play.

“The Girl’s neighbour, the Baby Squirrel, came to visit and asked if he could play with the newborn Dinosaur Ella. The Baby Squirrel brought some flowers as a gift. The Girl put them in a glass with water.

Baby Ella was sleeping at the time. One-day-old babies sleep a lot, as the Girl and her friend Squirrel found out.”

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Twists of the storyline

At this point in my daughter’s make-believe game about the baby dinosaur, who hatched from an egg after a mandatory incubation period, multiple possibilities exist in the storyline. One day, we play a certain scenario, another day – a different one… By making this book of sketches, I feel that I am starting to shape the story, and not just the look of the characters, as my daughter is getting used to seeing a new episode every day. Here is the latest one:

“Mommy and Daddy Dinosaurs were very grateful to the Girl for taking care of the Egg and protecting it from the Cat. They were delighted to see their Baby Dinosaur. After much thinking about different names, they named her Ella.”

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The devil in the details

My daughter is taking a progressively more active role in our collaborative making of the story of the Girl and the Egg. She specifies the colors of the characters and asks every day whether I have sketched the next panel.

As her requests become more detailed, I have been thinking about what makes a good cartoon or children’s book character. Among other things, I think that it is the sparingness of the details and the strategic use of negative space, in the broad sense. The viewers are allowed substantial freedom to fill in parts of the characters, the scenes and even the storyline for themselves. There is a fine line between providing the children with enough details to feed their imagination and over-defining the rules of the game (because, as I am finding out, nearly everything is a game for a four-year-old).

Here is the long-awaited hatching episode of our story:

“When the shell finally cracked open, it was not a chick, who peered from it, but a curious, purple-coloured, Baby Dinosaur with blue spots. The Girl was delighted and danced her happiest dance, which she learned just the day before.”

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