Cookie-cutter projects

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Over the long weekend, my daughter and I finally finished the soapstone carving project that we started almost a year ago. We bought a kit that contained a block of stone cut out in a rough shape of an orca. It looked exactly as if it was done with a cookie-cutter. In fact, it was made by hand using a scroll saw. We talked to the sculptor, who made these kits. He said that it took he quite a bit of trial and error to find the right dimensions of the cutout. But once it was done, it was matter of rounding the edges and smoothing the surface to produce a rather neat carved figure of an orca. The success was practically guaranteed, and a 6-7 year-old kid could produce a carving in a matter of hours.

In our defence, the reason it took us so long was that we had to leave the figure unfinished while we went to Europe for most of the year. All that was left to be done was to wax and buff the surface. We used a hair dryer to heat the stone orca (it became so hot that I had to hold it with a towel!) and rubbed it with a piece of wax, which was also in the kit. When the stone cooled down, we buffed the surface with a piece of cloth.

I wonder if it is the key to a successful and enjoyable creative project for beginners in any field: having the most time-consuming part pre-completed (e.g. providing a pre-cut rough shape of a statue with correct proportions), while leaving some room for creativity in terms of small details and finishing touches.

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This principle worked in a similar way, when my wife and daughter baked chocolate muffins to celebrate our daughter’s birthday at school. Both enjoyed the baking, largely because they used a store-bought mix for the dough.

Probably, this idea of having the hard work done is behind the enduring popularity of colouring books. After all, the outline is already there, with the proportions and the composition taken care of. All that is left is to have fun colouring the details.

University students sometimes complain that the projects they are doing in the labs are “cookie-cutter experiments”, meaning that the outcomes are predetermined, and there is no element of scientific discovery in their work. Perhaps, the instructors, who design the projects, need to find a balance between guiding the students by having some of the preliminary work done beforehand, but allowing enough uncertainty in the remaining process to enable sometimes-surprising results.

Then again, at some point someone would have to learn how to do the entire project from scratch, starting from the metaphorical rough piece of stone and finishing with a polished sculpture. There is a great pleasure in creating your own paintings instead of colouring within the lines all the time.

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Well-forgotten old

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There is a saying: “New is well-forgotten old”. These days, as we are unpacking after returning from sabbatical, I am confirming that there is indeed a lot of truth in it.

We had so much luggage while travelling for seven months that it seemed that we were carrying the entire household with us. In reality, we had much more stuff packed in boxes while we are away.

When we came back, there are many logistical issues to take care of in order to put the school-work-other life routine back on track. It seems that whatever stuff we have brought in our suitcases is perfectly enough for us to function. It is tempting to think that the rest of it is simply not needed (which, technically, is the case).

It is actually a fairly unique chance to re-consider which objects “spark joy”, to borrow the term from Marie Kondo, and which ones can be thanked for their service and discarded. The killer, of course, is that the “konmari” organizing principle implies physically picking up each single item I own and engaging with it intellectually and emotionally. And I have too many socks to talk to.

On the other hand, our daughter is having a blast as we unpack the boxes, because she is uncovering her old toys that she has completely forgotten about. It literally seems like Christmas. Oh, and of course we are are re-confirming the well-known fact that the packing boxes often make much better toys than whatever gifts they contain.

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Arc of a hero (chihuahua)

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My daughter and I decided to make a new picture book based on the pretend-play that she does every day in the car on her way to school.

We made our first (still unpublished) book about a Girl and an Egg in a very unstructured way by sketching up new scenes as the story was progressing over the days, without a particular plan to begin with. It was a fun and pressure free way to make stuff up, but it was a bit challenging to wrap things up into a story that would make sense to anyone besides the two of us and my wife, who was literally playing an active role in all the reenactments.

Not only we had fun making the first book, but we gained some experience, and I wanted to put together some kind of an outline, so that we would have a structure to play within. So before even sketching the main character, I decided to make storyboard for the book.

I also noticed that in our games we might have a beginning of a hero’s journey type of a story, which is described in Joseph Campbell’s seminal book “The Hero with a Thousand Faces”. This is structure that has apparently been followed by many of my favourite books and movies from “Star Wars” to the “Wizard of Oz”.

So even though we are still at the blank canvas stage, we are potentially in a good company as far as stories go. Oh, and our main character is a pet chihuahua.

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The best part of ProD days

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Tim Ferriss recently posted a photo on Instagram showing a small hand-written note that he carried in his wallet as a reminder. It said: “Notice the best part.”

Today there was professional development day in my daughter’s school, so she had no classes. But my wife and I did have or lectures (luckily, not at the same time), so our daughter got to come to campus with us and spend some time “working” in our offices.

It would have been easy to view the ProD day as a pure inconvenience – another distraction in our already busy schedules. But in reality, I was catching myself thinking how great it was to be able to spend a day together with my daughter like this – a bit outside of our usual schoolday routine. That was the best part.

It turns out that my office is a pretty neat place to hang out for an artistically-minded six-years old. She told me, “You and mom are lucky because you have so many things for drawing and writing all to yourselves in your offices.” Clearly, I don’t notice the best part of my job often enough.

It reminded me how I used to come to work with my mom when I was about the same age as my daughter now. Those were certainly not the most exciting episodes of my childhood, but the memories are some of the most pleasant ones. I also thought that my mother was lucky to work at such a cool place (she was a schoolteacher). I could entertain myself for hours (at least that’s how I remember it) with the simplest office items. My favourite project was to fold a piece of paper several times, make holes in it randomly with a hole punch and see what kind of parents emerged after I would unfold the paper.

I wonder, what will my daughter remember of these visits to “dad’s work” when she grows up?

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Attention to detail

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I was watching “Whisper of the Heart” (耳をすませば) with my daughter. It was a rare case where she had seen the movie before, and I had not. So she was happy to give lots of spoilers: she would explain which character was good, which was evil, which two would fall in love together, etc.

It’s a great positive movie, and thought, what makes it so special and fun to watch? What makes all Miyazaki’s movies special? What makes Japanese things special, for that matter?

I think it’s attention to detail.

Studio Ghibli’s animation is decidedly not photo-realistic, but the details of the plot, of the characters’ interactions and of the drawings are incredibly intricate. “Kiki’s Delivery Service” and “My Neighbor Totoro” are some of my daughter’s (and my) favourite movies. Sometimes, it seems that the details are all there is in these films – there is no clear overarching “moral of the story”. In “Totoro” in particular, it seems like nothing is happening in the plot. We are just looking over the shoulder of a family that is living its everyday life. But of course, this very everyday life of the two girls and their parents is full of magic. It’s just that the adults are not seeing it. So in these movies too, the magic is in the details that are right before our eyes.

For me personally, working on small details is the best part of any project. When I paint, take photos, practice kendo, teach or do research, nailing down the nuances is where fun is. Stages like overall initial planning and making sure the details fit together in the big picture are necessary, but they are not so enjoyable.

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What can you draw in 5 minutes?

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Today, my daughter made me an offer I could not refuse: “Let’s do an exchange: I’ll draw a picture for you, and you draw one for me.”

I thought it would be an interesting challenge: what could I draw in five minutes or less? (Because that’s about how long it takes her to draw one of pictures.)

One of my favourite ways to procrastinate is by not staring doing something because I would convince myself that I either don’t have enough time to do a proper job or don’t have the right tools/environment/fill-in-the-blank. This time, I had my iPad already open, so I thought, alright, game on.

I was given some creative direction, of course. My daughter wanted a picture of a she-wolf and her cub, “but not a scary one”.

The process and the result are below. I used ProCreate for iPad and Apple pencil.

An by the way, I did lose the challenge, because she made two picture in the time it took me to do one.

Time running like a cheetah

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It’s been a month since we came back from sabbatical, and our six-years-old daughter said, being in one of her philosophical moods: “In Milan, time was running like a cheetah, chasing away holidays, so that they would pass quickly. Here in Victoria, time goes a bit slower. I like that.”

I am not sure I agree – I hardly noticed the last month with all the logistics of re-establishing the daily routines and the start of the school year, both for us and for our daughter. I did go to Japan during that time, though, and visited the places we called home during our last sabbatical. That was certainly nice, and I guess, a lot has happened in this short last month. Doest it mean that time runs fast or slow? My daughter is probably right after all.

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Personal space

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I wouldn’t say it’s culture shock, but there is a noticeable difference between Italy and North America in terms of how people treat each other’s personal space: you have substantially less of it here in Europe. People stay closer to you, they wave their hands and sometimes touch you as they talk, they pat your child on the head as she walks past them on the street. To me personally, this has never reached the level of being uncomfortable. Just noticeable, that’s all. In fact, I’ve grown to kind of like it.

One detail that I notice about these mini-intrusions into each other’s personal spaces is that the fundamental motivation for it is to take some degree of personal responsibility about your and your family’s well-being. People notice what’s going on with others around them, and they genuinely care about it.

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Here is one example: our daughter rides a bicycle to and from school, while my wife and I walk behind her. We travel along a busy street with heavy traffic, and our daughter stops in front of every driveway and intersection to wait for us, so that we cross the street together. As she rides ahead on a sidewalk, people, who go in the opposite direction, stop and check if she stops safely an the intersection. They scan the street for her adult guardians and continue on their way only when they see and make eye contact with us (we are easily identifiable by a our daughter’s pink school backpack that we are carrying). This is not an isolated episode; it happens all the time.

Our daughter also regularly receives free sweets at patisseries and cafes (to her great delight) and pats on her head and cheeks from old ladies (to a much lesser delight).

It seems that respecting other people’s privacy and personal space comes secondary here to the notion that “it takes a village to raise a child”. As much as I’ve grown accustomed to being left alone most of the time, this feeling of being a part of the tribe is surprisingly comforting.

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A new orbit

I have overheard an expression regarding a sphere of someone’s interests: “being pulled into a new orbit,” which I think is a near-perfect analogy of how our children expand our horizons. It resonated with my own experience, and I was compelled to draw this cartoon to illustrate it.

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The analogy goes like this: when you don’t have children, you have a familiar sphere of interests, which develops under various influences throughout your life. If you were a planet, this would be your personal orbit, shaped by your parents, friends, teachers, and other “celestial bodies”.

Then, a major cosmic event occurs, and you have a child. Paraphrasing Neil Armstrong, it might be a small step for mankind, but a giant leap for a man (or a woman).

At first, this child is like your satellite. Her life revolves around yours. But as she grows, her interests and inclinations shape what you are interested in as well. You are being pulled out of your orbit. This implies a certain level of instability, so it can feel unnerving and uncomfortable. But even if you don’t settle into a new (wider and more exciting) orbit and instead get slingshot into the space, think about the alternative – going around and around along a familiar path year after year. So have no worries and enjoy the ride. Maybe that is the reason we have kids – so they can shake our universe apart.

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Here is my personal example. I studied art as a child, and have been painting occasionally in my adult years, in addition to doing photography. I think that might have affected my daughter’s early interest in art. Now, next to her, my own sphere of artistic interests is expanding. We now sketch and paint together regularly, and I even took a sculpture class last fall – my first art class since the high-school years. Isn’t it wild? I think it is.

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Modern art

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My wife and I are getting exposed to some weird modern art through our five-year-old daughter’s interests. Back in Victoria, one of her first lessons at the 4Cats art studio was based on the works of Andy Warhol. I should mention that my wife is not a fan of Warhol, to put in gently, and at some point we used to have heated discussions about whether the world had collectively gone mad in regarding him as a great artist (of course, recent developments in American politics have re-defined the notion of collective delusion and put arguments about art into perspective). Then, our daughter had another series of lessons based on the art of Roy Lichtenstein and Gustav Klimt. To be fair, the curriculum at 4Cats was balanced in that it also had a session on Leonardo da Vinci, Claude Monet and Mary Cassatt.

Another favourite artist of our daughter’s is Wassily Kandinsky. In her school back in Canada, they used to paint ‘Kandinsky’s circles’ in the art class, so she was delighted to see a reproduction of the ‘Squares with Concentric Circles’ on the wall in our rental apartment here in Milan. When we saw an advertisement that a Kandinsky’s exhibit was coming up at Museo delle Culture, she was really looking forward to it.

It is fascinating, how some information about the artists and their styles of work trickles down into a five-year-old’s mind. To go to the Kandisky’s exhibit, our daughter wanted to wear her brightest-coloured dress. Quite appropriate.

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I studied art history when I was in school, but Kandinsky’s art has never been my interest. Now, because of my daughter’s fascination with his bright colours and stylized figures, I am re-acuanting myself with his work. It is also insightful to learn about the strong influence of Kandinsky’s Russian roots on his art through the prism of our own Russian heritage. Although my daughter and I look at it from two very different perspectives, both in terms of our age and our exposure to the culture, it is something that binds us. I hope that she sees it when she grows up, as I see it now.

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Kandinsky’s late work is sometimes jokingly described as child-like. I remember a scene from “Double Jeopardy”, where Tommy Lee Jone’s character, Travis Lehman, asks, pointing at a Kandinsky’s painting: “Those are nice pictures there. Did your kids do them?” When I look at my daughter’s drawings inspired by it, I can see why this is a cliche. The apparent similarity is a perfect illustration of the process of deliberate simplification that great artists like Kandinsky or Picasso go through. They converged on “child-like’ expressions not because they lack technical prowess, but because they eliminated all unnecessary elements in their art. In the case of a child, the process is very different, even if the results appears similar. She lacks the ability to include everything that she would like in her drawings and therefore settles only on the essentials. In other words, a five-year-old is limited by her technique, while the masters have come full circle to transcend the technique.

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