My thoughts on the craft, the process and the subjects
With such a strong emphasis on routine and structure, it is almost surprising that, at a certain level, martial arts provide an opportunity for self-expression and creativity. I think creativity is linked to one’s ability to relax, both physically and mentally. Being relaxed allows one to make creative decisions without analyzing them (the much-talked-about state of “no-mind” or mushin,) but achieving this state is a skill, and such, it required some grinding and structured practice.
In his book “The Wisdom of Insecurity: A Message for an Age of Anxiety
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.
Selecting shutter speed for kendo photography is difficult, because the action is very uneven and explosive. Most of the time, the kendoka are relatively motionless, but the peak of the action is extremely fast and unpredictable (in fact, being unpredictable is part of the game.) The fact that the action usually takes place in a dimly lit gym makes matters even worse, so increasing the exposure time as much as possible is necessary for keeping the noise levels within reasonable limits.
During today’s kata seminar, I experimented with various shutter speeds and found that a setting around 1/650 sec is a reasonable compromise for capturing both the slow- and the fast-moving phases of the action. I was shooting with a 85mm f1.2L
I recently read an excerpt from a relatively old (1992) article published by All Japan Kendo Association (Zen Nippon Kendo Renmei) about the status of kendo practice in foreign countries. One of the differences between kendo in Japan and abroad that the author pointed out is the frequency of practice. While kendoka in Japan practice every day, many European kendoka, for example, do not understand why it would be necessary.
Incidentally, blogging is considered an effective practice of overcoming a subconscious anxiety of creating a permanent public record of one’s opinions. Personally can subscribe to this idea, even though I am not particularly keen on receiving feedback on my opinions.
Of course, daily practice of any activity is the classical example of something that is easier said than done. The good news is that after a short while, a regular activity becomes a habit, which is self-sustaining by definition.
In kendo and other Japanese martial arts, the concept of technique (waza) is important beyond being a mere skill for overcoming the opponent. In practicing budo, the martial way, there is a notion of faith in the technique. That is, we can concentrate on perfecting the skill instead of focussing on the end result.
In scientific research also, we don’t know the end result (this is the nature of research), but we trust that the process developed by the generations of earlier researchers, combined with our own experience and skills, would lead to a productive outcome (i.e. improved understanding of the physical phenomenon.)
The issue of valuing productivity over presence, which many authors and philosophers discussed over the years, is also related to the lack of trust in the established system, the process of developing one’s skills. This leads to the current popularity of “life hacks“, looking for shortcuts to overcome inertia and inefficiency of the conventional ways of doing things. Eastern martial arts are in the unique position in this respect. Their systems of training, which are deeply rooted in philosophy, have been polished over many generations of practitioners. Knowing that countless numbers of them paid the huge price (sometimes, their lives) for evolving the system to the current level, makes trusting the process easier.
Consistency and routine are important for developing various skills, from photography to martial arts to research and teaching. However, I think that without some sense of excitement and the resulting enthusiasm, consistency alone is not effective. In fact, what is ultimately effective and satisfying is the state of “flow”, when self-censoring mode of thinking is turned off and we can “get out of our own way”, so to speak. This condition has a lot in common with the elusive state of “no mind” (mushin) that martial artists are striving to attain.
To me personally, the flow states are just glimpses of what is ultimately possible – they are not easy to either achieve or sustain. However, these moments are precious and powerful enough to help me maintain motivation and consistency in what I do.
An interesting similarity between calligraphy and kendo is that it is not the rhythm itself, but its variation that elevates the quality of technique. In kendo, varying the timing, breaking up the pattern of attacks and counter-attacks, adds the element of surprise for the opponent and makes the techniques less predictable. In calligraphy, varying the speed of the brushwork adds character to the writing, emphasizes individual characters (kanji) or certain elements of the characters and ultimately gives “interestingness” to the resulting image.
Mental preparation for a contest or an exam is necessary, but not sufficient, for an overall training regiment in kendo. This concept translates to any kind of learning or skill development.
I wrote earlier about photography contests, but I believe the value of competitions extends beyond receiving external feedback on your performance. It is learning about my subjective reactions to an atypical situation that I find most valuable.
Besides the pragmatic usefulness for learning and character development, there is a tremendous social aspect of competitions in any field. In kendo in particular, the comradery built by doing keiko and shiai with people from different countries, of different ages and walks of life is one of my most precious experiences and perhaps the greatest gift of this Way of the sword.
“You should not have a favorite weapon. To become over−familiar with one weapon is as much a fault as not knowing it sufficiently well.”
– Miyamoto Musashi, “The Book of Five Rings
In my academic research, I am often faced with a choice of exploring a new subject or focussing deeper on my core area of expertise. It is the well-known dilemma of specializing versus generalizing. Professional photographers face the same question when they decide to niche down on a specific subject or remain generalists.
I think that being a professional photographer, but not investing your entire identity into it, paradoxically, makes you a better photographer in the long term. This is somewhat similar to budo, the way of the martial arts, following which on a certain (high) level requires exploring other human activities, learning about human nature and applying this knowledge to one’s core area of expertise. In fact, Minamoto Musashi, who stated the principles for following the Way of Strategy in his “Book of Five Rings
The first practice of the year is significant in kendo, because it reinforces the importance of starting things “right”, which is applicable to any activity. After all, there is only one chance to start moving, but afterwards, there are multiple occasions to continue, stop or correct the course. Certainly, there are direct parallels with calligraphy, where beginning of a brushstroke determines its aesthetic quality, and photography, where obtaining correct focus and, to some degree, exposure during the shoot is irreplaceable by any amount and skill in post-processing.
I try to carry this mindset, which we practice in kendo to everything else I do. In this sense, any activity becomes a practice. Is this another New Year resolution? Perhaps, but I believe the key is to practice daily; the beginning of the year just seems like an appropriate time to reflect on this.
