Why fiction is better than non-fiction

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Lately, I changed my view of fiction literature from a somewhat time-wasting entertainment to a rather efficient form of teaching. I think the usefulness of fiction stems from human ability to relate to good stories. Perhaps, our liking of storytelling is a result of evolutionary adaptation to quickly and widely spreading information within the society in the most efficient way – a way that employs our capacity to relate to emotional content. We like a good story, and a good story can teach us, in an implicit way, something that would take libraries-full of scientific literature to describe analytically, i.e. by defining every term, concept and rule.

I recently came across an example of this while re-reading Tolstoy’s “War and Peace”. There is an episode, where a charismatic Russian commander (prince Bagrtation) raised and maintained morale of his troops during and uneven battle against French forces that vastly outnumbered the Russians. When receiving reports from his aide-de-champs about the disastrous events that were unfolding one after another in all parts of the battlefield, Bagration created an impression (through his remarks and body language) that everything was going on exactly as he had expected it and that everyone, even the routed units, were doing a good job.

I believe that this scene, which took Tolstoy a couple of pages to describe, might be worth a couple of shelves of modern non-fiction books in a bookstore’s “Leadership”. This battle scene is a succinct description, through an example, of a fairly complicated leadership principle, rooted in stoicism (another fashionable non-fiction area these days): faced with the circumstances that were beyond his control, Bagration did not let them alter his way of relating to his men.

I am sure that this leadership approach can be very effective in the far less dramatic circumstances of everyday lives of most people (in the first-world countries, anyway). From coaching a kendo team to leading a research group to directing models during a photoshoot – projecting confidence and remaining calm is undoubtedly a useful skill.

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Being a tactful nonconformist

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“Inwardly, we ought to be different in all respects, but our exterior should conform to society.”
— Seneca the Younger, “Moral letters to Lucilius”
Following our own way while not offending others (which, I think is a good thing in majority of everyday circumstances, not when fundamental principles are at stake) is a tricky business. I think it was Seth Godin, who expressed this idea very eloquently: we need a compass and a place to go to, but the road there does not have to be a straight line.

Emulating others, particularly those that work at the cutting edge of our fields is a powerful technique. In fact, Seneca, whom I quoted earlier, also said that “best ideas are common property”, not to encourage plagiarism, I suppose, but to warn us not to reinvent the wheel just for the sake of not following in someone else’s footsteps. The challenge then is not to lose sight of the big picture and to keep thinking independently.

My four-year-old daughter is very much into playing LEGO, and I find that it is a good illustration of the balance between following instructions and letting your imagination run wild. You need to accumulate some basic techniques and understanding of principles but building a few sets “by the book”, but the most fun happens when you set the manual aside and build something uniquely yours.

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Not giving others what they want

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In any creative endeavor, it is important to take an initiative rather than to be led by the situation. In kendo, this concept is summarized in a maxim ‘Bogyo no tame no bogyo nashi’ (No defense for the sake of defense). In a modern economic context, Seth Godin differentiates between spending one’s life ‘on the offense’ and ‘on the defense’. The difference is between seeking to change other people (through our work and our interactions with them) and willing to be changed to accommodate the views or desires of others.

Taking initiative does not necessarily imply being selfish and insensitive to others. On the contrary, the active attitude requires situational awareness. From a creative perspective, being on the offense means not giving the audience (the clients, the sponsors, the opponents, the reviewers, the critics, etc.) what they want and expect. Instead, we should strive to give them what is authentically ours, what represents our vision and our style.

Doing so is extremely difficult by definition, not only at the initial stages of one’s career, when we lack credibility and authority, but at any time. The inertia of the convention is a great force. But not seizing the initiative is simply not an option. Staying on the defense may be easier at the given moment, but it would not lead anywhere (good) in the long run.

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Claiming an idea

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“Each day acquire something that will fortify you against poverty, against death, indeed against other misfortunes as well; and after you have run over many thoughts, select one to be thoroughly digested that day.”
— Seneca the Younger, “Moral letters to Lucilius”

I have been listening to Seneca’s letters, recently published by Tim Ferriss in an audiobook form. Naturally, a book that survived such a long test of time is full of gems that are universally applicable. For example, the issue of the balance between depth and breadth on one’s studies is something that comes up in my personal experience in academic research, photography and kendo.

Seneca points out that there are too many books out there for a single person to be able to read. Instead of chasing after every new author, he advises to “fall back upon those whom you read before”. The goal is to engage with the classic ideas, to understand them deeply in order to be able to reliably apply them in daily life. By the way, it is interesting to note that in Seneca’s time philosophy was, apparently, an applied discipline.

I think that Seneca’s approach is a useful guideline for information consumption in the modern world, where we are bombarded with much more data than we can hope to process: learn something new every day to stay current in your field of study, but claim one idea per day as your own. In other words, become so deeply familiar with the idea that you can not only explain and defend it, but also to know its range of applicability.

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Designing a logo

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Brainstorming ideas for our new magazine’s logo (which needs to incorporate letters “B” and “L”) is a new experience for me. Being outside of my comfort zone, I am forced to go way back to basics and research the fundamental principles of logo design. Here are some basic concepts of what make a good logo.

A company logo is intended to convey a distinctive identity, but achieving this on something that would be printed on something as small as a postage stamp or as large as a billboard is not trivial. Perhaps, it is not surprising that distilling the principles of a good logo design to a concrete recipe is challenging. After all if it would be easy, everyone wold be a great logo designer. Still, some basic principles can be discerned by studying the common features of famous logos.

Perhaps, the most important attribute is simplicity. Being simple achieves two objectives: it has a potential of being effective (i.e. visually appealing) regardless of size and it can be easily recognizable.

Another important property is versatility. A good logo should be recognizable and effective when printed in one colour or in inverted tones, for example. Many designers suggest starting the process of designing a logo in back and white only. Doing so allows one to concentrate on the concept and to express it in a shape, rather than relying on colour, perception of which is inherently subjective.

Here are some early sketches of mine – exploring the smooth and edgy curves…

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On presentation

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Presentation standards change. I have been doing research presentations for many years, but every now and then I find it useful to go back to basics in terms of learning the craft. Otherwise, there is a danger of falling behind times, coming off as archaic and not meeting the expectations of the audience.

Recently, I had a chance to revise my approach when giving a seminar talk at Politecnico di Milano on the use of flow visualization techniques in fluid mechanics. This is my core area of research, so presenting on this topic is almost automatic. That is why I wanted to change things up a bit.

Well, I didn’t do anything revolutionary, but I did actually went online to browse through recent guidelines on presentation. The main change that I implemented as a result was to abandon pointing out every element of each slide, as I described them with a laser pointer – a habit drilled into me and my lab partners by our academic advisor, who was widely considered a near-god-level standard of everything, including presentation skills, in our research area. Instead, I completely eliminated text from the slides, and let them change in the background, in the style of Ted talks.

Incidentally, this trip to Milan provided another illustration of the dynamic nature of presentation in the form of design of store windows and product packaging, for which the city is famous. I had been in Milan only about six months earlier, and during this time, there have been many changes. I had a refreshing feeling that applied art is truly alive, and people genuinely take interest in it, not only for the sake of consumerism, which the art undoubtedly serves, but also for the sake of pure aesthetics.

Perhaps, photographers and artists would do well by making a deliberate point in changing around the style of how they present their art – from a re-designing the look of their websites to actually pushing the boundaries of their creative process and exploring new subjects or techniques.

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Why art needs to be applied

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Derek Sivers, who famously donated most of the proceeds from selling his first company, pointed out in an interview with Cal Newport that people should pursue a radical shift in career only if there is a concrete evidence that others would be willing to pay for the product of the intended work. He said that “Money is a neutral indicator of value. By aiming to make money, you’re aiming to be valuable.”

Personally, for a long time, I have always been attracted to applied art – commercial photography, industrial design, architecture, etc. Even the art that doesn’t seem to be very applied on the surface, such as classical paintings and sculptures of the Renaissance masters, for example, upon closer consideration appears to be quite closely link to applications. Majority of the works of Rafael and Michelangelo were explicitly commissioned to promote the idea of Christianity and the might of the Church.

Of course, assigning a dollar figure to a piece of art is a tricky business, which is influenced by many, often irrational factors, such as fashion or political conjecture. Still, I believe there is at least a grain of rationalism in the idea that what is useful is necessarily valuable. For photographers, for example, capturing human emotions and commemorating life’s milestones is an obvious way to be useful to other people. This why, among the variety of possible niche genres, portrait and wedding photography is considered as the most straightforward way to start making money.

At the same time, I believe that in science, the idea of necessarily linking the scientific pursuit to a well-defined practical application has become overused. Often, the most significant scientific progress starts with pursuing something for pure fun or out of curiosity, without worrying whether the result could be immediately applied or even is something like this has already been done. Richard Feyman, for instance, decided to look into the dynamics of a spinning and vibrating dinner plate, as away of recapturing the excitement of his childhood scientific pursuits. Eventually, this work developed into something, for which he was awarded the Nobel Prize, but the connection was not obvious to him at the time.

Artists, for some reason, are expected to do things for the sake of creating itself, and the opportunity to differentiate oneself from the mainstream is to do think differently (i.e. start with the practical application standpoint). In scientific research, the current paradigm seems to be the opposite, so the logical way to go is not to follow the majority, but to do fundamental work (“deep work” in Cal Neport’s terminology) and let the applicability emerge naturally.

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Storytelling using a smartphone

Evernote Camera Roll 20160121 162348I am writing this post on the plane on my way back to Victoria from Milan, where I was attending a PhD defense and presenting a seminar on using flow visualization in fluid mechanics research. Usually, I try to combine these kind of work trips with photography, but taking some time between work to go on photo shoots. The last time I did this with a particular focus was during a trip to Shanghai.

For this trip to Milan, for the first time in a while, I did not bring a DSLR. The trip was going to be very short, so I thought that it would be appropriate to test the “nimble photography” mode (the term was coined by Derek Story, the author of the first photography podcast that I ever listened to). I brought just by iPhone 6 Plus, which has an excellent camera and, unlike my 1 Dx, allows instant sharing of the photos.
Well, I can report that I did a lot less less photography during this trip than I usually do. When I did take photos, they were mostly snapshots. Also, and perhaps most importantly, I found that I lacked the habit (and consequently, the skill) of instantly sharing the photos, so I didn’t make much use of the iPhones connectedness, other than sending snapshots of my dinner plates featuring risotto alla Milanese and other “produtto tipico” to my wife.
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Having said this, rapid communication is a skill, and I believe it is a matter of practice to develop it and turn it into a habit. I saw this in action when I went to see “Rigoletto” at la Scala on the last evening of my trip. Before the third act, Russell Crowe showed up with his entourage and proceeded to the Platea. As soon as he entered he took out his phone, snapped a few pictures of the interior of the concert hall and Twitted one of the ceiling with just a couple of words as a subtitle: “la Scala… Verdi’s Rigoletto”. He was very unapologetic and matter-of-fact about this, even though the “house rules” website of la Scala is explicit about not bringing phones to the hall. This is the rule that almost everyone, including myself, ignored anyway.
Thinking about it, I realized that what Mr. Crowe did was, legitimately, story telling. Granted, what he wrote was not “War and Piece”, but it was absolutely better than nothing. It is just like showing up for just the last act of the opera is better than not showing up at all.

Perhaps, we, as human beings, are evolionary, programmed to like storytelling, both as tellers and as listeners. I think this is related to being good at transmitting useful information, that enable survival of our cave-dwelling ancestors. So, regarding the tools of the visual storytelling trade (i.e. an iPhone vs. a DSLR), bringing a professional-grade tool compels us to take the picture-taking seriously, but can detract from the actual experience (e.g. I might have decided to go for a nigh photoshoot instead of the Scala if had lugged the backpack-full of photo gear half way around the world) and therefore limit the storytelling opportunities.
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On contrast and balance

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I think that, ultimately, what makes an image (photograph or painting) visually appealing is contrast. There are many types of contrast: large and small objects in the composition, empty and filled spaces, dark and light areas (the actual contrast in the photographic terms), warm and cool colours, contrasting colours (e.g. red/green, orange/violet), etc. A skillful artist uses contrast to create an exciting image, and when a dilletant by chance snaps a photo with great impact, it usually prominently features one or more types of contrast.

Perhaps, what makes us like the contrast is our inherent striving for balance. When we are viewing a high-contrast image, we are being taken on a roller coaster ride along the range of hues and grayscale values, and we find the sensation of the loss of control entertaining.

Actually, human tendency to strive for balance is routinely exploited in martial arts, such as aikido or kendo, because when we are taken off-balance, we tend to automatically (i. e. spontaneously and unconsciously) over-compensate and put ourselves in a precarious position. Also, contrast between periods of calm and explosive motion wakes the fight exciting and interesting to watch. On a somewhat deeper level, when a kendo technique, for instance, posesses a quality of contrast it looks appealing to the judges (shinpan). For example, striking a high target, such as men, from a low shinai position (geidan no kamae) is inherently interesting, and such contrast (low/high) in technique has been known to attract recognition in tournaments.

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Substance vs. method

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“The Chairman said, “What is your substantive field?”
Phaedrus said, “English composition.”
The Chairman bellowed, “That’s a methodological field!”
Robert Pirsig, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

We tend to define ourselves by what we do for living. This is particularly true in North America, where the stereotype is that people live for work. Perhaps, this is how North Americans like to think about themselves more than how they actually live, but apparently, Europeans are a bit more relaxed in this regard. One way or another, this relationship with work surfaces in many forms, including the dilemma of whether to specialize in a narrow field or to strive to be a polymath.

Robert Pirsig’s brilliant “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” has an interesting insight into the root of this issue – a discussion of the difference between the substance and the method of work. He says, “Substance doesn’t change. Method contains no permanence.” Perhaps, there is hint there, that we should not let the methods that we use define the substance of what we do. Also, no matter how much we work on diversifying our arsenal of skills and techniques, this doesn’t automatically mean that the underlying direction of the work has to change.

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