“All the time you’re saying to yourself, “I could do that, but I won’t “- which is just another way of saying that you can’t.”
— Richard P. Feynman
At the ocean science and engineering conference, I listen to many talks on fascinating subjects that are a bit outside of my main area of research (which is fluid mechanics.) They are just sufficiently remote, so that I think it won’t be a good idea to allocate time and other resources to pursue these tangent areas. Then, I remind myself that the ability to change the focus of research is, perhaps, the greatest benefit of working in academe — the proverbial academic freedom.
The problem with the concept of academic freedom is that more often than not our research directions are dictated by the combination of funding sources (interests of collaborating industrial partners, for example) and infrastructure availability, available time that is free of teaching duties, etc. All these factors forms a rather cynical insider’s outlook on the academic research, its role in the society and on our capacity to take creative decisions about research direction.
I often find myself in a similar situation with photography. I see someone else’s beautiful work and think, “This is really interesting. I know exactly how it was done. I could do this too.” But in most cases, just saying this to myself precludes me from actually trying the new type of shot. As if declaring my ability to do something makes me subconsciously check this potential project off as already accomplished.
I think Genova’s uniqueness is in its architecture. Specifically, it is in the contrast of the old town, with it’s maze of narrow alleys (“corrugi”), and the modern structures around the waterfront. There is also a noticeable contrast between the dark, dirty, graffiti-covered old town and the bright, sunny, romantic suburb of Boccadasse, which looks very similar to the nearby five villages known as Cinque Terre that are famous for their unique charm.
It is curious, though, that the mindset is relatively slow to adapt to the change in environment. In fact, this naturally-occurring change of the mindset is one of the main benefits of travelling, according to Rolf Potts’ “
The ability to scale up is typically considered a very desirable (if not the key) property of a business, a research group (in academic context) or any other entity or project where productivity is measured quantitatively (i. e. in terms of profits, journal publications, etc.) However, in certain cases, consciously limiting the scale of the project has tremendous benefits in terms of quality of the end product as well as the quality of the experience of the process. A great example of this decision not to scale up is shown in “
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To overcome the initial block created by the vastness of the subject, I find it productive to pick a specific element, such as an iconic building or even and try to cover it deeply. The term “study” that is sometime used to describe some of the classical works of art ( e.g. “a study in scarlet”) comes to mind. When I start my photography in a new place with a study of a small element of that location, I free up the bandwidth of my mind from the necessity of making decisions about the subjects of the photos (i.e. what to shoot, at what time of day, etc.) This is very valuable at the initial stage, as I can focus on learning more about the particular subject I have already chosen. It might not be the single most perfect subject representing the country or location, but it always offers opportunities for learning about its larger context, so the other subjects for follow-up photo shoots emerge naturally.
, an international-level chess player and a martial artist, who studies learning processes, refers to this strategy of focussing on small details as “creating small circles.” Interestingly enough, his inspiration for this approach came from the book that I am currently reading – Robert Pirsig’s “