the in-between

There is a place for technique.

There. I said it. I feel better now.

There is also a place for feeling. That is becoming more and more acceptable these days, so I don't feel it's as likely I'll get yelled at for that one.

There are people who are all technique. There are people who are all feeling. Most of us who make things --which, occasionally, we bravely call 'art' --find ourselves somewhere in the area in between, wandering around.

When it's all about technique, you start to lose your understanding of your own and others' humanity, I think. That is when we like everything uniform and efficient and clean and, frankly, perfect. Perfection doesn't exist. In this worldview, whatever you make will never be good enough unless it is technically perfect, which is impossible. People of a technical mindset tend to be linear thinkers because it is easier to isolate parts of the whole and address each part individually. The attraction to this way of doing things is it keeps everything ruthlessly simple. It has direction without purpose.

When it's about feeling, you start to lose direction and perspective --eventually, you start to lose your understanding of your own and others' humanity, I think. That is when nothing matters but your feelings and bathing yourself in them. That is when we like everything burning and torn down and built up in our image and given a patina of gold mined at great cost. People of an emotional mindset tend to be lateral thinkers because it is a function of an internal state, and therefore, whatever is felt is addressed. The attraction to this way of doing things is it requires only reaction, so there's not a lot of advanced prep work required. It has purpose without direction.

I think the in-between area is the right place to be --at least for me, that is where I feel most comfortable in the things I make. In writing and in visual art, I appreciate understanding technique, and sometimes, the structure helps facilitate what I'm working on. It gives me a framework to work within. In writing and in visual art, I appreciate feeling as well, particularly as this is more my natural state of being. I am a highly-emotional person (although I'm used to keeping those feelings tucked away), and it comes out in strange ways in the things I am working on.

I am content with being somewhere in between, and I work on both; technique is easier to work on, but I'm also working on getting in touch with my feelings more and understanding what drives the impulse to create and what I'm drawn towards ( I know what I like, but I'm not always sure why, and that's okay). By learning in both these areas, it should follow that what I learn shows up in what I make, and I find that an exciting thought.

Where do you fall? Are you more technician? More dramatic? And how is it working for you?

building monuments

I had taken to creating sculptures. I worked the stone, physically willing it into shapes that had not existed previously. It required concentration and hours of labor.

On the day, I had formed a strange woman. She was a winged creature built in angles. She was not exactly as I had seen in my mind's eye, but sometimes, what is formed in reality --as imperfect as it is --is better than the dream because you can touch it. Her eyes were askew, but they were beautiful. Her wings drooped, but there they were. She was a monument on the tabletop, and I loved her.

I called her Confidence.

The Critic stopped by the atelier unannounced. 

"It was on my way," he sniffed. "I hear you've been doing sculpture. Is this one of yours? I'd be happy to give you some feedback." He eyed my Confidence with some suspicion.

"You see, here you lack balance. If you look at the wings of birds in nature, they are symmetrical. These aren't." He picked up the chisel I had put down to answer the door when he knocked. "If you just remove a bit here, then it will be closer to symmetrical."

"But ...I ...," I started but couldn't get the words out fast enough. I loved the asymmetry.

He gave the stone a tap. Her left wing fell off.

"Hmm. That won't do." He tapped at the other wing and it fell to join its fraternal twin in a heap on the floor.

"There. Now it looks a bit more ladylike." He scratched his head. "But she does have a bit too much belly and her nose is too big. If you look at the statues of antiquity, you will notice the lines and proportions. If we just address those, perhaps ..."

He lifted the chisel again.

"But ...," I started again. This time, my voice sounded as crumpled as the wings down below.

The tap of the chisel removed the nose.

"Oh, it was only supposed to remove the excess. I have seen Greek statues where the nose has fallen off with time. Perhaps this can be a reference to that. And now, about that belly ..."

Tap.

He continued his tapping. I stopped trying to intervene after she lost her right arm. By the end of his tapping, Confidence lay in pieces at his feet. He dusted the rubble off his shiny black shoes.

"I don't think you were using very good material," the Critic remarked on his way out the door. "You might try working with metal next time. It was a good attempt, though. Keep it up. I'd be happy to give you feedback on whatever you come up with next time. Something in metal ..."