Not Quite Solitary by Me
Any time I consider my passion of writing and
compare it to other artistic pursuits, I think of one person, Jet Li. Maybe not
the usual association, but hey, aren’t we all full of strange comparisons? The
reason why I associate Jet Li (Hong Kong martial arts actor, starring in such
movies as Romeo Must Die, Black Mask, Fearless, etc) is mainly because of his
role in the movie, Hero. If you have ever seen this work of beautiful cinematography
and martial arts skill, you may understand why. The movements of the warriors
are often compared with fine arts, like calligraphy and musical performance.
These comparisons are made explicit as we see these stylized battles taking
place in the context of the artistic comparison. Characters fight off a storm
of arrows at a school, where students and masters alike stoically create
calligraphic characters amid the descent of the few lethal missiles that breach
the defenses. Two warriors face off in a battle of will, while an older, blind
man plays a “guqin”
(Chinese stringed instrument), the two performances given
almost equal weight in their presentation.
To me this is striking in that it encourages the
idea that one form of art builds on another, while building on itself. At a
point in my life where things slowed down and my writing was suffering from
lack of motivation and self-pity, I took up another pursuit. Inspired both by
my father’s passion for woodworking, as well as his access to the tools of the
trade, I started wood carving. I do not claim any proficiency, but sitting out
in his garage with either an ounce or three of Forty Creek or a coffee beside
me, to carve, sand, and stain a single piece of wood, to mold its character
into Samurai Jack and the gas mask figure from Pink Floyd’s the Wall, was a
wonderful experience of hands-on creativity. Of course it was frustrating at
times (ie. when pieces of Jack’s sword kept on chipping off), but it was
incredibly rewarding. Whenever I get the time again, I will pick up the tools -
currently located under a couch in my living room - and take it up again.
What was even more rewarding for me though, was when
I sat down to write fiction again. For some reason that pen felt like a carving
knife in my hand, the paper the same as the block of wood whose character would
not let me do certain things (against the grain), while encouraging others
(with the grain). Though still requiring lots of editing (sanding, staining),
the words started to flow a little more easily. I find I still go back to that
feeling of carving when I write now, six years later, and my fingers seem to
remember what it was like as I draw mechanical pencil lead over paper, or
strike keys on a laptop.
Now,
due to the many demands on my time and my efforts to still live a “slow”
lifestyle, thoughts of creativity and its impact on my writing mainly come out
through photography. When I was back in my “Introduction to Novel Writing”
course in my English degree (see my blog post from November 18, 2014), I learned about showing
through poetic detail, not telling; the difference between writing the guy
looked “rich,” and describing a platinum cigar case and manicured nails, for
example. As I have taken up (amateur) photography, I have noticed this same
pairing and building on both artistic pursuits, and this has largely been represented
by the celebration of the magic behind the mundane which has been the leitmotif,
or theme, of my recent work.
Alpine Bicycle by Me
What
photography has done for me is to slow down and notice those poetic details
that Thomas King told me about, to alter my perspective to notice a new detail
on a path that I have walked or driven a thousand times before. This shift of the
way I experience things, or the way my characters experience things, has come
out in my writing and writing process, just as the feeling of carving knife in
hand wood grain under the blade became part of my writing process six years
ago. What is my character seeing, now he is standing here instead of there? How
is she going to react now that this has happened, instead of that? Flip this on
its head, and I might think while I am taking a photograph, what would someone
else notice about this angle? They build on each other.
Part of the inspiration
for putting these thoughts down is because of an article that was just released
today by The Guardian, titled "The 6.5m canyon" with the subheading in its Facebook form, "Photography is not an art. It
is a technology." I suggest you read it yourself and formulate your
own opinion. I, however, will go out on a limb and say that I agree with the
rather heated condemnation (really, what other sort of reaction would we expect
from a comment thread on the internet?) of the author’s position. The argument,
within the context of the most expensive photograph ever being sold, purports
that with the advent of digital technology and its accessibility to the general
masses, snapping a pretty picture is no longer an art. Some of the comments
call into question this idea of technology and art, a debate that I am sure
will go on for as long as humanity does, and compare the camera technology to
the technology of a pencil. Essentially, there is no difference. A piece of
technology – whether it is a pencil, guqin, carving knife, computer, or camera –
is merely a means of artistic pursuit. I am inclined to agree with this
argument, as the argument in the article would seem to suggest that
accessibility to such things as English classes, books, e-readers, education,
pencils / pens, word processors, and computers have turned writing into a
technology.
This brings to
mind another opportunity to learn from a celebrated Canadian author. I went to
a reading by Margaret Atwood in Windsor, ON, when “The Year of the Flood” came
out. A number of people lined up for questions. One such person, a student in
the local English Program who I am heavily paraphrasing, said, “Because writing
is now so prolific there is no such thing as an original work.” I puked a
little in my mouth after this (I had a similar reaction during my English
Masters when a student put up his hand and wondered aloud why people should
bother reading / writing when you can just turn everything into a movie), but
figured Atwood would be more than capable to handle this statement. After
lamenting an English program that would entertain this notion, she said that if
you give (and again I am paraphrasing from years ago) more than one person a
subject and tell them to write about it, each one of the works will be unique
to its author. Yes, the subject may remain the same but the choice of language,
the poetic detail, will change.
In the Guardian
article, the author says that if you point a camera at some natural phenomenon
you are adding nothing to it, citing the many photographs of Antelope Canyon,
Arizona, as proof of this. Yes, I agree that the photograph may not in fact be
worth 6.5 million dollars, more so than half the other shots I see on a daily
basis in the midst of my Flickr addiction, but that is not the argument I am
making. If you tell more than one person to capture Antelope Canyon, or indeed
anything else, you are going to get a unique take on it despite the technology
in hand. It may not particularly be good, and yes some may have more of a developed
craft than the next, but it is all part of the artistic process.
Bird's Eye View by Me
And that is what
I think the Guardian article does not take into account, and why I started off
this post talking about how one artistic pursuit builds on the other, at the
same time building upon itself. It is a way of seeing, of thinking, of being
intimate with the character of the subject, noticing and communicating its
poetic detail with the use of technology associated with the pursuit we choose
to adopt and develop. That is why different artistic mediums can build upon one
another, and why art is not limited to the tools that communicate it.
Thoughts, feelings, opinions? Have a story to share? Contact me through the blog, make a comment on the post, or do so through my other social media presences:
Twitter: @Essex.Masque
Facebook: Essex.Masque
Goodreads: Essex Masque: An Anecdotal Journey through Windsor - Essex
Update! The Guardian's photography critic, Sean O'Hagan has responded to the "photography is not art" argument of yesterday's article, featured above. Follow the link below:
"Photography is art and always will be"
