Drawing Pictures of God (Why Ignorance is Hell/Bliss)

Today, we discuss ignorance.

Nope.

Although I do have an article about the Drumpf nightmare somewhere....
*digging around sounds*
Here it is!

But, that is not the ignorance of which I am speaking.
I am speaking of the ignorance that stems from artistry.
Something I don't talk about enough is process.
Mine specifically, other artists, maybe (though I can't exactly speak for them, just anecdotally).

I don't speak of it often because I assume (rightly or wrongly) that nobody wants to know these things.
Also, it has been ingrained in me that the work should always stand for itself.
Full stop.

"Shakespeare doesn't give talkbacks."

Was an actual quote in my undergrad classes.
But, then again...why do we have talkbacks?
Isn't it to share with audience and with the artists making the art?

So...my process/ignorance:
I'm starting writing poetry.
Check out my poetry/novel blog here. 
I have always felt completely out of my depth when it comes to rhythm, rhyme, and everything to do with poetry/songwriting.
The reason for it is because I have a very ingrained sense of authority/hierarchy in the arts.
Theatre is dancing somewhere near the bottom, whereas recognized art forms: music, opera, and writing are dancing somewhere near the top.
Those are professions that require craft and specialization.

So I am the ignorant country bumpkin, trying to create something in an art form for which I have no experience, but a whole soul filled with appreciation.

And yet!I have always prized ignorance in others.
At least when it comes to artistry.
And why?
Too often I hear students/learning artists say:

I don't know enough. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how any of this is supposed to work.

And I congratulate them.
They look at me confused, mortified even.

It is better to know nothing when it comes to art.
It is better to be ignorant when it comes to art. 

There, I said it.
Why so?

Children know nothing about art.
They simply draw.
Children know nothing about play.
They simply do.
And that makes them artists.
Unquestionably.

You can argue about the level of craft of their compositions or details, but one of the fundamental things about children as artists is they do it.
They make an impressive body of work.
My childhood portfolio is filled.
I would bet that anybody could say as much.
What about as an adult?
Is anyone nearly so prolific?

Ignorance is no bar to artistry.
In fact, I maintain that it is helpful.
And why?

Sir Ken Robinson ladies and gentlemen!
The story goes:

A kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they drew pictures. Occasionally she would walk around the room to see each child's work. There was on little girl who hardly ever paid attention in school, but she was busy working on her drawing. "What are you drawing?" she asked the little girl was was working diligently at her desk. The girl replied, "I'm drawing a picture of God." The teacher paused and said, "But, nobody knows what God looks like." The little girl replied, "They will in a minute."

 Ignorance is not a bar to artistry.
It is about the most helpful thing in the world.
Children are ignorant and are able to draw pictures of God.
And why?
Because they do not have a preconceived notion of their limitations.
It is no stop to them or their abilities.
Adults who perceive themselves to be ignorant have a worse time of it because it does bar them and their ability to create.

For many years I have been the teacher in the joke, hopelessly afraid of writing anything.
But, I never viewed my lack of formal education as a blessing.
I have no scruples or understanding about how writing works.
I am free to make any sort of art that I can conceive.

So that is what I am currently doing.
My first novel is an experiment in long-form internal monologue.
The narrator is untrustworthy and will probably continue to be throughout the entire story.
I am no longer breaking it down into chapters, but chimes, drawing a direct narrative parallel between his experience of a year, a day, and a moment atop a hospital, but also the marriage bells.
Form influencing content and content influencing form.
I wouldn't think that that was an acceptable prose form were it not for the fact that I have never had anyone tell me not to do it.

My next novel is being written in tandem, two columns of material side by side for comparison or whatever the audience pleases.
To be fair, I have seen something similar.
Much of my prose is influenced by the work of Mark Z Danielewski.

House of Leaves is a bear to read.

And this:

Only Revolutions.

Both of these works couldn't be told in the classical novel-form.

But, they are still very much novels.

He is one of the most daring novel writers that I have ever seen.

And I want more books to be like this: experimenting with form.

Since, I haven't seen it, well, I may as well write it.

One of the best anecdotes I was told by someone I care about very deeply was:

You know how C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien got their start? They were tired of the fiction being written at the time and decided to write what they always wanted to read.

That is bad ass.
I would like a little more badassery in fiction and in art.
So ignorance and lack of formal training being no bar, let's do it!
Let us, each of us, make the art that we wish to see in the world!

What is your Marathon? (How to be your own Mr. Miyagi)

Today, let us talk about marathons.
And discipline.
But, mostly marathons.
(Hint: it is a metaphor)

So I have taken up long distance running.
Again.
No accounting for it.
Mostly because I hate running.
Absolutely despise it.
With every fiber of my being.

Thing is, I am pretty good at it.
I wake up, I walk outside, start jogging, and a couple miles later I am back at my house.
Feeling great.
What happened?

Does this make me a runner?
Not exactly.
(Refer back to the hatred).

The real crux of the matter is I need something to do.
And running never seemed like something to do.
Barney Stinson said it the best:

"How to run a marathon. Step one you start running...there is no step two."

-Barney Stinson

And in all his glorious suit glory he is right.
You put on your running shoes and you just frigging do it.
Thing is there are actual steps to progress.
Barney pays for his hubris later in the episode with spontaneous muscle death:

Okay he doesn't, but it is a real thing:
Crossfit's Dirty Little Secret is the name of this blog post where apparently Rhabdomyolysis results from extreme physical exertion.
(not the subject of this post, just a fun tidbit/find on the interwebs)

So why did Barney fail?
Because he didn't train.
And that is a huge part of anything: receiving specialized/adequate training in order to accomplish your goals.

Now, here is my problem with running:
Running is training, it is not the end goal.
Why do we run?

• As a species it is more effective to chase our food than walk slowly behind it
• As a culture, it is one of the most common and easiest forms of exercise
• As a person, I run because reasons

And that was it for years...I had no guiding reason to run.

I ran because it was something to do.

I would have weeks, even months of consistent work outs.

And suddenly I would stop.

I think the biggest thing about it is because I saw it as the end result.

I confused the training with the marathon.

In truth, I have always dreamed of running marathons.

But, I couldn't see a clear way to do it.

So I just ran, instead of setting up a clear and easy training regimen to follow.

I think I picked it up in school.

I find schools/training vocations tend to start with the third point and sometimes get to the second.

So they will start by training learning artists and then give them reasonable expectations.

But, what about the big stuff?

Opening a theatre? Publishing like Neil Gaiman? Being happy?

Whatever happened to mentors and trainers?

Like Mr. Miyagi? King Kai? Obi-Wan?

As an artist I have searched for a mentor like them for most of my career and often came up short.

So here is a simple way to get started on kicking your ass the way Miyagi does:

1. Set a goal. Any goal. It doesn't even have to be a good one, just make it tangible. Run a marathon. Write a book. Paint a portrait. Illustrate a children's book. Whatever
2. Set realistic guide posts.  That daunting marathon is really big when you try to tackle it at once, so work towards it by setting simple, minor increases over a length of time. The best part? You get to decide how quickly you achieve your goal.
3. Start running. This is the training bit. This is often where people start and then try to work towards points one and two. If you are like me, starting here is the easiest and fastest way to burn out on a goal. 

Why does this work?

Because it is every single fight film you have ever seen:

1. Runt gets beat up by big bad guy and wants revenge. Sets goal to beat big bad guy.
2. Meets mentor willing to train him, who tells him he has a finite time in which to do it and it will be really, really, super, duper hard
3. Runt works really, really, really super duper hard and gets promoted to badass level by kicking bad guy in the teeth. (grudging respect/lifetime vendetta ensues)

Only through training are you able to reach a seemingly unattainable goal.

It is in every movie.

We all love training montages:

So why do we work so hard against them in real life?

I think that has to do with the fact that we don't set up something to train for.

And that makes a world of difference.

Having a goal/dream to fight for is the most essential key to starting your training.

If you have that, your Miyagi will show up.

It may just be you.

But, then again, it is always the protagonist who struggles.

You don't see Miyagi jumping in the ring when it gets tough, do you?