The ethereal universe

As I sit by the water’s edge I see the reflection of an anchored boat distorted by ripples, ever-changing and yet never-ceasing to remain a reflection.

In this ethereal universe I cling to the hope that I know some things to be true but deep down I am certain of nothing. All is not lost however, because once upon a time as I was travelling back through time in the memories of the mind I sensed the ever-so-faint possibility that I was born of a big bang. An infinitely small particle of infinite mass expanding out into a nothingness that until then did not even exist. And I saw that within the act of its own creation lied the seed to its own oblivion. A thought worth cherishing for within it I saw two things to which my hope could cling. I saw beauty and I saw death.

I take a shot with my camera and in an instant I capture a tableau presented to me by an ethereal universe. It is not an image of a reflection, nor of ripples, not even of water.

It may seem a strange thing for hope to cling to but in-between beauty and death there is movement. Movement without change, for eternity can only ever be just what it is. But the movement is there, in the corner of my eye, delicate, gentle, otherworldly, almost non-existent for it only ever remains in the corner of my eye no matter how quickly I turn towards it. This movement, this motion, is the single constant in this ethereal universe. It is the beckoning of decay. And so I shed a tear of joy—or is it sadness? I am no longer sure if there is a difference—because I realise that beauty is born out of the evanescent nature of things.

This image I have captured, it is an abstract of movement, a fanciful idea of beauty that existed but for a fraction of a second, gone the instant the shutter shut out the light.

Beauty holds the seed of its own demise. It has to if it is to be recognised for what it is. And here I am, sitting precariously balanced between beauty and death seeking that ephemeral joy of creation. But to what point, to what purpose do I chase beauty if beauty is always doomed to die? I do not have the answer to that. I do not know the purpose behind this endeavour. Perhaps it is Life’s purpose to chase beauty while I, with my eyes and my camera, am simply the tracking device. A tracker of dying moments.

I continue to sit mesmerised by the myriad canvases forming before my eyes. I make a few more shots, each a new abstract, a single note in a symphony of movement. And as the light starts to disappear I stay on to catch every note. To the end when the light is gone and the water becomes too dark to be a canvas.

So this is it then? That is what life is all about? A journey from one dying moment to another until my own inevitable end? But all I want is to be happy. Happy ever after. Happy. Ever. After. Oh, but I am such a fool. Where have I seen that promise “happy ever after”? Fairy tales? Self-help books? What fools we are to believe that happiness could escape death’s attention. Happiness is no different to beauty, it’s existence recognised in its passing. And then I hear it, in the silence of the mind, a laugh… gentle… genuine… embracing. The ethereal universe, born of a big bang, laughing gently at the wonder of it all.

The water is now but a dark shadow. I stand and with one last look I turn my back and leave. What a day it has been. What beauty I have seen. What sadness I have felt. Ethereal bliss indeed.

It’s all light

Apparently, I may be giving out the wrong idea with my posts, specially the ones about happiness. I feel that I should redress this. The best way to do that would probably be to stop posting but here I am and here I go again.

I write about happiness mostly because I see it as a concept that I have for the most part, misunderstood. I have chased it, yearned for it, coveted it for most of my life but only ever managing to grasp at a mere flicker of light in the shadows, something seen in the corner of my eye only to disappear as soon as I turn towards it. Happiness is missed as soon as I look for it.

Talking with some people recently made me aware that I may have unintentionally suggested that happiness is a goal, something to have and hold on to till the day we die and that I have somehow achieved this through photography. If that is the case than I apologise for this is not at all what I wish to convey. The joy which photography brings to me has in reality, nothing to do with photography itself but rather with a lesson brought on by the act of making photographs. The joy comes simply from seeing whatever I’m looking at for what it is. Without labels, without biases, without judgement. The point to life, if there is one, may simply be to live every moment fully even if those moments involve pain or sorrow or mourning. Photography may have brought me this understanding but I do not need photography to live its lesson. For that I just need to do what I do, what ever that may be in the moment, be it fun or boring, joyful or painful, safe or scary. The full gamut of human emotions is up for grabs. I don’t want to run away from any of them or run towards any of them but I do find it worthwhile to be aware of them, to live them fully because it is within them that the richness of life exists. After all, it is my emotions that colour my life.

Having said this I also want to add that I am not suggesting that there is anything wrong with seeking happiness. If that is what you do then just do what you do. I am only saying that it is no longer what I do. It is not my goal to be happy, it is not my goal to be aware, it is not my goal to have or not have goals. For me it is all simply life living itself. Seeing things as I do will not suit everyone or perhaps even anyone. It is certainly not as exciting as it can get for some but I am suggesting that there is something to be said in finding balance which is effectively all I’m saying. Find the right balance between aperture and shutter speed and you’ll get a sweet shot of life. Regardless of the subject matter.

If what I write makes no sense please understand that I have no real idea who I am, or what I’m doing here, or what anything means but neither does my camera and it doesn’t seem upset by that. So I take a lesson from my camera which just does what it does and in turn, as I’ve already mentioned, I just do what I do.

I cannot tell you that everything in life will be all right, but photography has taught me that where life is concerned, it is always… all light.

The promise of happiness

Photography, for me, is about seeing. Seeing things differently, with all the senses involved. But as was kindly pointed out to me in the comments of my last post, “seeing” as I’ve described it in the past, is not a prerequisite to making photographs. Practice on the other hand is a prerequisite; at least if you want to enjoy the results. I’ve been practising photography for a little over 40 years now. In my case practice hasn’t turned me into a master class photographer but then again I never took the craft too seriously or perhaps I should say, seriously enough. In any case the practice has helped me improve my success rate of making shots I enjoy. And that’s saying a lot since I do photography as a source of enjoyment.

I’ve heard it said that enjoyment brings happiness and so in that sense I can say that photography makes me happy. A contented kind of happy. And sometimes to get that kind of happy these days I don’t even have to make a photograph, I just need to be out seeing stuff. It wasn’t always like that though.

While clearing out some spaces in my home I came across some old slides which I had taken years ago. I enjoyed going through some of them, it was like the proverbial walk down memory lane. The slides were from holidays in far away places like Hawaii, Nepal and British Columbia in Canada — well, far away for anyone living in Australia. As well as memories of the holidays, scenic vistas, trekking and people, there were also memories of the actual making of each photograph. Looking at some slides I could recall the decision process of selecting aperture, shutter speed, f-stop and so on. I could recall whether I had used a tripod and why I’d chosen that particular composition. It was all very technical, making photographs back then.

Of course it could all be false memories — it’s near impossible to verify personal memories if they weren’t shared and even then I would still have my doubts — but false or not I found the reminiscence fascinating. I took a lot more photographs in those days, despite the fact that I was using film, and I was a lot more technically minded too. I recall a mixture of nervousness and angst just prior to pressing the shutter button. I wanted the perfect shot so badly. I wanted every shot to be perfect but just before I released the shutter, while making last minute adjustments or timing the light I would imagine the disappointment, the heart-break of another failed shot. I took it all very seriously back then though perhaps not so much for the sake of the photography but more for the sake of my fragile ego. The strange thing however, was that no sooner did I release the shutter that I would hang on to the belief that I had just made the perfect photograph. The click of the shutter became the promise of happiness. I guess today it’s all a bit different since it’s possible to preview a shot and make adjustments on the fly but there were no LCD screens to view your shot back then. It was days or weeks before I could see the result but somehow I hung onto the belief that happiness would come as soon as I got my roll of film developed. The reality of course was that I was neither heart-broken or blissfully happy when I got my slides back from the developers. My reaction was mostly technical so to speak. I would look at the photos, pass some mental judgement on what was right and what was wrong and maybe try to learn something for the next photo shoot when the whole process of angst followed by hope would be repeated. It took me years to learn the lesson which was for me the most important; letting go the angst and the expectation and just be in the moment.

I am reluctant to generalise but it seems to me that we are strange creatures us humans. We tend to suffer more in our imagination then in reality and we tend to fall for the promise of happiness rather than cherish the ever present moment.

In a world which is seemingly going mad, photography makes me stop and rest. There’s nothing to get, nothing to pursue, least of all happiness. I just look… slowly… simply… quietly. And on occasion I’ll take a shot.

Happy just because

Happy just because

~§~

“I’m happy” is usually seen as an assertoric proposition. What if it was seen as an apodeictic proposition instead?

I’m just messin’…

But seriously… what if?

~§~

Some time back I posted this question on the Internet. I wasn’t trying to be smart, I did it tongue-in-cheek so to speak, for fun, not really expecting anyone to give me an answer. And I didn’t get one. The thing is, this question came to me while I was out running (yeah, I think about weird things) and while most thoughts come and go with me this one has stuck around ever since it popped into my head uninvited. Not because I needed to find the answer — my kids answered it for me years ago — but more likely because I needed to be reminded of it.

So what is this question asking? You can look up the meaning of “assertoric” and “apodeictic” but allow me to simply put it in plain English: Is the phrase “I am happy” a conditional proposition, an effect from a cause if you will, or is it unquestionably true?

The answer, I am sure you’ll agree, seems obvious. Happiness is conditional. Some things cause happiness and some things cause pain. Precisely why we say things like, “when I get a promotion, I’ll be happy”, or “I’m happy because I just met my soul mate”, or “wait till I buy that new Hasselblad, then you’ll see happy”. When we are talking of happiness we always assert that it is or is not the case and that either way there is an associated cause. To suggest that the statement “I am happy” is incontestable and logically certain without the need for an underlying reason simply feels wrong. Happiness must have a cause, a trigger, a reason for being. It cannot… simply… be… for no reason. Can it?

To remind myself what this question is positing, I do what I always do, I just watch, without judgement or prejudice, this story I call my life moment by moment and I wonder: “what if…?”. What if happiness was indeed, an apodeictic proposition? What if it was a natural state, a default setting? Unconditional. Fortunately, as a photographer, watching one moment at a time comes naturally.

When I am out walking with a camera, the very act of holding a camera seems to alter my mindset. My perspective changes, the mind quietens down, time warps, light brightens, senses are heightened; I think a lot of photographers would know what I mean. All together it comes across as a feeling of happiness. But here’s the thing. While this may well translate to a feeling of happiness I am rarely conscious of it being such. I do not find myself saying “Hey, I’m happy”. But on those rare occasions where I do think about it, where I actually label the feeling with “I’m happy”, I invariably find the mind trying to find the cause. That’s what the mind does. So suddenly it’s no longer “I’m happy” full-stop, it’s “I’m happy because I’m out taking photos”, “I’m happy because it’s such a nice day and I’m out taking photos”, “I’m happy because it’s a nice day, the light is perfect and I’m out taking photos”. You get the idea. The mind does this because it is desperate to memorise whatever it sees to be the cause of happiness in order to try to recreate it at a later date in the belief that a state of permanent happiness can be reached once and for all.

When asked point-blank I would guess that most people would agree that expecting to live in a state of permanent happiness for the rest of our lives is unrealistic. And yet we all seem to try hard to achieve this state of permanent bliss quite often making ourselves miserable in the process. Ironic really but we spend a lot of time thinking about what has made us happy in the past, what will make us happy in the future and we create a list — subconsciously maybe — of those things that will make us happy without once stopping to see if we may in fact already be happy. We figure that once we know the cause we will know how to get the desired effect, happiness on tap. Trouble is that even when we recreate the cause we don’t always get the expected result. The beach holiday that made us so happy last year didn’t cut it this year, buying that new camera didn’t feel as good as buying our first camera, going out for a walk today didn’t feel as good as it did yesterday and so on. When this happens the mind is quick to come up with excuses. And that’s a problem. The mind is so busy analysing how best to create happiness that we are incapable of experiencing it whenever it comes around without cause.

Unless you get out of your own way.

Or unless you’re a child.

Me (to my young child many years ago): Why are you laughing so much?
Child: Cause I’m happy!
Me: Why are you happy?
Child: Just b’cause!
Me: But why? There’s gotta be a reason.
Child: No there doesn’t! You’re silly Daddy.

I don’t know if the mind can be stopped. Children seem undisturbed by the mind — at least while they are very young — but I do know that I for one cannot stop thoughts and so I don’t try but I also know that thoughts are just thoughts and seeing past them I can see that “happy” happens more often than the mind lets on. It’s just that most of the time there’s no reason for it and so the mind wants to convince me that whatever it is it’s not happiness.

But it is.

I like to call it unreasonable happiness; when I’m happy just because.

In flight from myself

I was recently reminded of a quote attributed to Oscar Wilde, “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” The notion of living life is a subtle one which I have all too often taken for granted and taking life for granted equates to simply existing rather than living. I have taken it for granted not because living life is what I do but because it is what I think I do. Beliefs, opinions, biases, prejudices, labels, judgements, knowledge, it is all of these things and more that define me, it is all of these things that define where I start and where I end. But all of these things I know to be nothing more than thoughts. No matter how I slice and dice it, all of these things are mind-matter and attachment to these beliefs and opinions may well prevent life from being lived fully. Equally, these beliefs and opinions may well short-circuit creative flow.

Just as my beliefs and opinions invariably create filters on all my senses that prevent me from experiencing life fully, they also create interference to the creative flow. Look at a young child full of mindless enthusiasm, using her fingers to spread paint all over a large sheet of butcher’s paper, not caring about rules on aesthetics or design, without any understanding of colour schemes, without a care. Instead she is full of giggles at the feel of soft mushy paint between her fingers, full of surprise at seeing the blue paint turn to green when her fingers run across a yellow blob. This alone makes her clap her hands in delight and then seeing the resulting paint splatter rain across her art work, she erupts in shrieks of laughter. No judgements, no opinions, no beliefs, just moments of mindless fun.

In those moments she is living life.

Years ago during a religious lesson at school the teacher, a Christian Brother, asked the class what was meant by the phrase “God created us in his own image”. The apathy in this class was always palpable but without thinking I shot my hand up and replied, “It means we’re all creators too”. That response promptly got me a trip to the principal’s office and a lunch time detention. I never found out exactly why my response elicited such a punishment and while I hold no beliefs where gods are concerned if some god did indeed create us in its own image then I would maintain that my comment still holds some value; we are all creators.

Technology is allowing us to be creative in ways that were not previously possible. It’s as if technology has opened a flood gate to creativity and everyone is feeling the pulsing flow even when they are not fully conscious of what is happening. Digital photography, digital painting, digital music, it’s all so easy to do now. Is it all good? Does that really matter? When someone snaps a photo with their phone and manipulates it with some so-called app to make it look like some retro Holga image; is it art? Well, maybe, maybe not but again what does it matter? What matters is that it is creative and it came out of nowhere and it need not be judged to be anything in particular. It just happened and in the happening of it there is likely to be joy and bliss, there may even be surprise and giggles and laughter, at the very least there is mindless fun. Such moments of creativity are simple and honest. Sometimes, even if only for a second, there is a sense of selflessness where beliefs and opinions are suspended or disengaged and somehow the self knows itself to be the whole.

In those moments life is being lived.

Of course technology doesn’t only allow us to be creative, it also offers us the opportunity to be distracted. The sheer volume of up-to-the-minute information can be overwhelming but the instant feedback to our ideas and thoughts can also be captivating and addictive. However let me clarify that I am not suggesting that technology is to blame for all this distraction. Distractions have always been around. Over one hundred years ago Nietzsche wrote of his peers, “One thinks with a watch in one’s hand, even as one eats one’s midday meal while reading the latest news of the stock market”. But Nietzsche was careful not to cast the blame on clocks or markets. “We labour at our daily work more ardently and thoughtlessly than is necessary to sustain our life, because it is even more necessary not to have leisure to stop and think. Haste is universal because everyone is in flight from himself.” (From Untimely Meditations 1876). It is the last sentence which for me says it all and I could easily swap the word “haste” with “distraction”. However it has become clear to me that distraction, or haste for that matter, comes at a cost. I may fear that if I don’t read every tweet, every Facebook update, every RSS feed, every email, then I will miss out on something important but the irony is that I do in fact, miss out on something important because I try so hard to keep up with all the input. Within the distractions and the haste of everyday living lies the illusion of escape. When I fleet from one tweet to another then to Facebook or email, checking SMS messages in between and all along reading snippets from articles in my RSS feed I escape from the drudgery of my life, the mundane job, the aches and the pains, the problems, the worries. With every hit from Twitter I manage to keep my troubles away. And that’s a good thing. Or so it seems. As it turns out though, the only thing I am escaping from is Life.

Immersed in distractions I simply exist. Lost in distraction I am in flight from myself.

However, just as I do not blame technology for providing endless distractions,  I do not wish to suggest that all these distractions are somehow bad or evil. Like everything else they are what they are and passing some judgement on them is, well, just compounding the real issue. Instead I have found it useful to simply understand why I seek distractions and gaining such understanding only needs a slight twist of perception, a mere hint of awareness. It is not the distractions per se that prevent me from living, it is my reluctance or maybe even my fear of facing the drudgery of my life, the mundane job, the aches and the pains, the problems, the worries. Or as it is sometimes said, the fear of facing my demons. Deciding to focus more ardently and be less distracted isn’t a solution as the effort needed to focus will only become another distraction. Being aware of what I am trying to escape from on the other hand provides a release which defies logic. Facing my problems and issues, my fears, fully with complete awareness and without judgement, belief or opinion, allows me to see them for what they are namely, thoughts, mind-matter, of no substance other than what I attribute to them and once scrutinized in such a manner the fear associated with them disappears as does the need to escape. This may seem like I am simply deluding myself, after all the problems do not magically go away. The aches and pains are still there, the bills still need to be paid, the mundane 9 to 5 job has not become any more exciting, the desire to escape hasn’t diminished. Nothing has changed other than the realisation that Life is not an experience. Life is the experiencing itself. Life is the light that shines on the experience and the experiencer both of which arise in the presence of awareness.

Immersed in this experiencing, life is lived. Lost in the experiencing, creativity flows.

As a photographer I see a reflection, a subject looking at an object but with a slight twist of perception, a mere hint of awareness it becomes clear that the photographer and the reflection are simply arising in this eternal presence of awareness and the reality is that there is only seeing happening. In other words, there is only creativity flowing, life being lived.

Life and creative flow, essentially the same thing and just as Life is the experiencing, Life is the creating.

In the process of creation, rather than take flight from myself I give flight to every idea and belief I have about this story I call my life and take joy in the mindless fun of creating, the freedom of living. Even though outwardly nothing has changed it’s all seen to be just as it should be.

The promise

I would ask that you take a moment and imagine a bottle from which, with a rub, emerges a genie.

Of sorts.

This genie doesn’t grant you three wishes but instead makes you a promise.

He promises you that for the rest of your life no matter what you do or where you are or what camera you have, you will always make the perfect photograph.

Would that change your life?

Now imagine that this genie is feeling extra generous on this particular day (perhaps you rubbed him up the right way) and he makes you another promise. He promises you that for the rest of your life, no matter what choice you make, no matter what road you take, it will always be the right choice, always the right path.

Would that change your life?

Now what if both of these promises had already been made to us and we’d forgotten simply because we over-think art and we over-think life?

…

It’s just a thought.

The pursuit of artiness

In the text of the second section of the United States of America’s Declaration of Independence can be found the words:

We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

I find it interesting to note the wording in this statement. It stipulates that everyone has certain “unalienable rights” including life and liberty. But not happiness. People are only entitled to the pursuit of happiness. A subtle difference. One that shows at least to me that the Father’s of the American Constitution knew a thing or two about human nature. Life and liberty are quite definable. I can’t imagine huge variations even among disparate cultures, in the definitions attributed to life and liberty. Defining happiness on the other hand is much like defining art. The lines are blurred, the boundaries are loose and definitions can be as numerous as the number of people in this world. In any case, happiness, however it is defined, is something that apparently needs to be pursued because once reached, usually with the acquisition of a goal or the fulfillment of a desire, it seems to disappear as soon as the next desire makes itself known.

The pursuit of happiness is not too dissimilar to the artist pursuing that elusive artwork which will define her like no other artwork has done before. That masterpiece that will enrich the world with its message and rich beauty and perhaps even enrich, financially, the long-suffering artist as a bonus. Okay, so maybe the goal may not always be so grand but whatever it is that the artist is trying to achieve I suspect that the pursuit of art is entangled, at some level, with the pursuit of happiness.

It surprised me to learn some years back that professional artists can feel just as unhappy about their “job” as anyone else may feel about their own profession. I was surprised because at the time I viewed art as something that was done for fun and in no way to be conceived of as a real job. I saw it as a great excuse to do what you want when you want but of course my view on the subject of art and for that matter, happiness, was somewhat ignorant. I must point out that much has been written about the whys and wherefores of happiness and I would do well to leave it up to more knowledgeable people than myself to discuss the intricacies of happiness. Instead I will share a less academic but more personal observation about that elusive thing that is “artiness” and hopefully along the way, elaborate a bit more on what I see as the often overlooked connection between art and happiness.

Art is not something that is easily defined. It comes in many forms and while I can say that most times I know art when I see it there are times when the subtleties elude me and I am simply left wondering. But the artwork whatever it may be, is merely the final product, it is the end of a process, it is in itself, final. Whatever message the artwork has for me it was defined in the journey that led to its creation. I might add that my own journey that has brought me to the time and place where I can view/hear the artwork has also gone some way  to ascertaining the message it holds. In any case, as the artist pursued her vision she imbibed the piece with feelings and emotions and the question I often ask myself is, did the artwork fulfill the expectation that led to the pursuit in the first place?

During the process of making a photograph or the pursuit if you will, from the shooting to the post-processing I am guided by a vision which is in turn molded from memories and thoughts. When the final image emerges it always fails in varying degrees to meet the expectation, the vision from which is was born. It may sometimes get close but it is never close enough and so the pursuit continues for the next image driven perhaps by the same vision or a modified one. As I get older though, I have come to realise that all along I have been missing the obvious. As I’ve already mentioned the definition of the artwork lies in the journey taken to create it (or to view it). Its essence, its artiness lies in the pursuit itself. There’s probably nothing new in all this. The notion that the journey is more important than the destination is basic philosophy 101 but for me the pursuit of artiness is akin to the pursuit of happiness.

When talking about the broad concept of happiness I tend to see it as something that is born in desire and which dies in desire. By that I mean that it is desire that gives rise to the potential for happiness which is achieved once the desire is fulfilled but which also immediately dies once a new desire arises. This type of happiness has its opposite in suffering and as humans we spend our lives trying to avoid suffering and gain happiness. But suffering and happiness are two driving forces of creativity, both can inspire us to be creative. Suffering, in all its variances can lead to quite exquisite art despite the fact that suffering is often seen as an obstacle, something to be overcome at any cost if we are to have lasting happiness. But it is here that I have to question the perception of this suffering. I am not sure that suffering is an obstacle to happiness, not when it can be such a source of inspiration.

In martial-art (please forgive me for always returning to these lessons) I was once told to perceive the enemy as being within rather than outside of myself. In doing so the strength of the enemy I face would no longer be disproportionate to my own strength. The enemy is still there but I can now meet him on my terms. This notion took me some time to fully understand (you could say it was literally beaten into me) but when applied to the current topic it means that if I see the suffering, the obstacles to my happiness, as not being outside of me but rather seeing it as something within, I am no longer helpless since the obstacles are no longer seen as being greater than my own strength. In other words, the problems can never be bigger than my ability to cope with them. This is not to say that the suffering disappears, it simply means that I do not need to build up more resolve in order to cope. However to remain balanced it is equally useful that I see happiness as being within rather than without. As long as I see happiness as being outside of myself I will continue to struggle in my pursuit for it but when I see it as being inside of me then the need to pursue it ceases. So happiness is not in the getting but rather in the letting go.

As I have come to realise this I have extended this notion to art. The pursuit of artiness can only take place while I continue to see art as being outside of myself but maybe art is inside, maybe it is already a part of me. Maybe it always was and always will be. Maybe being creative is nothing more than materializing the art that has always been there, and so it would no longer be a pursuit but a journey and it is with these thoughts that I have come to see being creative as a synonym for being happy. As such, the pursuit of happiness is also a journey and that journey is what we call life. All of life, every aspect, the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful.

To reveal the art that lies within I let go of expectations, I let go of desire, I even let go of self. Even if only for a moment.

What remains is not happiness perse but a kind of bliss or contentment that defies description or explanation. It is like a knowing that everything is as it should be despite appearances.

It matters not if it’s my art or if it’s someone else’s art, either way, its source is within. And that is true for all of us.

~§~

If my disjointed musings into the concept of art being within has struck a chord, you  may like to read an insightful post by Andy Ilachinski called Blurred Distinctions.

About the photo accompanying this post: I called it “Squared Off Circles”. It is a collage of nine images each with its own name – Left to right, Row 1: Intersection, Life Guard, Drop. Row 2: Etc, Flora Fireworks, Corona. Row 3: Uri Nals, Drop Off Zone, 10.

Perfection rules, Okay

Some time ago a friend was working on a photograph in Photoshop. He had been working on it for a few days on and off. There were many layers that I could see and many more that I couldn’t judging by the size of the scroll bar on the side of the panel. I asked him what it was he was trying to achieve and he simply said “it’s not quite right”. I looked at the image and after a minute quietly said, “it’s perfect as it is”. My friend laughed and mumbled something about nothing being perfect. “You’re lying or you’ve no idea what perfection is” he said. And as if to spare my ego he added, “I’ll go with the latter”.

That seems to be a common belief amongst most people and seemingly all the more so amongst artists. Nothing’s perfect. It’s almost as if perfection is a pie-in-the-sky goal that serves no purpose other than to drive us to be more creative. We seek it the way a pilgrim seeks salvation, following any means, any methods, any rules that show promise but all the while with a sneaking suspicion that the goal is unreachable.

In conversations I find that if perfection is defined as “being without flaw or defect” than it is generally agreed that nothing can be perfect and apparently, all the more so when it is man-made. To be fair however I do hear people attribute the term of perfection to certain things at certain times. Mostly it is attributed to something in nature, a perfect sunset, a perfectly beautiful flower, a perfect view. Recently a friend told me that he’d just had a perfect day which consisted of spending the day in pajamas and watching movies while eating junk food. However, while he may have described it as a perfect day I am sure that if he was to spend the rest of his days doing exactly the same thing the days would quickly become less than perfect. In any case I have never heard it uttered by an artist about his or her own work. Almost as if the artist sees herself and her art as one and knowing deep down that she herself is flawed finds it impossible to witness the perfection in her own work. I should perhaps state at this point that I am making somewhat sweeping statements from my observations of only a handful of artists whom I have the pleasure to know. And as a further disclaimer I will add that none make a living from their art. But if I may, I will continue.

Someone once told me, you won’t know if it’s what you want until you’ve defined it. The trouble with defining perfection is that it seems to be subjective. I have talked to artists who have no problems seeing perfection in the work of their idols but find it impossible to see it in their own art. They may like what they’ve created but they invariably stop short of calling it perfect. The ancient Greeks, interestingly enough, had no problems seeing perfection in their own work and I see that as being due to the fact that they had a workable definition for perfection. The term perfection was attributed to anything that fulfilled its purpose. So a spatula for example, which can flip a pancake as it was intended to do (can you guess I had pancakes for breakfast this morning?), would be considered perfect, though I am not sure if the Greeks had spatulas, much less pancakes. In any case, the ancient Greeks also believed that humans had a purpose, namely to be happy, and since happiness is achievable than it was deemed that humans could attain perfection.

As my friend struggles with his image, trying so diligently to bring out the beauty he can envisage in his mind’s eye, he finds himself (though perhaps not consciously) bound by rules and theories about making the perfect photograph. There is no doubt that rules on composition, depth of field and lighting can all contribute to the aesthetics of an image. Even the breaking of these rules can at times work wonders. But the entire time there are rules, either to be followed or to be broken. And all the while he may be asking himself: “where is the beauty?”

When I make an image I too inadvertently follow rules. Not consciously the way a beginner might do but at some level some rules are remembered and interpreted perhaps even broken for the sake of achieving this… well, this ideal of perfection. And this perfection, it seems to me, is often tied in with beauty where art is concerned. Lately however, I have been wondering if beauty is indeed what I am trying to achieve with my photographs. Anyone who knows me well will know that I tend to use photography as a catalyst to understanding the meaning of life, the universe and everything. But within that context I create individual images and for each image there is a desire, subtle as it may be, to make it just right, to make it perfect. The thought that this may be unachievable is gently pushed aside by another desire, namely a desire to create beauty. Or at least that is how I have interpreted it until recently.

Art can evoke any number of a vast array of emotions and feelings. I find that the making of art, in my case, photographs, is equally charged with all sorts of mental turbulence (as per my previous post). From negatives to positives, from peaks to troughs, from anger to jubilance. And throughout all of that an image forms itself and while there might be beauty that emerges in the process there is sometimes something else there as well, something that for some reason seems to require some sort of permission to… to be. That something, when I allow it to emerge is a feeling of joy or contentment, a kind of bliss. The image may not be perfect, the rules may not have been applied, or broken, as well as they should have been, the photoshopping skills may have been lacking and yet despite all of this there is a sense of happiness. Not the happiness I feel when I buy a new laptop or if I was to win a trip overseas but rather a happiness born out of a simple act of creating something that deep down was created so that it could be shared. This feeling is pure and it’s simple. It doesn’t come with an adrenalin rush or so much as a “woo hoo!”. But it’s there, blissful contentment, more satisfying than your regular marketable joy and longer lasting too.

And so I have come to the conclusion that for me the creation of art is not about creating beauty or interpreting reality or expressing myself or passing the time, it’s about being happy, the simple kind of happy that is always there for the taking but that I fail to recognize all too often because I’m so used to the kind of happiness that comes with the fanfare and  the wrappings, the kind that is short-lived leaving me just wanting more and more in an unsustainable cycle.

As my friend steps out of the room to get himself a coffee I look again at his image and think to myself, “but it is perfect because it makes me happy just to see it” and in so doing it has fulfilled its purpose because that’s what art seeks to give, happiness, pure and simple. And if the ancient Greeks are to be believed then art, in making us happy, also makes us perfect.