“The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another, to cause vibrations in the soul.” — Wassily Kandinsky
This past weekend I had to remove a beloved Japanese Maple tree from my garden. It had gotten beaten down by the heatwave last summer and subsequently infected with a nasty fungus. The operation was quite tricky; I wanted to save the one lower branch that was still alive for transplanting but had to remove the main tree from the ground without killing it nor damage the surrounding plants in the area. With limited space, I needed to wield a pick axe to dig it up or more accurately chop it up at the roots. This was much harder than I anticipated. Just using the pick axe was an ordeal; its heavy, unwielding nature along with the limited area for me to swing it, fatigued the heck out of my arms and I even got injured by the splintering branches. It was an all out mental and physical experience. I was reminded of just how much harder it is to do things manually. Should I have paid some tree guy with his modern machine tools to do the job instead?
Of course, we all love technology; it’s so much easier and more convenient to do things and do them quickly. This is especially true in the digital realm where a lot of us modern day artists work.Digital tools are here to stay. But using digital tools predominantly has its limitations and problems. Computer configurations — the screen, keyboard and mouse/tablet — have not offered much in the way of interactive creativity, nor has it, at least to date, changed much from its original form. The physical structure of digital machines is standardized and with that standardization comes with it an effect on the human mind — a sort of mechanical sameness and lack of joy permeates. There’s also a clear lack of vitality in our operation of it; the body in the same position, the eyes always looking at that same rectangular space. In many ways, when we use the computer, it also uses us. We are transformed by it and often times drained by it too.
“The medium is the message.” — Marshal McLuhan
On the other hand, interacting with physical tools, creates a completely different and inspiriting effect on the user. It places different demands on you, like that pick axe did with me. But it also imparts something magical, a process that’s almost soulful. Using and playing with physical things encourages the cells in our body to align and activite in very unique ways. In fact, the entire body and mind need to coordinate much more so than when working with a computer. Even when making a simple sketch within a somewhat stationary set up of a desk and chair, the body is engaged; you squint, grimace, lean, tilt, push and pull against the materials. Each artistic apparatus, whether it be pencil, marker, brush or even the surface/platform you work it on, offers a different body altering experience. This kind of contagious vitality in the process always translates into the work.
It’s why I heavily stress to my students the need to supplement their digital craft with the practice of working with real physical tools. The variation in size, texture and feel of the materials transmutes all things involved; the charcoal becomes more than a stick of compressed dust, the artist more than just an idle vessel with various ideas and feelings. Only by joining things together does art get made. And the way it gets made is so ultra-specific to that mixture of the tool and person involved that it feels very “one-of-a-kind.” In my own studio, I have various “play” stations: one for pens/pencils/markers, another for watercolors, another for oils/acrylics, yet another for digital. Each one offers me different places to play or, as dancing maestro Twyla Tharp preferred to say, to “scratch.”
“Never scratch the same place twice… If you scratch the same way all the time, you end up in the same place of the same old ideas.” — Twyla Tharp.
The other thing about physical tools is that they can force us to think less and focus on doing. Whether chopping a tree or painting on canvas — the situation doesn’t permit us to deal with anything else. It’s just too demanding. One has to really pay attention with real stuff. For example, when I’m working with acrylics, like I often do, I have very little time to apply the paint on the surface since it dries or gets sticky so quickly, usually within minutes. My preparation has to be very disciplined and my execution nearly perfect. Mistakes are almost permanent and very difficult to repair. But this is also why I love to work with acrylic paint; it’s so direct, reminding me to stay present and stay sharp, as if it’s saying “this is it, that mark you make right now matters.” Imagine that level of focus and seriousness working with digital? Just ask any stop motion animator who animates straight-ahead. There is no undo button. Just like life. This is really good practice for developing one’s strength of vision and commitment.
“The hell with art — pay attention … just pay attention.” — Philip Guston
Going analog can also help break the monotony of digital products. I suspect the blandness of much tv/film/animated output is partly due to the increased usage and reliance on digital tools and reference. Take VFX for instance. Now that was a field once deservedly exalted for its creativity and resourcefulness! Think of all those figurines, costumes and masks, insane location set ups and props, not to mention the innovative brilliance of the early science fiction pioneers like Ray Harryhausen, Phil Tippet, and Dennis Muren. Special effects truly were special! Not only were the results groundbreaking, the process was just as or even more interesting. The hand-made touch leaves a beautiful trail behind. Today, most VFX looks exactly the same regardless of project or studio, and none of it nearly as creative or special as its historical predecessors, just more photo-realistic. And there’s always that digital look — I can always recognize CGI regardless of visual stylizations. The computer also leaves behind a trail. Artists working with tangible tools face real limitations and it’s precisely those limitations that draw out their creativity. What we call style is exactly that; work created dangerously without the certainty and safety that machines provide.
“To do a dangerous thing with style is what I call art.” — Charles Bukowski
If you get the chance to work with physical tools don’t pass it up. In fact, make a practice of it. Sure, using real materials can be real challenging but if we are to think outside of the box we might literally need to work without it (the digital box, I mean) at least periodically.
