Being Vulnerable

Agnes Martin, one of the foremost pioneers of Minimalism, produced work that was immensely sensitive and devoutly true to her philosophy of life.

“The function of artwork is the stimulation of sensibilities, the renewal of memories. Moments of perfection.” — Agnes Martin

To be a proper artist, that is, to be one that is completely devoted to his craft, he must attain and retain his utmost sensitivities. Unfortunately, in a society rooted in competition and obsessed with both security and success, this makes for a difficult challenge. To be sensitive today is to imply weakness of body, mind and character. Our intensely commercial society, which continually advocates the building of strength, position and power, heavily endorses the often ruthless idea of being meaner and tougher than everyone else. It seems to say that this is the way — and the only way — to find security, respectability and happiness. This is hardly debatable anywhere worldwide. We generally fear being vulnerable for the vulnerable are seen as prey. In fact, we have divided society into a place of winners and losers. We call this concept meritocracy, which implies that only the strongly conscientious and intelligent succeed, and if you don’t succeed, you must therefore be lazy, stupid or undeserving. And hence, to be sensitive or vulnerable means being justifiably exposed to attack, ridicule and being cast side or ostracized.

And it is no longer just the world of corporate business or politics that displays such a mindset. This has been extended into the world of the arts; it is no longer uncommon for people in positions of authority to bully or belittle artists below them in public standing rather than to support and help those needing of experienced advice. But aside from being unnecessarily cruel or unethical, this kind of non-inclusive mindset actually empties the work place of genunie discovery and creativity. It is not surprising that in larger and more competitive environments, there’s less and less risk-taking and originality. Contrary to common economic parlance, fear does not invite innovation. It might introduce novelty through convoluted efforts and clever marketing schemes but generally nothing new is ever created. Fear destroys the sensitive creative gift which can only take form in stability and security. The artist has to draw from deeply within and this requires precisely the ability to be sensitive in order to make good on his work. Genuinity and true authenticity can only make its way out when it’s welcoming to do so. In fact, it takes much courage even when the coast is clear. Just as it takes much greater strength to be kind and empathetic than it is to be cynical and critical, it actually takes as much courage or more to be vulnerable and risk failure or ridicule. Many people think that art is a merely superfluous “selfish” activity without realizing that the exact opposite is true; to make art is a forward moving act of humanity that sacrifices all the convenience, approval and security every human being needs to survive both physically and psychologically. To be a fulltime artist, especially one that is doing the truly uncommon, is a courageous and committed act of generosity for society.

You can’t move forward without being vulnerable – Phil Stutz

Furthermore, art is about relationships; the visual language of the craft is only understood and used effectively when we see the relationships between things. Shapes, lines, colors, movements etcetera matter on their own as much as they do each other and it’s their relative placement, size and frequency that create form, rhythm, balance, and texture for compositions to be actually interesting. The artist who only sees things in isolation can not produce anything of appeal or impact. In environments where fear dominates, artists tend to think and see in isolation because he’s entirely obsessed with end results, namely security and approval. He loses both insight and practice of the process. This is both obvious and obviously destructive.

Therefore, the artist shouldn’t fight or will his way through this work but instead look and listen to it. He must empty his mind of his preconceived notions of success or perfection. He can’t be overly concerned with his own insecure ego-self nor think of making work that is to conform to someone else’s ideas.

“I think it’s terribly dangerous for artists to fulfill other people’s expectations… they generally produce their worst work.” — David Bowie

Remember, the true artist is never hoping to gain materially in his work; he is hoping to discover and learn about himself and that can only happen when the artist enquires with his eyes and ears set to their highest, most acute levels of sensitivity. It is only with such intense attention that he can possibly make out what it is that is required of him. When I paint, for example, I often sit in front of my canvas — which is often as large as 10 feet in width — for a long time, asking it what it wants. It’s a submission to higher forces. I do not order it around. No will is involved. And there is no struggle, because that actually gets in the way, for that, too, is noise. I simply look and listen. I believe that is where the real hard work is.

“Have I not become more and more aware latterly that the things I deeply desire come without struggle? … All the struggle, then, is phantom play. The fighting with shadows. This I know.” — Henry Miller

If you’re an animator, much of the hard work is in the preparation. All the play, exploration, looking, and searching is the springboard for discovery. Then the process repeats itself again during actual animation. One can not just proceed mindlessly because some work has been done. The work — the art — is alive and always changing. Each new line, shape, movement, alters the entire piece. Change one thing and the entire composition and feeling is altered. This much the artist must understand and be constantly aware of. Now, if we are wasting our energy worrying about ours or other people’s preconcieved ideas of success or outcome how can we possibly do our work well? One must keep his mind clear, free and sensitive. It may sound strange, but we must first be open to receive in order for us to give.

“Our ideas and beliefs are what limits possibilities.” — Albert Einstein

Going Through The Things We love

When British artist David Hockney was asked what these paintings (of his dog) were about he answered simply “love.”

These are some of the things I love:

I love being greeted by the sunrise each morning, it’s warm rays beaming into my room telling me to wake up. I love walking into my garden when it’s snowing but still warm enough for me to stay out and sit and meditate on its sublime beauty which both cleanses and revitalizes my mind. I love the fresh air being outside because it reminds me how valuable it is to breathe. I love cats and dogs, but I can’t breathe around most of them. But I’m grateful I’m not allergic to flowers because I love the scent of my Choisyea — Mexican Orange plant — which doesn’t like the rain (and we get lots of it here.)

I love the taste of great food, all varieties and from all regions. I love making good food, especially for friends. I love Shanghai dumplings, which I can never have enough of. I love the taste of a great burger with all the fixin’s. I love the sushi at Sushi Gari in NYC, where each visit is a new adventure in flavour. I love (and miss) my dad’s aromatic sticky rice, which no chef has been able to replicate in flavour or texture. I love the scent of coffee, even though I rarely drink it. And I love the aroma of fresh bread inside a bakery. (Croissants in Paris!) I love the savoury mouth-watering szechuan chicken my wife makes with my homemade chilli sauce. And I never forget the mind-blowing taste of the strawberry Daifuku (rice flour dessert) I had in Takayama, Japan — if there is such a thing as heaven in a single bite, this is it. And I love noodles, every kind.

I love to read, especially from the words of the wise; Robert Henri, Henry David Thoreau, Lao Tzu, Chuang Tzu, Heraclitus, Epictetus, Seneca, Socrates, Eric Fromm, Soren Kierkegaard, Khalil Gibran, Alan Watts, Albert Camus, Albert Einstein, David Bohm, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and most of all Jiddu Krishnamurti whose teachings helped me see the need to revolutionize my mind. And though I read much less fiction than I used to, I love the work of Melville, Steinbeck, Shakespeare, Philip K. Dick, George Orwell, Ray Bradbury, Henry Miller and Kurt Vonnegut. I love the poetry of Walt Whitman, E.E. Cummings, William Blake and most dearly, Mary Oliver, whose words are as profound as they are beautiful.

I love kung fu having practiced it dutifully for over 40 years. I never tire of how it harmonizes my mind with my body. I love hitting the heavy bag, the wall bag, the speed bad, and my trusty old wooden dummy. I love swinging swords and sticks. I love my numerous teachers of the craft, both in Wing Chun and Tai Chi. And I love Bruce Lee, my childhood idol and first teacher in life, whose artistry and philosophy put me on the right path to real discipline and creativity — he remains an inspiration to this very day, even nearly 50 years after his death.

I love to draw and paint. I find great pleasure in the way a 6B pencil softens as I use it, both scratching and gliding on the surface. I love coloured pencils, the directness of them. I love the way watercolours fold over each other, lifting and blending on its own accord with the layers below. I love handmade papers. I love the light yet buttery texture of acrylic paint as I scoop it out of its jar. I love the sensuality of oils, the way it spreads and smells, even if it’s not so good for my lungs.

I love the artistry of so many artists (though I can’t list them all) including, but in no particular order: Lucien Freud, Picasso, Michelangelo, Da Vinci, Matisse, Manet, Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Goya, Ribero, Carravagio and Giacometti. I love the compositions of Winslow Homer and David Hockney. I love the woodblock prints of Hokusai and Hiroshige. I love the drawings of Daumier, Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele and Toulouse Lautrec — their work demonstrates the power of the line. I love the modernity of Paul Klee, Joan Miro, Agnes Martin, Mark Rothko, Bridget Riley, Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning and Joan Mitchell and how they still feel fresh and new decades later. I love Ian Davenport’s marvelous stripes and Yayoi Kasuma’s Infinity rooms. I love the simple yet sublime photography of Hiroshi Sugimoto. I love the art/illustrations of Gustav Doré, Dino Battaglia, Arthur Rackham, Mary Blair, Chris Van Allsburg, Al Hirshfeld, Normal Rockwell, Sergio Toppi, Brad Holland, Catherine Jeffrey Jones, Ashley Wood, Mike Mignola, Frank Miller, Aubrey Beardsley, Peter de Seve, and of course, Maurice Sendak who made it obvious to all that strange things can look very beautiful.

I love animation, the rare art form that incorporates so many other art forms — the act of animating alone brings life not only to the screen but to the soul. I love these animators (who have taught and inspired me through their work): Bill Tytla, Frederick Back, Chuck Jones, Tex Avery, Richard Williams, Joe Hanna, Bill Barbera, Frank Thomas, Ollie Johnston, Marc Davis, Glen Keane, Eric Larson, Andreas Deja, James Baxter, Eric Goldberg, Walt Stanchfield, Charlie Bonafacio, Ron Husband, David Pruiksma, and most fervently Milt Kahl, whose mountainously high artistic standards might be insurmountable but still worth striving for.

I love movies and most enthusiastically the cinematic talents of Stanley Kubrick, Akira Kurasawa, David Lean, Alfred Hitchcock, David Lynch, Ingmar Bergman, Chan Woo Park, Sidney Lumet, Lee Chang Dong, Masaki Kobayashi, Yasujiro Ozu, Wong Kar Wei, Francis Ford Coppola, Sofia Coppola, David Cronenberg, Joel & Ethan Coen, Frank Dabaront, Jane Campion, Wes Anderson and Hayao Miyazaki. I love great soundtracks from great movies, most notably the music of John Williams, James Horner, Bernard Hermann, John Barry, Hans Zimmer, Jerry Goldsmith, Joe Hasaishi, and the immeasurable Ennio Morricone.

I love and miss many of my old friends and colleagues, especially those who have made my life more fun and worthwhile. I may not see or talk to them often, but they are never far from my thoughts. I love deeply my mother and father and my two best friends — all of whom still come to visit me in my dreams and allow me to forget, at least for a short while, that they are no longer here. And I love my students, for working together with me to continually find beauty, joy and meaning in being artists. And finally, I love this one woman, who has spent nearly 30 years as my companion through good times and bad, moving from city to city, always boundlessly generous and supportive and most of all, always there for me.

When I think of all these things I love, I remember that life is much better and more beautiful than I usually realize. Do you not feel the same, when you go through all the things that you love?