Inspiration and Realization (Hard-Won Revelations About My Own Artmaking Process)

All Terrain Ass-Kicker, 2009.
Proposal for military Hummer tire tread pattern, inspired by Afghan war rugs and “off-road” culture.
Cast black urethane rubber, recycled ground tire rubber, aluminum hanging hardware.
71.75″ x 12″ x 1″.
Original artwork and production by Shannon Wright.

A friend recently emailed me an interesting quote from Wendell Berry’s 1982 book of essays, Standing By Words. Wendell Berry’s words happen to apply perfectly to the enormous and complex challenge of making sculpture:

There are, it seems, two muses: the Muse of Inspiration, who gives us inarticulate visions and desires, and the Muse of Realization, who returns again and again to say “It is yet more difficult than you thought.” This is the muse of form. It may be then that form serves us best when it works as an obstruction, to baffle us and deflect our intended course. It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.
— Wendell Berry

All Terrain Ass-Kicker, 2008.
Proposal for military Hummer tire tread pattern, inspired by Afghan war rugs and “off-road” culture.
Black and white C-Print.
18″ x 24″.
Original artwork and production by Shannon Wright.

The issue of where we end up, in contrast to where we originally intend to go, is one that sculptor Arthur Ganson touched on in a lecture at the DeYoung Museum in San Francisco in October 2010. He said, “The real, physical world keeps me honest. Because I can imagine anything, but I like the discipline of the actual, physical world. It’s a really good grounding plane for me.”

Most of us only commit to figuring out how to make a tiny percentage of the ideas we come up with–– but once we do decide to tackle a given idea, it is often substantially altered by the fabrication process itself. British sculptor Tony Cragg celebrates his materials as active participants in the art-making process:

“[Sculpture] is an attempt to make dumb material express human thoughts and emotions. It is the attempt not just to project intelligence into the material but also to use material to think with. Sculptures are often and at their best not just the result of an artist taking a material, for example a piece of stone or a lump of clay, out of its normal environment and forcing them into a form which expresses a preformulated notion, but rather the result of a dialogue between the material and the artist. The material finds itself in a new form and the sculptor finds himself with new content and new meaning.”

––Tony Cragg, from the exhibition catalog, A New Thing Breathing

All of this leads to another, more practical, issue for sculptors. If I succeed merely in realizing my “preformulated notion,” then there is a good chance that another artist is out there realizing the same notion a week or two before me! This happens with many of my projects. In these cases, the only things that can save my work from sudden obsolescence are the richness and specificity that arise solely from process. As my friend and mentor, sculptor Elizabeth King has said, “It’s our process that saves us from the poverty of our intent.”

Mechanical Reproduction, 2012. Installation view at Mulherin + Pollard Projects, NYC.
Rubber stamp: basswood, cast black urethane rubber, hardware, paint.
Walls: latex paint stamped with oversized rubber stamp.
Dimensions variable.
Original artwork and production by Shannon Wright.

Thoughts on the Inspiration Stage

While on sabbatical in January of 2010, I compiled some rules by which I can gauge the potential of any one of my art ideas before committing to the grueling task of giving it tangible form.

• If it isn’t funny, at least to me, it’s probably a dead end.
• If it doesn’t have an elegant internal logic (with some peripheral room for interpretation), it’s also a dead end.
• If it relies on absurd amounts of obsessive labor just to get to the point where I can visualize it as an idea, it will never happen. (Obsessive labor is fine and necessary in the later fabrication stages.)
• If it has the fussy/hallucinatory complexity or “density of information” of an image that I might see in a dream, then I won’t know how to actually make it visible to others, and I should accept that I’m not the right artist to make this piece.
• If the “style” an idea requires is not dictated by the story it tells (its internal logic), then I will change my mind so many times that I will never commit to it. I am enthralled by style but I tend to want to show my appreciation for all possible styles rather than accepting that I have to exclude most of them.
• If I start with an abstract concept (like “animism” for example) and try to summon an image or object to embody that idea, I am unlikely to succeed.
• Only when the image or idea arises fully-fledged as the result of seeing an existing physical object in the world and envisioning a specific alteration to it, will the piece have a coherence of materiality and concept. Alternately, if the idea arises from a word or phrase that has caught my attention, the piece may be successful.
• If the title isn’t obvious to me and crucial to the idea from its inception, then the piece lacks clarity and is most likely doomed.
• If a two-dimensional image is to be the final product, that image must arise from a preordained system that is integral to the concept. Generally, my own interpretation and “intuition” during the making process have no place in such a system. It is the system that saves it from being “picture-making” and makes it sculpture.
• If the project isn’t virtually impossible to realize (within my limited means), then it’s probably not worth making.
• Materials testing/ testing of the fabrication process must happen before too much labor is invested in “designing” the object. The convergence of an idea and a viable means of realizing it can easily extend beyond a year.

Thoughts on the Realization Stage

This past January 2012, on my winter break from teaching, I switched into pure “fabrication” mode for one super-intense month of 14-24 hour days. During this rare stint of mostly-uninterrupted work time, I arrived at a whole new set of personal “rules of thumb” based on my observations of what does and doesn’t work for me during the realization stage of a project.

Mechanical Reproduction, 2012. Detail: oversized rubber stamp
Basswood, cast black urethane rubber, internal hardware, paint.
14″ x 14″ x 14″.
Original artwork and production by Shannon Wright.

• I have to make an entire full-scale prototype of each piece before knowing enough to make the “real” one. It is important to photograph every single stage so that I can retrace my steps.
• I will enjoy making the mock-up/ test version of the piece, because it’s “just practice.” Once I start the real piece, my fear of messing it up becomes suffocating. I aspire to treating each piece like it’s just practice so that I can get the work done faster.
• If a piece needs to do something, I need to force myself to start testing this aspect long before I focus on how the piece looks. The look of the piece needs to evolve with the action it performs, or the piece will be lackluster.
• I will only get real work done under an impossible deadline. I will jeopardize my health and all my interpersonal relationships meeting the deadline. That’s how it works for me.
• Everything will go hideously wrong so many times that I know I will never make the deadline. I will not tell any friends about an upcoming show out of fear that by doing so I will jinx the project.
• For me, trying to keep a hired assistant busy for a set number of hours makes it impossible to focus on my own work and is more of a burden than a help.
• I need to allow enough time to practice what I preach to my Installation Art students: if I spend two months making the physical objects for an installation, I need about two months to work with them in the actual space before the piece has a visual clarity and an internal logic. The first two exhibitions will have to be mostly practice, to see what the piece is actually about and what it should look like.
• If a friend’s advice on how to solve a technical problem is at odds with my own instincts, then I need to trust my instincts. Otherwise I could find myself losing precious time before I finally go back to the way I originally planned to do things.
• The cliché of “the happy accident” is legitimate. The accident may slow down the completion of the piece I am currently making, but it will inspire the next piece, which I would never have thought of without it. This is the kind of thinking-through-doing that Tony Cragg holds in such high esteem. It can result in a very different kind of object than the more cerebral “design, then build” model of working.
• Having three weeks of mostly uninterrupted time to work on art (and a facility equipped with the tools I need) is the most fulfilling thing I know of. In his seminal work, Flow: the Psychology of Optimal Experience, psychologist Mihaly Czikszentmihalyi explores the intense satisfaction that comes from absorption in extremely challenging creative work. He writes, “The best moments in our lives are not the passive, receptive, relaxing times… The best moments usually occur if a person’s body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult or worthwhile.” With each piece of art I embark on, the work is always the most difficult work I have ever done. When I am at my most overwhelmed and “baffled,” inundated with technical problems, it turns out that I am also at my happiest.

I don’t always really know where the inspiration for my artwork comes from. The Latin word musa^[1], “source of inspiration,” comes closest to describing the entity or entities that this form of animation, of which I can’t quite put my finger on, originates from. The inspiration is partially from me (prior experiences, etc.) but a larger “something else” is responsible for a large portion of it – and of course some of it comes from other people.^[2] To paraphrase a principle of serendipity, I am the beneficiary of agreeable brainstorms that I am not always necessarily looking for. They seem to come from an unvisited place, like elaborate dreams about realistic places the dreamer has never consciously been to. As an artist, I feel compelled to express the various and assorted concepts that stir me the most. This multifaceted aspect at work in my thought processes contributes immensely to the somewhat eclectic nature of my art.  The hope is always that my works can be inspirational to others and will in some way assist in the continual and phenomenal initiation of serendipity for whomever manages to receive it.

Boop Duped. Courtesy of John Skaggs.

But the question is: does inspiration typically come to those who are not actively pursuing or contemplating new ideas? If inspiration works anything like insight, the answer is “yes.” Insight comes about through the multidimensional process of problem solving. Many inventors over the years have described insight as the proverbial “light going on” seemingly out of nowhere – but they also almost unanimously relate that the light  usually does not go on immediately after periods of intense rumination and frustration. No, it magnificently happens mostly in a period of rest or sleep after they had temporarily given up on the specific problem and its aggravations. They “slept on it,” so to speak, for a duration. I see it as an interval of less-forced mental activity that puts less stress on the idea integration processes of the brain. The point I am making is that the inventive artist who, aside from conscious deliberation, often works out problems subconsciously and may not, for this reason, perceive the phenomenal source of their insight or inspiration readily. On the other hand, if inspiration is completely serendipitous, it implies that other spiritual forces are involved. I actually believe that it is a combination of both: 1.) If one seeks a solution to a problematic artistic endeavor they must willing to let the creative process run its course. 2.) If one has need of inspiration, they must be open to the reception of compatible things not always sought after (try that one on for size!). So creativity can be pre-conceived or unintentional. I would venture to say that the most effective artwork would be of the variety in which both dynamics are present and work in conjunction with each other.

Photo courtesy of John Skaggs.

Also, and putting as bluntly as possible, the creative process for any particular artist always proceeds out of a desire to “artificialize,” for lack of a better word, various aspects of conscious or subconscious existence.  In modern and post-modern artwork, such as expressionism and surrealism, it is most likely to be a combination of both. Artworks can  be highly inspirational, innovative, and real, but what they depict is obviously not reality itself. Not exclusive from such art movements such as minimalism; suprematism; abstract art; etc., which so-called experts falsely claim is pure or “unmasked,” all works of art are idealistic because they are intrinsically embodied in a cultural world view of some sort. The fundamental perception contained in the sociology of art is this: artistic expression tends to address or comment on social and cultural issues of the socioeconomic, religious and political worlds the artist lives in or comes into contact with. We are not completely controlled by culture, but we are not completely free of it either.

Inevitably, a purist artisan’s inspiration is also to express beliefs which are contained in his or her artwork to the viewing public for various social and cultural reasons, directly or indirectly.

To encapsulate, inspiration is not totally serendipitous and it is not totally idealistic, it is, rather, a combination of both in various degrees.“Insight” operates within the inspiration process and is the key or desired element of inspiration.

*** John Skaggs is a Bay Area native who currently resides in the Oakmore district of Oakland Ca. His paintings, drawings and sculptures are exhibited in various local venues and at Patten University where he teaches.  Please contact at (510) 530-8411 or Pattenskag@aol.com.

^[1]

Musing : to become absorbed in thought.

^[2]

The consumption of large supplements of caffeine have also been known to initiate inspiration.

“Process” is a heavy word in video game design.

Image taken from http://zobeide.debacle.us . Original game content by Robert Yang.

It refers to procedurality, the ways in which a computer manipulates or generates data. It also refers to proceduralism, the idea that a video game is a formal system of rules and interactions, not a narrative nor a simple toy. Most often, it refers to the iterative process, the act of prototyping over and over again until the game is least awful. The game industry and nascent game development schools they sponsor would have you believe that best practice involves mastery of all three. They want you to think the act of making video games is some sort of art or science, an arcane magic performed only by hyper-literate and experienced masters.

And they’re right. For now.

It’s impossible for the game industry to make a game in a fit of anger; first you must research a demographic, focus-test a concept, then begin pre-production. By then, you won’t remember what anger ever felt like.

It is impossible for the academy to make games; most of them don’t know how. They’ll tell you how a game influences society, but not how to influence society with games. They live in the past, reliant on the industry to do their research for them and to tell them what is possible.

It is impossible for the art world to even comprehend games. Narrative-based single player games, often demanding hours of playtime and hundreds of hours of game-literacy cannot be consumed in a public gallery. Meaning-making in the art world, for most people, is confined to reading short paragraphs printed on small white plaques affixed to walls.

But one day, video games will belong to people. Game development will not be art nor science nor wizardry, but a common pastime shared by millions. Children will sell video games on sidewalks for 25 cents each. Mothers will show their daughters the games they made with their grandmothers. The idea that only professional programmers can make games will seem as patronizing and insulting as the notion that only electricians can operate light switches.

That’s one possible future of “process as pastime” – a future that won’t happen in our lifetimes. The art world, academy, and commercial game industry all have vested interests in rigidly defining the process of game development. That way, museums can stay relevant to young people under a banner of “new media,” universities can attract funding and students’ tuition dollars, and advertisers can sell your attention to the highest bidders.

In this way, process is a heavy word – but also an unchanging word, a static word – a dead word, weighing down upon the living.

My name is John-Paul Real. And I am what some consider an artist. I have been drawn to art, and the artist lifestyle ever since I can remember, honestly.

I was about 4 years old. I remember learning how to read from Dr. Seuss’s “Cat in the Hat”, and being enthralled with the sheer wonders of colorful characters that he developed, as well as the interesting, and funny rhymes he would invent for his stories. But it was then that I truly found a love for art. The fact that someone could create not only these crazy words and rhymes, but the wonderful drawings as well, from their own mind, was certainly remarkable to me. Even at a young age. And from then on, I was on a secret mission to become an artist myself.

Image courtesy of the artist.

My pen name is Mi$hap. This is because my father had the frame of mind that my brother and I were going to be sports stars when we grew up. So the fact that I fell in love with art, and wanted to begin a career as an artist, was somewhat of a mishap. Yet I decided to see where it could go for a while. And even though my father latched on to my drawing skills, I have a rebellious nature, and wandered away from art, and started getting more focused on sports activities such as football, skateboarding, and snowboarding. All the while, subconsciously wanting to make my name as an artist. Unfortunately, the skills I breached upon early in my teens, was let go of in high school to pursue other activities such as football, snowboarding, and social events. So my time for art was put on the back burner.

I always kept the love of art in my heart and mind though. And many times I would be inspired by so many things in life to go out and do something artistic. Events like concerts, traveling the country, sporting events, nature, etc., would always strike a chord in me to try and create something evocative of the inspirational subjects I heard, saw, felt. And it wasn’t until about early 2007, that I decided to get back into my love of art, and the artistic process. My Mother had just passed away, and I was moved to start painting. Although I did not want to travel the common brush stroke route in creating a piece, I was always intrigued by graffiti, and spray art. So I decided to embark on trying a different method. I resorted to spray paint on canvas. Which I instantly fell in love with, and have continued to attempt to accomplish the images that I get in my mind on canvas.

Image courtesy of John-Paul Real.

There really is no direct path I take when creating my projects. In fact, I usually get inspired by images I see driving down the road, and find a color scheme that fits the image I am trying to produce. Then it’s finding the right size of canvas that will fit my objective. This mode of operation has made me realize that my “style” is better formatted for medium to larger canvases. My work is usually attributed to my love of music as well. Which in a sense, is the feeding force of my drive to finish a project. I love listening to loud music, preferably bass music, to excite me, and keep me moving to finish the project at hand.

In closing, there is no telling where my style will travel, and if and when I ever get satisfied with my own work, as I have a tendency to never really like the projects I finish. And merely want to do a better job each time. But one thing is certain, I LOVE doing it. It brings such a joy to my life. And in some instances, others as well. I probably won’t ever stop this passion I have built up inside of me, and I’m perfectly fine with that.

Mi$hap

Digital reconstruction. Digital media.

By Tyson Frederick

It is a human’s job to be an artist.  It is the artist’s job to think about an idea, to think about the self, to think about consciousness. When I think of process, it is the state or mode of being.  There is a harmonic connection of the artist between material, idea, and application.  At any relative point in an artist’s production and process, we can interpret the object as a perception of the artist.  Upon this empathy, one can reflect on their own horizon lines of opinion and relate what is presented to them with what seems to be true.

The definition of “process” must encapsulate that feeling experienced while producing work. Artists’ acute awareness seems to be rather unique; artists can project and produce something that isn’t directly tangible. An artist’s creation is produced from conceptual thought and abstract thought.  Knowledge (what the individual perceives in and as themselves) and the unknown (a phenomenal accumulation of things that have yet to be understood) are two great sources for artwork.  These two qualities seem to be contraries.  As an artist or viewer encounters something, be it known or unknown, they become more  familiar or less familiar with what is seen in direct proximity by cuing old relationships and experiences that are most similar, to the point the object is understood or misunderstood in it’s own peculiar way by the viewer.  This comfort or discomfort that arises in the manipulator or viewer creates a dynamic relationship with each artistic object and is a crucial interaction for understanding the artistic practice.  Objects will be viewed with some sort of appearance or interpretation.  Unfamiliarity often makes stronger impressions on the viewer because the event becomes exploratory rather then of recollection.

Boethius notes. Digital media.

The method and the medium may be particular of each individual artist.  Each artist’s idea of what it takes to develop is different, but there may be a commonality of the particular cases of each artist, a type of common framework that could be considered for understanding.  This framework is the willingness to proceed under unexpected circumstances by making and arriving at a conscious choice.  If the choice is to be unconscious in method and application, possibly resulting in abstraction, then so be it still by choice of the artist.  Particular reasoning to the artist which address conceptual or aesthetic choice perhaps illuminate the truth of the matter within the artist and likewise, the resulted artwork.

Abstract landscape. Digital media.

Congregations of people develop artisan conceptuality. In this sense, it’s necessary to research influential ideas about creation in order to better understand reality’s hints at truthful perception.  Everyday life is full of unknown truths; to communicate with those aspects of life grants opportunities of freedom from existing pattern and belief.

I’d like to think that through analysis of artistic process, we will expose a fine line between experience and fact.  Artists are searching for everything new on a consistent basis.  Within these frameworks, theorists and practitioners make enormous discoveries towards the in-depth and interconnected construction of reality to discover the abstract nature of each individual’s perceptions and how these individual perceptions can shed light on conceptions of what might be eventually known as a universal truth.