Thoughts on Art

Here are some thoughts I had recently about what it takes to make art, good or bad (whatever the distinction). My intention is not to be pretentious, and I hope it can provide you with some helpful considerations for any creative endeavor.

In order to make great art, you must be arrogant enough to think that you can. It's all a matter of knowing how to harness that ego into something that resonates with audiences. It takes practice, but it is possible to use your ego to your benefit, to really drive you and push you towards making that extra effort towards greatness. It's all a matter of reeling it back in when the ego starts having a negative impact on the work and the environment surrounding you. Your ego must be in constant conversation with the opposite side of your consciousness. The voice in your head that tells you that you don't have what it takes, that you aren't talented enough. Sometimes, one perspective is correct, and the other is not. You must know when to listen to one version of yourself and when to listen to the other. Sometimes, your own mind can hurt you when you try to create something beautiful, and it is in these times of great conflict when the most raw and authentic parts of your soul really shine. Being able to examine them is what will propel you towards great art.

Put simply, there are times when you come up with an idea. And one part of your head thinks: “wow, this is a really great idea. This is the best idea that anyone has ever had. This idea must be executed.” And so that arrogance gives you the motivation to create the work, to dedicate the time and effort, even if it is strenuous and trying. Then the other voice that comes along, the voice that says: this idea is stupid or unorignal And so, the confident ego must either accept the criticism or confront the voice and convince it to be quiet. It must be rational and objective in trying to prove why this idea is so great and must be seen to the end. That said, in trying to defend itself, the ego will acknowledge where the idea is half-baked and not fully formed. In noticing these parts, it will think of a way to remedy or improve upon those weak spots, and then through the conflict of both sides of your brain, something thoroughly thought out and inspired by passion and deep consideration will emerge.

This can certainly be a time-consuming process. Some days, one voice is more convincing than the other, and the other side may feel it must submit to defeat and not even try. It's essential to allow time for yourself to organically arrive at the other side of things. You need to understand that it's just the way art things go. The common saying, "Trust the process," comes to mind. You know that ultimately just giving into the full-speed ahead confidence of your ego will only result in something self-indulgent and incoherent, while believing everything your defeatist negative mind tells you will only impede you from making any art in the first place. It is why you must constantly remind yourself that these warring perspectives are a normal part of the process, and however long it takes for them to settle their differences and come to a solution is worth the long duration of the battle.

One of the most common obstacles I run into, specifically while writing a story or visualizing a film, is that I'll get really excited about something, and then boom, the mind says: "That is so trite, so cliche." Then the mind replies to itself: "You're right; what are some other ways we could approach this idea?" The mind will soon enough come up with some solutions, the other side of the brain hating each one. I get exhausted from overthinking it, and then, finally, when I have stopped thinking about the idea altogether, the most straightforward and organic approach to the work will appear to me randomly while minding something else. I had to think about it intensely at one point, and then when I had occupied my mind with something else, the truly original idea that had been incubating in my subconscious would appear.

The unfortunate thing I have found about making art is that, while they all invariably follow this same basic formula, how my mind solves or invents them is always unique to that specific creation. In a sense, I have to re-invent and re-discover a new creation style for each project. if I ever try to repeat the same mental process for one project that was successful for another, I find it will not inspire me in the same way again, and it will actually prove useless. So, the mental process is constantly re-shaped into something different for each endeavor I take on.

The simplest thing for me to do at the start of each project is to define precisely what it is I'm trying to accomplish (genre, tone, beats). Then, I make a list of all the diverse works of art that I have seen in the past that could inspire it (books, TV, movies, paintings, music, etc.). Then I enter into my so-called research period, I absorb everything, take notes of the things I like and the things I don't like, and then I start trying to come up with ideas from there, letting the best ones win out, and the more forgettable ones stay forgotten. Then, I repeat this process until I have something I am reasonably proud enough to show to people, where I can obtain their untainted, uncomplicated perspectives on the work to help me see it from a fresh angle.

It is always helpful, even if I only sometimes agree with their points of view. There used to be a time when any piece of advice that was given to me felt like something I actually had to act upon. But now, after years of knowing what I like and what I believe constitutes good art, I have a way of filtering out the notes that I believe will genuinely improve the work, and letting the rest be considered as just matters of personal taste. The key thing to remember is you can't make something that everyone will like. It doesn't exist! So, while taking others' thoughts into consideration is very important, ultimately, you must stay true to yourself and follow your vision as you see fit.

Sometimes, I will receive a note that I think can potentially diminish the impact or the intent of my work, but when I consider it again later on, I realize it can help my work be a little more accessible to audiences in certain ways. So, while it reduces the original vision of the piece, it can help more people resonate with it. After some time has passed, I will sometimes revisit a piece and be thankful for the person who gave the particular note. It isn't until all my initial attachment to the work has subsided that I can finally appreciate their suggestion.