On Process

I have just woken up. Turning over slowly in my bed, I reach for my phone. I know that I shouldn’t. I know that it is too early. If I allowed just a moment to relieve myself of digital dogma, perhaps I would not be so captivated by the gallery of presentations before me. Perfectly curated pages, images edited to the most sublime quality, and countless likes (which I of course mistake for affirmations) surround me like a storm. They taunt me to no end until I assume that my art is not enough. Ones and zeros comprise a wasteland where our confidence goes to die, only to be replaced by temporary dopamine highs. We are trapped by an illusion and entranced by a mirage, both working in tandem with our ruthless inner critic, resulting in a feeling of inadequacy. We become rash, distrusting of our own apparatus’ and, most of all, insecure.

We are not facing a new problem, but a new mutation. The digital age and the rise of social media have aided in creating this new strain. One purveys these pages in absolute disbelief at the rate at which great art is released. Staring at entire catalogs we think that our counterparts are crafting Mona Lisa’s every day. In the torrent of “talent” that we face, we lose sight of our way. We lose sight of the work that is required of us.

Our inner critic would have us believe that what we are creating must be perfect from the onset of ideation. As burgeoning practitioners, it is all too easy to feel overshadowed by the greatness exemplified in the catalogs of the artists that we hold dear. We can get trapped in the idea that the work before us is the original canvas, the very first shot, the initial chapter, script, or score. Apart from just being wrong, it is also a blatant lie. It makes us believe that great art occurs in a vacuum, or by a stroke of rare genius. We tell ourselves that we are not talented enough. By this, we mean that we do not intrinsically possess some magic ingredient. We craft an elaborate myth that attributes all the successes of the world's greatest artists to “talent” or in other words: luck. Consequently, we abandon ourselves. We trick ourselves into thinking that a work of art is only ever a “miracle.”

Without work, there are no miracles and there is no magic. The miracle, the stroke of luck, and the heavenly revelation occur within one’s process. It occurs within one’s deliberate pursuit of a truth which, if realized, one is responsible for. Without Process, we are involved in a manner of making that is devoid of deliberate intent and, by extension, responsibility. We must err on the side of Process because it allows us to trust ourselves and our art. We must be willing to create things that we would like to claim as ours, wholeheartedly. We must be willing to create things that we may be ashamed or fearful of because it is in those emotions that we find a responsibility to ourselves, our artwork, and our world that make art worth creating.

Creating is a distinct type of trial because it does not promise us anything. It is a struggle, a game of resistance that is worth playing. Oftentimes, members of our tribe make the honest mistake of conflating “ease” with “freedom” and “difficulty” with “resistance.” Partaking in this manner of thinking, these practitioners believe any structure, at all, is a restriction and therefore, a detriment to the art. Nature would have us believe otherwise.

We can imagine several acorns falling from a tall oak tree in a distant forest. As time goes on, some of the acorns attempt to embed themselves into the dirt, hoping to grow into large trees. Yet countless acorns die, and those that grow pale in comparison to the trees around them. By chance, there may only be one that will grow in matched magnificence of the tree that it came from. It is all a gamble. It is in the tree's nature to drop the acorns, and it is in the acorn's nature to fall. Ease. Both are designed to grow and yet, some fail. All will die, at some point. Resistance. Similarly, there are some of us, trees, who may never drop our acorns for we fear that they will not grow. Imagine if a tree, holding on to its acorns, never allowed them to fall. Think of how its branches would droop low, and how the tree would eventually sink and die. It would be interred within the Earth, having never produced anything. This is the paralysis we often face when attempting to create. It can be hard for one to even begin to create, especially when we measure ourselves against others. We are only paralyzed in this way because we have forgotten. We have forgotten that Nature, who is supremely gifted, does not know fear or failure. Both are inevitable, but they cannot be our concern.

Creation is far simpler for Nature, and yet it resorts to Process when faced with resistance. Even Nature, which wields the ability to create life, cannot create a masterpiece with each and every chance. Even Nature must play the game. So, what of us then? Should we be so quick to discourage ourselves when we, with our mortal hands, are unable to actualize what we hope to create? We are but trees sprouted from the acorns of Nature, not Nature itself. If Nature must abi de by a process in order to create, then so must we. Each of us is responsible for the development of a process that is distinctly our own. One that allows us to create, no matter how hard it may seem.

Nature understands that the acorn, once planted, must be nurtured and protected. Though invisible, it has great potential. It must wait to be seen, or else it will be ravaged and die beneath the dirt. It must be planted in rich soil, watered when necessary, and kissed by sunlight. Nature has no talent, it simply does what it feels it must do. It carries out its instinct with calculated and deliberate intent and when it fails, it presses on. We must be willing to do the same and we must be patient about it. It may take time for the oak tree to grow, but we are not concerned with time in its base form. Rather, we are committed to a cause that is worthwhile. One which, when sprouted, may stand the test of time.

We must be willing to work in spite of fear and doubt, as they are not our business. We cannot be concerned with the growth of other acorns. We must be the ones to nurture our thoughts and ideas into fruition. Above all, we must be the servants of our own miracles and the stewards of our own kingdoms.

In a more explicit defense of Process, let us observe the craft of writing in comparison to mathematics. One could argue that writing is the more liberal of the two processes, and mathematics is the more rigid. But similar to numbers, letters and words are also values. When one writes, they are not limited to expressing values that they are trying to solve as only numerical values e.g. one can write “1” as “one” and they will both be understood as long as the context permits so. Although, one would not write out the word “one” as “o-n-e” and the word “plus” as “p-l-u-s” in the problem of “1+1” because doing so does not express the actual singular value of “1” that is needed to find a solution to the problem, and we cannot do arithmetic with letters in this way.

Also, the symbols to denote processes in writing are different from mathematics. In math, one adds (+), subtracts(-), multiplies (x), and divides (/). A writer does the same, just not with symbols. The procedures central to the processes within one's practice are there to guide us to a solution. We have mobility due to these processes and we can even use this mobility to break procedure, as long as we arrive at a solution. Additionally, (see? mathematics) these procedures allow us to break our “problem” down into smaller pieces. In mathematics, each and every single thing one does is done with the intent to solve a “problem.” When approaching a mathematical equation, one is forced to accept each isolated value for what it is, whilst simultaneously understanding its context in the greater problem. By doing so we can find a solution, an answer.

Let us take it one step further with “100 x 10.” As we begin to solve this problem, we must acknowledge the individual value “0” in “10.” Then, by understanding its proximity to the “1” in “10,” we know that it is neither “1” nor “0,” nor is it the combined values of the two. It is “10.” We would do the same process when looking at “100.” The point is that we do the same thing with words, this is how we read. Letters are individual values that, when combined with other letters, form words. Words, by extension, are new individual values that, in chorus, create sentences. This then proceeds to paragraphs, then pages, and so on and so forth. It is the basis of a larger practice performed with the desire to reach “an answer.” It is one way to arrive at Truth.

As artists, in any medium, we must first identify these isolated values. Then, we must use our intuition to ascertain the values around them and dictate their relevance to one another. It is all calculated and intentional. Process is not static, it is dynamic. It allows us to move through the dense fabric of our thoughts. It is not restrictive for the sake of restriction, but for the sake of freedom. Art is a solution to a problem and a creation from the womb of ideation. As such, it requires a way of arriving at that solution. It requires Process. It is by these means that this has been written. These words, held in such close proximity to one another, arrive at a particular truth for which I am responsible. These are merely thoughts: acorns from a tree, invisible beneath fertile soil, protected in the dark.