Making Art

People make art for many reasons. For a cause, for money, for therapy. As a time waster, as a way of expressing one’s self, as a private expression, for company, to preserve memories, as a way of bonding with others, or just for sheer beauty. But the inalienable fact is that people make art. Art does not appear out of the ether or grow on trees. People make art. But I feel sometimes we forget this. We subconsciously think of art as something that manifests into the world through its own magnificence. Complete in its vision of itself. When I show people works I have made people assume the thing on page is exactly what was in my head. The opposite is normally true. When I see one of my own works what I see is 50% my own limitations of skill, 49% mistakes, and 1% my vision.

There are two schools of thought on how to treat art that are as opposed to each other as they both tyrannical. The Death of the Author. Which states that anyone’s take on the work is a valid as the creator’s. Which in practice means the critic doesn’t have to listen to facts and reason. If someone wants to say that The Lion King is a vicious character-assassination of the poor they don’t have to care about what the actual point of the filmmakers or what actually happens in the film (Timon and Pumbaa are not only “poor” in as much as wild animals can be but they don’t even own land. Making them poorer than Hyenas. And the “Rich/poor” divide is at best a minor theme in the movie). The fallacy of Death of the author is “The Author’s take on their work is just as valid as anyone elses, no more or less” this argument ignores that having facts will make your take more or less valid. And with the exception of Stephen King on Cujo the author always has more facts about the work than anyone-else (King was suffering from drug addiction at the time and claims to have no memory of writing that book). Normally once someone has taken Death of the Author to heart they will only accept their own take on the work. Having disposed of the person who knows the work best they have no reason to listen to anyone-else. They are right by virtue of being right.

The other idea that is just as dictatorial is the maxim “There is no art. Only artists!” That the artist is the true work of importance and the work is just a vehicle to promote the artist. An artist can declare anything to be art and said art about whatever they say it is with little work put into making the work speak for itself. The work only has value because the artist made it.

I call both these terms dictatorial and tyrannical very deliberately. These two philosophies put their respective beneficiaries on a god-like pedestal. The Critic or the Artist can now perform alchemy and turn one substance into another at will. The critic can declare a work about anything they want and all must bow down to them. The artist can make anything art and cannot be challenged or told they have failed. One speaks divine truth, the other is divine.

And make no mistake. These two concepts are at odds with each-other. When people tried to reinterpret Duchamp’s over-discussed urinal as a statement about the beauty of forms in “dirty” objects, calling it a “Buddha of the Bathroom” Duchamp was furious. His work was meant to be read in the way he intended and nothing else.

 

I have many problems with both these outlooks. But one thing I’d like to point out is how both of them somewhat erase the idea that art is something that is made, over time, with human effort and human error.

The critic treats the work as if it just appeared out of nowhere. Exactly as it was meant to be. The postmodern artist cannot afford to admit to any flaw or failure for fear of their magical aura fading away. And many modern artists don’t even make anything at all. Some just find objects and claim they have made them art or just have abstract thoughts can call them art. Art as something that is made by human hands over time is something that is being obscured by these ideas.

The way people make art is rarely discussed beyond maybe the most technical details. Perspective, two-thirds framing, colour theory. That sort of thing. But the way people go about making art as shown in books and movies is almost comical. The artist will either be lying on their sofa despondently or making a frustrated, impotent attempt at making a failing piece work. And then inspiration strikes them and in a manic display of energy they start making the work flawlessly. And the end result is exactly as they envisage it.

Maybe this is more proof of my incompetence than erroneous presentation, but in my experience it’s nothing like that at all.

Making art isn’t a transfer of an idea straight into the physical world. It’s a journey.

 

There are three phases in making a work of art. The mental, the Physical, and finishing the thing. Let’s start with the physical.

For the sake of good faith I must point out that a lot of what I write is based on my work in animation, which is what I’m studying. It may have biased me in some areas. But I have limited experience with writing, painting, metal work, photography, and most importantly sculpture, which I almost chose over animation. I feel all the things I say here are just as applicable to them as they are to animation.

 

Making art is tiring. It doesn’t always involve a lot of movement. But it can wear on your body. I’ve flopped down on my bed exhausted after working on pieces. That’s rare, but it does happen. And when you get tired it will affect the quality of your work. Sometimes it makes it better, normally it doesn’t.

While getting tired is rare I have on other occasions gotten my fingers or fingertips sore from sculpting work, my eyes tired and arms sore after life drawing. And it’s not uncommon after a lot of work for one’s head to feel heavy and sore. Like huge chunks of one’s brain have been replaced with sand. When any of these things happen it’s often best just to give up and go home for the day. You’re not getting you’re peak back today (Though I’m guessing many professional artists just have to work in this state or risk losing money. I hope when the time comes I will stand my ground).

Everything you do has limits. God only knows how different all the classic art works would have been if you could have given there makers all the tools we have today. But even living in the present day I am limited by what pencils I can afford. What paper I can get ahold of. What camera’s I can find at short notice. The lighting I can work with. How much information and reference I can find. And hundreds of other factors. I’m not saying this to whine or to make excuses for poor work but to point out just how much the limitations I have end up shaping the work in ways people don’t consider.

There’s also repetition. One thing that is never brought up in films about artists is how much repetition there is when making art. Oh the repetition can really get you down. I supposes seeing one person doing the same thing over and over again doesn’t make the greatest cinema. But it really does get to the core of how the idea that art is made is sort of erased from our culture. The thing about it that’s odd about is it can be positive and negative for both you and your work. It can obviously really drag. But it can also be soothing or even uplifting. And strangely it not always a case of one then the other. Sometimes it will start out soothing and turn into a drag, but sometimes it will happen the other way round. And sometimes it only goes one way. It can just be relaxing, or it can just be a drag. The latter is more likely if the repetitious action takes a long time to do for each cycle. If the action is complex or delicate it is likely to strain the mind. It’s harder to keep track of all the things that need to be done. And sadly when it’s something like this that’s when you need to be concentrating the most, even though this is when it’s the hardest. Sometimes when the repetition is just a drag and it’s making your brain hurt its best just walk away for a bit. But once again sometimes that’s not an option.

That’s how repetition can be good and bad emotionally. But it also effects the quality of your work regardless of your emotional state. I should point out that not all repetition in making art is necessary, but it is often useful for saving time or getting a consistent quality of work, this is great. But it has drawbacks. As time makes the idea fade you start deviating from the effect you’re trying to repeat. This is well documented effect. Listen to Homer Simpson from 1990, 2005, and 2019 and they’ll sound like three separate people. There are ways you can work to prevent this. Visual aids and strong plans can do a lot to keep you on track. But to err is to be human. And the big downside of choosing to use repetition is how it gets in the way of being creative. A non-repetitive approach will always give you more freedom to express yourself and make a more striking impression. Every second you’re just repeating yourself is time you aren’t learning or growing as an artist. In fact you can start stagnating and loosing skill. While you grow impatient you might start experimenting on side. Adding in little differences to try to find something new. On occasion you’ll find a better way of working. But what’s more likely is you’ll mess up the whole project.

And of course there’s time, as I alluded to above. The greatest of man’s adversaries. Even non-artists know stories of movies and games that came out bad because of time restraints. But it’s not like if things are going well time is just a non-factor If you’re being smart (Which I’m often not) you are always cutting things down or simplifying them just to save time. It hurts. But it has to be done. I’m only now starting to get the hang of how to do it and how important it is.

 

And of course one is always limited by skill. I don’t think that ever changes no matter how good you get.

 

 

So that’s the physical work. But making art is just as much about the thinking you do as the work you do with your hands.

The hardest part is when the whole thing is in your head. You have a glimmer in your head, or you have a group all goals you know you have to achieve. But you don’t know how to turn them into a consistent, solid idea you twist and tweak and try to make things match up. Yes sometimes you do have that big moment of inspiration I mentioned earlier. And I tend to get those moments more often than most or so it seems. Art teachers hate those big moments of vision because they want you to write about all the failed experiments you made before finding the right idea. And if you just have a great vision from the start people get cross. If everyone had these movements as often as do art teachers wouldn’t care so much.

But moments like this still aren’t the norm. Even for me it’s more common to have a flash of one strong idea and then having to flesh it out. More often when I have to is sit down and just think. No distractions. Just asking myself what I want to accomplish and that isn’t working. I sometimes go round in circles trying to hit a breakthrough. I put all the facts in order and try to see what works. And if I’m being smart I’m taking notes (I’m usually not). As I keep saying, your vision for the work fades over time. You can get bits of it or even the whole thing back in moments of clarity. But you have to work and think even when the vision is dull. When you’re fleshing out the ideas or adding in new ones to tie things together you may get one of those moments of clarity and realize the fleshed out or new ideas don’t quite fit your original vision. When that happens you can throw the new ideas out, abandon the vision, or tweak things so the new ideas and the original vision mesh. The third option is usually the correct one but sometimes you have to use one of the other two.

It’s not like once you have your eureka moment the magnificent vision in your head stays there, perfectly clear. It fades and warps. New ideas come in and distract you. And sometimes things are just forgotten until way later. And that can cause some annoying reworking you never wanted to do. And sometimes those bright ideas never come back. And that’s one of the hardest parts to bare.

 

Around this point is when you start making concept art. This part is always depressing. Trying to wrestle the ideas out into paper as they look and feel in your head and it never being good enough. I suspect this would be easier if I was better at drawing. But there are also gaps in your mental images that you don’t notice until the thing is on the page and you realize you don’t know where you actually wanted that guy standing. Obviously that shows why this stage is so important, but it’s grating as all hell to find one of these mental gaps. And it can take some serious reworking to iron these kinks out.

 

But in the end you’ll have a strong enough idea that you’re almost ready to get started. But before you do there’s another annoying phase to go through. Deciding how you’re going to it.

Hopefully some of this will have been covered in the first two stages. But you WILL have to really think hard about how you’re going to make the thing at some point. This stage is often depressing because it’s where you have to make compromises. What to cut, what to rush what to tone down. For me this hurts in particular because the concept art I make is often too detailed for good animation and I have to tone it down. It hurts.

 

When finally getting down to work it’s tempting to believe that the thinking stops and you just produce it like a machine, and in some small parts that will be the case. But for the most part if you want the work to be good you don’t stop thinking once you start working. You work and think. You can just go at it like machine. But if you are still think while you’re working you’ll be more engaged with the work and it will be better.

The natural flow of work will throw up new challenges all the time, unless maybe you’re a pro I guess. But if you’re doing well you’ll rise to meet them. There’s always something new to learn about your field.

This next bit is very true of animation, maybe more so than other mediums, or maybe this is just a me thing. But one the big intellectual challenges of making art is always switching gears. Once a piece of the work is done and I have to start a new scene or a new stage in the work my creative energy just grinds to halt and I almost have to reorient myself and start again. Art isn’t like marathon running were you can find a grove and stick with it.

There is downside to keeping your brain engaged like this. For me at least my perfectionism starts kicking in. Even when I’m not making actual mistakes I know what I’m doing could be better. There’s no frame of animation that I couldn’t trace better. No pose that couldn’t be a little more realistic.  Normally in the early stages of a project it’s very easy to get lost in this kind of perfectionism. It’s only later when time starts getting short that I wise up and start cutting corners. It would probably be better if I had a consistent pace of work across the board.

When I start making mistakes I sadly often act in way that makes the problem. I have spent hours trying make the expression of a character just right. And then I find my corrections are even worse than the original. And as I try to bring it back to the original that I didn’t like but at least suggested the feeling that I was going for I trip up more and more and become so frenzied that I tear the paper with my eraser.  I know this is a very animation-specific example. I’m sure there are equivalents in other mediums.

 

Going back to that big burst of passion and inspiration you always see in movies and books. That does happen. But it’s a short affair. The real test is keeping going after it subsides. Day in, day out. And then continuing to keep going when you’re so tired you have no idea why you’re doing this. When you look at your notes and can’t remember why you decided to do that that way and you just have to put faith in your past self that he made the right call. Even if it seems insane.

 

 

My father, who once worked in television, once said that a movie is never finished, it just stops. And I finishing a work is always hard. Even if you have all the bits you need there’s still more you can do. There’s always more you can do. Choosing what to do as you get closer to that deadline is hairpullingly stressful. But in the end you have to pull it all together. And as you do you spot a hundred extra flaws that you don’t have time to fix. And all the pieces never fit together as well as you like. You try to do something to fix it. And sometimes there’s a little you can do. But fate will out and you have to stop.

 

 

With everything I have covered here do you see why I hate this idea of the erasure of the Making of Art? This brilliant struggle is something we should respect. I know this must sound like I’m throwing myself a pity party. That’s not my intent. I’m simply trying to point out just how untrue the ideas of art appearing from nothing and appearing perfectly as intended truly are. (And maybe there is some bitterness towards postmodern artists who put in no work at all as well).

I don’t want to fetishize the suffering of the artist. Fetishizing suffering is never good (Except in the actual fetish community where the context and meaning of both those words is very, very different). An artist doesn’t HAVE to suffer to make good work. But we shouldn’t be ashamed of it either.

I don’t want to suggest that the amount of work is a factor in judging the final pieces quality either. Some of the worst movies and games had tons of work poured into them by people who were trying their hardest in an impossible situation. It’s tragic. But it doesn’t change the reality for the consumer. Conversely if hypothetically ‘The Godfather’ had been the easiest film in the world to make due to the skill of all involved it would not be less of a film for it,

 

The point I want to make is that art not magic. It’s hard work. When we’re young we think of art as magic. I remember the first time I tried to write a book. I sat down with pencil and piece of paper (It was 2001, Most tweens didn’t own computers back then) and waited for the story to just appear. Obviously I’m wiser now. But I feel like both the ideas of Death of the Author and No Art only Artists both unintentionally try to carry this child-like idea of artworks as magical into adulthood. But it’s not true.

 

A few days ago I discovered that the version of Simple Minds’ Don’t you (Forget About Me) that I’ve been listening to for 15 years is a radio edit. The full song is 7 minutes long. And now I’ve heard the full thing it’s more beautiful than ever. And the song’s composition makes a lot more sense. I thought I had the full story about the song. But there was more to learn.

It’s the same with all real works of art. There’s so much more beneath the surface, more intended by the music than I knew. And every art work is like this. The finished work is only a shadow of the making of it. And if we could see the full work it would be a thousand times more amazing. That is far more magical than treating the work like it came out the ether could ever be.