On Creativity: The Secret to Creating Great Art

    My stint as a visiting artist at Hartwick College earlier this year was nothing like I expected yet everything I could have wanted. Being placed somewhat unexpectedly in the role of educator alongside the familiar one of puppet-builder proved both challenging and rewarding in a myriad of ways I could have never anticipated. It is an old axiom that the teacher learns more than the students. I found this to be very true. One of the most surprising aspects of teaching for me was the way it confronts you in a very real and tangible way with what you know.

     Since the end of my residence, I have been slowly trying to compile observations about living the creative life in a series of essays. I am attempting to confront the realities of the creative process in as pragmatic and rational manner as I can. I do this partly to record my own ideas in a coherent form, but mostly out of a sense of gratitude to my former students and colleagues. It is my fervent hope that these writings can help others along their journey. To this end, I will endeavor to speak in the broadest possible terms, using the word "Artist" in it's most general sense.  

    On a personal note to all those I associated with during my Residency: I apologize for those moments when I could be cranky irrational and overly demanding. The only defense I have to offer is that I felt that I could relentlessly demand excellence from you because time and again you proved capable of it.
I am extremely proud of the work we did together!

"Here are my Principles, and if you don't like them...well, I have others!"

-Groucho Marx

The Secret of Creating Great Art

There is a moment that every working creative dreads. It is that moment when an enthusiastic and appreciative person asks “How do you do that?” They don't mean how was one specific project accomplished. They want to know how to PAINT, How to WRITE, How to ACT! It as if the artist could, by some magical act of beneficence tell them a simple universal truth that would part the veil and magically welcome the questioner into the sacred order. Any answer that can be given is going to come as a terrible letdown. It will ring false or trite in the ears of the audience. They come to you seeking to unlock Truth and Beauty and are forced to make due with cliches like “Write what you know”.

No artist can tell you what you want to learn in a few short sentences. They can give you a few pointers, certainly they can draw you a map, but you need to embark on your own voyage. The process is always going to be your greatest teacher. I have been fortunate enough to have had the guidance of many wonderful instructors, both in a formal and casual capacity, and have found their insights of inestimable value. At the end of the day, however, I must admit it was the wood that taught me the most about how to carve.

I have discovered that there is,after all, a great and universal truth to the creative process that can be stated simply and succinctly. Here it is-At long last revealed the secret that every successful artist knows! I should warn you, it's terribly disappointing the first time you learn it

The secret to creating great artwork is simply this: Make bad art.

Behind every masterpiece painted lies a graveyard of terrible drawings. Every soaring violin composition reached it's heights on a scaffold of hours worth of scratchy shrieked notes. That beautiful inspiring passage from your favorite writer is only possible because of pages and pages of poisonous prose. Those dancers that float effortlessly across the stage have fallen more times then you can count

This is another one of those stories we tell ourselves as artists: Some people are just “born with it”. They are naturally talented, and so opportunity falls in their laps. They are blessed by the gods with something divine that makes them more that the rest of us.
That's true. It's called a work ethic.

Don't get me wrong, Natural talent is real. There are people who are more musically inclined, more graceful, more visually oriented from birth. I have met these people. This is an excellent start. It opens the door for them but rest assured they have to climb the mountain just like anyone else.

Here's what really happens: A young person shows some aptitude for a task. They are praised by their friends and family, and so they continue to try. With a little more effort and a little more positive reinforcement, they realize that they really enjoy doing this more than anything else. Because they are doing what they love, they embrace it. They work hard and never notice the effort because they enjoy every minute. Obstacles become challenges. The desire for praise turns inward. Instead of wanting the praise of parents, the young artist wants to be the best, to say something original. Parents worry about these new found obsessions and start to encourage their child to do pursue other interests. Peers may even mock the young artist for their strange new obsession, but by now none of this matters as much as the passion. Like any other addiction, it takes hold of the person's being and begins to define them. As the process of learning the craft gets more difficult, the artist becomes less and less capable of extracting themselves until they can barely imagine doing or being anything else. I know this to be so because it is my story, along with thousands of others.

The special trait that artists have that you believe you don't isn't talent. It's passion and determination. Successful creative people are simply those who continued to work. Stop telling yourself that you aren't “Born with it” or whatever other convenient excuse you are hiding behind. Nobody wants to hear how you can't even draw a stick figure. That's a cop-out. If you truly want to draw, pick up a pad of paper and fill it in. Once you've finished that one, move on to the next. Make your mistakes like everyone else, and learn from them. Don't expect to get it right the first time. You won't. Keep trying. Each attempt teaches you something new. Remember, you are honing a skill. It's a lifelong process.

Food for thought

Here's something to consider:

Look down at your clothing. What are you wearing? Does it fit you? Is it comfortable? Did you think very much about it before you put it on, or like me, did you just pick the first items that appeared to be clean? Even if you took elaborate care and thought in choosing every item you wore- making certain your shoes offset your shirt just right, and so forth- here's something so simple and obvious that it probably never even occurred to you at the time: Every garment you are wearing was most likely made by another person. There are of course rare exceptions to this statement, but chances are even if you have made every item of your own wardrobe, it is unlikely that you also harvested the raw material, processed it, dyed it, and wove it into a cloth. These activities were all done for you by other people who you will, in all probability, never meet.

They might live on the opposite side of the world, or two houses away for all you know. Now think about the hundreds and hundreds of items you use every day, from the tools you use, to the food that you eat, to the place where you live. Every one of these things represent a moment in the life of another living person with thoughts, loves, and dreams like yours. They each have friends and family as well. They made these things for you. They most likely never knew or cared that the thing they were doing in that moment was for you. Whatever their reason for creating the object in question whether it was an exquisitely crafted piece, made with the joy of a crafts-person, or the cheapest piece of mass produced garbage produced at the end of a long shift, somebody made these things. Each and every life in this society is utterly dependent on the work of anonymous others.

If you met these people face to face, what would you say to them- The person who designed your computer, who harvested the cotton for your clothes, or made your favorite cup? Would you want to thank them, or offer criticism? What if you discovered they were the person you cut off in traffic, or the guy you smiled at in the street?
Would this change anything?

Here it is, the fact that is so massive, that it is nearly impossible to see . It is as easy to take for granted as gravity or oxygen and just as necessary for our survival:

We are all, in the most real and tangible sense, connected to every other human life on this planet. Our actions, for good or bad change the world around us in ways we can never comprehend. Regardless of belief or politics, Each and every person is an important part of our world that helps shape it into what it is, regardless of whether they understand that or not.

Taking this into consideration, don't we owe every person we meet a huge debt of gratitude? Isn't it our duty to, at very least, be kind to one another?

Under this light, the highest human aspiration would be to make the world a better place for everyone else in whatever way we can.  

Sketchbook Project: Inner cover- The Big Reveal

The more I thought about it, the more obvious it was to me which topic I should chose for the Sketchbook Project.

Dinosaurs.
Dinosaurs are cool.

Not only that they're a good conduit for some of my obsessions:
Birds
Bestiaries and field guides
Dragons
Comparative Anatomy

     To be honest during my childhood, I never had the typical all-consuming obsession with dinosaurs that boys are supposed to, but, then dinosaurs were much different back then. I liked them, to be certain and had my favorites, but back then dinosaurs were thought of as huge lizards, cumbersome slow and stupid. I was always more interested in behavior. Elephants and lions were more intriguing and tangible to me. Suddenly in the nineties,  dinosaurs were reshaped as though they were made of Plasticine. Lumbering cold blooded  prehistoric monsters became active, agile, well adapted animals with complex social structures. Dragging tails lifted from the ground to become elegant counterbalances. sprawling legs straightened and became muscular running limbs. Chest cavities expanded to make room for the big hearts and lungs of warm blooded creatures. Dinosaurs became beautiful and fascinating, more like birds than reptiles.

    Today with the combination of new technology and amazing recent discoveries out of the deserts of Mongolia and China, dinosaurs are wilder and more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. We've discovered astounding new species and reexamined what we believed we knew. There are answers to puzzles we thought unsolvable, and exiting new lines of inquiry to explore.
In my sketchbook, I intend to concentrate mostly on the most birdlike aspect of dinosaurs- feathers. This will give me a focus and the chance to investigate some of the most captivating current notions. I intend to be as accurate as possible using the most up to date information available, but inaccuracies are inevitable as new discoveries surface. Even the great Charles R. Knight couldn't avoid this.

The color of the cardboard cover reminded me of the sort of stone where you might find fossilized tracks. I liked the monochrome of the inner cover, so I drew  with coffee. The drawing is bisected by the pages so that you can't immediately see what is casting the shadow.
The dinosaur casting  a long shadow is Compsognathus. They were small theropod dinosaurs about the size of a chicken. He is following the footprints of a Greater Rhea, a South American cousin of the ostrich. Without giving too much away, this is not going to be my last bird/dinosaur juxtaposition.

There you have it. My Sketchbook Project is officially underway. More updates coming soon!

Save The Arts! An Open Letter to The Upper Darby School Board

The school district I attended is planning to cut it's arts and physical education programs in a shortsighted attempt to save money. I think that this is an absolutely devastating and foolish decision. Everything that can be done to prevent this should be attempted,  Please do your part and sign the petition Here. I wrote the letter below to express just how important this issue is. I regret that I cannot be more personally involved due to the fact I no longer live there. Please feel free to forward this to anyone you feel needs to see it. I know I plan to.

Dear Upper Darby School Board:

    You have recently announced plans to cut funding for the arts in your schools, effectively eliminating them. While this may provide you with short term financial benefits, I believe that the consequences of this action are greater than you could anticipate I am writing to encourage you to reconsider. I work as a professional puppeteer who tours throughout elementary schools all over the country. I therefore get to witness the impact the arts have on the lives of children. Unfortunately for your purposes, these effects are not easily quantifiable. How do you measure laughter or inspiration? Unlike most other subjects, the nebulous benefits of arts education are notoriously difficult to gauge. Fortunately, as both a professional artist and alumnus of you school system I am into the unique position to provide you with some statistical information.

    According to The Pennsylvania Youth Suicide Prevention Initiative's website (PAYSPI), an average of 1300 young Pennsylvanians take their own lives. I can state with absolute authority that in the period between 1986-1993 that, because of active participation In Upper Darby's arts programs, at least one less young person cut their own life short.

    Some well meaning adult told me during my senior year that someday I would look back on my high school career as the best time of my life. They were not at all amused when I responded by jokingly requesting to be shot. This was typical of my attitude towards school, which I also recall comparing to a minimum security prison. I was an introverted and socially awkward student, combating clinical depression and the added social stigma of having been classified as “Learning Disabled”. I was relentlessly bullied by my peers for being “weird” and “different”. The overall result was that I was one of those students that are the bane of a teacher's existence: a reasonably bright student who refused to apply himself. I was miserably unhappy and contemplated suicide often. I even made a few attempts at it.

    When I tell you that participation in several excellent arts programs, including Summerstage, Marching band, and various visual art classes, saved my life, I am by no means exaggerating or employing hyperbole. Learning that I had some aptitude for drawing and theater gave me a focus and sense of purpose that I couldn't find in any of my other courses. Through these programs, I found that I was no longer alone. I met new friends who showed me that would never fit in with the mainstream, I was funny, talented, and likable. I learned to cherish my “weirdness” as a manifestation of my creativity. I clung to the arts like a life raft. I auditioned for every production I could and began to spend lunch and study hall periods in the art department whenever the understanding faculty would let me. I found something to live for. Through persistence and hard work I developed my abilities to the point where I was accepted to a good art school. Today I am a living example of a very different statistic: I am one of the 5% of art school graduates who work in their chosen field.

     I hope that when it comes time for you to make your final decision, You will consider my story. Arts programs can actually save lives. I realize that my experience is not typical, but consider this: while they may be in the minority, there are others out there like myself who need the arts programs on a fundamental level. Their lives are worth saving. Mine certainly was.

John A. Ryan

Puppeteer and Sculptor
Upper Darby High School Class of 1993

Recovery

       Exactly one week ago after meeting a significant deadline, and entertaining  friends at what i think was a pretty good party in my home, I was truck by two unusual pieces of fortune. The first being that shortly after the last guest departed and I could finally relax and turn in for the night, my immune system also decided that it had earned a well earned break and let a particularly virulent stomach flu through it's defenses unchallenged. I will due the reader the small courtesy of not describing this in any greater detail than to say it was notably worse than any travel ailment I have ever contracted. The second piece of fortune was that after a lifetime of abuse at my hands, my laptop had come to the conclusion that it had done it's last noble duty and shut itself down permanently (my adversarial relationship with modern technology is near legendary).  So there I was, laid up for three days unable to eat solid foods and with no electronic means to distract myself from my discomfort. Honesty compels me to admit that at the time I was not feeling particularly lucky at the time.

        I did what all sick people do when there is nothing else to occupy their time. I slept, drank plenty of fluids, read, and thought. I thought about how much I enjoyed getting lost in a good book. When was the last time I had done that? I realized that I do not draw very much anymore either. I had gotten a laptop to write with and instead I spent most of my time basically channel surfing from video to puzzle game to mildly entertaining website. I have wasted countless hours of my precious and finite life doing this! Meanwhile the back storehouse of my mind was piled high with ideas for any number of projects and stories that would be perfectly usable with just a bit of work. Instead of putting in the effort required when I came across one of these artifacts of thought. I would sigh, mutter the word someday under my breath and go back to exploding colored orbs on a screen. I was behaving like a man who was given a treasure map and used it to patch the hole in the roof!
         I looked at my lifeless computer on the floor with it's jaunty checker-cab paint job (The friend who sold it to me neglected to mention that it was yellow until it was too late. I had to fix that somehow. I always sort of liked the results). I thought about what was stored on it. If I could turn it on one last time, it wouldn't be links to the network of distracting websites I would rescue, it would be the story drafts and artists statements, and various photo files  I would try to preserve. Maybe some of them weren't very good, but dammit they're mine, truly mine and I want them back!  (Another friend assures me that I should fortunately be able to save most if not all of these). My life was being frittered on trivialities. How had I permitted this to happen?

     As I regained my health, My sense of perspective recovered with it. As soon as I could manage I erased my access to those games that were all too easy to spend a day playing and brought nothing productive into my life. I grabbed a notebook and sketch pad from a nearby table and began to flesh out one of those thoughts that had obsessed me in a minor way for years. I did not complete it, it may be years before I can. I have at least made a good beginning and this is sometimes enough to be going on with. For now I am reading more and enjoying the slow meticulous work that must follow the first rush of a new creative venture, rediscovering the simple and easily forgotten truth that to walk a great distance, you must travel one step after another. I can proudly tell you that probably the most time I spent in front of a screen since last week  has been writing this entry. Once I saw my bad habits for what they were and what they cost to maintain, it became very difficult to contemplate returning to them. If the circumstances that led to this minor epiphany are not in retrospect extremely fortunate, then I do not understand what luck is!