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Teaching old tricks to a new dog

By on April 29, 2009

If you’re going to draw an animal, a dog is a good choice.  Human beings and dogs seem to be on friendly terms.  And if you’re going to draw a dog, a Japanese Shiba is a good choice, too.  They’re good-looking dogs.  From what I’ve heard, they’re also quite intelligent.

Of course, human beings like to pride themselves on their intelligence.  We certainly can make lots of things – buildings and bikes, clothes and cakes.  So many things, in fact, that no one person could possibly know how to make everything.  I don’t know how to make a cake, for example.  I’m pretty sure the frosting is the last step—I’ve never seen anyone spreading frosting on uncooked batter.  Beyond that, my knowledge gets fuzzy.

While no one knows how to make everything, I’m guessing there are certain principles about the way things work that apply to many different activities.  Maybe that’s an important lesson from creativity.  Shouldn’t we be able to find some of the same principles in various pursuits?  

These were my thoughts as I went to visit Aki, a popular teacher at ArtLOFT.  I heard he would be drawing a Shiba, and since I like dogs and drawings, I was eager to see what he was doing.  Aki had just completed the Tokyo marathon, so I asked him whether he was an athlete or an artist.

“Do I have to choose?” he replied, as he began drawing.

“Well…no, I guess not” I said.  “It’s just that most people….”

“Did you know,” he interjected, “that the ancient Olympics were not just sports, but involved the arts too, like music, recitation, and even—in later years—painting?  Why do you suppose that was?”

I had no idea.  I said they didn’t have all our modern sports, like basketball or synchronized swimming, so they had to do something to fill the time.  I know—it wasn’t a very good answer.

“Those different activities complement each other, don’t you think?  There are many abilities people should develop, including art,” he said.

“Speaking of which, why are you drawing the dog like that?” I asked, changing the subject to avoid more of his questions.

“Like what?”

“Well, why are you starting with those simple shapes that barely look like a dog?  Why don’t you just draw the dog perfectly from the beginning?”
“Perfectly?” he asked.  “Perfection is an ongoing process of continually improving.  If you try to start out perfectly, you might never begin for fear of making a mistake.  Besides, if you’re already perfect, why bother doing anything?  So, I work in stages.”

“Stages?”

“Yeah, stages” he said.  “Not just a sequence of equal steps, but a big-to-small cycling toward the goal.  In the early stages, you do the big, general things, even in a loose or rough way.  Then gradually you make adjustments and improvements, progressing to the finer things.  Each level has its specific tasks and things to show you, but you can miss all that if you rush ahead to the details too soon.  It’s no different from making a house, or a dress, or a meal.”

Aha!—just as I thought, a common principle of creating.  I thought back on the times this approach could’ve saved me some frustration.  I was anxious to try it with something new and headed for the door.
“Where you going?” he asked.  “I’m not even finished.”

“I just remembered,” I replied, “I have to bake a cake.”

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