musing
Dali, on Originality and Cliches
The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.
– Salvador Dali, in the preface to Pierre Cabanne’s Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp
Where good ideas come from
Interesting video.
Creative people (whether they be authors, painters, poets, carvers, composers, etc. etc.) are always asked where their ideas come from.
I think everyone has the capacity to be creative, if they want to be. If they are open to new ideas, and looking at old ideas from a new point of view, there are endless possibilities for the creative. And there are so many creative outlets possible for exploration.
This is the full, original text from Apple’s ‘Think Different’ campaign:
Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can praise them, disagree with them, quote them, disbelieve them, glorify or vilify them.
About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They invent. They imagine. They heal. They explore. They create. They inspire. They push the human race forward.
Maybe they have to be crazy.
How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?
While some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.
And like Apple and the above video mention, fields that don’t fall under the ‘creative’ category still require imagination, and curiosity, and passion. Creative comes from create; I think ‘creativity’ intimidates people who don’t actively strive for it because it is placed on such a high pedestal. When you look at it as a verb, create, it becomes less daunting and abstract.
People who are willing to be a little crazy are the ones who are willing to explore, to suggest a solution that sounds silly, who eager to look past what is the norm or what has already been done. And they are the ones who create change.
Sorry for the rambling web of thoughts.
-C
A quick note before bed
Fear of failure stops people from trying. It’s a self-filling prophecy, and one I want no part of.
SO TRUE.
Seriously. Describes me to a T. I think that was why I had such a hard time figuring out my major, because I wanted to do everything. I wanted to learn about photography, philosophy, costume design, art history, cinematography, journalism, poetry… I saw a movie about a woman who had like 22 (probably a lot less) bachelors degrees. I thought about modeling my life after her, but decided that might be a little crazy.
De-cluttering
I LOVE getting rid of stuff. I also love buying stuff, which means I always have a lot to get rid of. Win-win.
Clutter makes me feel stressed. Getting rid of things calms me down, and de-clutters my brain. Things are just that- things. Objects. I think there should be a limit as to how many objects we attach our emotions to. And I have fun deciding what objects I want to keep around, and what I pass on. My sister goes through everything before I make a trip to the thrift store, and she often takes shoes and clothes I’m getting rid of.
TV shows like Clean House and articles like this beg the question: How much stuff does it take before we’re happy?
I really enjoyed reading about one man’s decision to eliminate the meaningless things from his life. I very much doubt I could get down to 100 belongings, particularly as I inherited a lot of my mother’s possessions after she died. But I take inspiration from him. Everyone accumulates clutter; it’s inevitable. Everyone should therefore take time, even as infrequently as every few years, to de-clutter.
My mother did not share my theory. She loved things. In one of our homes, we had a library, an exercise room, a sewing room, a music room, and a room that was just storage. When we moved into a smaller house, we had a serious space issue. We did however have a separate building that was just storage. That’s not healthy. We had too much stuff for the amount of space we had. And I would much rather get rid of stuff so someone else can actually use it, rather than allow it to collect dust.
Space is another motivator for me now; I currently live with my grandparents and a lot of my things are stored in their barn because there isn’t enough room in the house. So I go through my boxes and bags that are stored away pretty regularly, figuring out what I want to keep, what I will use.
Of course, I could have saved a lot (and I mean a LOT) of money over the years if I spent less frivolously and accumulated less clutter to begin with. Such is life. I do make smarter purchases now. I try to buy things that are higher quality, that will last longer. Sometimes this means spender more on a single item, but if I am going to like it more, and use it longer, I think it’s worth it.
Self-editing
A few weeks ago I took inventory of my current portfolio and retired an identity system I created for the San Diego Zoo in my Design and New Media course, with Professor Judy Carter.
This was the logo I made:
I got a great review on it by the professor, and the rest of the students in the class, but the more I look at it now, the more it reads, ‘a student made me’. And if a Creative Director is looking at my portfolio, they can’t see ‘student.’ They have to see, ‘professional I want to hire’. So out it went.
Well, not entirely out. It’s in my ‘needs work’ folder. I’ve tried a few different executions, but so far nothing I’m pleased enough with to include in my portfolio.
Being able to self-edit means being self-aware about your work. In my process, I need some time away from a piece before I can look at it and say, this should be better. If I am writing a short story, and I’ve been working on it day in and day out, I need to step back so I can look at it objectively. In writing and in advertising, you need to look at your work as a viewer/reader would. The way someone who isn’t invested in it would.
Coco Chanel said, “When accessorizing, always take off the last thing you put on.” This helps you avoid looking sloppy and overdone. The San Diego Zoo logo/letterhead was the weakest link in my portfolio. So it had to go.
The Heebie Jeebies
In the last 4 months, I have killed 4 spiders in my house.
I make it a rule (that I occasionally break) to only kill inside spiders. I kill them when they are in my home, and leave them alone when I am in theirs. Unless a very big one is on me, or too close to me when I am outside, in which case I go a little crazy, and lash out irrationally, leaving dead spiders in my wake.
But there have been 4, very large spiders in my house this summer. And all related to each other.
The first one was in the bathroom, nestled inside the shower curtain. I didn’t take too much time to admire it; I quickly found something hard to put behind the curtain so that when I smooshed it, the curtain stayed put.
The next one was in the kitchen, on the outside face of a cupboard door. This was when I realized we were infested.
The two spiders were nearly identical in size and shape, and had the same characteristic pincers. For lack of a better word, at the time I said it reminded me of a scorpion. It had two big, fat front arms, like a crab.
The next one was in my bedroom, just sitting in the middle of my wall.
I photographed this one, to prove to everyone else that there was a spider problem. This was the 3rd spider of it’s kind living where we live! Invading our place of sanctuary.
(Sidenote: I’m not squeamish about bugs. Ants, beetles, flies- none of these bother me. Spiders bother me. I get a stomach-ache when a spider is around me and I can’t get away, or get it away from me. Just a clarification of my character.)
Anyway, a timeline: I was in my room, sitting on my bed, and saw the familiar dark blot on my wall. I quickly ran downstairs and grabbed a camera, went up and took the picture, then brought the camera downstairs to show my grandparents. My grandfather does not follow the same rule; I think he rather likes spiders. Inside or out, they are allowed to live. So I said to him, “If you want it to live, you have to save it. Otherwise, I’m killing it.”
And he huffed and puffed and went upstairs to save the little beast.
But the spider wasn’t there anymore.
My guts clenched; I bit my lip and felt itchy all over, like it might have jumped on me when I turned my back. It was going to nestle into my ear, or hide under my armpit, and get under my skin.
I swear I’m generally a rational person.
So my grandfather laughed and laughed, and went back downstairs while I hunted through my room for the thing.
Hours later, after I had stopped looking and stopped wringing my hands and breathed regularly again, I was back on my bed, sitting and looking through old magazines. And I saw a dark blot out of the corner of my eye.
That made the 3rd spider I killed this summer, a few weeks ago. Yesterday I killed the 4th.
c.s.m.r. 