April 9, 2012

reprise: bad artists copy. great artists steal.

In light of recent posts about artistic license and copyright (Are We Pinning Yet? and More Pinning by Liz Kalloch), we thought we’d reprise Gwyn Michael’s post from June 2011 for yet another perspective.

For those not familiar, the title is actually a quote by Pablo Picasso and has to do with drawing inspiration from something while putting your touch on it. I guess he should know. Picasso is often attributed as the Father of Cubism when in reality he and Georges Braque worked together on the theory and were directly influenced by Cezanne, who had begun breaking up the picture plane in less abstract ways.

I have been sitting on this topic for some time now and a recent post from Bridget Pilloud brought it to the forefront. Bridget’s post is about outright stealing, using another’s content as one’s own. As a visual artist this is a sticky topic for me.

The thing is, I was accused of stealing from someone that used to be a friend. I had created some new photo collages based on an idea I had in college, after seeing her do something that reminded me of it. My images and hers were very different but both were made from buildings, different buildings (of course, no one has made art from buildings before). I credited her as an influence and she accused me of stealing outright. This, by the way, all happened on flickr where actual stealing is a regular event.

I don’t agree with her and I did not take it personally, but it made me think long and hard about how we are influenced. I could have turned it around and claimed she stole my college idea which was influenced by I don’t know what at that time. Instead I let it go, but the concept has been nagging me since.

What is originality in art?

In this age we are so bombarded with imagery (artistic and not), music, ideas, and plain old stuff that it is impossible for me to entertain the notion of true originality. That is not to say I can’t be uniquely creative in my interpretations, but that I have been influenced is not a question. The image above contains a painting by Piet Mondrian on the top left, one by Van Gogh top right, one of mine from 2003 bottom left, and a photo collage of mine from 2009. Trees all, but not the same, although there are comparisons one could make: the use of blue, red, and gold, the textural qualities, the patterns of branches. While I love Mondrian and Van Gogh’s trees, I can’t say I had either in mind when creating my trees, yet they are in my memory bank. My point is, how can we know how much is coming through as collective experience?

Is art simply a manifestation of memory?

Are “original” concepts simply the rearrangement of our perception of what we have seen, heard, felt, and experienced?

Seth Godin has this to say about originality:

I get two kinds of mail about this. One group points to organizations or individuals who are stealing my ideas. “Stop them!” they say. The other doesn’t hesitate to point out that I’ve never had an original idea in my life, and that I’m merely a promotional hack.

Now, more than ever, we can see the work an artist (in any medium, any endeavor) produces over time. If all an artist can do is steal, the truth will out. For the rest, though, a lifetime of consistent provocation, inspiration and generosity can’t help but shine through. Inspirations and all.

I think this is what Picasso means by “great artists steal.”

Great artists steal – they take the idea, theme or pattern and they make it their own. When you steal, you take away the whole thing – this particular idea no longer belongs to the original author. You take it apart, you figure out how it works and you put it together adding your own unique touches. Now it is yours and once you are done with it no one will even remember it used to belong to someone else. You started with something that was not yours, but the end product can no longer be called a copy, imitation or knock of because it stands on it’s own. You’ve successfully stolen something, and gotten away with it.
- Luke Maciak

If this is the case then why is it still such a sticky topic? In my case, I am not really concerned that my work will be copied. Posting everything I do on a website and elsewhere on the internet makes it unlikely it won’t be. Rather, it really upset me to be accused of stealing. I don’t know how one can clearly define the space between inspired work and out-right forgery. I like what Jim Jarmusch has to say:

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery – celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from – it’s where you take them to.”
— Jim Jarmusch

I think I can agree that originality is obscure at best, at least in the way it has been defined. Perhaps a new definition of originality can be created? Or maybe we can agree that “All creative work is derivative” and just get on with creating our art?

What does originality in your work mean to you?

How do you incorporate influence, inspiration, and experience in your work in new ways?

Filed Under: Conversation Starters, creative thinkers, creativity, Plot Notes Tagged With: , , , , , , 6 Comments
June 27, 2011

“bad artists copy. great artists steal.”

For those not familiar, the title is actually a quote by Pablo Picasso and has to do with drawing inspiration from something while putting your touch on it. I guess he should know. Picasso is often attributed as the Father of Cubism when in reality he and Georges Braque worked together on the theory and were directly influenced by Cezanne, who had begun breaking up the picture plane in less abstract ways.

I have been sitting on this topic for some time now and a recent post from Bridget Pilloud brought it to the forefront. Bridget’s post is about outright stealing, using another’s content as one’s own. As a visual artist this is a sticky topic for me.

The thing is, I was accused of stealing from someone that used to be a friend. I had created some new photo collages based on an idea I had in college, after seeing her do something that reminded me of it. My images and hers were very different but both were made from buildings, different buildings (of course, no one has made art from buildings before). I credited her as an influence and she accused me of stealing outright. This, by the way, all happened on flickr where actual stealing is a regular event.

I don’t agree with her and I did not take it personally, but it made me think long and hard about how we are influenced. I could have turned it around and claimed she stole my college idea which was influenced by I don’t know what at that time. Instead I let it go, but the concept has been nagging me since.

What is originality in art?

In this age we are so bombarded with imagery (artistic and not), music, ideas, and plain old stuff that it is impossible for me to entertain the notion of true originality. That is not to say I can’t be uniquely creative in my interpretations, but that I have been influenced is not a question. The image above contains a painting by Piet Mondrian on the top left, one by Van Gogh top right, one of mine from 2003 bottom left, and a photo collage of mine from 2009. Trees all, but not the same, although there are comparisons one could make: the use of blue, red, and gold, the textural qualities, the patterns of branches. While I love Mondrian and Van Gogh’s trees, I can’t say I had either in mind when creating my trees, yet they are in my memory bank. My point is, how can we know how much is coming through as collective experience?

Is art simply a manifestation of memory?

Are “original” concepts simply the rearrangement of our perception of what we have seen, heard, felt, and experienced?

Seth Godin has this to say about originality:

I get two kinds of mail about this. One group points to organizations or individuals who are stealing my ideas. “Stop them!” they say. The other doesn’t hesitate to point out that I’ve never had an original idea in my life, and that I’m merely a promotional hack.

Now, more than ever, we can see the work an artist (in any medium, any endeavor) produces over time. If all an artist can do is steal, the truth will out. For the rest, though, a lifetime of consistent provocation, inspiration and generosity can’t help but shine through. Inspirations and all.

I think this is what Picasso means by “great artists steal.”

Great artists steal – they take the idea, theme or pattern and they make it their own. When you steal, you take away the whole thing – this particular idea no longer belongs to the original author. You take it apart, you figure out how it works and you put it together adding your own unique touches. Now it is yours and once you are done with it no one will even remember it used to belong to someone else. You started with something that was not yours, but the end product can no longer be called a copy, imitation or knock of because it stands on it’s own. You’ve successfully stolen something, and gotten away with it.
- Luke Maciak

If this is the case then why is it still such a sticky topic? In my case, I am not really concerned that my work will be copied. Posting everything I do on a website and elsewhere on the internet makes it unlikely it won’t be. Rather, it really upset me to be accused of stealing. I don’t know how one can clearly define the space between inspired work and out-right forgery. I like what Jim Jarmusch has to say:

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery – celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from – it’s where you take them to.”
— Jim Jarmusch

I think I can agree that originality is obscure at best, at least in the way it has been defined. Perhaps a new definition of originality can be created? Or maybe we can agree that “All creative work is derivative” and just get on with creating our art?

What does originality in your work mean to you?

How do you incorporate influence, inspiration, and experience in your work in new ways?

Filed Under: Conversation Starters Tagged With: , , , , , 22 Comments
December 10, 2010

How to be an Imperfect Blogger (…and the Perfect Author)

A guest post by Elizabeth Howard of Letters from a Small State

watercolor by creativesque - click image to see more

watercolor by creativesque - click image to see more

In the next minute or two I am going to give away a pretty substantial secret on how to be a great author of your own work. Some people might tell me not to do this, but I’ve been doing it for years in my Freshman Composition courses, and so far it hasn’t caused anything but, in my opinion, more great things to occur.

Note: this advice applies to writing and to all creative work. Read on knitters and painters and welders!

So before I give away my secret, I’m going to tell you many of the things that other writing experts have said about this. You’ll recognize them. These are useful, but NOT the secret to being a perfect author.

  • Write (create) everyday.
  • Practice writing or creating like other “better” authors.
  • Revise. Revise. Revise.
  • Make sure you say what you mean.
  • Make sure you say what your audience wants to hear.
  • Be organized, for heaven’s sake.
  • Be funny.
  • Don’t be funny (it’s too hard).
  • Make sense or get lost.
  • Tell personal stories. Don’t pontificate.
  • Use truth and evidence.
  • Don’t plagiarize.
  • Be succinct. Don’t babble.
  • But then, of course, use details.
  • Eat your vegetables. (haha… see it isn’t so hard to be funny!).

Ok, I admit that all of these are good pieces of advice. However, they are not the SECRET to being the perfect author. I know this because there are only many items on this very incomplete list. And hundreds of thousands of professionals get paid daily to teach people how to create and write well.

But on my list, there’s only one item.

The Perfect Author Listens To Herself.

Here’s a story I want to use to illustrate what I mean.

When I first started blogging back in 2004, I lived in London, which is roughly 6,354.57 kilometres (3,948.55 miles) from where most of my friends and family live.

Blogs were kinda not much of anything back then. I used mine to give updates and post pictures of life in London. I used it to ramble about the differences between here and there. I often plagiarized. I pontificated and didn’t revise. My style had no shape. It was, to say the least, a messy reflection of my writer’s garret—colorful, loud, with symbolically leaking bean bag chairs and red wine stains.

I was only ever funny by accident. Most of the time I as morose as the London winter.

In 2007, blogs everywhere started to get readers. And Google’s search engine got really good.

This was right about the time the pub I worked for, The Warrington Hotel, got purchased by Gordon Ramsay. He lurked about and it made for good stories.

And suddenly, meaninglessly, there was heaps of traffic on my silly blog.

I got a taste of stranger-readers, and desired more! But I failed because I could never think of what to say that they would care about. And then I moved to New England, making a big mess of any artistic continuity or success I could have wanted.

Ever since then – especially since my encounter with Tara on Scoutie Girl – I’ve been striving make my blog something that is both valuable to ME and to my Readers. I am still trying to do that.

Years on, I see however, that the best of my work – meaning What I Like Best and Reflects my Real Work – tends to also be the Writing My Readers Like Too.

How. Odd.

Which brings me back to the Secret to Perfect Writing (Applies to Art too).

Listen to yourself.

This does NOT mean you cannot learn from others. This does not mean you should not revise or that you should not write or create every day.

Listening to yourself ensures the launching of original work. What is original strives then for the other qualities in art we cherish: Unusual. Fresh. Unconventional. Creational. The idea becomes an amalgamation: pieces of the world we roll around in, which we digest and reformulate. When we listen, we make original again.

But we have to hear the original, that voice in our minds singing our ideas. And to hear it, that means trusting the voice and letting it rise to the top.

The perfect author – of any art – listens to themselves. Then they get to work, traveling via pogo stick or roller skates, imperfectly creating a path of their own.

—–

At “Letters from a Small State” and “The Least Weird Person I Know,” writer Elizabeth Howard examines how we survive and occasionally thrive in America, through the lens of our smallest details. A writer and poet living in Connecticut with her new family, she works daily in her own slivers of creative space and time.

Filed Under: creativity, guest posts Tagged With: , 11 Comments