Technical Understanding In Art And Writing
It becomes obvious when looking at most art forms that it is necessary to learn much about the technical aspects of a medium and the tools that are applicable, as well as understanding the actual application of technique. For instance, a photographer needs to understand their camera, how it works and what is necessary to create the right results. They need an understanding of light and optics, and a sense of how to turn what they take with the camera into a finished photo, traditionally through development and today, largely, through digital tools. I studied stone sculpture with an artist, and I came to understand that he knew so much about the rocks he worked with. He could see where they were flawed, and understood, as well, how they had formed and where they came from, because those things informed how the rock would react to his tools. Which, of course, brings up another subject on which he was an expert, as he had to not only use the tools, but keep them in proper order. His technical knowledge was not at all about the artistic endeavor, but was necessary in order for him to do that work. He was able to use that knowledge to create work in stone that seemed fluid and dynamic, because he had that basic understanding. In the same way, musicians must understand the instruments they play, and even an actor must train the body to do the work, understanding their physicality as a tool outside the expressive aspects of the art.
For writers, it often seems to me that we do not truly delve into similar questions. Of course, in order to be a writer, one needs to understand how to utilize language effectively, and the act of writing is, itself, a form of studying language. Yet, the question that lies deeper, of how language actually functions, is often left unexplored, I think. Perhaps, this is something that I am wrong about, and it is more that I have my own perspectives on the issue, or maybe some writers feel that too deep a knowledge would change their relationship to writing in a detrimental way. Many, I believe, simply have not considered the question deeply, because it is not something that everyone even considers. Though, as I said, I may be wrong here and more writers do contemplate language from deeper perspectives.
To be more specific about what I am driving at, what is it that allows a word to become a symbol of meaning? The fact that we can use spoken sounds to illicit specific understandings in others is an amazing thing, and that does not even relate to writing itself, which requires another layer of encoding to turn written marks into the sounds that carry the meaning. That, to me, is an amazing thing, and it does not really explain anything at all.
The ways that we are able to build meaning from those words, as well as from the various other aspects of language, are incredibly complicated, and seem, to me, to offer possibilities for understand how, we, as writers can improve our work. Consider that certain words are actually more pleasurable in our brains. One of those words is actual "girl", and Agatha Christie, who still is estimated to be the best-selling author in the history of the world, used quite often. It seems to me that this is not a coincidence, as an author who can get readers to feel good while reading, is offering an experience that readers will wish to return for again. Christie, of course, did not know this, but we, today, have so much more awareness that we can actually look at what the words we choose are doing, both in specific and in general.
I recall, when I was in school studying poetry, being taught about how iambic pentameter is a natural rhythm in English, and recall it being spoken about as an echo of the human heartbeat. I also remember a big drum circle that I attended at an event as a teenager or college student, where hundreds of people were all handed drums with no instructions. It took a while, but eventually we all had the same rhythm. It just happened. That is how rhythm works, as a process, even on a physical level. The periodicity of pendulums, for example, will synchronize under the right conditions. So too, a husband and wife who sleep together for years will have heartbeats that synchronize. Now, when you think about all of that, and you consider the rhythm of your language, what new dimensions might become possible? That is a fairly basic thought, of course, and it is not all that radically different, you might consider, from how many writers thought about their language throughout history.
Yet, that is only on one level, because considering the question of what a steady use of a rhythm in a work does physically to the reader is a much more specific question, and it allows considerations of how the meaning of the language we use is actually something experienced in the body. A word can tickle the brain, yes, but so too, language has direct impact upon people in ways that are much more expansive. The body experiences the words, and responds to them. We all know this, have felt how our throat might close up in fear at a sentence, even one that should be innocuous, and wondered why that moment scared us. Often, looking closer, it is because of how the words were put together, the pacing and rhythm. This can be achieved through the reflection of other moments that have a certain association in the language, similar to the way that an orchestral score in a film can build tension at a moment that is otherwise calm. By increasing the pace of language, and building towards a crescendo, even a description of the mundane might be felt as suspenseful in the right context.
Langauge has so many dimension to it, though, and these still feel, to me, like somewhat surface layers. The way that meaning is captured in a word is a deep mystery, and something that is at the heart of all writing. What makes this, to me, so integral, is the fact that a word is a carrier of meaning, in a way that is always changing. Each time a word is used, it brings something to it, and connects it with other meanings. Language is not ever static, and that is true inside our minds. As writers, when we put a word on the page, we are not dealing with an inert material, but with something that will change and respond to us. The reader's understanding will never be fully in our control to start with, and so the meaning of what we write will always be different for each person, in some way, but beyond this, we are also bringing meaning to that language. When we repeat words, phrases, sentence constructions, or other linguistic objects, we are loading them with new meanings. The word "upset" gets one of the primary meanings that we associate with it because it was used once as the name of a horse that unexpectedly won a major race. One time, and it has a whole new meaning in the language.
If that can happen, consider how using a word or phrase in a book can load it with meaning, and how the repetition of it might add layers in a way that allows a writer to communicate ideas that might not have been even possible before. It is often discussed how language can shape the thoughts we have. If we only have these words, these meanings, how can we talk about something that is not in those meanings? But, we still find that new words and meanings come into being, reflecting ideas, experiences, objects, etc that were not in the language before. So too, a writer can build meaning into a word, and use that new meaning to say something that might never have been possible without that repetition. Chekhov did this with an entire section in his first play, turning the context around in a way that made the meaning of a speech go from comic to tragic without any change in the actual language. The journey from one to the other, is in how the audience hears those words, and what they mean in the context of the play.
I know that these examples are broad and may seem far afield, but that is, in part, my point. These writers did these things because they had a general and intuitive understanding. My brother, as a teenager, took up photography. He had a natural aptitude for it, even before he took any classes, but it was understanding how to develop his own film, and realizing the technical abilities of the medium, that made it possible for him to take those skills to a level where he, as a teen, was working as an assistant to a professional photographer. While he decided not to pursue that as a career, the point is that he became a far better and more competent artist, beyond any professional acumen it might have added. Writers do not do that. We still use language in a way that is technical and relies upon these same affects, but it seems like their is only a half understanding of it, not the same depth of technical mastery that is required in many other arts. That anyone and everyone uses language, that it is taken for granted, that is probably the deepest reason for this, but I, for one, really am interested in taking my understanding to another level.
For writers, it often seems to me that we do not truly delve into similar questions. Of course, in order to be a writer, one needs to understand how to utilize language effectively, and the act of writing is, itself, a form of studying language. Yet, the question that lies deeper, of how language actually functions, is often left unexplored, I think. Perhaps, this is something that I am wrong about, and it is more that I have my own perspectives on the issue, or maybe some writers feel that too deep a knowledge would change their relationship to writing in a detrimental way. Many, I believe, simply have not considered the question deeply, because it is not something that everyone even considers. Though, as I said, I may be wrong here and more writers do contemplate language from deeper perspectives.
To be more specific about what I am driving at, what is it that allows a word to become a symbol of meaning? The fact that we can use spoken sounds to illicit specific understandings in others is an amazing thing, and that does not even relate to writing itself, which requires another layer of encoding to turn written marks into the sounds that carry the meaning. That, to me, is an amazing thing, and it does not really explain anything at all.
The ways that we are able to build meaning from those words, as well as from the various other aspects of language, are incredibly complicated, and seem, to me, to offer possibilities for understand how, we, as writers can improve our work. Consider that certain words are actually more pleasurable in our brains. One of those words is actual "girl", and Agatha Christie, who still is estimated to be the best-selling author in the history of the world, used quite often. It seems to me that this is not a coincidence, as an author who can get readers to feel good while reading, is offering an experience that readers will wish to return for again. Christie, of course, did not know this, but we, today, have so much more awareness that we can actually look at what the words we choose are doing, both in specific and in general.
I recall, when I was in school studying poetry, being taught about how iambic pentameter is a natural rhythm in English, and recall it being spoken about as an echo of the human heartbeat. I also remember a big drum circle that I attended at an event as a teenager or college student, where hundreds of people were all handed drums with no instructions. It took a while, but eventually we all had the same rhythm. It just happened. That is how rhythm works, as a process, even on a physical level. The periodicity of pendulums, for example, will synchronize under the right conditions. So too, a husband and wife who sleep together for years will have heartbeats that synchronize. Now, when you think about all of that, and you consider the rhythm of your language, what new dimensions might become possible? That is a fairly basic thought, of course, and it is not all that radically different, you might consider, from how many writers thought about their language throughout history.
Yet, that is only on one level, because considering the question of what a steady use of a rhythm in a work does physically to the reader is a much more specific question, and it allows considerations of how the meaning of the language we use is actually something experienced in the body. A word can tickle the brain, yes, but so too, language has direct impact upon people in ways that are much more expansive. The body experiences the words, and responds to them. We all know this, have felt how our throat might close up in fear at a sentence, even one that should be innocuous, and wondered why that moment scared us. Often, looking closer, it is because of how the words were put together, the pacing and rhythm. This can be achieved through the reflection of other moments that have a certain association in the language, similar to the way that an orchestral score in a film can build tension at a moment that is otherwise calm. By increasing the pace of language, and building towards a crescendo, even a description of the mundane might be felt as suspenseful in the right context.
Langauge has so many dimension to it, though, and these still feel, to me, like somewhat surface layers. The way that meaning is captured in a word is a deep mystery, and something that is at the heart of all writing. What makes this, to me, so integral, is the fact that a word is a carrier of meaning, in a way that is always changing. Each time a word is used, it brings something to it, and connects it with other meanings. Language is not ever static, and that is true inside our minds. As writers, when we put a word on the page, we are not dealing with an inert material, but with something that will change and respond to us. The reader's understanding will never be fully in our control to start with, and so the meaning of what we write will always be different for each person, in some way, but beyond this, we are also bringing meaning to that language. When we repeat words, phrases, sentence constructions, or other linguistic objects, we are loading them with new meanings. The word "upset" gets one of the primary meanings that we associate with it because it was used once as the name of a horse that unexpectedly won a major race. One time, and it has a whole new meaning in the language.
If that can happen, consider how using a word or phrase in a book can load it with meaning, and how the repetition of it might add layers in a way that allows a writer to communicate ideas that might not have been even possible before. It is often discussed how language can shape the thoughts we have. If we only have these words, these meanings, how can we talk about something that is not in those meanings? But, we still find that new words and meanings come into being, reflecting ideas, experiences, objects, etc that were not in the language before. So too, a writer can build meaning into a word, and use that new meaning to say something that might never have been possible without that repetition. Chekhov did this with an entire section in his first play, turning the context around in a way that made the meaning of a speech go from comic to tragic without any change in the actual language. The journey from one to the other, is in how the audience hears those words, and what they mean in the context of the play.
I know that these examples are broad and may seem far afield, but that is, in part, my point. These writers did these things because they had a general and intuitive understanding. My brother, as a teenager, took up photography. He had a natural aptitude for it, even before he took any classes, but it was understanding how to develop his own film, and realizing the technical abilities of the medium, that made it possible for him to take those skills to a level where he, as a teen, was working as an assistant to a professional photographer. While he decided not to pursue that as a career, the point is that he became a far better and more competent artist, beyond any professional acumen it might have added. Writers do not do that. We still use language in a way that is technical and relies upon these same affects, but it seems like their is only a half understanding of it, not the same depth of technical mastery that is required in many other arts. That anyone and everyone uses language, that it is taken for granted, that is probably the deepest reason for this, but I, for one, really am interested in taking my understanding to another level.
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