How many times have we, upon watching a movie for the second or third time, discovered something that we missed the first time we watched it—usually a detail that is more than an Easter egg, rather a detail that subtly shifts a meaning or adds to a character’s development or contributes to the plot? If it’s a well-made movie, the odds are that this happens quite a lot. There is a lot to a movie—too much to absorb at one sitting. The production team, chiefly the director, has spent months constructing the world of the film and the details are a contributory part of that world, whether we notice them the first time through or not. In fact, much time in the making of the film was spent ensuring that important details were included.

This quest for detail extends to nuance in the dialogue and performance. Perhaps the most extreme example of this was Stanley Kubrick, who is reputed to have done 30 or more takes for every scene. This sort of effort is not about achieving “perfection,” but about being sure that all the pieces, even the smallest ones, work together to build the universe in which the action takes place.

This sort of dedication to detail does not belong exclusively to film directors. Stage directors have been known to spend entire rehearsals on five minutes of finished production or to spend hours on line readings and motivation. They too are creating a world that must be complete with details and nuance.

Not limited to the performing arts, the use of detail to make a complete art work can be found in other arts as well. In photography, for example, there are photographers who spend hours in front of the computer, adjusting detail, color, lighting, and shade when they could have just taken the picture, processed it quickly and moved on. These photographers are following the example of Ansel Adams who spent hours in his darkroom doing exactly the same thing because he believed, “You don’t take a photograph, you make it.”

The same approach holds true for landscape painters who spend a great deal of time reproducing lighting effects or the bend of grass, or the portrait painters who concern themselves with more than the eyes and mouths of their subjects, but with details of clothing and background. Choreographers often spend a great deal of time fixing the details of dance moves, so there are not only the dance steps, but other movement as well as the attitude of the dancers. Composers worry not only about the main themes in a piece of music, but the tiniest leitmotifs and riffs as well.

Almost all real artists spend enormous time and effort on the details of a piece, because they know that the details make the whole work of art what it is, and that no piece of the whole is too small for consideration. Moreover, it does not matter whether the work of art is ephemeral or permanent. So, regardless of the art, the wise artist would do well to pay close attention to all the details, not just the overall story or subject matter because the details are what really makes the work of art come alive for the audience, what makes it a whole work of art.

One of the problems that face theatre majors is which branch of theatre to specialize in. Many theatre majors enjoy and are good at more than one area. Of course, there are those who know exactly what they want to do, but others have to figure out whether they would rather concentrate on acting, directing, design, costumes, props, construction, lighting, sound, or front-of-house operations. What usually happens is that individuals choose a main area of concentration, but continue to work in other areas as well—at least for a while. The question then becomes how to decide which to make the primary area and which to make secondary.

Musical instrumentalists very often avoid such a decision by not limiting themselves to a single instrument. Often they will play a range of instruments, often one as well as another. For example, some musicians play several wind instruments or a range of reed instruments or a variety of stringed instruments. Many, many musicians play piano as well as their other principal instrument. A great number of vocalists play one or more instruments as well. Additionally, some musicians also compose or conduct or arrange or all of these as well as play several instruments.

The same thing happens in film studies. Individuals discover that they are writer/directors or producer/directors or director/actors or director/cinematographers or some other combination of tasks rather than concentrating on a single function in the movie industry. Again, they may consider one area primary and others secondary or they may be equally involved in multiple areas or it may vary from project to project.

This also happens in other areas of art. It turns out that people who are artistically talented often are talented in a number of areas. Of course, as in theatre, there are some who are solely interested in a single art, and work to practice only that. However, the number of artists who are talented and proficient in multiple arts is rather extensive. Here’s a quick list: writer/musician, film director/still photographer, comedian/painter, singer-songwriter/photographer, singer/actor, singer/dancer, dancer/choreographer, musician/producer, painter/photographer, actor/director, actor/musician, designer/musician, gourmet chef/glass artisan. Some of these people are famous; some are not so well known. And certainly there are others, but these are the ones that quickly jump to mind.

Unfortunately, there are no rules to finding one’s place in the arts or about deciding which art(s) to practice. If only one art interests you, then practice that art. If you are talented in more than one area, you may well decide that practicing a single art will result in a better income than trying to do multiple things at once, so you concentrate on one art and let the others become hobbies or occasional interests. Of course you can do the opposite: hone your skills in all the areas that interest you, so that you can work in any one when the opportunity presents itself.  Remember that the practice of multiple arts can be either simultaneous or sequential. There is nothing that tells you that you must do it one way rather than another.

Whether you are single- or multi-talented, the real key is to find out where you fit, which approach to the arts fits you best. You may discover that one approach is far more appealing than any of the others, or you may find that your approach to the problem evolves as you practice and grow as an artist. So take some time and evaluate the paths that are available to you; as you work your way through the possibilities, answers will come. And remember, you can always change your mind.

The thing that drives all artists is the need to create. Note that this is not the urge to create or the inclination to create or the want to create, but the need to create. No one seems to know where it comes from, and there is disagreement as to whether everyone has it or just some specific people. Some think it is instinctive, that we are simply born with it. There is no question, however, that some have a stronger need to create than others, and the need seems to express itself in those who have it differently for each individual. Additionally, this need can vary in strength from time to time in an individual’s life. For example, some need to create daily, often extending the work day so they can continue to make whatever it is that they make. Others are less driven and experience the need to create more occasionally. The need can be dormant in some artists for lengthy periods, then express itself forcefully when least expected.

This, of course, can cause some problems for the artist in that they may be busily attending to their everyday life when the need to create expresses itself. That artist may either have to ignore the need or rearrange their life to accommodate it. This can be somewhat off-putting, but is preferable to ignoring the need which can lead to significant mental issues, not the least of which are frustration and depression. If this sounds somewhat irrational, it is. There is really no explanation for the degree of importance the necessity of making something has when the need to create asserts itself. It can throw the artist’s life completely off-balance.

Sometimes artists acknowledge the need to create but when it comes to the actual process of creation, experience “writer’s block”—regardless of whether the artist is an actual writer or some other kind of artist. Writer’s block is, of course, a conflict between the need to create and the inability to produce an artifact. Some say that the answer to writer’s block, whether actual or potential, is having a daily ritual or developing a set of habits intended to ward off writer’s block and thus free the artist to indulge the need to create. Morning Pages are one such ritual that many swear by. There are, of course, others which include the scheduling of time every day or every week to create. Some artists find that they need a special place to really do their best creative work; others combine it with another activity, such as walking or running.

The wise artist will honor the need when it arises. It doesn’t really matter whether the person is a professional artist or someone who creates as a hobby. It doesn’t matter whether one is a full-time artist or a part-time one or whether the art one produces is magnificent or mundane. Neither does it matter whether the artist is prolific or produces relatively few works. What is important is that the need be satisfied. Sometimes that means hardship in that materials are not readily at hand to create the work necessary. There are many stories of visual artists whose need was so great that they painted the rooms in which they lived or of literary artists who were so driven to write that they penned ideas onto matchbooks or toilet paper. Hopefully, we can find some way to allow enough time and obtain minimal materials to allow us to produce in order to satisfy the need when it strikes.

One of the truisms about humans is that we—most of us, anyway—are creatures of habit. The other thing about habits is that they can govern large chunks of our time, or are just perhaps the way some little things get done. Sometimes these habits are purposeful; other times, they sort of sneak up on us.

Purposeful habits occur when we make conscious behavioral decisions about how we spend our time. For example, an artist may decide that they will work only on art in the mornings from 9:00am until 1:00 pm, five days a week, and use the rest of their time for other things. After following this pattern for a while, it becomes ingrained, habitual. It’s something that the artist does without thinking about it. And so, without thinking, the artist works on art at least four hours a day, 20 hours a week, every week without fail. Occasionally the artist may work longer, but never less. Probably this is a good habit, particularly when compared to the artist who works on art whenever the mood strikes, regardless of the time of day. The artist with the habit is likely to be far more productive.

As noted, habits may govern little things as well. Perhaps our artist begins each work session with morning pages. This, according to many, is also a good practice to have, and therefore a good habit to cultivate. It is likely that such an artist will have an off-day, or at least an off-session should they one day neglect to do their morning pages.

And so it goes. Artists develop all sorts of behaviors consciously, behaviors that often turn into habits. All sorts of things become habits whether the artist intends it or not. For example, the first thing the artist does in the morning is have a cup of coffee. It’s a small thing with very few consequences, unless that the artist feels that they need that cup of coffee, and without it, the day isn’t right.

And, of course, there are habits that are considered bad, often associated with the intake of substances that are not healthy. Having a habit is quite different from occasional use. If the artist again needs to intake a substance at the end of each work session, there is likely a problem that will have to be dealt with sooner or later. Also worth mentioning in this category are procrastination and scrolling social media, both of which can become unhealthy habits.

Occasionally, we are forced to change our habits, which is very disconcerting, to say the least. This happened to a number of artists during the pandemic, when a number of us had to completely alter the way that we worked. This was more than unsettling for many of us; it was the equivalent of having our worlds turned upside down. Some of us adapted quickly; others took more time. Before it was over, most of us had replaced our old habits with new behaviors that were well on their way to becoming our new habits.

Then about the time those habits really took hold, the pandemic was over and the world tried to go back to the way things were before. And here we were stuck with pandemic-era habits that really had no place in the post-pandemic world. And a number of us are still trying to make the transition back to a face-to-face world and possibly return to our old habits, even though considerable time has passed.

There are probably many lessons to be learned from this series of events. The ones that seem important to me are that we need to periodically evaluate our habits to determine whether they are indeed helpful or just the way we have come to do things. If we find them lacking, then we certainly should make an effort to change them to behaviors that are more positive. It’s not something that we can’t do. We know that because when it was forced on us, we, all of us, modified our habits to accommodate the situation. So now what we might consider is exercising more control over our daily behaviors—particularly those that we gained unconsciously and especially those that have impact on our art.

A lot of my time is spent reading (and for purposes of this post, I am including listening to audio books as “reading” since the mental functions are much the same). Fiction, non-fiction, news, politics, various theoretical things make up most of the material I consume, but I find that my favorite material is fiction, usually novels, but sometimes short story collections. The other day I began to wonder what it was about fiction that drew me so strongly. The quick answer was escape. When I enter the fictional world of a book, I completely disappear from the real world and its stresses. Then, of course, there is the pleasure of reading fiction; it just makes the day better.

I began to wonder if there were other benefits to be derived from reading fiction, so I did a bit of research. I found that there are a number of benefits to reading fiction. Here they are in no particular order, beginning with the two I have already mentioned:

• Pleasure is on lots of lists. 76% of adult readers in the UK said that reading “improves their life and helps make the feel good.”
• Disengagement also makes a number of lists. Reading fiction is considered “one of the most effective ways to decompress and relax.”
• Reading fiction helps us “develop empathy and understanding.” Fiction presents us with thoughts, emotions, and lives of character who are different from us, so we develop a different perspective and greater empathy for differing people.
• Increased creativity can result from reading fiction. Fiction often presents us with new ideas and new ways of thinking. It also encourages us to think outside the box.
• Reading fiction provides us with cognitive stimulation. It engages the brain in “complex processes such as interpreting symbolism, understanding character motivations and following intricate plotlines,” improving critical thinking and problem-solving skills.
• Improved memory is one of the benefits of reading fiction. People who read fiction have less mental decline in later life.
• Fiction simulates reality, so reading fiction can substitute for accumulating valuable life experience to a certain degree
• Reading fiction improves the imagination. Readers must imagine the appearance of characters and locations as well as movement and emotional states.
• Because fiction presents the reader with new words and phrases, it is likely that reading fiction will enhance the reader’s vocabulary and language skills.
• Reading fiction improves our emotional intelligence and open-mindedness. Thus those who read fiction are better able to relate to others and understand their own emotions.
• Since reading fiction requires sustained attention and concentration, it can help the reader’s ability to focus on tasks in other areas of life.
• Reading fiction, particularly good fiction, can help make the reader a better writer since it provides an example of what good writing is.
• Reading fiction provides mental health benefits, including anxiety and depression relief as well as enhanced self-esteem.
• Reading fiction helps us sleep better. It turns out that “regular readers actually sleep better.”
• Reading fiction even helps us live longer.

And this list is not exhaustive; there are other benefits. These, however, are the primary ones. What is obvious is that there are a great number of benefits to reading fiction, so, perhaps, if you are not currently a regular fiction reader, you might consider it.

We got into the arts for various reasons: we were good at it; we enjoyed it; we had something to say and our art gave us a means for expression; it gave a place to feel safe; and so on. There are probably as many reasons as there are artists. However, very few, if any, of us got into the arts to make money. And so we dipped our toes in and began to experience the joys and frustrations of the art world. We took classes; we read; we practiced; we experimented; we tried various aspects of our art; we tried other arts; we finally found our artistic homes. Still the idea of money never entered the picture. So we entered some shows; we auditioned for more professional work; we experimented with styles; we took more courses; we studied more on our own; we talked to other artists; we began to try to balance work with art, sometimes neglecting the rest of our lives.

Then we decided to try to monetize our art. Things suddenly changed. We didn’t audition unless the pay was sufficient; we didn’t enter shows that did not have some sort of significant award; we began to set up online stores; we investigated how to promote our art on social media; we discovered that sales and promotion were work—and time-consuming. So perhaps we compromised. Now our whole world was our work—but we were still trying to balance. This time it was the business of art and the creation of art.

Some of us began teaching as a way to be paid for our art. We got to talk about aspects of our art most of the day and at the same time got to make art one way or another. And we got a check at the end of the month. Some of us found that our entire lives were spent on our art—teaching and practicing took all the time there was. And for some of us that was okay.

Then some of us began to try to develop an audience for our work. Some of us began to tailor our work to what we perceived to be the wants of our audience. We started worrying about our “type” and wondering if we could somehow change it. Perhaps we compromised. We started trying to find our niche. We began to worry about what shows would play to our audience. We became concerned what music the audience expected of us. Naturally, some of us began to create for the market.

Then one day we woke up and realized that we were no longer in the business of making art; rather, we were in the business of producing commodities. No longer did we make art; now we created product, the whole purpose of which was to satisfy the needs of the marketplace. And some of us were okay with that; we still got to be creative and we got to make things, and that was enough—for some more than enough.

Others of decided that the commercial aspect of monetizing our art was strangling us; we still had all the frustration of making art, but little of the joy we had experienced early on. So the problem became what to do about it. Some dropped out of the commercial world and found other ways to make a living, while still enjoying making art. Some found ways to modify the creation/marketing balance, and thus created a better situation. Still others found ways to make the marketing aspects of the job creative and enjoyable, and achieved the best of all possible worlds.

Unfortunately, one solution does not fit all; each artist is different and must find their own way. And each will. The pull that art has on us is too great to ignore. We always have and always will find ways to live and continue to produce art.

The Writers Guild of America’s (WGA) strike against the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP) has now gone on for over 100 days. SAG-AFTRA (Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists) joined the walkout in July. There is a lot in the news and on social media about this or that aspect of the combined strike, but it may be that not everyone is sure what is at stake. Here then is a summary of the issues involved in this entertainment industry strike.

What the WGA Wants

• Increase pay across the board: nearly half of WGA members are paid the minimum rate. Along with this proposed rate hike, the WGA wants increases in their pension plan and health fund.
• Better residuals: Currently, films and series are put into streaming services, which do not pay nearly the same as traditional syndication or overseas sales. Writers are particularly interested in higher residual pay based on popularity of streaming series.
• Staffing requirements: basically, the WGA “wants TV shows to staff a certain number of writers for a period of time. Current practice does not allow for protections from being overworked and understaffed.”
• Shorter exclusivity deals: current TV series have much shorter seasons, which reduces per-episode pay and can limit writers from working on other programs.
• Assurance on AI: WGA is demanding that “AI cannot produce original material, rewrites, and source material.” Writers are also demanding that union-covered material cannot be used to train AI systems.

What SAG-AFTRA Wants

• Increase in pay: actors are seeking an increase in pay and stronger contributions to the union’s pension and health funds.
• Revenue sharing for streaming shows: Since streaming does not generate residuals, this is a way for actors to share in the success to compensate for the lack of residuals.
• Better regulation of “self-taped auditions”: Actors are now being asked to record themselves rather than coming to a casting room.
• Actors of color support: the union wants “all sets have qualified hair and makeup professionals and equipment for actors of color.” AMPTP has agreed to his, but only for principal actors.
• Assurance on AI: The union is seeking “protections against the misuse of generative AI technology that can mimic voices, likenesses, and performances.” “Voiceover actors are already reporting competition from AI-generated performances.” The union has also proposed provisions for “consent and compensation when a so-called digital replica of a performer is made or if their performance is changed using artificial intelligence.”

What the AMPTP Wants

• Pay: AMPTP has made offers of pay increases, but these have been rejected by the unions as insufficient.
• Residuals/profit sharing: AMPTP is proposing no change in present streaming residuals arrangements.
• AI use: There is disagreement about what AMPTP really wants. SAG-AFTRA says the producers want to be able to scan background performer’s images for half a day’s pay and use it inperpetuity without the performer’s consent, and to be able to make changes to performers’ dialogue. AMPTP, on the other hand, says that background actors would be given consent over their digital likenesses.

There are other points, but these are the main ones. It is interesting to note that the major sticking points, other than base pay, AI use, and profit-sharing for streaming are issues that have arisen during the last 20 years with the advent of those new technologies. Thus it does seem appropriate for adjustments to be made. Exactly what those adjustments will look like remains to be seen.

Book ban attempts hit a record high in 2022. What used to be individual book complaints have morphed now into movements for multiple removals and are organized by national groups. A number of librarians have been harassed and threated. A large majority of complaints about books come from conservatives and are directed toward works with LGBTQ+ or racial themes. Conservative states have passed or proposed laws restricting books, and there has been a push to make book bans and challenges easier in red states. An Arkansas law that allows librarians and booksellers to be criminally charged over providing “harmful” materials to minors has been temporarily blocked by a federal judge.

Aside from the fact that practice of book-banning is simply censorship, there are several problems with the current conservative rage to ban books in both schools and public libraries.  First, it is done under the guise of “protecting the children.” What it’s really about is protecting the comfort of parents. This has been true historically and is true now. (“In the 1950s, adults in Alabama crusaded against The Rabbit’s Wedding, which told the story of a black and white rabbit getting married.”) Today the topics are primarily race, ethnicity, and gender identity. The exact reasons for the push to ban vary, but the targeted books have one thing in common: “they empower the people those groups [who want to ban them] would rather see weakened.”

Book-banning often ignores the lives of the very kids they purport to protect. For example, many want books that refer to characters having two parents of the same gender banned, when that may be a fact of life for some of the students involved or their classmates. Students often experience bias and prejudice based on skin color or hair style at very early ages; a fact which the book-banners are quick to ignore.

What began as a movement ostensibly about parents’ rights in their child’s education has become something else; it has become a movement to eliminate access—for all students—to books with which certain parents disagree. Theresa Vargas, writing in The Washington Post, says, “I can respect that some people will want to put down the books I want to pick up. What I can’t respect is their belief that they have the right to snatch from my hands, and the hands of other parents, books that we want to read to our children. That picture books are coming under attack shows that the objectors fight never was about supporting parental choice. It’s always been about eliminating choice.”

So what this book banning is really about is parents or groups trying to prevent children—any children— from encountering any ideas of which they don’t fully approve. It’s a matter of attempting to brain-wash children into believing exactly what their parents want them to believe. However, it won’t work. Even with all this effort, kids will discover ideas in the most unlikely places (they have access to the internet after all) and they will be who they are, regardless of parental indoctrination. As Rob Sanders, author of Pride: The Story of Harvey Milk and the Rainbow Flag says, “Look at me. I’m almost 65, I grew up reading only books that featured parents who were heterosexual and characters who experienced the world in gender-normative ways. Those books did not make me straight.”

Entire books have been devoted to the subject, yet in his book The Creative Act: A Way of Being, Rick Rubin says that nobody really knows how or why a work of art is created. “We are dealing in a magic realm. Nobody knows why or how it works,” he writes. We do know, however, some of the steps involved, even though we understand very little about how those steps work.

First comes the idea—but from where? It seems that ideas for art works can come from virtually anywhere: a snatch of conversation overheard in a restaurant, observation of a couple crossing the street, a phrase or snippet of prose, a riff of music, a glance at a picture, a memory, a fragment of a dream. The story goes that the idea the culture-shattering play A Doll’s House came from a brief news article that Henrik Ibsen read. Anywhere. Why one particular idea of the many that an artist encounters in the course of a day intrigues the artist is the mystery here—especially an idea that strikes others as uninteresting or mundane.

Once the artist has the idea, they play with it, which is to say they examine it, look at it from all angles, study the implications, trying to determine if the idea has potential as a work of art. Perhaps they make some scribbles and doodles or perhaps jot some notes or make some sketches, again trying to establish the potential of the idea. The result of this play is the determination that the idea has traction or not. If not, it is discarded, its place taken by another idea and the process begins again. If the idea has traction, the artist will move to the next part of the process. The criteria for this decision are unknown, and probably vary from artist to artist.

Shaping and crafting come next. This stage, at least, has some rules and principles. There are aesthetics to consider, and there are notions about which colors go together and which arrangements of words are acceptable. There are principles of design to consider—or disregard. There are elements of style which may or may not be adhered to. There are key signatures and tempos. This is the stage where parts are added to the idea to make it into a fully-realized work of art. And this is also the stage where pieces are taken away. And there are very few rules about what to add and what to take away. Within the guidelines of the craft of the discipline in which the artist is working, the work is done primarily by instinct and experience, and again no one really knows how the artist does that, only that they do it and shape the work of art before them. During the latter part of this stage, the artist may discover areas of the art work that just do not work; this will demand a reworking of that section and re-integration of that part into the whole. Again this is done by instinct.

Once the shape of the work of art is determined and most pieces incorporated and others removed, comes the polishing of the piece, when the artist examines the work in detail, adding tiny bits here and there, and trimming tiny bits away as well. This is the time when artist effectively finishes the work. Here again, the artist’s own instinct and sensibilities are at work, inexplicably.

Next comes publication of the work. This can mean any number of things, but whichever form it takes, this is the stage where the artist releases the work into the world either by formal publication, or showing the work, or simply making others aware of its existence. The artist may have a predetermined method of showing their work, or may choose a different avenue for each piece.

Not all artists will adhere to the steps outlined here, but most will, although each artist will approach the problem in their own way using their own working methods. What doesn’t change is the mystery of how or why a work of art is created.

In the “Classical Albums” documentary Cream: Disraeli Gears about the blues/rock band Cream, one of the band members talks about the immediate artistic chemistry that the members of the band experienced when they first got together. That chemistry is a thing that all great bands have. In interviews band members talk about how they “click,” then go on to talk about how they feed off of each other when they are creating. It occurs to me that this is true of any artist who is involved in a collaborative art—and some who are not considered traditionally collaborative.

Actors, for example, will often talk about working with other actors and the on-set/on-stage chemistry they experience with those others. They tend to feed off of each other, which ups both of their games. If we look at the body of work of film directors, we find that they tend to do their best work when directing a small number of actors repeatedly. Again the artistic chemistry is what makes that happen.

The same is true of stage directors as well. In my own experience, some of the best work I have done occurred with actors with whom I had worked before. It’s the chemistry—the almost mystical clarity of communication that is experienced between director and actor. It is as if we are all thinking on the same wavelength, so the work becomes unified, and very, very strong. One supposes that it is the fact that we have worked together previously, but that’s not all of it, because it is not true with all actors with whom I have worked before. I think it must have to do with a shared sense of what we are trying to accomplish. This, of course, is not to say that I have not done good work with actors with whom I did not share a mental connection—just that it is more likely that better work will result from working with those with whom I “click.” Other directors report similar experiences.

The same experience is to be had when, as a photographer, I work with models with whom I share chemistry. These turn out to be my favorite models, whom I repeatedly consider for shoots, because, even though others do good work, it is much better, much easier with those who have chemistry, and seem to anticipate direction rather than waiting for it or taking off on some unrelated track. Painters of models probably experience much the same thing.

Even artists traditionally considered non-collaborative, such as novelists, will talk about the rapport they have with their editors or first-readers. It turns out that writing, at least the final stages, in not quite so isolated an art as we may have thought.

And of what use is this information? For one thing, we can come to recognize that we will do better work if we can find partners with whom we share artistic chemistry. Perhaps we can cultivate a small groupof collaborators (or a large one) with whom we naturally connect in order to our best work. Or perhaps, more the more ambitious of us could find ways to develop that connection and establish chemistry with new artists, so that we effectively develop a pool of potential collaborators.