a pile of dead clay

Lynds 483 - A young protostar and its outflows (via James Webb Space Telescope)

Over the years, I've had the chance to share what I've learned as a writer and filmmaker with other industry professionals and creative types: as the host of workshops at film festivals, as an artist talk during art residencies, and as a guest lecturer at colleges and universities. Nobody is more surprised that I have been invited to do this at these places than me.

During each lesson or talk, or at least during the Q&A portion, I have shared one anecdote most of all. It's not my own, it's something I've read – and it is most likely more important than anything else I ever shared in those sessions. So, I will share it here:

The ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the "quantity" group: fifty pounds of pots rated an "A", forty pounds a "B", and so on. Those being graded on "quality", however, needed to produce only one pot – albeit a perfect one – to get an "A". Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the "quantity" group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes – the "quality" group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

This nugget of truth is from the book Art & Fear: Observations On The Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking by David Bayles & Ted Orland. I would share that anecdote in the hope that it would encourage those listening to do, do do, to make, make make. (It was also good for me to hear it again and again, so I didn't forget it myself.) I would recommend the book as well, because maybe a person in the audience needed to read it instead of hear it from me.

The book looks like this. I have it if you want to borrow it.

I told this anecdote hoping that I could give a gentle nudge to someone in the audience who was stuck. It was worth mentioning if it helped even one person. And if it didn't, saying it here on indoor animal gives me another chance to possibly be the catalyst the next talented artist or writer greatly needs.

I didn't digress! First time ever. A moment of honesty: I write these newsletters to keep me writing and so I can fine-tune my writing voice. This is me making my fifty pounds of pots. Maybe, given enough time, my efforts will improve in quality. There's always a chance!

indoor animal is curated by a human: Tim Papciak. On Mondays, he shares one link to one music video to help spark creativity in himself and in other creative types. On Thursdays, he recommends a book, movie, show, art piece, or link to some dusty corner of the internet that he believes either 1.) adds to the human experience, or 2.) serves as a coping mechanism in the year 2025. Note: this is not, and never will be, self-help content.