Kyle J:

when you look out into the world, or look out in front of you, do you
see what could be a photograph? do you see frames?
how do you know the sides of the photo should be?

Kyle J:

that should be: how do you know where the sides of the photo should be

Matt B:

The short answer is Yes, I can see an image before I take a photograph.

The long answer is as follows:
Firstly, the most difficult realization most people need to come to terms with is just exactly how they see. There are really two camps here, in terms of what choices are made in frame: an inclusive and exclusive. 99 per cent of the general population is inclusive in their practice, including as much information as possible in frame. Not eliminating the elements that detract from the main focus of the overall composition. This is especially pronounced now that we shoot in an unlimited fashion with digital media. I am not going to open the floodgates on that discussion, but I will say that when one's resources are considered more closely, more thought is ultimately put into their usage. If you watch the patterns, that consideration almost always equates to a more clearly realized images. Of course, this and what follows really apply to those who are interested in creating within the realm of Art, however you choose to define that.

The exclusive mindset could easily be construed as negative. Why bother excluding when you can capture it all at once? I believe there is a sense of safety that comes with capturing everything. You pull down a lot of information. An abundance of visual data, more than you actually need. Just in case. And why not? Why sacrafice the ability to retain all the information you hope to capture up to chance? The answer to this lies in a risk/reward relationship. The process of learning to see requires both time and perseverance. There will be failure and you will learn from it. You begin to take more risks and start trusting your ability to block out anything that is secondary to the image you intend to capture.

Of course, the lens in which I told you to view this is horribly skewed. Art as a framework hardly describes nor contains half of the photography that makes it to any sort of status in the popular art world today. You could say that the most important element is just how clearly you are communicating. Relationships between photographer and subject are dominant and will always set your creation apart.

11/19/07

Matt B:

Question Two:
In your process, how do you know when to stop? When to start? And from that, how can you approach the problem of over-thinking?

Kyle J:

In terms of music, I start whenever I can. I try to record everything I'm humming/singing. I'm constantly losing ideas, melodies, words. It used to be, when I named the piece I knew it was done. With my constant use of computers to record music, names are necessary to avoid confusion of works in progress. But it's a feeling. Sometimes this feeling is through constantly listening, although if I have to listen to it over and over, it's probably not fully complete. Sometimes I just have to accept that a tune might be a 40 second interlude rather than a full-length song (full length meaning at least 90 seconds). This is kind of giving up though on the song.
It's a feeling that comes from a good start. If it's a good song, I'll know what I need to add/subtract. If it isn't good, I usually have no idea what to do with it. These opinions of good and bad are purely my own, you and others probably disagree with my artistic tastes.
Artistic measurements aside, the song could also be finished when I'm done singing, as most of my lyrics are improvised.
Addressing over-thinking: It's not possible to over-think when I create music. Ultimately, if I'm playing it over and over, it means it's not done. That's all. I just haven't figured out what to do with it. Maybe I'll figure it out on Tuesday. Maybe it won't ever happen. I don't know. Maybe I've thought of what to do with it but have forgotten the idea. It's probably happened.

Live performance is different. It's always going to be tough to start because you're breaking a silence, even if there is no sound. What helps me to break this silence is to think that the performance was happening before I arrived; I was already in character or already myself before the performance 'started.'
There are a lot of inner feelings happening during a live performance that are somewhat inherent. Meaning I have to understand myself and the audience, understand what I want and they want, play off of them while having them play off of me. I have to keep things fresh at all times, except when I'm going for a stale quality.
There is a temptation to play to the audience at all times, but I like to hold back and play to myself instead on occasion. And vice versa.
This may be confusing.
As a performance nears its close it really becomes more of an inner feeling and I'm glad that throughout I was playing to myself and not just to the audience. I always have an inner clock ticking, not in minutes but in total length. Because I'm performing for myself, I know when it's ticking down/when it's a good time to bring the performance to a close. There are no encores, there are no extended performances, there is always just the inner clock and when it ticks no more, the performance is over.
Oh, and there is no over-thinking in live performance.

2/4/2008

Kyle J:

Second question:
Do geometric shapes ever play a role in your work; do you ever think about lines and angles?

Matt B:

Almost exclusively, and especially in design. Form-giving itself is about shape and the space it occupies.
Well, I am going to make an effort to not get too technical. Here goes:

Design has basis in the golden-section, a mathematical phenomena that occurs naturally in many ways, most notably the nautilus shell (spiral). Most books are designed using those principals to shape the page (in positioning where the block of text falls in relation to the margins of the page).

In photography you use an invisible grid of thirds to fame objects in your camera. Divide the rectangle or square into thirds. Try to capture your subjects where there are intersections (lower, upper or outer thirds). This "technically" should result in the beginning of balance to a photograph. The rest is aesthetic ability to eliminate the unnecessary elements from the frame. Then there are the photographs that disregard that framework altogether. Portraits, for example. Some argue that the best portraits show only the face and eyes. Some argue you need context and clothing. Others still feel like portraits define simply a connection between the photographer and subject. They are any and all of these.

Probably more interesting than either of these is the usage of Perspective Anamorphosis. A feat of both artistic and logical merit used by many "saucy" old masters to create works of tromp l'oeil, to hide meanings in otherwise straightforward commissions, or to impress their peers. Its also how the Greeks constructed the Parthenon. Highly interesting topic, but also an entirely separate discussion.

Geometry, lines and angles are pervasive in almost all visual arts. With this, it is important to note that all of these constructs are merely tools. Technical aids to aesthetic ends. Its like being concerned with what type of hammer you use to hit a nail. So long as it does the job, does it matter what tool is used?

6/20/08

Matt B:

Watch this interview segment with Ira Glass:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hidvElQ0xE

Do you feel that in performance art, there is a point in your development/career where you feel like your taste (or standards) exceed the work you produce? Does this discourage you?
Does it push you to make better work?

7/6/08

Kyle J:

I feel that way a lot.
I work in a way in which there is no ideal; I'll use whatever I have available. There are certain drawbacks to this philosophy though because often I'll have a vision of something, but not the means to accomplish it. I don't like to compromise my visions, so typically I'll shelve them. The problem then is that I'm producing less exciting visions and not moving forward as quickly as I should.

A big part of the discouragement is what an audience will think. I don't want to be seen as an artist who does a whole performance dedicated to something like a toothbrush, and in the end, doesn't really matter. Perhaps it's hypocritical, but I feel that there are a lot of artists doing work that only means something to them, and when I see this, as an audience member, I think: That's great for you, but what does this mean for me? Why should I bother to care about something that only matters to you? What's in it for me?
Of course, this thinking for the audience is futile, because how am I to know what another person will think? I don't know them and never will, I tell myself. I also tell myself to just put work out there and not care what anyone thinks, if people are interested, then they will be, and if not, then they won't be - I can't control what they think.

First impressions are important to me. With me producing less exciting visions, I don't want audience members to think that what they're seeing less interesting visions of performances.
At the same time, I don't want to alienate them by saying: Oh, you should wait a few years to see the real stuff, this thing right here ain't nothin.' I don't want people to lose interest in the present work.

Perhaps I'll never truly be the best I can be, perhaps I'll always have to work on it, so I should just keep working on it for me, while keeping a eye and ear out for the opinions of audience members. I know this is true for creativity, so why not for this as well?

7/6/08

Kyle J:

Question for you:

What impact, if any, does a viewer's opinion have on your future work? Do you ever seek thoughts of your work before you make it public? If public thinking was poor or negative, would would you do or have done? Would you rather ascertain an always positive opinion or always honest one even if it is negative? How do you deal with unwelcomed opinions?

11/5/08

Matt B:

If the work is created for a Client (and you can call this commercial art, commissioned work, artists "getting by" and so on) then the viewer's opinion becomes a core component of the work. If not, then that work is simply irresponsible, unless of course the client hired you with that in mind. That said, there is a form of merit in creating selfless work that fulfills a client's needs. I would argue that for every fantastic example of work you have seen from any given artist, behind it lies a room full of these selfless works created for any number of reasons. A favor. A challenge. An opportunity. A paycheck. Regardless, this is a case where the viewer's opinion generates a need for the work to be created (again, determined by the Client).

Now, it is easy to start considering the work of Fine Artists as detached from this. Their work is not created based on any one particular need outside of the individual's own desire to create. Furthermore the parameters and process that come with commercially generated works are less applicable. However, the work produced by a Fine Artist is almost certainly bound by the very same practical considerations as an Artist working for a Client. Materials, membership, studio rent, living expenses. Sounds familiar, just a variation on a theme.

A viewer's opinion on a personal work may tend to resonate more than an opinion of a commercial work. A poor opinion of a personal work can be damaging to the ego. A poor opinion of a commercial work may mean you will no longer work with a certain client again. That's business. Art business, galleries and the like, have many more gray areas to consider.

I tend to prefer thinking along these lines. If you are an individual who creates, regardless of your call to action, viewer's opinions will have an effect what you make. If you disagree, you are either blissfully oblivious or in denial.

I definitely make an attempt to get feedback on a project I am working on, whether it is commercial, personal, or both. I take bad opinions with the good, and find that often times bad opinions are simply just misinformed. I spin anything that comes at me in that way into a dialogue. All artists should be able to defend what they create to some degree. If defend is too harsh, then give us an explanation. A concept, theme, mood – something which can, if not outright describe, then at least allude to what is serving as your reason for creating.

Honest opinions are the only kind worth considering seriously in creative work.

5/4/10

Kyle J:

We've not heard from you in 18 months. Has your focus shifted, and if so, to what? Do you find your structure of interests and structure of process change over time?

{Matt B is currently teaching English to several high schools in Kagoshima, Japan}.

5/5/10

Matt B:

18 months? Really?

Well certainly there has been a shift, but I can't say my focus has changed all that much since leaving home. What I've entered is an environment which requires a new kind of attention on a daily basis. I had to relearn how to approach everyday situations, both from a cultural and language standpoint. When I arrived I was illiterate, but now I can read the two Japanese phonetic alphabets and understand a handful of the Chinese characters used here called Kanji. So, you could say I shifted to a survival learning process, but I still carry my camera with me, still critigue design I see on the street, and engross myself in cultural observations just like I would back home.

Work wise there is an obvious difference. I'm teaching full time here and the experience I've gained has been invaluable. Yes, even though its in Japan. Yes, even though I'm not teaching my area of study. I've already achieved one of my major goals for coming here – to experience living and working in a foreign country, so now I am giving myself newer and more challenging tasks.

I think my core interests have largely remained the same since leaving as well, aesthetically and conceptually speaking. I value purpose before surface, though it is a challenge to uncover that here at times. This is a surface level society on first glance. Culturally, materialistically, socially and officially on the surface until you can become an "insider", which as a foreigner is quite difficult, but certainly not impossible.

My process has definitely changed. Technically speaking, I do the same things. Push a button, move a mouse, drive a car, and so on, but my pace has changed. Likely due to living in the country (the Texas of Japan, as a friend put it), the pace of life here is much slower. Seen and unseen, things here simply take time. I thought I was a patient person, but I've learned wholly new definitions of that word. That said, I know I was prone to getting anxious about creativity and work back home, possibly even neurotic from time to time. I was and continue to be hard on myself when I'm not productive, but this self-imposed guilt is something I really appreciate. All play and no work... something like that. I have learned to approach projects a bit more relaxed and collected than before. My work-flow is slower and more thoughtful. The results aren't necessarily better, but its never that easy, is it?