Paradox of (Artistic) Choice

Lately I’ve been thinking about the “how” in art.

How should I execute an idea? What medium should I use?  

This seems like a natural thought in an age when as artists we have more tools than ever at our disposal. (Not to mention the infinite combinations of techniques and mediums we can use.)  Art reflects life after all, and in modern life, we are faced with a dizzying amount of choice. 

The paradox of choice is increasingly apparent.

Say I’d like to pixelate an image. I could: use photoshop, hand paint the pixels, use dedicated web apps, code it myself (i.e. p5.js), use programs like Figma that aren’t necessarily meant for that purpose but could pull off the job, or I could use or train AI models to accomplish the task (and I’m probably missing a few.)

So, how do I choose?

Maybe I could choose based on: 

  1. Speed: what’s the fastest method available to me?

  2. Difficulty or Non-replicability:  If I feared that someone might copy my method? Or if I value being a pioneer?

  3. Message: Perhaps the ‘how’ adds to the narrative I’m communicating?

  4. Scale: I might choose a different ‘how’ depending on how many pieces will be in the collection, or their physical size.

  5. Skill: Related to speed. I could choose what is most familiar (or the opposite if I’d like to develop a new skill.)

And then there’s the notion of beauty; perhaps the right choice is what makes the art most beautiful? In the words of David Hickey: 

“In images,... beauty was the agency that caused visual pleasure in the beholder; and any theory of images that was not grounded in the pleasure of the beholder begged the question of their efficacy and doomed itself to inconsequence.”

And so,

As I reflect on this non-exhaustive list, I realize that what underlies the decision of how to pixelate an image is simply truth — my truth — or in other words: a bunch of beliefs and values that I must confront as an artist

  • Do I believe I need to innovate in the “how” as much as the “what” for my art to communicate effectively?

  • Does my art need to communicate anything at all, beyond beauty?

  • Will the “how” produce a more distinct visual outcome? (Do I care?)

  • More intangibly: What is yelling at me the loudest? (When I sit still, where is the muse directing me?)

  • And perhaps most difficult to answer: Why am I making art? For what purpose? For whom?

Wysiwyg #2, 4, 10. From debut Tezos collection, Wysiwyg I.
Wysiwyg #2, 4, 10. From debut Tezos collection, Wysiwyg I.

Is what you see, what you get?

That brings me to ‘Wysiwyg I’, my debut collection on Tezos of 11 x 1/1s.

In art, is what you see - what you get? No. It’s not. You get more than what you see. You also get the infinitesimal decisions, the ethos, and most importantly, a glimpse of someone’s truth - someone’s authenticity. 

And so, when I’m faced with the paradox of choice in art, I stop to listen. And I let my guide be what I most authentically need to express.

P.S

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