“So what I finally decided was, art is simply inevitable. It was on the wall of a cave in France 30,000 years ago, and it’s because we are a species that’s driven by narrative. Art is storytelling, and we need to tell stories to pass along ideas and information, and to try and make sense out of all this chaos. And sometimes when you get a really good artist and a compelling story, you can almost achieve that thing that’s impossible which is entering the consciousness of another human being—literally seeing the world the way they see it. Then, if you have a really good piece of art and a really good artist, you are altered in some way, and so the experience is transformative and in the minute you’re experiencing that piece of art, you’re not alone. You’re connected to the arts. So I feel like that can’t be too bad.”
Steven Soderbergh, on the importance of the arts
“The people who were interesting told good stories. They were also inquisitive: willing to work to expand their social and intellectual range. Most important, interesting people were also the best listeners. They knew when to ask questions. This was the set of people whose shows I would subscribe to, whose writing I would seek out, and whose friendship I would crave. In other words, those people were the opposite of boring.”
Scott Simpson, You Are Boring
“World history, after all, is not a chronological list of every damn thing that ever happened; it’s a chain of only the most consequential events, selected and arranged to reveal the arc of the story—it’s the arc that counts.”
Tamim Ansary, from the preface of Destiny Disrupted
“Social media has no understanding of anything aside from the connections between individuals and the ceaseless flow of time: No beginnings, and no endings.”

The spot

It’s 11:00 on the uptown R train. At the 23rd St. stop, an older gentleman steps onto the car and pauses in the doorway as he scans the half-empty seats. A smile slowly speads across his face. Whispering, as if talking to himself, he slowly walks towards the woman in the corner seat. She’s smiling too, their eyes are locked. He slides into the seat next to her and she removes her headphones as they lean in for a kiss.

I quietly observe this interaction from the other side of the car. Something about these few minutes seem strangely ritualistic. I like to think they do this every night. After a long day at work, they’ve arranged to meet here.

In that seat.

In this car.

At this stop.

On this train.

At 11:00pm.

The corner seat on the uptown R train is theirs. In the middle of the huge city, they’ve carved out a spot to meet so every night, at 11:00, they know where to find each other.

When I got off the subway a few stops later, they were exchanging stories about their days. I smiled as I stepped out of the car onto the platform. The city is moving all around them but to those two that seat in that car on that train was their universe. Because every night at 11:00pm, that’s the only spot that matters. Everything else fades away.

“Glass is a writer’s writer, or more aptly a writer’s radio host. He understands how narrative works, how to build tension, how to place words within sentences and sentences within paragraphs, how at the end of a story a character must be transformed. Every good writer knows that the most important, most evocative information should come at the end of a sentence or paragraph, and even in conversation he does this. Take his earlier words, for example: “They’ve chosen, as their medium, food. I love that.” He doesn’t say: “I love that they’ve chosen food as their medium.” Because he knows — probably instinctively — that what comes last will carry the most weight; he knows where inside a sentence the power lies — or rather where inside a sentence lies the power. And so even in his speech you hear the pregnant pauses, the places where, if he were writing the conversation, he would use colons, semicolons and dashes.”
Rachel Louise Snyder on Ira Glass from her 1995 Salon profile on the host of This American Life.
“But how to establish the exact moment in which a story begins? Everything has already begun before, the first line of the first page of every novel refers to something that has already happened outside the book. Or else the real story is the one that begins ten or a hundred pages further on, and everything that precedes it is only a prologue. The lives of individuals of the human race form a constant plot, in which every attempt to isolate one piece of living that has a meaning separate from the rest—for example, the meeting of two people, which will become decisive for both—must bear in mind that each of the two brings with himself a texture of events, environments, other people, and that from the meeting, in turn, other stories will be derived which will break off from their common story.”

I quoted a bit of this video in yesterday’s piece on story, but the entire thing is worth watching. Documentarian Ken Burns discusses the power of storytelling, where 1+1=3, or the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. His enthusiasm is contagious and the short film is an inspiring insight into the art of story and what it means to be human.

The Eternal Thread

“The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms.” —Muriel Rukeyser

The oldest recorded constellations are from old Babylonian astronomy, beginning in the Middle Bronze Age, somewhere around 6th century BC. Constellations consists of the grouping of starts, their proximity to one another, and the patterns they form. These patterns have created Leo the Lion, Taurus the Bull, Orion, and Scorpius. What’s interesting is the idea of constellations is man-made, created out of the seemingly random shapes we see in the sky. We make sense of these stars by layering characters and stories on top of them.

Story is how we relate to the world and to each other.

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Reflections on Reviewing Portfolios, or, some suggestions to help you get a job

I was honored to be asked by Northampton Community College, a school where I spent a year and half, to come back and critique portfolios of the current graduates. I remember what it was like to be on the other side of that table showing my own book, thinking how much I thought I knew while also finding the feedback and response to my work incredibly helpful.

I’m not sure I was as helpful as I would have liked to be, though I tried to give constructive criticism and feedback and generally challenge the students to think about why they made the decisions they made. I found myself saying a similar things to a few students and thought it might be of help to write them down to share here. These suggestions are less about actual design concepts like typography (it’s too big) or layout (use grids—obviously) and more about presenting your work in a thoughtful and intelligent way.

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