Sometimes when I am painting with brushes that are a bit worn out, I have the feeling that it doesn’t matter so much if the tips are worn away. But then if I take a brand new brush and start using it, my whole perception of what is possible, what is acceptable, changes. I know that I shape my brushes through use, but I also have come to understand that my brushes shape me.
There is a widely used saying (it goes like this)
If your only tool is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.
which I think is very deep. I think that when we pick up a tool and use it a lot, it actually becomes a part of us from the brain’s point of view. It becomes part of us in a simulated physical sense, like a violinist’s bow becoming an extension of his right arm; and it also becomes part of our psychology, this perhaps in a less obvious way.
I’m coming back to blogging after being away for more than a year. When I got back into it, I noticed with amusement that I tend to phrase my thoughts in terms of blog posts or blog comments. A blog is a sort of tool, isn’t it?
I would like to hear your thoughts on this topic of being shaped by your tools. Do you believe it happens? What are your tools? How do they affect you? And finally, what are the implications of this? How should we select the tools that will shape us?
Also by Karl:
Karl,
I agree that the notion of being shaped by one’s tools is a profound one. We can greatly extend our capabilities, but with the potential downside of missing important subtleties when we’re too quick with the hammer. In my case, I’m very far from pushing the envelope of what’s possible with a modern digital camera. I probably use no more than 5% of its functionality–though I hope it’s the essential 5%. (The only thing I use that was unavailable before is the histogram information.)
It’s not that I’m an anti-gear traditionalist. But for what I think I’m after in photography, I am much more limited by my conceptual tookit. I’ll upgrade my camera eventually, but it won’t make much difference unless I’ve sharpened a lot of mental tools first. And yes, this blog is a sort of sharpening tool.
Yesterday, after doing the underpainting for new picture and looking out of the window, I saw the world as big shapes rather than as the details that I usually focus on – filigree of trees still denuded of their leaves.
If your only tool is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. What a frightening thought.
I use a hammer for a lot of different things.
I use a lot of different things as hammers. A wrench, a rock, whatever’s handy to bang with. Sometimes it works, sometimes I have to go get a real hammer.
I often use my shoe.
If you have a hammer, it’s good to be able to pick the tasks you apply it to. D’s shoe, for example, might be perfect for tightening a loose chair stretcher.
And yes, this blog is a sort of sharpening tool
Steve,
It’s certainly never dull ;-)
The camera is a fantastic example of a tool that shapes the user. When I take a lot of pictures, my whole visual perception is altered.
“If your only tool is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.” What a frightening thought.
Birgit,
That’s sort of the point of the saying, I guess. It’s a warning, maybe. But there is a great deal to it. Take the U.S. military, for example.
I use a hammer for a lot of different things.
D,
This is a very deep point, in fact. As I understand, your hammer is your shoe. Did you attach leather straps to it, and, do you have a pair? This would be an example of shaping your tool[s] though use; perhaps your soles as well. Or, did you mean you use your shoe as a hammer? This would shape the shoe, certainly, if you are pounding nails.
This path has been trod [shod?] before, with the result of the SHOE HAMMER.
In need of a rag, I will (too often) use my shirt.
Folks:
If I had a hammer
I’d hammer in the morning
I’d hammer in the evening
All over this land
Etc.
My personality changes with laryngitis. A hoarse voice makes me more locquatious and outgoing. If I were not such a wimp I’d take that hammer to my voice box and become the man I ought to be.
In a Karl way, the nature of the pen, brush or pencil changes my manner of expression. I get the most, on those odd occasions that I do it, from pushing a fairly sharp but rounded point into pink insulating foam.
In need of a rag, I will (too often) use my shirt.
D, I used my sleeve as a child before I learned about Kleenex.
A hoarse voice makes me more locquatious and outgoing.
Now we are getting somewhere. Jay, I have the same experience. Is there a remedy (anti-remedy) short of hammering?
Karl:
Not that I know of – and a sledge might work best.
Karl,
One of my fellow painters in a studio class walked by me one day and said, very loudly, “Get a bigger brush.” She is 75 or so, so I had to be respectful (to my elders, doncha know). I got a bigger brush, and — she was right.
My favorite tools are my plein air gear, which is compact, can be backpacked if necessary (I try not to make it necessary) or carted in its own special cart and can haul a board up to 18 x 36″. The cart has been dragged through gravel and sand and still goes quite nicely on pavement; the easel legs haven’t yet seized up with sand clogs; and I discovered the cart also could serve as a table, sitting beside my foldable stool. I look rather silly, but I’m equipped rather well.
These tools made it possible for me to continue plein air work in the midst of serious hip arthritis last year.
I also note that the size of the board or canvas that I am using changes what I do — and what size brush I use (although I still hear the charge “get a big brush” ringing in my ears.) Alas, my brushes have suffered greatly in this desert painting I’ve been doing (I now have 28 decent paintings — and some more indecent ones). i shall have to refurbish more than the paints when I get back to Portland.
I’m off this morning to Death Valley to tackle another scene or two there.
June:
At least the lady didn’t yell, “Where’s the beef?”