Walking down the street the other day I was thinking about what I want as an artist in light. For a long time, until I boarded this recent train of thought, I wanted to be the best lighting designer in the world. I think a lot of people want that. They don’t necessarily want to be the best lighting designer, but they want to be the best at whatever it is they love to do.
So I wanted to be the best. No. I wanted to be The Best. I wanted, so badly, to be the best there was, that I stopped trying to be better.
Now don’t get me wrong, I have certainly improved. And I continue to do so. But my improvements have largely come, from my perspective, behind the scenes while I strove for being The Best.
This was not always the case. For a long time, until fairly recently, I simply wanted to be better. Sure, I wanted to be The Best, but that was a goal pointing me in a direction. It was a vector, not a destination. A verb, not a noun. What I was doing day to day was simply improving my craft in my medium. I kept working, tirelessly, on my craft. Improving my use of color and angle. Getting better at worksheets and drafting. In short I was doing everything that a student of an art form should do. I was analyzing mistakes and working to improve them.
Somewhere along the way I stopped learning in the way that I had been doing. I think I know when it was too. A few years ago I got hired by a regional theater to light a play. What play it was and where it performed is irrelevant. I was flown out from New York, lit the show, and knocked the design out of the park. We’re talking bases loaded, solid contact, clean hit way out into right field and over the bleachers. In short, the show looked damn good.
For many people this would simply be one step towards a new and better achievement. But I have a problem with success. I have had this trouble all my life. Or at least as far as I can remember. I can be great at something until the point at which I become aware of how good I am. Then I falter.
That is not entirely accurate.
The trouble is not just becoming aware of talent. It is when the voice of success becomes louder than the voice of critique. It was that voice of critique that I lost in the success.
This is not to say that I have not done some great work since. I have. Recently too. But the work I have done for the last few years has been largely at the same level. It is often good, but it is not getting better. Further, in striving to be The Best, without working continuously to be better, I have made some awesome miscalculations. Overconfidence is the risk faced when the inner critic is not given full voice.
But more generally than that, when we stop learning, when we cease asking questions, we stop growing. As I have been mulling these thoughts around in my head for the last several days I realized that the greatest artists, certainly the ones I have been attracted to, tend to live as permanent students of their art form.
I am reminded of the line from Shunryu Suzuki’s Zen Mind, Begrinner’s Mind, “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, in the expert’s mind there are few.”
I have come to realize that in order to truly excel as an artist in light I need to first and foremost be a student of light. I may one day become a teacher, but in order to teach, I must be able to learn. Yet right now, in order to become better, in order to even get back on the path towards being the best, I have to learn. I must be a student. I must approach light with the Beginner’s Mind.
Being a student means asking questions. It means constant improvement. It means having fun with what you are doing. It means every day choosing to learn because of the joy of knowledge and improvement. Learning, it seems, is better than being the best.
Great post Lucas!
I think i’ve come to a similar realization lately though I’m still fairly new at what I’m currently doing. Learning is ongoing really!
“Overconfidence is the risk faced when the inner critic is not given full voice.”
Can you elaborate on what you mean by that ? I think I have an idea but I’m curious, because I think it’s a fascinating statement.