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Protected: Patreon Exclusive” Millais sells out, or maybe he just did what he wanted to do.

Colleen Doran — Tue, 19 Feb 2019 16:19:31 +0000

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

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Guest Blog: Sarah Beach on The Metaphysics of Creativity

Colleen Doran — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 19:13:39 +0000

THE METAPHYSICS OF CREATIVITY About a month ago on another website, there was a discussion about fanfiction and professional writing, and the distinctions between them. Some of the posters contended that it was a matter of the quality of the writing, in terms of craftsmanship. Me, I think that’s a mistake. Some professional writers can be sloppy craftsmen, while some fanfic writers have exceptional talent. Colleen and I (we’d both followed the discussion there) continued a conversation spun from this discussion. Our conversation led into other territory, and it seemed to me it would make an interesting guest blog topic. So, here’s some wandering on where my thoughts went. Professionalism in creative arts certainly begins with craftsmanship. The fanfic writer might not be concerned with that aspect of writing, but anyone with professional aspirations ought to be. But the true distinction is not in the craftsmanship itself – whether in writing or art or music or acting or any of the creative activities. What is the true key lies in the creator’s passion for his or her work. The effect of the creator’s passion is difficult to describe. It seems ephemeral. Yet, everyone gets a feeling of “This is right” or “This is wrong.” Something gets communicated, something extra. I’ve occasionally called this effect “frozen telepathy.” What I mean by that is that some inner passion the creator has for the story, the characters or whatever, gets caught in the finished work and the audience can see it, receive it. For actors, it is perhaps most obvious – there are some actors who can take you all the way inside their characters, so that even though the character “isn’t showing anything,” the audience can actually see what is going on inside. Other actors who lack this ability end up seeming flat, and the audience only gets the surface (which might of itself be pleasing – many such actors are physically attractive and may have great smiles). They may convey to the audience a nice picture but no emotional content. Whatever it is in this invisible communication, it is harder to pin down in writers and artists. As I said, there’s a lot of “This works” or “That doesn’t work” in our responses to creative works. Additionally, individual creators seem to have some sort of internal signature that identifies the work as something from a specific creator. It is that unique touch that lets someone say at a glance of a painting, “That’s a Van Gogh,” “That’s a Rembrandt,” “That’s a Picasso,” “That’s a Hirshfeld.” Something similar can occur in writers as well: Hemingway’s prose is different from Faulkner’s; Robert Howard’s prose is different than that of his pastichers. Years ago, I read a book titled SENTICS, by Dr. Manfred Clynes. Clynes developed a finger pressure sensor that allowed him to measure emotional response to stimuli. It turned out that there were specific pressure signatures for specific basic emotions and the responses were consistent cross-culturally and across the sexes (meaning men and women are not really that different in their responses). Clynes then extended his research to human response to music. In doing so, he discovered that listeners would create similar pressure patterns in response to different works from a specific composer, even if they were unfamiliar with the works. And, by and large, the musical work created a consistent response in listeners. This meant that an American, a Japanese, a rural African each listening to a specific work would generate pressure signatures with a pattern distinctive to that composer. Apparently, the only major differences occurred when the listener was a strong individualist with his own distinct response to music. Conductor Leopold Stokowski frequently put his own stamp on works he conducted, and this showed up in his responses in Clynes’ studies (Clynes knew many notables in the classical music world). Reading Clynes’ studies gave me a lot to think about in this matter of the “invisible communication” in creative works. The fact that Clynes found a way to measure emotional response and that the results could be consistent and reproducible (an important factor in establishing a truly scientific measure), made me much more certain about the aspect of objective evaluation of art. Apparently, evaluation of creative works is NOT “just a matter of opinion.” If it was possible to measure emotional response to music, I extrapolated that it could also be done for visual and textual art. My point is (before I get sidetracked into issues of objective evaluations of art and literature) that it was now obvious that “something invisible and consistent” does indeed go on in art. And that something touches our emotional responses. We DO communicate something in our works (beyond the obvious intent of the art or storytelling), and the response of the audience will depend on (1) how much we (the creator) “put into” the work and (2) how much the specific audience member responds to our particular emotional brew. This is where distinctions between a Debussy lover and a Wagner or Philip Glass lover come in: neither listener is more right than the other, they are just preferring different emotional responses. Do some creators put into their work and “invisible something” that other might find repellant? Oh, yes. It is apparently a reflection of some attitude or outlook on the part of the creator that generates a negative response in segments of the audience. And that, perhaps, is one of the conclusions one can draw from Clynes’ studies: art (be it music, visual arts or writings) is more revealing of the artist’s own nature than is generally acknowledged. And when we say of some creative work “It speaks to me,” we are being much less figurative than we imagine. Art talks and it reveals the secrets of its creator. (Isn’t that a scary thought for the reclusive artist? 😀 ) Sarah Beach trifles with artwork, but applies herself to writing with much more diligence. She’s the author of THE SCRIBBLER’S GUIDE TO THE LAND OF MYTH, and uses material from the book as springboards for posts on her blog.

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Guest Blog: Julie Ditrich on Unlocking and Accessing the Darkness Within: 7 Keys for Comics Creators

Colleen Doran — Sat, 16 May 2009 13:28:05 +0000

[WARNING: Some comics, film and book plot spoilers ahead!] “Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” Stephen King A few weeks ago at Australia’s Supanova (Brisbane) pop culture convention, I had the privilege of meeting US comics creator Jhonen Vasquez whose satirical work Johnny the Homicidal Maniac I greatly admire. Despite the fact that I’m not usually drawn to creative properties with the words “homicidal” or “maniac” in the title or indeed ones that hint at or overtly promise great acts of depravity, my business partner and artist Jozef Szekeres persuaded me to read it and I’m very grateful to him for doing so. Vasquez’s portrait of insanity in the form of a deranged serial killer was not only convincing but, in my estimation, was a multi-layered and brilliantly executed tour-de-force. Johnny is not quite my idea of the quintessential anti-hero, as his methods of dispatching victims would make even Dexter cringe. Yet in his quieter insular moments Johnny possesses a modicum of self-awareness and displays moments of a kind of distorted sweetness as he strives to find the meaning of life and ultimately find out who he is. In the ten minutes I spent gushing to Vasquez about the impact of the work on me, I asked him a question I’d been wondering while reading the series: “Did you do a lot of research on profiling and the psychology of serial killers or is this all you?” Vasquez paused for a moment and with a glint in his eye, which could have been interpreted in any number of ways, confessed, “It all came from me.” Vasquez’s revealing admission got me thinking again about something I’ve been grappling with for a long time – when my personal internal and seemingly benign archetypes include the healer and the seeker amongst others and when the genres I traditionally work in are fantasy or visionary (metaphysical) fiction, how do I step outside of my emotional comfort zone and into the darker side of myself in order to channel it into creative works? Outside of resorting to chemical means such as drugs and alcohol and the subsequent cliché scenario of spiralling down into a psychologically disturbed oblivion brought on by childhood trauma, I’ve identified seven practical keys that have helped me create some of the darker characters and moments in my own fiction work and that of the upcoming Elf~Fin: Hyfus & Tilaweed comics series. These keys could prove useful for both comics writers and artists to harvest the darkness within and ultimately redirect it into their storytelling. Before we examine them, it’s important to discern the necessity of introducing darkness into your stories. The actual argument in favour of it is threefold: – Without going into abject darkness how can a character experience the light in forms such as love, joy and redemption, which invariably accompanies traditional happy-ending plots? – Without understanding the evil lengths an antagonist and his/her allies will go to in order to fulfil their objectives, how can we create obstacles and conflict for the protagonist’s journey? – And without these stark contrasts, how can we get readers/viewers to identify with the lead character/s and in the process give readers a visceral experience that evokes a large range of feelings and emotions (which is one of my success measurement tools about whether or not a work translates into a rich reading or filmic experience)? The reality is that outside of creating a fiction work for pure entertainment value, many of us choose to step into the darkness in our stories in order to challenge a society in denial and to expose controversial themes that in the past were commonly excised from our attention. The objective here is to introduce these issues not for titillation sake but to shine a spotlight on humanity’s evil-mongers and hopefully provide solutions and hope to the lost and forlorn spirits out there who relate to the characters and situations. Audiences and readers have also reached new levels of sophistication, and black-and-white portraits of good and evil just don’t cut it any more. Characters actually need to be multi-faceted. Some of the best examples of deep and complex characters I’ve come across in the last few years are on the television series Lost and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In comics and graphic novels, the aforementioned JtHM, as well as Neil Gaiman’s Sandman (the serial killer convention was quite extraordinary!) But getting back to the seven practical keys that can help you access multiple parts of yourself… (1) Personal Experience Dredging up traumatic or dysfunctional personal experiences and using them as the foundation for story and/or art is the most obvious key. Australian comics creators Christian Read and Paul Abstruse’s graphic novel WitchKing is a case in point. It’s a veritable blood bath. I cringed over entire sequences while reading it. Having said that, it’s also a stellar piece of writing and is quite brilliantly illustrated. At its very core it’s a story about chronic bullying and the aftermath – that is, what happens when a victim fights back against his perpetrators. When I talked recently to Paul Abstruse (whose body of illustrated comics work is characterised by dark themes) about how he approached the script he said he is usually attracted to the murkier stuff because it often parallels his own difficult upbringing. He related to the WitchKing material so much so that in his own eyes he became the embodiment of a tortured artist who descended into his own personal hell in order to channel those experiences onto the canvas. While working on the art, he specifically remembers recalling instances of his own anger, shame, and resentment, which echoed aspects of the script and, in turn, helped him endow the artwork with a powerful energy. Similarly, Colleen Doran’s graphic novel A Distant Soil (Volume II): The Ascendant offers up what I consider is the most shocking and confronting scene in the entire four volumes. It comes in the form of a ritual known as “The Choosing”. The Ovanon, she writes about, don’t believe children have souls until they go through a ceremony, whereupon adults in the upper echelons of the society’s hierarchy capriciously decide who is worthy of a soul and who is not. Children become disposable objects and in some cases are offered up for sexual gratification and profound physical and emotional abuse. Colleen didn’t directly experience the horror of this first hand, but during her childhood she witnessed several incidents that left an indelible impression on her psyche and gave her the starting point to explore these ideas in her story. At a very young age Colleen recognised that children – the most helpless and vulnerable people in our society – were not valued as fully fledged human beings and often underwent a kind of devaluation process. This even happened in the court system. Punishment meted out to the transgressors of physical and emotional abuse against children was less than that given to offenders who had abused adults. Children who could not articulate their pain and who had undergone horrific trauma were relegated to the roles of second-class citizens with no rights. In particular, Colleen witnessed an incident where a little girl who had been starved and tortured was wrested out of her abusive family situation only to be returned to the same family after she had sufficiently recovered. The family then picked up their bags and moved – never to be seen or heard of again – and Colleen has always wondered what happened to that little girl. Justice in this case was not served, and merely served to reinforce in young Colleen’s eyes that there seemed to be an habitual violation of children’s essential humanity. Your emotional reactions to traumatic events (or even seemingly minor injustices) are all fodder for your stories and characters. And for those of you who feel vulnerable and anxious about exposing too much – just remember that characters are actually composites/collages/patchwork quilts (all these synonyms and more). Writers rarely duplicate the living exactly, but usually borrow facets or idiosyncrasies of themselves and others, then add part research and then part imagination and sew all these pieces together like Doctor Frankenstein sews together body parts from various corpses to create his monster. Using personal experience can ultimately be therapeutic and cathartic – the act of reconstituting your own demons and darkness and channelling them into your characters can be liberating and healing. (2) Introspection and Self Analysis This key is closely linked to personal experience (mentioned above) but differs in the method – it’s a conscious and active process of getting to know yourself and releasing blocks that may impede or in fact shut down your creative facilities. This process often requires an element of detachment where you become an observer of your inner and outer life as it unfolds. You ultimately become a student of yourself. In the first instance, I encourage writers to experience various therapies to release negative repressed emotions that may be causing creative blocks, do psych tests such as the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator which identifies whether you’re an extrovert or introvert, are thinking or feeling oriented, intuitive or sensing, and perceiving or judging. Understand your archetypes (read Caroline Myss’s book Sacred Contracts for a comprehensive list) – these include advocate, warrior, rescuer, trickster and victim. Embrace the feminine and masculine traits you possess inside and identify how they manifest in your life. Examine your developmental journey through various ages. Strip away your barriers and lean into your authentic self so you can endow your characters with emotional honesty. If/when you experience emotions such as jealousy, obsession, rage, and resentment as a reaction to triggering incidents, ask yourself how you can translate them into words and pictures. Then ask yourself how characters could exhibit some of your personal characteristics, as well as traits that are alien to you, in various conflicts. Many creatives also talk about possessing a kind of split personality (not in the true sense of a Dissociative Identity Disorder but a disconnection nevertheless) – that is, they may find themselves participating in real life scenarios but also be observing (as if they’re outside themselves) at the same time. This observer part of them captures and imprints all the detail of the unfolding scene in their memory, and then, with a twist of the imagination, may play out that scene into several different takes with different resolutions. For example, a writer friend once told me that he cannot have an argument with his wife without his mind offering up several different simultaneously-dramatised scenarios about how the argument will unfold – in one she slams the door and drives away and the opposite end of the spectrum is that they tear off their clothes and make love on the floor there and then. Maybe we all need a dose of Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now to keep us in the moment, but the simple truth is that this ability serves our profession and our creativity. (3) Create Boundaries – Honour Yourself and Your Readers Differentiate between who the character is and how they act and who you are and how you act, but also be aware of crossing any boundaries that may undermine, conflict or betray your personal values and your essential self. This is not about pro- or self-censorship: it’s about making conscious choices and having a vision and a message of what you want to say about yourself and your stories in the world. If you want to experiment with genre and story and darkness then that’s great – it will be a personal challenge and a process of self-discovery. However, if it means betraying a personal core truth or belief system then be aware of the implications for yourself and for your audience in the short and long term. A few years ago I attended a publishing conference in the USA, where one of the key speakers was Eric...

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11 Things Designers Should Avoid: Guest Blog by Val Trullinger

Colleen Doran — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 22:33:10 +0000

Often I get interns and designers who are dab hands at InDesign and Photoshop, but lack crucial skills that aren't always taught in design classes. Namely, how to work with other designers, clients, and an art director. It's wonderful that you can design mind-blowing work, but if you can't get along with your studio, you're doomed. This is a hard lesson for some. Luckily, that's why the gods invented art directors: to school the uppity.

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