A Beautiful Anarchy. David DuChemin

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      EX NIHILO

      There is an old Latin saying that gets thrown around in the theological circles from which I emerged as a young man when I left college: ex nihilo nihil fit. “Out of nothing, nothing comes.” Its use, as far as doctrine goes, is to enforce the idea of a Prime Mover. Nothing comes from nothing, so before there was something, there must have been Something Else to create the something. Or something like that. The years have taken most of the details from the dogma of which I was once fond, and smoothed my edges a little. But the idea remains sound, at least as a metaphor.

      I’m listening to Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue album right now, the cover of which was shot by photographer Jay Maisel. That’s neither here nor there, but the following story is. As the story goes, a student approached Jay and asked him, “How do I make more interesting photographs?” Without pausing, Jay replied, “Become a more interesting person.” Indeed.

      We are the source of our own creations, whether that’s a story, a child, a photograph, or a business. That work of art, if it’s to be art at all (and I think all of those can be), will reflect the artist in some fashion. So then the act of creation that is our first concern is ourselves. Before we create art, we must create the artist. I think it’s fair to talk in these terms, forgetting for a moment that on the surface it sounds profoundly narcissistic, because I don’t believe we’re just passive victims of fate. Yes, life happens to us in ways we never expected, and luck, or serendipity, has a way about it that’s hard not to see as wondrous and mysterious (as well as cruel and malign) much of the time. But we live and create in reaction to these events, and it is those reactions over which we have control.

      When the potter is given a lump of clay, he creates something of it—either passively, by doing nothing and letting it harden into a useless block, or actively, by putting it on the wheel and shaping it to his desire. We are what we are, flaws and all—and I’ll talk about the power of constraints later—but what we are not is powerless. As our history on this planet too well illustrates, the human will is powerful, and the decision to react to what life brings us is either a creative force or a destructive one in our all-too-short lives. It’s by virtue of the will to react and make choices—even in the light of some very dark, or paralyzing, circumstances—that we create our own lives.

      As a photographer, I am a vocal advocate of a very intentional approach to making photographs. There are a lot of decisions that affect the final outcome of the image, and I think abdicating those decisions is a lost opportunity to create something that more clearly expresses ourselves. I believe the same about life.

      In fact, I believe this so strongly that I would like to try one more metaphor. As a race we’ve found meaning in stories for millennia. We consume stories at an astonishing rate. What stories we choose to read, watch, or listen to become a part of us. Sadly, because they do give meaning, I suspect many of these stories have become a substitute for living an interesting life. Stripped of all risk, it’s easier to watch great stories than to live them. But choose to live a great story, and we open ourselves to all the possibilities the human drama has always drawn on. Exciting, heady stuff to find the love of your life, but it comes with the risk of heartache and loss. Easier, perhaps, to curl up with whatever movie in which Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan’s characters are falling in love than to do so ourselves. Amazing to jump on a plane to Africa or Southeast Asia for an adventure, but you risk all the uncertainties that have kept thousands from doing the same thing, safe at home on the couch instead with their Lonely Planet book and BBC travel documentaries.

      We have the choice to actively write a more interesting story or passively accept the one that comes our way. I’d be contradicting myself to say we ought to choose one over the other. Part of being human is having the dignity to choose. But if our lives are stories then it’s the more interesting one that I’d rather both read and write. And it’s the person living that more interesting story that is going to create the most interesting, meaningful art with their life. That kind of life happens intentionally. We may not choose the things that happen to us—few of us do—but we control our own reactions and, in that way, shape the clay we’ve been given.

      So much of our raw material lies outside our grasp. None of us controls what is behind us in our past. We don’t control the parents to whom we were born, or the place or income bracket in which we grew up. We went to this or that school, and by the time we turn 18 we’ve had a childhood of victories and defeats, joys and sorrows, and enough СКАЧАТЬ