We have more faith in what we imitate than in what we originate. We cannot derive a sense of absolute certitude from anything which has its roots in us. The most poignant sense of insecurity comes from standing alone and we are not alone when we imitate. It is thus with most of us; we are what other people say we are. We know ourselves chiefly by hearsay.
–Bruce Lee, Bruce Lee: Artist of Life
Never thought I’d be writing about Bruce Lee here. I have never seen a Bruce Lee film nor any other martial arts film, for that matter. Well, there was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon but that was outside of the typical kung fu flicks as I knew them. As far as Bruce Lee, I have only seen clips of him in action in his films on the Green Hornet TV show, and in some public demonstrations. They were always impressive. But that was the extent of my knowledge on Bruce Lee.
I came across the passage above from Lee recently and was intrigued. Was this from an interview or from a film? Doing a bit of research, I discovered that Lee had quite a philosophic streak, one that was readily revealed in his published books during his lifetime (three that mixed martial arts and philosophy), his notebooks (he always carried a small notebook), interviews, and letters. It included his thoughts on subjects pertaining to martial arts, of course, but to a wide range of other subjects. And even when writing about martial arts, especially the mental and philosophical aspects, his observations often held wisdom and meaning that transcended the subject.
Life lessons for everyone.
His daughter compiled many of his observations in a book Bruce Lee: Artist of Life. And in Lee’s view, living life was an artform in itself thus making each and every one of us an artist. It contained wisdom for life artists of all sorts, not just martial artists or people actively engaged in the creative arts.
When I came across the passage above it struck me that it held a truth that applied to both life and art. A least as far as I was concerned.
I have often felt most uncertain in my work when I feel it is at its most original form, that it can’t be compared easily with the work of others. It is the work that I often feel is my best.
Work that will an enduring legacy–if there is to be one. Work that stands alone.
And while I feel the certainty of my belief in this work, there is never the absolute certitude, as Lee puts it, that I am correct in my belief. Because it originates in me and is not derived from or imitative of the work of others, I feel the need to question its validity even as I know deep inside myself that its strength is its authenticity.
And when this work is not received with the same level of enthusiasm or belief in it that I hold for it, I am thus quick to question if I was wrong in my belief.
It is then very much as Lee points out, that I begin to believe that what I am — in the form of my work–is what other people say I am.
I begin to trust the opinion and hearsay of others.
I fight this urge now. My avatar, that Red Tree, has stood apart for 25 plus years now and has thus endured. But that doubt still lingers in me, this uncertainty to move away from the other trees of the forest and stand out in the open.
Lee’s observations make me believe my doubts are not uncommon to many of us in the arts. And in life, in general. While there is some comfort in knowing that others experience this same doubt, it is also is a bit sad that we often defer to the opinions and hearsay from others in how we view and know ourselves. It makes us even more imitative, more willing to simply blend in and less likely to dare to venture out into the open where we can stand alone.
We find ourselves safer and more comfortable in the density and shadows of the forest. But to grow in an unencumbered way we have to sometimes seek open air and sunlight, trusting that we are strong enough to stand alone.
Ther’s a lot more that could be said at this point, but I am going to leave it here for now. Here’s s favorite song that I play every couple of years. It’s a remake from horn player Takuya Kuroda of the 1976 song, Everybody Loves the Sunshine, from jazz artist Roy Ayers. The original is great, but I personally prefer Kuroda’s remake. It seems right for someone wanting to stand out in the sunlight this morning…
Redtree Times 