The "secret" ingredient
The "secret" ingredient
I have been reading a fascinating book called Color: A Natural History of the Palette by Victoria Finlay, which details, in essay-style poetic prose, the author's search for the origin of color and its distillation into paint pigments and dyes. The origins of some colors and methods to manufacture dyes and paints were often closely guarded secrets by countries and groups who used their knowledge for economic advantage and power. For example, a beautiful red, the origin of which was closely guarded by the Spanish, was eventually discovered to have come from pregnant cochineal insects, a parasite on the leaf of the prickly pear cactus. Celadon green was once a color so "secret" that only Chinese royalty could own it.
And I ponder the notion of "secrets" when it comes to art in all of its forms: painting, music, architecture, dance, cooking. We all want to know the "secret" of how something is done. If we know the "secret" perhaps we can get straight to the "magic" or to the heart of the "art".
Consider the "art" of cooking. Certainly, exotic ingredients or fancy cooking appliances can make the world of a fabulous chef seem elusive and that there must be secrets lurking. But then consider the cooking of Julia Child. Her cooking ingredients for preparing dishes were often no more complex than the addition of butter, oil, salt, pepper, flour, yeast, wine, or water. What made her "art" accessible were ingredients that were basic and processes that were scientifically based, but not too complex for the amateur cook to master. So why, with these simple ingredients and not-too-complex processes was Julia Child so successful, when it seems that there were no real secrets?
I believe that the actual "secret" was two-fold: 1. The decades she devoted to learning and refining the art of cooking, and 2. her unbridled passion for it all.
When watching Julia Child cook, she will grab a bottle of white Vermouth, and with a flourish of her hand, swish a mighty draft into the skillet, saying in her sing-song voice: "Add exACTly one half cup and stir!" The "secret" then, was the many years of honing a sense of what one half cup of Vermouth feels like when poured from a bottle, and the passion and joy that drove the repetition of that move for the years it took to master.
Probably the most famous "secret" color story is the varnish used for the Stradivarius violin. The recipe for this red-orange mixture is, to this day, still not known. Victoria Finlay ventures into the studio of violin maker, Riccardo Berganzi, to ask about the recipe for Stradivari's varnish. "Perhaps, the recipe was lost because there wasn't a recipe. My theory is that he never made his varnish, but bought it from a shop. Maybe Stradivari would go and see the professional varnish-maker and say that last one was nice, but it's summer now and I need something softer." Perhaps Stradivari's "secret" was that he varied the varnish according to the needs of the violin rather than keeping to a formula. Finlay finishes the chapter on the color "orange" by writing: "It is the secret of knowing yourself and your materials so well that you can wrap your life's experiences into the very body of an instrument..."
Is this the real secret then? Knowing yourself and your materials so well that you can wrap your life's experiences into your art? And if there is one single ingredient to identify the drive that brings all of together, perhaps that key ingredient is Passion or Love, if you will: Love of the process, Love of the materials, and Love of the message.
One more "secret"?
Andrew Loomis, in his book Figure Drawing For All It's Worth writes: "As a student I thought there was a formula of some kind that I would get hold of somewhere and thereby become an artist. There is a formula, but it has not been in books. It is really plain old courage, standing on one's own feet, and forever seeking enlightenment, courage to develop your way, but learning from the other fellow; experimentation with your own ideas, observing for yourself, a rigid discipline of doing over that which you can improve..."
So perhaps a healthy dose of courage, over the long haul, driven by love or passion or whatever you want to call it, are "secret" ingredients to doing anything artful. Maybe, like Stradivari and his violin varnish ("it is summer now and I need something softer") or Julia Child and her sauces (with a dollop and flourish "we pour out exaACTly half a cup!"), the ingredients are the summation of that personal knowledge, gleaned by a lot of courageous hard work, combined with love and passion, the result of which makes the recipe seem "secret", but is really just "art".
If this is in fact true, it is no "secret" that everyone can be an artist: Identify your passion, choose your medium and be willing to work very hard. Courage and love--invested over the long-haul--are your "secret" ingredients!
P.S. For a glimpse into the studio of a master violin maker, click HERE.
