Subtractive vs. Additive
There are two ways to define something. One is to say what it is. The other is to proclaim what it is not. You would think that the first would be the easiest, because it is precise and to the point. But I think it is the hardest thing to do honestly. Telling someone that a myth is the same thing as a lie is to rob them of so much meaning and also to entirely discount its earlier role as a vehicle for making sense of the world. The second way has a much longer list of options and possibilities to draw from, but it can be terribly misleading. To say that an egg is not an elephant may be true, but it is a long way off from truly getting at the heart of what egg is.
The difference between the two is one of approach. To describe what something is, is to go at definition from an additive space. You start with a blank page and begin to fill that area with thoughts and words and impressions until it is more or less complete. The second method is entirely subtractive. You start with the whole world and your existence in it and begin to remove things until what you are left with is the definition.
Someone, to whom I am eternally grateful, recently pointed out to me how easily I resort to the subtractive. I tend to define myself in terms of what I don’t want. In ways, this makes sense. After all, what do we have here but the whole world and our existence in it? (Yes, yes, yes — the whole vast internal landscape thing. I’m getting there.) So, as I work at making sense of my self and my place here, it would require some stripping away, right? But since our perception is limited and our existence in this world doesn’t readily appear to touch everything, how do you then add new elements into the mix when you are only skilled (or mostly skilled) at deconstruction? It was suggested to me that perhaps some balance was called for. To which I jokingly replied, “What is this balance of which you speak?”
So what does this have to do with knitting? Or writing? Or anything really? Well in this past year of intensively examining the blocks that I feel have been holding me back from hitting my creative stride, I think I’m finally onto something here. And this touches my knitting, spinning, writing, career and other creative pursuits. You see, creativity holds an inherently additive element in its nature — it isn’t an either/or scenario, but a both/and process.
When I am trying to go from brain to needles and yarn, or wheel and fiber, or pen and paper, certainly I am carving something out (the deconstructive/subtractive portion of events), but there has to be more than that. You have to bring something new to the table. And more than just adding things external to one’s self, I am finding that the additions need to come from someplace internal. In order to summon up that kind of creative power, it seems you have to know yourself and trust yourself. Otherwise, you’ll just be happy to put your creativity or even your very life in the hands of other people who you think “know better.” And in this way we remain perpetual children of the world with a series of events that just happen to us and which we have no control over. This, of course, frees us from the enormous and overwhelming responsibility of our own lives. And in a world trying to escape from consequences, this is a pretty appealing scenario. Also, not a very satisfying one.
The more Corvus and I talk about our creative futures both as individuals and together, the more I come face to face with the need to develop my additive skills. We are both such course charters by nature — seldom comfortable on a well-trodden path. The thing about stepping off into uncharted territory, though, is that you not only need to have the necessary skills to make your own way, you have to have faith that you can do it.
October 20th, 2005 at 7:27 am
Came over here after Joe and Franklin mentioned you and I’m glad I did. I like thoughtful. And the stuff in the earlier post about spinning and wanting to know you were doing it right. Well, I had the same experience. I learned from a short illustrated article in Spin Off. I showed MamaCate what I’d done and she just said, you can spin anything. Go right ahead. Sometimes it is useful to have someone more experienced say that, though. To free you up to just do the thing you were thinking of doing.
October 20th, 2005 at 3:44 pm
The thing is that when you start with a process of self-definition, or self-knowledge-seeking - you inevitably start, I think, from a subtractive point - you know what you don’t want. It is easier to get a handle on. And as you go on you can fine tune your understanding of what you don’t want by adding things to the list of not-wanted, and get a pretty complex picture built up of the left over space not full of the not-wanted.
And that is really, really useful and important.
But the day you can say ‘I want this’ - and start to flesh yourself out by adding concrete idea that have grown out of self knowledge and discovery and hard, hard work - that is a champagne and birthday cake day - because it is a brave moment and a tipping point.
You’ve taken a leap of faith by stating what you want and in so stating you make a claim on it. Subtractive thinking is sometimes a lot like standing in a corner and waiting for what you need to pass by, rather than actively reaching for it.
Can I beat a metaphor to death, or what?
I’m glad you stopped Cassie and me at Rhinebeck. I’m a great admirer of what you write here and was very happy to meet you.
October 23rd, 2005 at 9:44 pm
Wow, what an entry! What you wrote reminds me of my entire college career, where after every class I thought to myself, “Well, I know I don’t want to do that! What’s next?”
I think part of the subtractive process for me was about really knowing what I want, nay what I need, to do with my life and being scared to state it (well said Juno in the above comment–it does take a great act of bravery to declare, “That! I want that!”) and not getting much support from the world at large for it. If I wanted to be a dentist, there’s lots of support for that, there are clear cut pathes to follow to acheive that…but when you say to someone, “I want to be a writer,” or “I want to be an artist” typically you are scoffed at and some really unkind soul might say, “Have fun at the dole office.” And you’re right, there are no sign posts or maps to make the journey easier. Of course, the nagging paradox there is, if there were clear paths, it wouldn’t be art, right?
This makes it much harder to be brave and to follow the creative process.
Also, I believe that the subtractive is necessary for artists for another reason. We have to cut everything away to get to the center–without that examination of our own truthes, we can’t give birth to honest art. And without that honesty, I don’t think we can honestly call it art.
For my own self, it took me a very long time to feel comfortable calling myself a writer, because of course the first thing people ask is, “Where can I read your work?” This question used to fluster me, and I would sheepishly say, “Well, I’m not published, but I want to be a writer.”
The first step for me in the additive was being able to claim, “I AM a writer.” and when people ask me if I’m pubbed, I now say, “I am building a body of work.” The additive takes a long time, I’m coming to find, but I do believe that it must begin after the subtractive is complete, when we have nothing left but the core, and the leap of faith is refreshing because there’s nothing left to cling to–I’m glad I found the belief in myself to take the leap. And I’m glad you did too!