The Arrogance of Art

... and the slow realisation that Metaphysics is not a dirty word.

“As children and artists play, so plays the ever-living fire. It constructs and destroys, all in innocence. Such is the game that the aeon plays with itself. Transforming itself into water and earth, it builds towers of sand like a child at the seashore, piles them up and tramples them down.” - Nietzsche

Many times in the course of writing my book (podcast, video series… whatever), I have come up against the intense, crippling weariness of self-doubt. “Who the hell am I, writing about such things? Who’s ever going to read this?” But then, perhaps there’s fair reason for this second-guessing. Since, after all, I do not have a PhD in physics, philosophy, or any other relevant school… and straight out of the gate, there they go. Any who might have had the slightest hint of interest in what I’ve learnt. Maybe. Or maybe that’s just the self-doubt talking again.

But I wouldn’t hold it against anyone. Tolerating the musings of random street preachers and their endless “I reckon’s” seems far too frequent a chore as it is. So, who am I then? Metaphysically… well, let’s unpick that later. But professionally, my experience has always been in music. As a composer, I’ve worked with both the world’s largest brands and the world’s smallest pet projects. But sadly, even with a few records under my belt, as of yet, there have been no fancy accolades that might spruce up this titillating introduction. (This isn’t going very well, is it?)

But really, I suppose it’s been in this capacity, working within the arts, where I have learnt the charm and rigour of the renegade. Because, whereas, like the academic, have I, too, spent my years training, I have also had to come to terms with that all-too-familiar occurance—of watching some as-of-yet unknown, barely (if even) out of school, with minimal expereince, as they emerge from the left side of nowhere, only to find themselves lighting up the world with their unique ideas, imagination and stylings, and in doing so, leapfrogging every single one of us so-called “professionals”.

And no, I am not bitter (…anymore), though this has been the environment to which I have become accustomed. But perhaps this is why I can now walk these halls of science and philosophy so casually, unwelcome as I might be. And though the academic ladder to success tends to be more linear than it is in music, it’s obvious that they, too, have had to deal with their fair share of rock stars. Einstein, the quintessential poster boy of physics, wasn’t sitting in the head chair at some university, looking down from on high when he tore Newton’s rug from underneath us—he was as left of nowhere as one can get, twenty-four, and working as a patent clerk! But change the world he did… armed only with a fresh shock of imaginative thinking.

Now I don’t dare wish to compare myself with the Einsteins of the world, but it has nonetheless been in this renegade’s spirit that I have chosen to persist with my writing and research, egged on by the many voices of the past, as I come to learn their stories.

It must also be said that I am very fortunate, living, as we are, at a point in time when curiosity can lead you as far as you wish (a fact that many institutions might not wish us to fully capitalise upon). In my studies over the last few decades, I have had the uncannily unique opportunity of sitting in on hundreds of hours of lectures around the world from the comfort of my own couch. Some presented by the most brilliant minds, not only of our time but of the last century. Sitting among students in Italy listening to Quantum Loop Physicist Carlo Rovelli as he breaks down his theory of relational quantum mechanics one day, and then being thrown back to the late fifties so as to be entertained by the wit and charm of Richard Feynman as he discusses Quantum fundamentals the next. Of course, the main hindrance to this form of education is personal motivation—gold in the hand if you can find it, but often in short supply. Why sit through a few months of lectures on Transcendental Idealism, or tirelessly tackle phenomenology, trying to surmount texts that were clearly written with the intent of making grown men cry, when we could be complaining about the lack of anything good to watch? But luckily, I have a small win up my sleeve on this front. The obsessive nature of an artist—indeed, the very fuel of the renegade. This, perhaps more than anything else, is what my own field has taught me. The ability to ride the ups and downs of any creative project, no matter how vast, through the self-doubt and cripling anxiety, and to always stay the course, especially in the face of uncertainty and disapproval. Trust the process! Because this is where the artist thrives. It’s not where we want to be, of course… we’re not that sadistic. We want to be standing at the podium—work in hand. At least, that’s where we think we want to be, since in reality that’s only the last stop before the realisation hits… “Oh no, the project has ended… now what?” And away we go again.

But this is what I’ve been doing for much of the last few decades. Under the advice of Joseph Campbell, I have followed my bliss, led on by curiosity and an artist’s stubborn-headedness. But the happy accident that has followed is that this project has become a source of my own self-education. A process that has led to a far deeper understanding of my own presumptive thinking, and so to a process, from which even a renegade artist can learn to relax. But all that seems left to do now is to share this meditation with you—a journey from the material to the mystical, where metaphysics stands in all its academic and artistic wonder.

Infinitely ignorant. Eternally complete.

Great to have your company.