Intro

Hi There.

Several years ago I began to develop the concept of writing the world. Not writing about the world — that’s nothing more than reporting, which, in its purest form, requires little attention to craft — but actually writing the world, creating the world for yourself and for your readers.

The most interesting writing occurs when the writer senses and writes what isn’t readily apparent. Consider, the literary quotes we most admire revolve around a unique turn of a phrase or the clear presentation of a truth or the illumination of an ideal, all while fully engaging our emotions, whether joy or sadness, elation or melancholy.

And as writers, we aspire to write like that. We talk of writing the Great American Novel. We strive to write something that will garner the admiration of our peers. We dream of being awarded the Pulitzer Prize or the Nobel Prize or the National Book Award or any of hundreds of other symbols of recognition and respect. To write the world, to write in a way that will garner the respect and acclaim of others, the writer must immerse herself in the world. She must become an expert at observation, hungry to fully employ her physical senses, her intuition, and her imagination as she explores the world around her.

The Beginnings of The Art & Philosophy of Observation

I first started thinking of observation as a separate art form and possibly a way of life, a path, as I stared at the flickering flames of a campfire in the Sacramento Mountains of southern New Mexico some forty years ago. At the age of 12, I was on a camping trip with my dad and his two brothers in the Rocky Mountains in southern New Mexico. They were pre-scouting a hunting area. In the late evening, we were all sitting around a campfire. As the adults talked about hunting and deer tracks and chewed-off scrub brush and other sign there might be deer in the area, I focused on the campfire, especially the ethereal beauty of the individual flames. Each flame seemed to exist as an actual object, like a small sheet of paper, but only for an instant before it became nothing at all. In that way, each flame seemed to combine the abstract with the physical.

I’d already struggled for a few years with the difficult concept of how to express abstract emotions in a concrete form — a poem or a short story or a novel. As I considered the flames, a thought occurred: If I could write a poem on a flame, I could combine language and emotion. Much later, I realized a poet’s job is to take an emotion from thin air and morph it into a concrete thing, a poem, in such a way that the poem would evoke the same emotion in the reader. That memory and its ensuing questions and thoughts milled around in my head for twenty years. Then, at the age of 32 and while I was still knee-deep in the Marine Corps, a line came to me: “If I could write a poem on the sea….” The resulting poem has been published and republished many times.

My study of observation was cemented a few years later when I worked as a leather craftsman while I was still stationed with the Marine Corps in Yuma, Arizona. My belts, holsters, rifle scabbards, and other items were popular because the designs with which I decorated them so closely approximated the real thing. When I carved an oak leaf onto a piece of leather, it looked as if a leaf had fallen from an oak tree and lay across the leather in just the right spot. The edges curled, some leaflets curled back over others, and some even carried the scars of bug bites. For some reason, though, the acorns that accompanied the oak leaves weren’t quite right. Something was missing.

I gathered acorns from various oak trees and began studying them. After spending several hours comparing them with the acorns I’d carved on leather, it dawned on me: the nut in the real acorn displayed very fine lines running from the cap to the point at the bottom of the nut. On some of the acorns I studied, the lines were so fine they were barely visible beneath the semi-gloss surface, but they were there. That nuance was the difference between the acorns on my designs and the real thing.

I didn’t want caricature; I wanted reality. I didn’t want to simply mimic; I wanted to create. I continued to study the acorns. I smelled them, comparing one scent with another (yes, they were different). I tested their texture not only with my fingers and palms, but with the tip of my tongue. I studied them visually again and again, from every angle. When I’d invested enough time, when I’d immersed myself in the acorns’ world long enough, I was able to create them in my designs. It literally made a world of difference. I was able to create a scene rather than the shallow veneer of a scene.

My study hasn’t waned from that point on. I grew hungry to learn the secrets hidden in plain sight just on the other side of the external and internal veils with which we all contend in our normal lives. Later, I gave those veils names: Superiority, Expectations, Routine, Normalcy, Adulthood, Time Constraint, our own Communication Filters, which are based on our experiences. Of course, it was only a matter of time until I began practicing the art of observation as a way of life. I found such comfort in it, such solace, that I wanted to tell others about it as well, not to “convince” them of anything and certainly not for any sort of personal gain, but simply because it is what I have to share.

As you will learn, three basic tenets comprise the core of the philosophy of observation: recognize your place within the Wholeness; take what you need from the Wholeness without greed; and give to the Wholeness what you have without a thought for what you’ll get out of it. Welcome to the Wholeness.

Who Should Read This

Although the thoughts expressed in The Art of Observation are bent toward writers, the concepts truly are for everybody. The information and techniques are equally applicable to any form of art, self-expression, instruction, or creation. The concepts in The Philosophy of Observation are essential for achieving our potential as equal partners on this, our fine little blue rock. If you want to write (paint, chisel, sculpt, wood burn, etc.) what’s beneath the veneer, if you want to write the world, you have to delve beyond the obvious — you have to become a true observer. Here are a couple of definitions and a brief overview:

Observation is the ability to sense beyond the societal and emotional veils with which we all contend. It is essential to the craft of writing and is the result of a conscious desire to sense what’s actually there rather than just accepting the façade that we sense in passing. In what I’ve come to think of as Part I (The Art of Observation), I’ll discuss the basics: how to recognize the veils, how to sense beyond them, and how to enable that sense of observation for the reader. Although it’s crammed full of practical examples and techniques that address the physicality that is The Art of Observation, Part I is most important because it serves as an extended preface for Part II.

Part II (The Philosophy of Observation) is the mental, emotional, philosophical, thought-provoking, ethereal, spiritual side of things. It delves into passive observation, the ability and desire to observe without consciously or unconsciously affecting what is observed, a skill that’s more than essential for any form of art and for a million far more important other reasons. It is the release of the desire to control people and situations. It is the practice of simultaneously recognizing yourself as a unique entity and relinquishing ego, thereby embracing your role as an integral part of the symbiosis that is the Wholeness.

Becoming a passive observer is not something you can learn in a seminar or a workshop. It isn’t even something you can simply attain and then add to your list of achievements. Even the whole of this writing when I’ve been at it for the rest of my life will only plant the seed. Although it’s an amazingly liberating concept, The Art & Philosophy of Observation asks nothing of you. You don’t have to stop believing in Jesus or Allah or Mohammed or whatever form or name your version of G-d takes. Certianly, it will serve to enhance your current belief system while keeping you in tune with all of creation, but it forces nothing on you and takes nothing from you. Best of all, it doesn’t demand obedience to any particular set of rules; nor does it threaten you with eternal damnation.

Living in the Wholeness

You will see the term Wholeness a lot if you continue to read and visit this website. The Wholeness is my term for nature, everything, all of creation and existence, and it is the first overriding theme of this book. The word itself is the other plausible translation from the original Greek (most often hosio) or Hebrew (most often hesed) of the word for holiness.

The second overall theme of this book — because it leads us to appreciate the Wholeness and our place within it and because it is central to the philosophy of observation — is the Question. Because it spurs thought and enables us to see beyond the veils, the question is the most important grouping of words in any language. The so-called fact, because it never represents the whole of a situation or circumstance, is actually an opinion at best, and a lie at worst. The opinion, offered as it is from a single point of view, is a meaningless group of words until the reader questions it. Both the fact and the opinion are valuable only in their ability to create dissent and/or curiosity and thereby cause the listener or reader to ask questions. This writing is chock full of opinions; they are always my own except as otherwise specifically noted. That, coupled with the foregoing definitions, should tell you in what high esteem I hold the question. No matter what else you ever do, even as you go through these writing, Question Everything. Think!

To Avoid Any Misunderstandings

The veils I will mention in this writing are not those personal persona masks we don in various social situations or when talking with different people. These are not the masks we sometimes wear to keep others at bay until we’re certain of their intent. These are not in any way something we consciously generate. Rather, they are veils that hinder or alter or block our perception of the world around us.

Refer to the Glossary for reference. Welcome to what I hope will be an enriching, enlightening experience.