Searching for Simplicity
the art of navigating complexity to find clarity
Simplicity is not hard to find. After all, we’re born with it. Eat, sleep, poop—doesn’t get much simpler than that. The problem is how to hold onto that simplicity?
We can’t, of course, because life inevitably gets in the way. Before we know it, we’re caught in a complex web of responsibility that is anything but simple. But not all is lost, for there is another kind of simplicity out there waiting for us all . . . the simplicity on the other side of complexity.
Whereas we’re all granted simplicity at birth, the entry prize for being human, simplicity on the other side of complexity must be realized, learned and earned. And not everyone gets over the hump.
“I would not give a fig for the simplicity on this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity.”
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes, Supreme Court Justice (1902-1932)
So what is this other kind of simplicity? And how do we find it? (Disclaimer: I’m not saying I’ve found it myself.)
Let’s start with a story about Picasso . . .
The old artist is sketching in the park, when a woman recognizes him. “It’s you—Picasso, the great artist!” she says. “Oh, you must sketch my portrait! I insist.” So he agrees. After studying her for a moment, he uses a single pencil stroke to create her portrait. “It’s perfect!” the woman gushes. “You managed to capture my very essence. Thank you! How much do I owe you?” Picasso replies, “Five thousand francs, madam.” The woman is incredulous, outraged. “How could you want so much money for this picture? It only took you a second to draw it!” Picasso smiles. “No, madam. It took my whole life.”
What is simpler than a line? But when Picasso draws a line it’s more than merely ink on paper. It’s a lifetime of paying attention distilled into a single act.
Anaïs Nin once observed, “We don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.”
As a homebuilder, I walk through a house and see details a layperson wouldn’t. A doctor looks at the body and sees an array of systems working in perfect synchronization. A painter sees the world in colors and forms.
calls this the “Art of Noticing.”This noticing takes time. There’s an inverse relationship between any acquired skill and time. An experienced plumber can fix a pipe in less time than a novice plumber; same with a skilled surgeon replacing a knee; or an artist sketching a portrait. This is part of the simplicity, the ease with which we accomplish the things we set out to do. It’s about the time one spends in the world, cultivating a vision.
Getting to the simplicity on the other side of complexity takes time. You cannot cheat your way into time. This is why we all must start as apprentices before becoming masters, and students before teachers.
However, I worry that we as a society are trying to cheat by engineering a path over the hump of complexity. Nothing exemplifies this more than AI.
AI might not be so much a nuclear explosion that wipes out humanity, but rather a societal failure to launch.
It seems pretty clear that the jobs AI is best suited to overtake are the entry-level positions: junior copywriter, junior programmer, all the things we do early on. If these aren’t available, how will anyone become skilled enough in a given field to push it into new territory? To creatively solve problems? Some might say AI will eventually be capable, but isn’t it fundamentally derivative of things humans have already produced? Do we really want it to reach beyond these limits? Wouldn’t that be a planned obsolescence of our own kind?
From a humanist standpoint what I fear most is a collective helplessness in the average person, derived from AI kneecapping one’s ability to even get off the ground. In other words, AI might not be so much a nuclear explosion that wipes out humanity, but rather a societal failure to launch.
The “launch” is what pushes us over the hump to the simplicity on the other side of complexity. It’s us being able to find a purpose and act on it. It’s our being able to close what Ira Glass calls the “Taste Gap.” This is a long quote—well worth it.
Nobody tells people who are beginners — and I really wish somebody had told this to me — is that all of us who do creative work … we get into it because we have good taste. But it’s like there’s a gap, that for the first couple years that you’re making stuff, what you’re making isn’t so good, OK? It’s really not that great. It’s trying to be good, it has ambition to be good, but it’s not quite that good. But your taste — the thing that got you into the game — your taste is still killer, and your taste is good enough that you can tell that what you’re making is kind of a disappointment to you, you know what I mean?
A lot of people never get past that phase. A lot of people at that point, they quit. And the thing I would just like say to you with all my heart is that most everybody I know who does interesting creative work, they went through a phase of years where they had really good taste and they could tell what they were making wasn’t as good as they wanted it to be — they knew it fell short, it didn’t have the special thing that we wanted it to have.
And the thing I would say to you is everybody goes through that. And for you to go through it, if you’re going through it right now, if you’re just getting out of that phase — you gotta know it’s totally normal.
And the most important possible thing you can do is do a lot of work — do a huge volume of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week, or every month, you know you’re going to finish one story. Because it’s only by actually going through a volume of work that you are actually going to catch up and close that gap. And the work you’re making will be as good as your ambitions. It takes a while, it’s gonna take you a while — it’s normal to take a while. And you just have to fight your way through that, okay?
The ability to make what we find tasteful, to live a life that feels truly ours, this is the mark of simplicity. Of course, that’s not to say easy. It takes a lot of sustained effort to get to the other side. So . . . let’s enjoy the work of a few people who’ve made it, for inspiration.
First, listen to Philip Glass’ masterpiece, Mad Rush. Read Raymond Carver’s sparse and lasting prose. And then look at the evolution of Piet Mondrian’s painting from early in his career to the end.
Some might label this all minimalist, but I think it’s more about a human knowing exactly what they want to say and stripping that down to it’s absolute essence, honed over a lifetime of pursuit.
As Michael White says of Mondrian’s later work: He didn’t use a ruler or measure them out according to any formula, but used the judgement he had accrued through decades of practice.
In many ways, there’s a certain playfulness to these artworks. The simplicity in them evokes the Buddhist idea of the Beginner’s Mind, or “an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when studying, even at an advanced level, just as a beginner would.”
In his article, Against Credentials,
writes: Beginner’s mind’ does not contradict experience. Experience always gives more skills and tools. Chess players have a saying, ‘a move that only a beginner or a grandmaster would make.’In this regard, more than a line with a hump, finding simplicity on the other side of complexity is more like a perfect circle.
If we view life itself as art, sometimes living long enough is all it takes to get to the simplicity on the other side of complexity. My 92-year-old grandfather (pictured at the top) has certainly rediscovered simplicity on the other side, the superfluous pieces of his life left behind years ago.
And when we get together as a family, you know who he seems to have the most in common with? My 5- and 7-year-old boys . . . like a perfect circle.
I guess sometimes it’s as simple as that.
-Martin
If you liked this one, try on another . . .
Good stuff, man.
Thanks for that piece. Seth Godin come to mind, and his book called The Dip. It kinda describes a similar theory of coming to a low point when things get hard, through the lens of business.