Is Reality a Luxury?

Everything is in constant flux. And while the flow of the river may appear serene and smooth from the surface, the movement underneath is vehement enough to transform even the most jagged of rocks over time — until all in its path are round, frictionless stones. Maybe this sounds like a good thing; to be smooth, one with the flow; inoffensive. But if we don’t regularly question this flow of culture, if we don’t disagree and remove ourselves from it from time to time, we will inevitably become stripped of those weird and lovely differences that make us who we are. So here is a dose of questioning in hopes of retaining some of those jagged edges.

When it comes to art, the fact that digital is now the predominant platform of cultural relevance has resulted in a gradual shift in how creation is being approached. Works presented online are oftentimes digitized semblances or suggestions of entities that supposedly exist in reality. Yet, technology has developed to be able to effectively emulate such real-world-existences directly within a digital format. And despite the modern day audience’s increasing level of intelligence, ultimately, there isn’t really an absolute way for anyone to be certain regarding the behind-the-scenes processes of a completed art piece if the medium of presentation is digital. Based on this, many artists justify the use of such digital emulations through the following thought: “if the end consumer can’t tell the difference between the real or emulated thing, does it really matter?”

We’re no strangers to image manipulations that mimic reality; film grain simulations, photoshop, digital watercolor, CGI, etc. Many of these technologies have gotten to a point where they are typically indistinguishable from the real thing. In the realm of audio, virtual instruments and digital emulation plugins now dominate the majority of production — with many of the more recent developments engineered so that one does not have to touch a single instrument or analog gear in real life to be able to release music that convincingly sounds like a recorded group of musicians. Given the commonness of technology being used in such a manner (i.e. the flow of the river), most of us probably haven’t stopped to critically consider what this entails.

It’s fair to say that the shift towards this behavior is largely out of convenience and efficiency. Oftentimes, accessing or capturing reality can be financially, physically, and time demanding. Instead, by imitating reality through a digital means, we are able to take a huge shortcut by significantly reducing or completely removing the bulk of the arduous process of capturing reality itself. And if the perceptions and feelings elicited by the end-product remain largely unchanged by this decision, it definitely feels quite impractical for one to go through the inefficiencies of doing the latter. In this case, why would anyone choose to do so? From a purely practical and capitalistic standpoint, perhaps there isn’t really a compelling reason. However, if we are considering this from a more human perspective, the topic of artistic integrity and intention should inevitably be brought up.

There are a wide range of reasons as to why different individuals choose to become artists. However, I’d hope that, on a foundational level, the decision to do so was out of a desire to contribute something valuable to humanity — to connect with fellow human beings by serving them something that is beautiful and timeless in its own unique way. And if this is very much the case, I want to ask… what is beautiful? What is timeless?

In the book “The Beauty of Everyday Things” by Yanagi Soetsu, the author talks about the timeless beauty behind the integrity of a medium. Back when woodblock print was first introduced in Japan as a new art medium, the popular form of art at the time was painting. Now that woodblock enabled easy duplication of a piece, some artists attempted to carve paintings onto woodblocks, imitating brush stroke textures with their chisels. Eventually, some of the more skilled individuals would be able to reproduce woodblock prints that were indistinguishable from paintings. But where things get a bit blurry is that these works weren’t being presented as woodblock prints. They were attempting to pass as something they were not: paintings. Soetsu argues that for art to truly be beautiful and timeless, it has to hold the integrity of the medium itself. In other words, the artwork should clearly reflect the medium that is being used. A painting should reflect that it was created with paint and a paintbrush. A woodblock print should reflect that the image was carved into wood using a chisel. Otherwise, while the end-product of the art might still be considered just as technically impressive and emotionally moving as the real thing, at its core, it is being deceptive and dishonest towards the audience. I find myself sharing this sentiment in that while a finished art piece may appear outwardly beautiful and moving to me, if there is any level of deceptive intent in the underlying process or materials, it’s very difficult for me to consider it as truly beautiful and timeless.

When we take this concept and look at modern day digital emulations for what they really are, they are essentially one and the same as the paintings carved onto woodblocks for the sake of convenience. And perhaps it sounds a bit harsh, but at the end of the day, creating digital emulations of reality is essentially an act of fabrication; of creating an illusion; presenting a false perception of reality; inauthentic. So if this is the case, then what’s our excuse as artists? Is reality a luxury? Or is it a necessary responsibility that we should constantly be striving to achieve?

I’m not posing this question to suggest we should suddenly completely avoid all digital emulation tools and go out to purchase everything analog. The creative process is so nuanced and case by case to each individual, that it’s not fair to suggest something so black and white. If anything, there are a handful of other benefits besides convenience that digital emulation provides — such as financially lowering the barriers of entry for artists, decreasing the level of intimidation to start learning something new, substituting digital versions of inaccessible physical resources, enabling fictional representations that don’t exist in reality, the list goes on. However, I do pose these questions so we can better examine our own stance, intentions, and processes in a discerning manner rather than passively allowing mainstream culture to dictate what is and isn’t acceptable based purely on social proof. Because honestly, art is such a precious thing for us humans.

Living in the flow of a fast-paced river where there is nonstop creative content being churned out, one where the seemingly-apparent winners are the ones whose end-products get noticed regardless of intention or process, it can really start to feel like the invisible choices that happen behind closed doors no longer matter in this generation. But the ironic thing about this illusive “authenticity” that everyone is talking so passionately about these days is that it’s an invisible decision you make; one that is far detached from people’s perception of your end-product. It’s an intention. It’s in your process. And whether or not people can tell the difference, I’d like to think we can rest assured knowing that if there’s one thing that has consistently stood the test of time when we look back on history, it has always been the decision to take the more difficult path of integrity. Because at some point, when all the dust of the hype and noise has settled down, I really do believe the truth will eventually come to the surface.

*Note the distinction between digital tools imitating reality vs. digital tools that aren’t imitating anything and are simply presenting themselves for what they are. It’s not the digital mediums themselves that are the problem, it’s the way some of them are being used in a deceptive manner that is problematic.