Lessons on Life and Art from Pablo Picasso

Two weekends ago I visited the Picasso Museum in Barcelona, Spain. The museum houses 4,000 + works of original art, representing but a fraction of the artist’s total creative output. Hung throughout an old gothic building, the sketches and paintings stitch together a tapestry of Picasso’s life, from his earliest works to his final years. 

While exploring I carried my notebook and pen and recorded any observations or interesting thoughts. My takeaways are what follows.

Make lots of art
This might sound obvious, but when you take a moment to appreciate the volume of Picasso’s work, you realize just how insanely productive he was. When I think about making art, my desire to create something “perfect” often slows down my output. It’s not that artists should make spam in the name of creating art, but I know I criticize myself way more than an artist of Picasso’s caliber would. Creative work is more about process than outcome. Not all of Picasso’s paintings are masterpieces. In fact, many in the museum were left unfinished. The amazing achievement to me isn’t the one perfect painting, but the thousands of paintings made in the pursuit of making better art. 

Be a student of technique
What’s fascinating about the Picasso Museum in Spain is that we all know Picasso for his avant-garde abstract paintings. Yet the first half of his museum is all hyper-realistic portraits the artist produced in his earlier years while practicing his techniques. Picasso was trained as a classical artist first and foremost. Before breaking the rules, Picasso mastered them. Instead of attending some of his fine art classes, Picasso skipped to go make copies and emulate the brushstrokes of master artists like Diego Velázquez. 

Copy the masters
Which brings me to my final takeaway, which is copy master artists. Despite his originality, Picasso’s career was built on a foundation of copying the styles and techniques of other artists. This is true for getting better at just about any skill. It’s important to learn from those who are currently at the top of the field. There are lessons to be gained and mistakes to avoid. Cloning the masters doesn’t have to be the pinnacle of an artist’s career, but it’s almost always a stepping stone. 

I don’t know if Picasso was a happy man. I only know that he achieved as much notoriety for his art that any human can reasonably hope to achieve. What I can distill from his life and work is that they appear to be one in the same. Picasso lived to make art and also made art to live. It takes courage to lead this kind of inspired life. I feel that most people today (and probably also during Picasso’s life) have backup plans in case our passions don’t lead to a lucrative career. We may love music but have one foot out the door in case our talents don’t support the life we desire. There’s no doubt in my mind that Picasso was all in as an artist from his earliest days holding a brush. 

Hopefully some of these notes and thoughts resonate with you. I’m grateful I was able to visit Picasso’s museum and take in some of his genius. Thanks for reading!

I’ve Been Thinking

I normally publish one or two essays every week, without fail. But, not lately. Part of that’s because I’ve taken on new work, but the overwhelming reason is due to a recent realization, which I’d like to share with you.

Author, philosopher, naturalist, Henry D. Thoreau once wrote,

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach..”

In summary, he took a break from civilization, to discover in his opinion, the essence of life. While I love hiking in the outdoors, and the concept of retreating to a little hut in the woods is a profoundly romantic idea, it’s not a practical solution to life’s many responsibilities: family, professional, etc. Thus, I’ve been searching widely for an alternate method of achieving Thoreau’s self-actualized tranquility.

Look within

I am my own woods, of sorts. Between my ears is a vast wilderness filled with peaks, valleys, sprawling trails, and unexplored paths. So frequently do I find myself searching externally for answers, that I rarely, if ever take time to honestly ask myself: “Who am I, really?"

As cliché as it is, I find that by sitting quietly for just fifteen minutes, and focusing on that question, I’m able to totally silence my inner chatter. What I realized is that, I’m the foundation of my life. In other words, everything I ever do, see, or experience, will initially be viewed from my perspective. So, to “know thyself”, becomes an extraordinarily valuable insight, if you wish to view yourself in the context of the universe as a whole.

Roots

In Bruce Lee’s writings, I came across his idea of “the root”. To know yourself, you must return to your roots. When you pull weeds, you dig to the root. And, if you’re Bruce Lee, and want to master martial arts, or any skill for that matter, where should you start? The roots.

To become a chess master, you have to spend hours analyzing “end games”, consisting of very few pieces, to gain a fundamental feel for how the pieces affect each other. That way, when more variables are added, you can trust those instincts. Another example of this is found in cooking. World class chefs take chemistry classes to understand the molecular components of their ingredients, and use this base knowledge to dream up new dishes.

So, why then when it comes to our own life, the very vehicle of our consciousness, are we so quick look externally, to subscribe to the latest diet, get-rich-quick book, or spiritual guru, for answers? Why not build a foundation to master the self?

Writing with purpose

I want to express myself now more than anything, and resisting my urge to publish in the past weeks has been wearing. I always have things I want to say. But lately, I’ve been questioning whether or not my words align with who I am as a person. If you believe that all art is an expression of the self, then making art for the sake of art isn’t the answer. What I want is to figure out, is what that soft voice inside of me, really wants to communicate.

My life and work are the products of my thoughts. To more authentically communicate my message, I’ve needed some time, and will continue to search inwardly for answers. You can only publish Walden if you go to the woods.

Who are you?

So now, I turn the question back on you. Who, reader, are you? What’s your message? And how will you communicate it with the world?