#sparkchamber 040620 — Mitche Manitou
In the new world of physical distancing, friends and family almost seem closer in a way. You think about them more, check in a little more, make time to reach out. In that spirit, #sparkchamber welcomes one of its own today, Mitche Manitou. Born in Brooklyn in 1963. Loving parents — dad’s a carpet-layer, mom’s a waitress slash artist. He moved to Florida at age 11. Bachelor of Design from the University of Florida. Started cutting his own hair in 1988. Lived briefly in Boston. Moved to San Francisco in 1990 {where our paths intersected: we met at work, but outside of that was the everything — beer-league softball, long rambling conversations, other peoples’ art and music, our own art and music [I played the cello, and he was the emcee of a way-ahead-of-its time, performance-art-ish band called @#%&*]; we met at about 30 years old, but that’s when we grew up together}. He’s been a graphic designer for almost 30 years, a namer for almost 20. Looks really bad in pastels. Lives alone — but not really because there’s a cat.
1.] Where do ideas come from?
I think creativity comes from two places. One is a reaction to external forces; the other is pure imagination. [Perhaps it’s more of a spectrum than it is binary.] I realize that we don’t exist in a vacuum and that even imagination — where an idea seemingly comes out of nowhere — is still a form of reaction, if to nothing else than just existing as a sentient being. [An abstract painter, while making something out of pure imagination might be reacting to the paint, the light in the room, their own emotions, etc.] But I’m amazed when people just make stuff up — a character, a story, a wacky name, a fanciful beast, or whatever — where there is no obvious reason or connection to something that already exists.
I am definitely on the reactive end of the spectrum. My ideas don’t come out of thin air, nor from somewhere particularly internal. That said, there’s almost no place that ideas don’t come from. Everything is a potential source — a TV commercial, a set of rules, a random juxtaposition, a drawer full of junk, the shapes of the letters in a word, the thing you just said, the news of the day. The world enters my consciousness and I process it — running the input through the filters of my mind, translating it, transforming it, and [hopefully] having something novel or interesting come out the other side. It feels like a reflex.
2.] What is the itch you are scratching?
I’ve always been curious about this subject myself. Maybe because I don’t really feel an itch. I’m fascinated by what motivates people to the degree it does, generally, and especially why artists make their art. Is it something they need to do? Is it a desire to make an idea come to life? Is it about the process — like writing gives them joy or painting soothes their nerves? Is it about other people — to give them pleasure, to entertain or inspire them? Is it for attention, ego, fame? Would they make the art if nobody else experienced it — would the musician relentlessly practice the song knowing no one would hear it, would the novelist write the novel if they thought not a single person would read it?
I’d say what motivates me depends on the different ways I exercise creativity.
Often the itch is simply to think creatively. A way of processing the world. Being playful. Entertaining my own mind. Almost involuntarily. It’s like a switch that can’t be turned off. The scratch happens even if the itch is never felt.
Another motivation is problem-solving — definitely with my work doing graphic design and naming, but also with things in everyday life where creativity is involved, like fixing stuff or troubleshooting. The itch is the belief that there’s an answer, a solution. And that gives rise to inventiveness and persistence. It’s a challenge to get motivated to do something, but when I do, it’s hard to stop. I sometimes think that if I were born in an earlier century, I’d have been an inventor or a scientist.
Mostly though, motivation is external. The itch is to please someone else.
o Work: I’m hired to be creative and I want to do a good job. I want the client to be happy with their decision to choose me and to spend their money on me.
o Art: I’d say 80% of the art I make is to give to someone. The recipient is the motivation, the inspiration, and the audience.
o Humor: I often interact with people like I’m in a sitcom or I’m a writer for a late-night talk show. The itch is to entertain. Making someone laugh is one of the most satisfying things I can think of. When I share my thoughts, humor is often the form they take. I think a component of that is an subconscious need for attention or positive reinforcement. I heard a famous actor say that underlying all his work is a life-long, ever-present desire to make his mother smile. I feel like that too.
3.] Early bird or night owl? Tortoise or hare?
Is there something even later than a night owl? That would be me. I love the late hours, when the rest of the world sleeps, after a glass of wine and a puff of smoke. It feels like there’s creativity in the air. All of the externalities end for the day and I can process everything like a wise owl. It’s called “the Mitching Hour.” [Full disclosure, there is also a forced creativity in the wee hours as I’m an extreme procrastinator, so I often have no choice — a lot of the things I intended to do during the day need to get done.] I love early mornings too — the light, the quiet — and I often feel really creative upon waking, regardless the time. I can sometimes get away with being both a night owl and an early riser. But the part about the proverbial early bird as opportunist — that’s not me.
Speed-wise, I’m not sure. I usually take forever to do something. I’m the biggest procrastinator I ever met. Total tortoise, it would seem. Or… with procrastination and indecisiveness putting me way behind, having always to catch up, having to get things done super fast because I left myself so little time — am I the hare?? I thrive in situations where an impending deadline would stress out other folks.
4.] How do you know when you are done?
I’ve always liked this quote from Paul Valéry: “An artist never really finishes his work, he merely abandons it.” In searching for the quote just now, I see that there is more: “A work is never completed except by some accident such as weariness, satisfaction, the need to deliver, or death: for, in relation to who or what is making it, it can only be one stage in a series of inner transformations.” I like that.
In the past, with “physical” artmaking [drawing, painting, collage, sculpture, etc.], I’ve felt a frustration with not knowing when to stop, or wishing I had stopped sooner, or wishing I could both stop and keep going. There was no “save as” or “undo” [other than to use an eraser]. But, for a long time now, my creativity is more computer-related — whether it’s graphic design, naming, writing, or photoshopping — so knowing when I’m done is less of an issue. I save a million versions and variations of everything. Then the challenge becomes picking the one. With most things, there’s usually a deadline, so really, that’s when I’m done! And, no matter how much I’ve produced, or how ahead I might be, I always work right up to the deadline, just in case what comes at the last minute happens to be the winner. Sometimes it is!
I could say more on the subject, but