The human brain is a wrinkly wad of awesome, isn't it? Unbelievable computational power, incredible capacity for creative thinking, a seemingly infinite imagination, rich with emotion, avid problem solver, hefty memory depot—what all those little connections can do is truly amazing. With all its little mechanisms that lend so much meaning, dimension, and depth to our experience, it's done a superb job shepherding us through evolution.
Yet by the same token, when it comes to realistic equine art some of those little mechanisms can become glitchy liabilities. And perhaps one of the main mechanisms to get glitchy is the pattern recognition response, our brain's obsessive and absurdly efficient ability to identify, establish, and predict patterns. Evolution equipped us with this to immediately and instinctively learn from something to then make actionable predictions for future survival. So much so, in fact, that one could argue that the human brain is pretty much just a pattern recognition machine...that's it. This makes perfect sense though since nature is based on patterns—patterns of migration, patterns of cause and effect, patterns of physical forces, patterns of animal behavior, patterns of plant growth, patterns of human behavior, patterns of weather, etc. Even DNA and the planets have their patterns as do subatomic particles. Math, language, art theory, music. Science is simply a formalized means to discover new patterns. Recognizing faces, daily routines, our personalities, and our habits are all based on patterns. Buying trends, social interactions, traditions and holidays, and even consumer reviews are pattern based. Social media algorithms are based on our behavior patterns as are the associated ads that pelt us. And on and on. And for equine realism, just the same, we have patterns of color, biomechanics, anatomy, and behavior as well as patterns in how we use our media and techniques and tools. Patterns even establish our artistic style. Everywhere we look—patterns. It's no surprise then why the brain is so fixated on them. In fact, it's so fixated that it'll even make patterns up where none exist and so we have logic fallacies, superstition, "lucky streaks," conspiracy theories, etc.
And all these patterns—real or false—create correlations that help us make sense of the world around us. And so it is with equine realism, too, as pattern recognition helps us decipher chaotic, organic structures to better recreate them. Really, the more biological patterns we recognize—such as muscle configurations, skeletal structure, biomechanics, symmetry, physics, pigmentation, markings, coat effects, etc.—the more technically accurate our work. And don't we often refer to charts, illustrations, and diagrams? Those are simply codified patterns. And each equine species is simply a unique variation on the "master pattern" for the genus. Age and gender characteristics are still more variations as are breed type and conformation. It just goes on and on. Put it all together then, when we "improve," we're really learning how to expand and finesse our pattern library. That's to say, learning is really a by-product of improved pattern recognition and translation into our media.
It's an easy conclusion then to believe that once we establish accurate patterns, we'll automatically recreate more realistic work by default, yes? It's like following a recipe. A creative autopilot. It's inevitable. Hey—we got the pattern down so we got it made, right?
Well, not really.
The Conundrum
When it comes to realistic equine art, patterns are really funny things. They're definitely super handy guides, but they can also become prisons of our own making, clever traps, safe cages, limiting comfort zones. They can even skew us away from realism. See, Nature is just too variable for a few fixed patterns to explain it all. So what we expect based on our accustomed patterns and what nature actually presents us can sharply diverge at times, especially if our fixed patterns develop a stronger hold on our perception. How curious that those very aspects of our process we tend to rely on most have the greatest potential to stifle our progress.
Life is just far messier than the human mind tends to prefer. Defined by "organic chaos," reality is packed full of happenstance variable complexities that lend so much possibility. In response, our brain may manipulate data, even filter it, to force a simpler version it can detect and process more easily. In doing so, it can also oversimplify and homogenize things to create a more formulaic, regimented, and predictable pattern. In short, it can actually impose too much order in its enthusiasm to make sense out of chaos. From this comes our conventional, habitual thinking which, while definitely useful, can make us increasingly blind to other—and sometimes more realistic—options. This familiar formula can then become "what looks right" to us even though nature doesn't always fit into our safe expectations. Really, what nature shows us and what our brain tells us aren't always the same thing. Staying open to organic chaos then, working to find those things that exist beyond our expectations, helps to re-inject missing information. Put another way, realistic work isn't just about where it's consistent to nature's patterns, but where it's inconsistent to our own safe, formulaic interpretations, too. Understanding biological patterns is absolutely necessary—yes—however, it's also smart to think of them as baselines rather than unquestionable dogma, more as springboards into possibility.
So, say, we're ticking a sabino....notice how quickly our hand starts to tick in a regular pattern? Even timed regularly? Tick tick tick. And perhaps right under our noses! Or we can fall into an anatomical formula for muscle configurations—even regardless of the pose—when nature can be far more surprising. Or we can adopt patterns of preference, e.g. that certain breeds should look a "correct," "proper" way when a slew of acceptable variations, as well as individual eccentricities, actually exist. So very quickly we can unconsciously adopt favored patterns as sacrosanct doctrine, and being content with that, we let our pattern recognition response go unchallenged. Now this is fine if we're happy with that but what happens when we start to chafe at this kind of limitation?
The Caveat
Sure, our familiar patterns are safe, proven, comfortable, and easy. They're also probably most attractive to us, what "looks right" to us. They also help to make our process less confounding and maddening. And all that's great! There's nothing wrong with relying on a trusty formula to help us recreate this very difficult subject. Practically speaking, too, we need to have a place to start. Yet those connected dots belong to a living creature and so don't always align with our assuring, safe expectations. Indeed, sometimes they outright contradict them.
Because there's a trade-off to safety and comfort—we risk creatively plateauing. Repeatedly following the same formula can result in a homogenized, predictable body of work, which could even end up presenting an incomplete picture of reality. So, for example, if our stylistic pattern is a high degree of crisp muscle definition, we may sculpt every breed like that only because it "looks right" to us. Or we may apply the safe and familiar standing anatomy chart to all our moving depictions even though motion morphs flesh, sometimes to the point of being unrecognizable. Or more subtly, we "Arabianize" everything with big eyes and small muzzles simply because we unconsciously favor that pattern of characteristics. Of course, all of this isn't a problem given it continues to work in our favor, but chances are there will come a time when we're going to abut against a wall, and not knowing why, end up thinking that's the extent of our talent. It's not...it's simply the extent of our pattern library.
Another trade-off we risk is amplifying our blind spots as our comfort zones entrench unchecked. This is because pattern recognition fixes not only what we See but also what we don't See; what we don't See is as much a pattern as anything else. Now, granted, everyone has blindspots. And no one can duplicate nature exactly—only nature can do that. And the complexity of nature is so immense, it's an awful lot for anyone to process. So blindspots are inevitable no matter how advanced we get. We're human. But by the same token, rooting them out is a factor in our improvement. Don't we practice artistic exercises to see our piece with new eyes to improve? Don't we enlist critiques for a new look that may not have the same blindspots we do? If we aren't actively challenging our pattern recognition response with each piece then, we may end up missing these hidden opportunities for growth.
However, whatever satisfaction we derive from formula is perfectly fine, but that said, there's a difference between technical accuracy and living accuracy. For instance, the former is what we'd find in a good anatomy chart whereas the latter is how living anatomy actually manifests within a "living moment." There are limitations to the anatomy charts that don't exist in life. So with this understanding, we may choose to become braver in our choices to test the limits of our perceived patterns. Now admittedly, everyone has different ambitions for their work and different tastes, but it's something to think about.
Another trade-off we risk is amplifying our blind spots as our comfort zones entrench unchecked. This is because pattern recognition fixes not only what we See but also what we don't See; what we don't See is as much a pattern as anything else. Now, granted, everyone has blindspots. And no one can duplicate nature exactly—only nature can do that. And the complexity of nature is so immense, it's an awful lot for anyone to process. So blindspots are inevitable no matter how advanced we get. We're human. But by the same token, rooting them out is a factor in our improvement. Don't we practice artistic exercises to see our piece with new eyes to improve? Don't we enlist critiques for a new look that may not have the same blindspots we do? If we aren't actively challenging our pattern recognition response with each piece then, we may end up missing these hidden opportunities for growth.
However, whatever satisfaction we derive from formula is perfectly fine, but that said, there's a difference between technical accuracy and living accuracy. For instance, the former is what we'd find in a good anatomy chart whereas the latter is how living anatomy actually manifests within a "living moment." There are limitations to the anatomy charts that don't exist in life. So with this understanding, we may choose to become braver in our choices to test the limits of our perceived patterns. Now admittedly, everyone has different ambitions for their work and different tastes, but it's something to think about.
This is because our perception—which is different for everyone—actively filters and processes data from the world around us. Each of us is a complete, a self–contained frame of reference with a unique reality. This is why people will see things differently in a horse though they share a similar degree of savvy. People just key in on different things. But this also means that certain features may not be seen in the same way either. And there's this, too: What we cannot See is more powerful in our work than what we can because, like dark matter, it invisibly influences everything we create. This is exactly how blindspots work. So let's say we cannot see the inverted "9" pattern of a nostril so we create one incorrectly. Error #1. But not being able to see that pattern also means we place it too high on the head. Error #2. As a result, we end up misshaping the "flute" of the nostril. Error #3. So an incomplete pattern can result in a cascade of unSeen consequences.
To this end, it's good to have an idea how our brain is going to wrestle with us. First, it will automatically and immediately recognize patterns the moment it processes something. We can't stop it—it's a hardwired response. As such, our brain is quick to pounce on anything that appears consistent, eager to translate it into a fact. But not all seeming consistencies are correlated and so some of our generated patterns may be unreliable. And if we hold onto them too tightly, we even risk cognitive dissonance when presented with more factual ones. Nevertheless, we can manipulate its enthusiasm by feeding it many patterns so it can make more comparisons. Indeed, comparative study is a terrific way to program in more reliable patterns plus their options, letting us learn more and faster.
Second, it will try to convince us that the patterns it recognizes are absolutely reliable, self-evident and factual. And perhaps they are. But how are we sure? Having a little Yes Man in our heads may be great for morale, but when it comes to recreating reality, a degree of skepticism is useful. That Yes Man makes sense though, evolutionarily speaking. Those who couldn't quickly connect growls and claws to death, certain plants to sickness or death, the changing seasons to the scarcity of winter, or the cause and effect of developing tools just didn't thrive. So let's say a lion jumped out at us from a rustling bush and we survived that encounter. Now if a bush rustles again, we'll spook, right? Better safe than sorry! The point is, our established patterns are real to us by default and applicable to every situation until we think, "wait a minute." And this is exactly the periodic reflection we need to manage this artistic Yes Man in our heads. Because we're never going to shut him up—he's hardwired. But we can put him to better use by training him to periodically ask "wait a minute" so he's not always affirming everything we do at face value. Now we don't have to do this all the time as that can get tedious and exhausting. Instead, just asking this question every now and again about our work can be enough to keep us growing.
Third, our brain is easily seduced by order, by formula and simplicity, and so it will always gravitate towards it. This means that reassuring, tidy anatomical chart will be more tempting than that confounding reference photo. Yet this is exactly where oversimplification can set in even though the living body is full of much more information. Just attend a dissection to see just how much information is missing from an anatomical chart! Or watch horses move and it's clear things shift away from the orderly anatomical formulas rather quickly. This tug of war between what our brain wants to impose and what life actually presents us is constant so unless we're careful, order tends to win even at the expense of facts. As such, we're faced with a curious pickle: Our art form is based on both order and chaos, both need to be present. An anatomy chart is a great comfort for sure, and it is based on the mother plan for the animal, but it still needs to be fleshed out with information derived from the living animal. In other words, the chart is the start, not the end.
But our brain's penchant for oversimplification isn't such a bad thing. In fact, we can improve our process if we know how to manipulate it. We're probably already working "big to small," right? Working on the big picture first then moving onto detailed finessing? Or put another way, we're starting with an oversimplified overarching pattern to then progressively graduate down to the complicated little patterns? Learn to harness this by breaking it up like a Matryoshka doll and we can speed up our process and infuse more information into each "layer." We just need to stay on top of it to make sure it's still not filtering things a snidge too aggressively, that it's letting us go far enough on the data hunt. Oversimplification can work for things like abstract work, of course, but for our purposes, we need a lot more information. For instance, intermediates can hit a wall here not due to lack of skill but because enough information still isn't getting to their hands. In this, they may stop too soon with a dappled sooty palomino, for example, and miss on the extra details and touches that would make it more convincing...then becoming frustrated thinking they're incapable. But if they keep going through the blockade imposed by their overzealous pattern recognition response, they could discover more data. And over-filtering happens a lot faster than we may realize if we aren't periodically asking, "wait a minute." See, mastering the formula is the easy part. It just takes training and diligence, just like any other skill. And it's definitely a reliable route towards accuracy, like cooking from a surefire recipe. As any great chef knows though, having a great recipe maybe be awesome, but knowing how to tweak it is even better.
Fourth, pattern recognition is malleable, vulnerable to conditioning and peer pressure. If we're exposed to a pattern for a long time, it can become imprinted as preferred. It's why many of us prefer Mom's home cooking, for example. And the same kinda goes for our aesthetics. Many of us were raised on Maureen Love's work, for instance, and so we may have a penchant for her specific interpretation—we've become conditioned to favor it. (Granted, her work is incredible so it's no surprise why it's so popular.) And if many of us have the same reaction, that creates a social pressure which can be strong enough to influence everything, even cause the groupthink to filter out viable options or different interpretations as inferior or wrong even if they're more factual. For instance, Love work is often typified by crisp muscle definition repeatedly configured in a similar anatomical pattern paired with a mirror-smooth surface. This makes sense when sculptures are designed for directional airbrushing in a factory because the glazing outcome is amazing. However, nature often presents a different picture, and so those styles that explore those options can become unjustly penalized when they may actually be okay, and perhaps even more realistic. This can cause some artists to doubt their Eye even when they're right, or on the other hand, adopt stylistic contrivances they otherwise wouldn't have, compelling a kind of worrisome homogenization to what the groupthink considers "right." Even more, peer pressure can favor the lowest common dominator, those things that have just enough information stripped out to appeal to the widest audience. Indeed, many horse enthusiasts often don't See the same things an advanced equine artist Sees. Truth be told, many enthusiasts have a very safe, very rudimentary understanding of structure, texture, motion, pattern and color with very little understanding of the viable options. In turn, things that have more information or "flavor" tend to lose a foothold not being so well understood. Really, plain chocolate cake appeals to a lot more people than chili chocolate cake. For instance then, those pieces with more of a hide texture can find disfavor in lieu of the conditioned preference for mirror-smooth surfaces. Now absolutely, we all love different interpretations for our own reasons and that's wonderful! Even so though, keeping our minds open to the viable possibilities—especially when they don't appeal to us aesthetically—gives a lot more room for exploration of life's possibilities. Keeping honest tabs on our own pattern recognition response gives room for others explore their own. Which brings us to...
Fifth, the pattern recognition response tends to act in one of two ways when presented with a new—especially a contradicting—pattern: fear or curiosity. Our brain holds onto its familiar patterns quite tightly since they construct and affirm our own version of reality. And yes, though our brain likes to learn, that first gut response is still either alarm or inquiry when faced with the unknown. And the more "imposing" the unknown, the stronger this effect. This means that how we emotionally respond to new patterns will shape the nature of our work. So, for instance, if we're knee-jerk resistant to new viable patterns out of a fear response, our work simply won't evolve to its true potential. We may even become blind to what our references and field study are actually revealing. Or we may doubt ourselves when we implement those facts because it "looks wrong" compared to our good ol' familiar patterns. Blindspots can entrench, even amplify, yet we may become confused as to why our work has plateaued or even devolved. It's not for lack of talent, it's for a lack of compensating curiosity.
Sixth, pattern recognition is similarly sensitive to the influence of our fears. It actually takes quite a bit of optimism, risk-taking, and frivolity to throw caution into the wind to break from our comfortable habits—and especially from peer pressure—particularly when we expect to encounter disapproval. The truth is that in order to more fully explore life's options, we have to be willing to become uncomfortable, insecure, confused, and unsure. Breaking our own conventions is all about busting out of our own box—and breaking from peer pressure will mean busting out of really big boxes—and that's always going to entail a degree of recklessness. And that's not for everyone, and that's okay. As long as we understand how our pattern recognition is reacting, we can allow others their own explorations without undue judgment or blowback.
The Upside
Second, it will try to convince us that the patterns it recognizes are absolutely reliable, self-evident and factual. And perhaps they are. But how are we sure? Having a little Yes Man in our heads may be great for morale, but when it comes to recreating reality, a degree of skepticism is useful. That Yes Man makes sense though, evolutionarily speaking. Those who couldn't quickly connect growls and claws to death, certain plants to sickness or death, the changing seasons to the scarcity of winter, or the cause and effect of developing tools just didn't thrive. So let's say a lion jumped out at us from a rustling bush and we survived that encounter. Now if a bush rustles again, we'll spook, right? Better safe than sorry! The point is, our established patterns are real to us by default and applicable to every situation until we think, "wait a minute." And this is exactly the periodic reflection we need to manage this artistic Yes Man in our heads. Because we're never going to shut him up—he's hardwired. But we can put him to better use by training him to periodically ask "wait a minute" so he's not always affirming everything we do at face value. Now we don't have to do this all the time as that can get tedious and exhausting. Instead, just asking this question every now and again about our work can be enough to keep us growing.
Third, our brain is easily seduced by order, by formula and simplicity, and so it will always gravitate towards it. This means that reassuring, tidy anatomical chart will be more tempting than that confounding reference photo. Yet this is exactly where oversimplification can set in even though the living body is full of much more information. Just attend a dissection to see just how much information is missing from an anatomical chart! Or watch horses move and it's clear things shift away from the orderly anatomical formulas rather quickly. This tug of war between what our brain wants to impose and what life actually presents us is constant so unless we're careful, order tends to win even at the expense of facts. As such, we're faced with a curious pickle: Our art form is based on both order and chaos, both need to be present. An anatomy chart is a great comfort for sure, and it is based on the mother plan for the animal, but it still needs to be fleshed out with information derived from the living animal. In other words, the chart is the start, not the end.
But our brain's penchant for oversimplification isn't such a bad thing. In fact, we can improve our process if we know how to manipulate it. We're probably already working "big to small," right? Working on the big picture first then moving onto detailed finessing? Or put another way, we're starting with an oversimplified overarching pattern to then progressively graduate down to the complicated little patterns? Learn to harness this by breaking it up like a Matryoshka doll and we can speed up our process and infuse more information into each "layer." We just need to stay on top of it to make sure it's still not filtering things a snidge too aggressively, that it's letting us go far enough on the data hunt. Oversimplification can work for things like abstract work, of course, but for our purposes, we need a lot more information. For instance, intermediates can hit a wall here not due to lack of skill but because enough information still isn't getting to their hands. In this, they may stop too soon with a dappled sooty palomino, for example, and miss on the extra details and touches that would make it more convincing...then becoming frustrated thinking they're incapable. But if they keep going through the blockade imposed by their overzealous pattern recognition response, they could discover more data. And over-filtering happens a lot faster than we may realize if we aren't periodically asking, "wait a minute." See, mastering the formula is the easy part. It just takes training and diligence, just like any other skill. And it's definitely a reliable route towards accuracy, like cooking from a surefire recipe. As any great chef knows though, having a great recipe maybe be awesome, but knowing how to tweak it is even better.
Fourth, pattern recognition is malleable, vulnerable to conditioning and peer pressure. If we're exposed to a pattern for a long time, it can become imprinted as preferred. It's why many of us prefer Mom's home cooking, for example. And the same kinda goes for our aesthetics. Many of us were raised on Maureen Love's work, for instance, and so we may have a penchant for her specific interpretation—we've become conditioned to favor it. (Granted, her work is incredible so it's no surprise why it's so popular.) And if many of us have the same reaction, that creates a social pressure which can be strong enough to influence everything, even cause the groupthink to filter out viable options or different interpretations as inferior or wrong even if they're more factual. For instance, Love work is often typified by crisp muscle definition repeatedly configured in a similar anatomical pattern paired with a mirror-smooth surface. This makes sense when sculptures are designed for directional airbrushing in a factory because the glazing outcome is amazing. However, nature often presents a different picture, and so those styles that explore those options can become unjustly penalized when they may actually be okay, and perhaps even more realistic. This can cause some artists to doubt their Eye even when they're right, or on the other hand, adopt stylistic contrivances they otherwise wouldn't have, compelling a kind of worrisome homogenization to what the groupthink considers "right." Even more, peer pressure can favor the lowest common dominator, those things that have just enough information stripped out to appeal to the widest audience. Indeed, many horse enthusiasts often don't See the same things an advanced equine artist Sees. Truth be told, many enthusiasts have a very safe, very rudimentary understanding of structure, texture, motion, pattern and color with very little understanding of the viable options. In turn, things that have more information or "flavor" tend to lose a foothold not being so well understood. Really, plain chocolate cake appeals to a lot more people than chili chocolate cake. For instance then, those pieces with more of a hide texture can find disfavor in lieu of the conditioned preference for mirror-smooth surfaces. Now absolutely, we all love different interpretations for our own reasons and that's wonderful! Even so though, keeping our minds open to the viable possibilities—especially when they don't appeal to us aesthetically—gives a lot more room for exploration of life's possibilities. Keeping honest tabs on our own pattern recognition response gives room for others explore their own. Which brings us to...
Fifth, the pattern recognition response tends to act in one of two ways when presented with a new—especially a contradicting—pattern: fear or curiosity. Our brain holds onto its familiar patterns quite tightly since they construct and affirm our own version of reality. And yes, though our brain likes to learn, that first gut response is still either alarm or inquiry when faced with the unknown. And the more "imposing" the unknown, the stronger this effect. This means that how we emotionally respond to new patterns will shape the nature of our work. So, for instance, if we're knee-jerk resistant to new viable patterns out of a fear response, our work simply won't evolve to its true potential. We may even become blind to what our references and field study are actually revealing. Or we may doubt ourselves when we implement those facts because it "looks wrong" compared to our good ol' familiar patterns. Blindspots can entrench, even amplify, yet we may become confused as to why our work has plateaued or even devolved. It's not for lack of talent, it's for a lack of compensating curiosity.
Sixth, pattern recognition is similarly sensitive to the influence of our fears. It actually takes quite a bit of optimism, risk-taking, and frivolity to throw caution into the wind to break from our comfortable habits—and especially from peer pressure—particularly when we expect to encounter disapproval. The truth is that in order to more fully explore life's options, we have to be willing to become uncomfortable, insecure, confused, and unsure. Breaking our own conventions is all about busting out of our own box—and breaking from peer pressure will mean busting out of really big boxes—and that's always going to entail a degree of recklessness. And that's not for everyone, and that's okay. As long as we understand how our pattern recognition is reacting, we can allow others their own explorations without undue judgment or blowback.
The Upside
But no worries—pattern recognition isn't all bad! Really, if we think of it more as a tool, it can become an incredibly powerful one because, once managed, it can make our process go faster while teasing out more data. Practically speaking, too, connecting the dots as accurately and quickly as we can is sound strategy. Sure, it's following a formula, but it still guides us towards accuracy, no? It also provides a neutral baseline for variations to pop out more readily. We have to start somewhere, right?
What's more, each of us has our own unconscious guiding aesthetic patterns, i.e. what tells us to keep going as we work, to fix something, or to stop because it looks done. And because each of us operates within our own perception, we each have our own unique viewpoint on that. And that's great! Why? Well, it's the seat of artistic style! Our aesthetic patterns imprint right into our work, becoming that wonderful artistic fingerprint which makes our work so distinctive, lending aesthetic diversity to this art form that broadens its appeal. Just as importantly, too, it keeps a relatively technical art form from becoming sterile, stagnant, and soulless.
We're also fallible human beings who'll never be able to duplicate life's patterns in total accuracy. So no matter how vigorously we address our own patterns, we'll always have blindspots and stylistic divergences. And that's okay! It makes our efforts interesting and gives us new challenges we might want to chase. We also get the opportunity to learn a whole lot more about this wondrous animal, deepening our fascination and commitment. There's a lot to be said for a carrot at the end of a stick!
Knowing the anatomical pattern also provides the lengths and bend points to create armatures as well as the planes and masses for bulking up a sculpture. Breed patterns allow us to establish "Saddlebredness" or "Thoroughbredness" or "Clydesdaleness" right into the armature, too. Likewise, asses, mules, onagers, and zebras, and all the rest, each have their own distinctive body patterns. And knowing the distinctive patterns for white markings or sooty factor or dappling and the like also lets us place pigments in more effective ways from the onset. In short, knowing over-arching patterns helps us create a cheat sheet for working not only faster, but smarter.
What's more, learning to break down the complex, interwoven biological patterns for Equus into simpler patterns, layered like an onion, provides us with an information-packed model with a logical progression. Need more stuff? Just layer on another pattern. Remember those books with the thin transparent paper that layered on the horse's anatomy with every page turn? Kinda like that. (Just be careful. In our enthusiasm here, we may begin to fixate intently on all this detail, giving it all equal emphasis to create sculptures that resemble 3D anatomy charts rather than actual living horses. In life, all this information has its own ebb and flow in emphasis so there's usefulness in knowing when to sculpt "tight" and when to "loosen.")
Workarounds
What's more, each of us has our own unconscious guiding aesthetic patterns, i.e. what tells us to keep going as we work, to fix something, or to stop because it looks done. And because each of us operates within our own perception, we each have our own unique viewpoint on that. And that's great! Why? Well, it's the seat of artistic style! Our aesthetic patterns imprint right into our work, becoming that wonderful artistic fingerprint which makes our work so distinctive, lending aesthetic diversity to this art form that broadens its appeal. Just as importantly, too, it keeps a relatively technical art form from becoming sterile, stagnant, and soulless.
We're also fallible human beings who'll never be able to duplicate life's patterns in total accuracy. So no matter how vigorously we address our own patterns, we'll always have blindspots and stylistic divergences. And that's okay! It makes our efforts interesting and gives us new challenges we might want to chase. We also get the opportunity to learn a whole lot more about this wondrous animal, deepening our fascination and commitment. There's a lot to be said for a carrot at the end of a stick!
Knowing the anatomical pattern also provides the lengths and bend points to create armatures as well as the planes and masses for bulking up a sculpture. Breed patterns allow us to establish "Saddlebredness" or "Thoroughbredness" or "Clydesdaleness" right into the armature, too. Likewise, asses, mules, onagers, and zebras, and all the rest, each have their own distinctive body patterns. And knowing the distinctive patterns for white markings or sooty factor or dappling and the like also lets us place pigments in more effective ways from the onset. In short, knowing over-arching patterns helps us create a cheat sheet for working not only faster, but smarter.
What's more, learning to break down the complex, interwoven biological patterns for Equus into simpler patterns, layered like an onion, provides us with an information-packed model with a logical progression. Need more stuff? Just layer on another pattern. Remember those books with the thin transparent paper that layered on the horse's anatomy with every page turn? Kinda like that. (Just be careful. In our enthusiasm here, we may begin to fixate intently on all this detail, giving it all equal emphasis to create sculptures that resemble 3D anatomy charts rather than actual living horses. In life, all this information has its own ebb and flow in emphasis so there's usefulness in knowing when to sculpt "tight" and when to "loosen.")
Workarounds
So since we cannot break the spell of our pattern recognition response, we can still manage it pretty well. For starters, we can approach patterned, tedious work in random spurts rather than all at once. Taking breaks while we tick tick tick, for instance, can really help prevent this mechanism from taking too strong a hold. It also gives us the mental space to rest and ask, "wait a minute." But it's important to keep these breaks random rather than at fixed intervals. Know it or not, our brain will create a pattern from those expected breaks which can subtly influence the pattern we're creating. Keep things as spontaneous as possible. When trying to duplicate organic chaos then, keep the brain off kilter, always guessing. Indeed, thanks to pattern recognition, recreating life's organic chaos is the most difficult effect to achieve in clay or pigment from fleshy texture to hair's passive physics to the happenstance of white markings to the complex pigmentation of hooves, and on and on. Even computers can't crank out truly random numbers because the algorithms they depend on have their own kind of pattern. As any savvy artist will tell ya...it's not order that's hard to create, it's randomness!
Another trick is to dampen our preconceived notions about whatever it is we're about to do. Indeed, the moment we inject prejudgment into our mix, our trusty old patterns are going to kick even before we start. They may even create a barrier of resistance. So actively look for novelty, look for those things different from our habitual interpretations. And it doesn't have to be a massive deviation...even just a little bit counts. In this, think about establishing "discovery goals." For example, ponder, "How can I sculpt the pecs differently than I have before?" Then actively look for those suitable pecs that deviate from what we've already done—or even better, from what we expect. They're out there. Or if we tend to paint bays in a certain way, look for references that break from that habit. Deliberately searching for differences to rattle our own cage can become a kind of treasure hunt that will refine our eye, deepen our portfolio and, more importantly, make things a lot more curious and fun.
Think about simplifying the body into essential curves, shapes, and lines, abstracting the subject rather than only looking through the lens of an anatomy chart. An anatomy chart can develop an overriding hold on our aesthetic expectation and that's great—to a point. As we grow, we may eventually want to create beyond its training wheels, move past its limitations, but if its grip is too strong, the options may look "too weird" to our conditioned Eye and so we unconsciously default back to formula. But abstracting the subject—deconstructing them—can help break this hold by forcing the brain to find new patterns without the bias of cemented anatomical patterns. Indeed, what we expect to see will influence what we actually end up Seeing so change those expectations and we'll start to See new things. Bringing us to...
Another trick is to dampen our preconceived notions about whatever it is we're about to do. Indeed, the moment we inject prejudgment into our mix, our trusty old patterns are going to kick even before we start. They may even create a barrier of resistance. So actively look for novelty, look for those things different from our habitual interpretations. And it doesn't have to be a massive deviation...even just a little bit counts. In this, think about establishing "discovery goals." For example, ponder, "How can I sculpt the pecs differently than I have before?" Then actively look for those suitable pecs that deviate from what we've already done—or even better, from what we expect. They're out there. Or if we tend to paint bays in a certain way, look for references that break from that habit. Deliberately searching for differences to rattle our own cage can become a kind of treasure hunt that will refine our eye, deepen our portfolio and, more importantly, make things a lot more curious and fun.
Think about simplifying the body into essential curves, shapes, and lines, abstracting the subject rather than only looking through the lens of an anatomy chart. An anatomy chart can develop an overriding hold on our aesthetic expectation and that's great—to a point. As we grow, we may eventually want to create beyond its training wheels, move past its limitations, but if its grip is too strong, the options may look "too weird" to our conditioned Eye and so we unconsciously default back to formula. But abstracting the subject—deconstructing them—can help break this hold by forcing the brain to find new patterns without the bias of cemented anatomical patterns. Indeed, what we expect to see will influence what we actually end up Seeing so change those expectations and we'll start to See new things. Bringing us to...
Another effective workaround is to break up an existing pattern into smaller ones, removing the distraction of the overall pattern our brain may fixate on. For instance, cut a hole in a sheet of white printer paper, say 1" for an 8x11 image (smaller for smaller images or for the face). Now run that hole over the photo of the horse, studying closely what's inside the frame without expectation. Notice all the new information that just seems to appear? See all the little details, textures, and contours now? Our brain is no longer distracted by the familiar, dominant pattern of "whole horse" and so focuses on the new patterns, revealing what was perhaps so subtle or tiny, it went overlooked.
Another trick is to study the image upside down or backwards in a mirror, doing the same with the piece we're working on. This snaps new patterns to the forefront to compel our brain to rethink things, forcing it to ask, "wait a minute." Shrinking or enlarging our reference photos to match our piece can be helpful, too, by providing a more direct comparison. Or why not really shake it up? Work upside down! Turn those references over, too. Similarly, turn reference photos into greyscale to rattle our pattern recognition cages harder. Or invert the colors and now look at all the "new" information that instantly pop out. Cage busted! Indeed, patterns that were hidden before now become really obvious. Especially useful for paintwork, these techniques can really help our brain see things in whole new ways.
Another trick is to study the image upside down or backwards in a mirror, doing the same with the piece we're working on. This snaps new patterns to the forefront to compel our brain to rethink things, forcing it to ask, "wait a minute." Shrinking or enlarging our reference photos to match our piece can be helpful, too, by providing a more direct comparison. Or why not really shake it up? Work upside down! Turn those references over, too. Similarly, turn reference photos into greyscale to rattle our pattern recognition cages harder. Or invert the colors and now look at all the "new" information that instantly pop out. Cage busted! Indeed, patterns that were hidden before now become really obvious. Especially useful for paintwork, these techniques can really help our brain see things in whole new ways.
Yet another is to pick a specific pose, stay a 3/4 view trot (gosh knows there's plenty of those around). Then amass plenty of references of that exact pose and angle, within breeds and even across breeds. Now compare, even using the paper-hole method on each image if needed. Where are they similar? Where are they different? Now compile lots of images of that pose from different angles and do the same. Truly, it's amazing what can be learned from comparative study! Doing all this repeatedly, especially with our references for a sculpture or paint job, really helps to tease out the options outside of our safe expectations. It's often not enough to have one or two references for any given piece much of the time since having multiple references provides a buffet of options for more strategic choices, especially when it comes to sculpture. Because here's the thing, the less actual information we have, the more our pattern recognition response fills in the gaps, and it does this by defaulting to the familiar menu of our habitual patterns bound by the limitations of our mental library. To compensate then, these comparative exercises expand our mental library to provide more "gap filler" fodder. So while our habits certainly help us complete a piece, wouldn't it be nice to have more choices?
Final Thoughts
Always coming to this animal with fresh Eyes broadens our creative horizons. Our habits definitely help us along, making sense of what we're doing to boost our confidence, but only if we avoid becoming a slave to them. Knowing how to manipulate our predilections through an awareness of our pattern recognition response lets us benefit from their useful guidance while still enjoying artistic freedom. It's all about choice, the power to consciously decide rather than an unknowing compulsion to follow. Really, when we sit down and think, "how can I play with things today?," spins fun exploration into the mix rather than staying stuck in a rut, in a kind of unconscious assembly line.
The horse is full of enough surprises to fill our portfolio with a lifetime of potential. While we may follow the equine blueprint with confidence, it's a blast to dive into the larger pool of possibility because there's always more than one way to sculpt or paint them. Tweaking our pattern recognition response to home in on these possibilities then not only amplifies the realism of our work, but also lets us learn more about this lovely creature as well as more about our own motivations and processes.
There's a lot to be said for developing a mental library of reliable creative blueprints, for sure. Indeed, they're absolutely necessary for realism. But there's also a lot of value in that fabulous organic chaos that's a part of realism just as much as the blueprint. Duality has its place in our art form, too. In this, our brain's ability to recognize patterns can either be a hindrance, forcing us down the narrow path of forced habits and formulas, or an amazing gateway that helps us discover so many more options for any given piece. It all depends on how we want to come to our subject—in the comfort of routine or in the spirit of exploration? How willing are we to become a little bit uncomfortable as we work? How prone are we to rattling our own cage? There's really no right or wrong answer here though, only those aligned to our own proclivities. Indeed, recognizing nature's patterns isn't the same as being enslaved to them when we're conscious of what's happening inside our noggins. In this, we can better pick and choose those patterns we wish to create, whether from nature or from our own aesthetic. As long as we can make more conscious choices, that's the name of the game here since we'll gain more creative freedom with more diversity, growth, and authority. We also gain the upper hand in our development by being able to pinpoint problem patterns which we can troubleshoot. The issue then is no longer, "I'm not talented enough," but instead, "I need to see this in a new way." There's a lot more actionable promise in that!
We won't ever stop our brain from fixating on patterns and that's actually a good thing. It gives us a place to start, an ever-present mechanism to train and implement. Because while we may not be able to beat it, we can convince it to work for us in better ways. Indeed, it actually wants to, it just needs a bit of guidance and know-how to deliver what we need. Truly, if there's one thing the brain loves more than a pattern, it's learning a new one so keep feeding it new patterns! Then watch that learning curve and fun factor ramp up! Boom!
Our own creative patterns give us a foundation, artistic pillars that root our work in the larger landscape out there. And that's something to be greatly valued. Yet foundations are meant to be built on and there's no one way to build. Learn to turn our pattern recognition response into a curious worker bee that chirps "hey! lookie lookie!" rather than a foreman dictating "just do this!" and we'll be better able to pick out nature's rich variety to build a body of work with more scope, revelation, and delight. We don't have to beat our pattern recognition response then—the answer isn't found in stopping it. There's just no stopping it. The trick is found then in manipulating it with an awareness of what's happening when we observe and interpret to See each piece with more open expectations. In short, the secret is working with it rather than against it. Old habits die hard? Nah. Not when we have the processing power of pattern recognition on our side!
Final Thoughts
Always coming to this animal with fresh Eyes broadens our creative horizons. Our habits definitely help us along, making sense of what we're doing to boost our confidence, but only if we avoid becoming a slave to them. Knowing how to manipulate our predilections through an awareness of our pattern recognition response lets us benefit from their useful guidance while still enjoying artistic freedom. It's all about choice, the power to consciously decide rather than an unknowing compulsion to follow. Really, when we sit down and think, "how can I play with things today?," spins fun exploration into the mix rather than staying stuck in a rut, in a kind of unconscious assembly line.
The horse is full of enough surprises to fill our portfolio with a lifetime of potential. While we may follow the equine blueprint with confidence, it's a blast to dive into the larger pool of possibility because there's always more than one way to sculpt or paint them. Tweaking our pattern recognition response to home in on these possibilities then not only amplifies the realism of our work, but also lets us learn more about this lovely creature as well as more about our own motivations and processes.
There's a lot to be said for developing a mental library of reliable creative blueprints, for sure. Indeed, they're absolutely necessary for realism. But there's also a lot of value in that fabulous organic chaos that's a part of realism just as much as the blueprint. Duality has its place in our art form, too. In this, our brain's ability to recognize patterns can either be a hindrance, forcing us down the narrow path of forced habits and formulas, or an amazing gateway that helps us discover so many more options for any given piece. It all depends on how we want to come to our subject—in the comfort of routine or in the spirit of exploration? How willing are we to become a little bit uncomfortable as we work? How prone are we to rattling our own cage? There's really no right or wrong answer here though, only those aligned to our own proclivities. Indeed, recognizing nature's patterns isn't the same as being enslaved to them when we're conscious of what's happening inside our noggins. In this, we can better pick and choose those patterns we wish to create, whether from nature or from our own aesthetic. As long as we can make more conscious choices, that's the name of the game here since we'll gain more creative freedom with more diversity, growth, and authority. We also gain the upper hand in our development by being able to pinpoint problem patterns which we can troubleshoot. The issue then is no longer, "I'm not talented enough," but instead, "I need to see this in a new way." There's a lot more actionable promise in that!
We won't ever stop our brain from fixating on patterns and that's actually a good thing. It gives us a place to start, an ever-present mechanism to train and implement. Because while we may not be able to beat it, we can convince it to work for us in better ways. Indeed, it actually wants to, it just needs a bit of guidance and know-how to deliver what we need. Truly, if there's one thing the brain loves more than a pattern, it's learning a new one so keep feeding it new patterns! Then watch that learning curve and fun factor ramp up! Boom!
Our own creative patterns give us a foundation, artistic pillars that root our work in the larger landscape out there. And that's something to be greatly valued. Yet foundations are meant to be built on and there's no one way to build. Learn to turn our pattern recognition response into a curious worker bee that chirps "hey! lookie lookie!" rather than a foreman dictating "just do this!" and we'll be better able to pick out nature's rich variety to build a body of work with more scope, revelation, and delight. We don't have to beat our pattern recognition response then—the answer isn't found in stopping it. There's just no stopping it. The trick is found then in manipulating it with an awareness of what's happening when we observe and interpret to See each piece with more open expectations. In short, the secret is working with it rather than against it. Old habits die hard? Nah. Not when we have the processing power of pattern recognition on our side!
"All is pattern, all life, but we can't always see the pattern when we're part of it."
—Belva Plain