kick

[kirkcudbright]

When I was journaling the other day about finally Getting the mohawk turn in skating, I was looking for Steven Brust's The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars. I finally found it (right where I thought it ought to be), and found the quote I was looking for. Chapter 14, part 1, page 157. Copyright Steven Brust.

I remember when, in karate, I learned how to do front kicks. I'd been doing them, sort of, for more than a year, and I didn't realize I was doing anything wrong. For the whole year, Sensei had been saying (among other things), kick with the knee, just let the lower leg relax, and manipulate the ankle so you attack with the ball of your foot. And, more and more, kick with the knee, kick with the knee.

One day, between kicks number four and five out of a set of ten at maximum speed, I kicked with the knee. That is, I let my lower leg relax and concentrated on getting the knee out there, and bam. The kick flew. It was fast, and strong, and felt so good I almost couldn't stand it. I was astounded at what I'd done, but after that, well, I had it, and that was that.

What's funny is that I hadn't been doing anything other than what Sensei had been telling us to do for more than a year, yet when it came, it was like a Zen moment of enlightenment. I wanted to share it with some friends at the doj, but I couldn't. Why? Beacause all I could say was, "You kick with your knee; just let your lower leg relax."

Everything I discovered like that; I try to listen to my teachers, and follow their directions, and sometimes I even think I have it, and then one day, bam.

In one life-drawing class, using pencil and paper, the prof gave us a long lecture on light. A lot of what he told us were raw facts - like the math or physics you use to determine the length of a shadow, and how to represent the shadings of light with only a pencil. But there were other things he was saying, especially about the old Dutch painters, that I only thought I understood. You must always have a light source in mind, and that affects everything on the canvas, even if the light is diffuse and the source isn't explicit. Okay, that was simple enough, right? Wrong.

I only understood it one day about eighteen months ago, working on a study of the alley in back of the studio. Just, all of a sudden, for no reason, I understood. The effect of the sun from my right permeated the whole canvas, brightening some spots just a little, darkening others by only the tiniest amount, but it was there, I understood it. I almost had an orgasm.

I wanted to talk to David about it, but all I could think of to say was, "You always have a light source in mind, and that affects everything on the canvas." So I didn't say anything, but hell, my paintings have been better since then.

My front kicks are pretty good, too.