Nothing is (Completely) Original

And that's okay.

Last week I read a post from Jordan’s Studio Notes about collecting information and making mood boards as a way of processing that information into an organized and usable format. I love all that design-y stuff. It might be my favorite part of commercial work. Anyway, in it, she quotes Jim Jarmusch on the fact that nothing is original.

I know this.

One of my first posts talked about how we perceive information, process it through our own filters, mix it up with information we already have, and deliver it back to the world as something slightly else.

All of our encounters and points of contact with our surroundings shape our memories and therefore our current thoughts. Everything we consume is shaped by our perception of our lived experience. The choices we make and the details we notice, they all inform what we give back to our community.

And that is to be expected to turn out pieces that are a nod to a past encounter, whether you recall it or not. But what if your whole visual story reads unbelievably alike another artist’s?

Earlier this summer I came across Metamorphosis, a book by James Welling. It was an uncannily similar trajectory to that of my own work, and the simultaneous love and panic made me buy it. I have not, to my recollection, come across his photography before, which as an art history nerd is equally embarrassing. Surely that cannot be true.

It turns out that Welling is about the same age as my dad, so I asked my dad if he knew him. Maybe I went to one of his shows when I was younger and I just don’t remember? My dad said no, he’s not familiar.

So I brought the book with me to visit my parents. I was positively crushed. “Look at this incomprehensible similarity! I can’t understand how this can be!”

Well, my dad is a professional artist and he set me straight. Nevertheless it’s an agitating discovery. Finding bits and pieces of work here and there that are reminiscent of your own art is one thing. But finding nearly an entire book of parallels is unnerving.

Life is a journey, making art is a journey. Sometimes paths cross briefly, sometimes paths can be very much the same, even in another time and place. With the number of people on this planet past and present, with the increasingly expeditious access to information, it’s bound to happen. No matter how you go about your process, someone has been down that road before. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s just probability.

As long as you stay true to your metaphorical compass, your voice, and yourself, you put your own spin on everything you produce because no one else has lived your exact life with your specific perspective on all accounts.

Has this happened to you before? What was your initial gut reaction?