I like mood boards and I like blank canvas. I like studios and I like labs. I like cities and I like markets. I like kitchens and I like gardens. And I, most definitely, like galleries and garages.
I’ve been thinking a lot about perspective, point of view, attitude and themes focused on how we navigate life internally and externally. For a long time, I’ve looked for a box I could fit comfortably into, but the more I searched, the more my quiet desperation turned into confusion, which then turned into disillusionment. It took many tries at thinking, asking, dialogue and contemplation to eventually synthesize a worldview I could live in and love. But first, I had to go through an existential crisis, earnestly consider nihilism, and experience spiritual awakening and spiritual rebirth. Like a drowning man, I floundered until I came to surrender, and in surrender, I floated. In the acceptance of my differences and quirks, I found my uniqueness.
I have always loved learning, but in my years coming of age I began liking classrooms less and less. Most of the classroom environments I walked into were extremely dry, procedural and transactional in a way that removed the fun out of learning. In my own desperation to live up to my formed identity of being “a good student”, I raced to check all the expected boxes and found the color fading ever more slowly from life. Careers became about job security, status and the quantity of compensation. Expression became about audience and reach before authenticity. Learning and living, my soul food and comfort food previously done with care and intention, became bottom-tier fast food: low-quality and filling, yet unmistakably hollow despite the base ingredients being there. Part of that was because I thought I needed to “follow the program”, only to stare up and eventually realize I did not actually want what the prize offered at the end of the line. As Peter Thiel says, “Before getting swept up in the competitions that define so much of life, ask yourself whether you even want the prize on offer”. I’m grateful that I stopped for a moment and looked up and out to see what was on offer. Even more importantly, I’m glad I looked in and asked myself what I actually wanted.
The truth is, I did not particularly like classrooms. But there were many other spaces I could learn and build that I like. I like mood boards and I like blank canvas. I like studios and I like labs. I like cities and I like markets. I like kitchens and I like gardens. And I, most definitely, like galleries and garages. I even like dining tables, factories and office spaces. My interests growing up had been naturally multidisciplinary but a good portion of the world emphasized titles, trends and fitting familiar molds. As such, I constantly felt like I was acting by deleting the more pluralistic aspects of myself.
I was born in a small town, came of age in the largest city in my country, and have lived my young adult life between two continents. During my high school years, I listened to music from a variety of genres: electronic dance music, rock, hiphop, RnB, dancehall, kwaito, jazz and many more sub-genres across spaces. This is where the pigeon-holing began for me. In the environment I was in, music spoke to more general cultural affiliations and there was invisible pressure to fit a side or scene. In the general Kenyan high school zeitgeist at the time, a preference for alternative, jazz or electronic music did not compute with my small-town roots and so I felt alienated. Yet I was still able to sail through with more open-minded friends from the marching band I was a part of and a few other friends passionate about these varied spaces.
Similar categorizations happened in college, where the general expectation was to present oneself as a cut-and-dried individual from one’s demographic. Fortunately, I was able to find an international community that showed me we could be many things - from a Ghanaian-Japanese environmentalist and photographer to a computer scientist who wrote Arabic poetry. I found myself at home in these spaces, and I am very grateful for my liberal arts education. I shudder to think about how even more challenging my learning path would have been had I gone to a more traditional school. At my college, I could actually tell people I was studying Chinese because I liked watching kung fu movies and wanted to watch them without subtitles. It was in college that I built my first blockchain platform, showed my first short film and hosted a 2000s RnB radio show. But it was also at college that I learned about the pressures of conventional American life, the grind for internships and full-time jobs and the constant phrasing and expectation of “next steps”. While I did not entirely like the game, it was clear at this point that it was what the smartest and most-driven students were doing, so I played along with them. It also seemed the most prudent thing to do for the sake of my own economic outcomes over the long-term.
But for what will it profit a man, if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul? Although I was able to play this game successfully, I was itching to build things. I built a second blockchain platform for an international organization and then moved to the West Coast for my first “respectable” technology role at a large cap firm serving hundreds of Fortune 500 companies. But the work had no soul, and I could not get myself excited explaining what I did on a day to day basis. Yet design, art and building made me happy. Over nights and weekends at that first job, I designed and built my first digital display. It gave me so much joy. Even more surprisingly, my roommate offered me a substantial amount of straight cash to purchase the display after a demo to him and his girlfriend. I did not sell it due to its sentimental value. It still sits in my house and I occasionally watch the timelapse I recorded of me putting it together. It is small moments like these that helped me to start believing in my own taste. Thus, I began my foray into fresh ways of seeing: a way I could live, learn, build and authentically express myself.
First, the obvious. Fresh ways of seeing requires honesty. Honesty to oneself and to others. Honesty breeds self-acceptance and genuine expression, and with genuine expression comes authenticity. Secondly, fresh ways of seeing requires a beginner’s mind: a mind willing to let go of old material to move forward into the new, unencumbered by conventional expectations. A beginner’s mind is able to ask the fundamental and sometimes basic questions that enable reasoning from first principles. At the same time, a beginner’s mind is naive enough to begin moving towards a destination that might not be clear. In some cases, the destination might be less of a statement and more of a question. “How could we affordably deliver payloads to space?” “Can cyclone technology be used to build a more efficient vacuum cleaner?" “Can machines think?” These are some of the questions that come from a beginner’s mind. The naivete of a beginner’s mind is best accompanied by lifelong learning, and, in lifelong learning, a learning that goes beyond methods and into history.
History gives context. Context enriches understanding and improved understanding means seeing more, even in the seemingly simple. There is compelling value in learning from the old masters and great works. As wise men have said, there is nothing new under the sun, and while history does not repeat itself, it often rhymes. Fresh ways of seeing could mean creating freshness around an old idea, theme or motif contextualized into current time or space. It could also mean seeing that old idea entirely differently by applying it in a non-traditional way or combining different ideas to create something new. It could also mean creating entirely new spaces, systems, products, tools, forms or mediums. Entirely new songs, samples and remixes are all fresh ways of seeing, even if these are primarily in audio form. Notice how a film score changes what you see on the screen, yet the film score involves you listening. Notice also, how I have weaved providing a precise definition, opting instead to mention what this freshness might look like. I am still exploring fresh ways of seeing. My views will evolve. I am making room in advance for this evolution while also creating space for others to involve their own imagination.
In my current pursuit of being a lifelong learner, I have developed a greater appreciation for both the tourist and the purist. I am borrowing these terms from Virgil, and I too intend to live and build within view of both camps: often at the crossroads, and at other times nearer either side of the road. Both tourists and purists are important. Tourists are not tied down by the weight of past perspectives which potentially include dogma. Purists know what high standards are in their field and are more likely to understand and engage with deeper themes and references.
Yet, in living, in creating and in building for both tourists and purists, one thing for me is certain. I would rather focus on the doing. I prefer to focus on the actual exploring, learning, creating and building over a pure prioritization of credentials. While I was thinking about building robots, I considered going back to school to study robotics. That way, I could call myself a “robotics engineer”. But an incessant question kept raising its head whenever I thought of going back to school: “Would you rather get a degree in robotics or build 100 robots?” The answer, for me, was the robots. But this is not a decision I made based on logic. I deeply knew that I would more greatly enjoy the journey of learning as I built robots as compared to being in a classroom and writing exams to prove that I could build robots so that I could then go and build the robots. I understand that each person’s mileage varies in this regard, and that some paths like being a professor might require the latter. At the same time, I am likely to still benefit from some formal study. But this doesn’t have to be within the confines of a classroom, and there are other means like books, online classes or tutorials, and even apprenticing. In many cases, just doing the thing ends up translating. Other questions in a similar vein might be “Would you rather get a degree in music production or make five beats a day for three summers?” “Would you rather get an advanced degree in cybersecurity or develop iOS jailbreaks?” It is important to note that I am not questioning the validity of credentials. Rather, I am questioning credentialism. Most purists are credentialed, but the exceptional have risen above their credentials to value output and ideas over certifications.
It is in the five beats a day for three summers where hit singles are made. It is in the 5,127 prototypes where fundamental innovation happens. It is in these iterations where fresh ways of seeing emerge. Similarly, fresh ways of seeing emerge from questions like “Can you make the sound of wind rushing through?” and statements from a beginner’s mind like “Blockchain could benefit from other applications besides money”. Similarly, fresh ways of seeing emerge from putting together the old in a new setting, and from looking at the old, looking in, looking forward, and creating something new. This happened with amapiano, and we can also see it in the subtle flavors of Habitat 67 present in the Mountain Dwellings. We can also see fresh ways of seeing in the emergence of Billie Eilish after younger years of listening to Avril Lavigne amongst other artists, and in Ronaldhino layering new approaches after Jay Jay Okocha.
I am still early on my journey exploring fresh ways of seeing. There is still so much to see, and even more to learn, to create and to build. I hope to see you at some point of this journey.
Art, potlucks, collabs; dialogues, stories, cyphers; sketches, inventions, iterations; modding, mixes, music and musings are all welcome, as long as they encourage seeing afresh.