My brother once described Mr. Larry Young as his “cheat sheet to life.” Granted this was after he’d gotten over the fact that Larry was dating our mother and after he no longer searched for his picture posting on the bulletin at the post office for America’s most wanted. And while the comment was made in passing it is, in my eyes, one of the greatest compliments and one that is rarely bestowed because it’s seldom deserved. It’s not as if Larry has any secret short cuts or special tricks, he lived and lives a full life, one that enables him to impart that crucial nugget of information that makes things go off in your head and connect the dots. And like any good cheat sheet he does so discreetly. If you were to meet Larry face to face, you’d think yourself in front of an unassuming country boy, silver from years of living both the high and low life, but still colorful and with a muted southern twang to boot; his blue laughing eyes the only part hinting at the deep ocean of knowledge just a story away.

Sometimes we spend our whole lives searching for things that are often right in front of us. Throughout my education, I’ve always wanted something of a mentor, someone to guide me and show me the ropes. I’ve sort of romanticized the notion of apprenticeship, searching for a master crafstman who would pass on his/her knowledge, skill, and experience and I, the chosen disciple if you will, would greedily soak it up like a sponge.

After more than my fair share of professions from public relations to hair transplants (yes, I once assisted in the rejuvenation of receding hairlines) to my current affair graphic design, what I reluctantly came to was that my romanticized, imagined notions were exactly that–in a world where techonologies change so rapidly that by the time you’ve learned something it’s almost old news, the idea of a traditional mentor is somewhat obsolete, overtaken by the next software bundle or programming script. Think about how many things you use on a daily basis today that didn’t even exist a few years ago. Things as seemingly innocuous as cell phones and Google. And yet these technologies have drastically changed our learning environments, leveling the playing field and allowing a sort of youthful innovation unhampered by routine and tradition. Take for example a look at New York’s recent fashion week, where front row, amidst fashion icons like Anna Wintour sat absolute newcomers unbeknownst to the world but for the creation of blogs, taping away at laptops whose price tags were probably a fraction of the cost of the stilettos sashaying by on the runway and to the outrage of those poor souls who spent the greater part of their 30 odd year lifetimes battling their way to the front row only to find they’d been out maneuvered by a gay Filipino fashion blogger. Which is not to say I don’t share in the enthusiasm of this ever transferring world…let’s face it, I sit here on the subway, writing this on my iPhone with a widget for WordPress. However, I also find myself still clinging to something. In the hurry and hustle amidst tweets, blog postings, and social networking; in the striving to be in the know with the latest technologies, what are we missing, or more accurately what are we really learning?

I think there is a general consensus beginning. Good magazine’s recent issue entitled “The Slow Issue” was devoted to the subject of, wait for it…slowing down, focusing on “quality, authenticity, and longevity rather than a mindless adherence to the faster and cheaper ethos.” It struck something, it made me once again look back at my discarded notion of mentoring and redefine it, or perhaps define it rightly for the first time.

In Paulo Coelho’s novel Brida, there’s a line on page 42, which reads, “Learning something means coming into contact with a world which you know nothing. In order to learn, you must be humble.” To put yourself in a position for which you are completely unfamiliar and allow yourself to be humbled by a greater knowledge–that act itself is a worthy lesson and one that’ll prove its usefulness tenfold if you are able to master it–and it’s one of the qualities I admire most in Larry. The breadth and scope if his stories are as numerous and varied as his body of work and yet despite that, he is prepared to leave all of it at the door and learn whatever lesson you have to offer.

Think about what you can learn when you aren’t bound by the limitations of what you know.

So Larry Young–illustrator, photographer, artist, sculptor, painter, teacher, filmmaker, and father, will you be my mentor?

I’ve always been in love with building blocks, deeply drawn to the idea of starting with a simple form and adding to it, building and constructing something far more complex from a single element…it’s also not intimidating. Try to add to an existing fort and it’s possible to witness it crumble having barely touched the thing. To start from square one, on the other hand, well if you didn’t like the placement of the first block, it’s not exactly difficult to start over.

To try and understand the whole of art history (in all its forms) and its influence on design is, to say the least, a tall order. I’d recently stumbled upon the writings of Jack Cheng, whose facetiously titled posting, 51 Ways to Change Your Life, bestowed only a single, but very poignant lesson (inspired in part from the 43 of Bruce Mau’s Incomplete Manifesto for Growth)- learn in moderation.

When you find yourself saying “that’s a really great idea, I should try that,” stop reading. Pick one thing from that list of fifteen. Don’t worry about finishing the rest of the book. Try it. Practice it, repeat it, until it becomes routine. Remind yourself to consciously think about it on a regular basis. When you make that one item a habit, you can come back to the source and learn something else. Then, every time you practice the new thing, you’ll be reminded to keep practicing all the old ones.

Moderation is key. The more we try to learn everything, the more we learn nothing.

So in the spirit of learning in moderation intermingled with my love of building blocks, it’s back to basics, exploring some of the most elementary principles of art and design, mainly of composition. Be it music or literature, painting or poster design, composition is the very basic building framework of any creative work, the combining of different parts to make a whole. How one consciously puts together the elements at their disposal- the first block.

Of course the tools at one’s disposal can be seemingly innumerable, flip open William Lidwell and Kritina Holden’s the Universal Principles of Design and you’ll see 210 pages worth, but I’d like to start with one in particular – proportion, more specifically the Fibonacci sequence.

Google anything to do with composition and inevitably you’ll come across, the rule of thirds and the golden ratio, aka the golden proportion, also referred to as the golden section and golden mean, dive a little deeper and it will point you to the Fibonacci sequence. A series of numbers in which each number beyond 0 and 1 is the sum of the previous two.

0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377, 610, 987, …

I once took a color theory class in which the teacher asked her students to define what good design was, in the end after quite a few well-crafted responses about utility, the “answer” she boiled it down to was that good design was what the majority of people deemed such. While it was a sobering answer in its stark simplicity, it still left a void as to why the majority should find one form generally more appealing than another.

Enter English poet John Keats and German physicist, psychologist, philosopher Gustav T Fechner, both of whom came to the same conclusion though from complete opposite ends. The former wrote in his conclusion to Ode on a Grecian Urn, “Beauty is Truth; Truth, Beauty. That is all ye know on Earth and all ye need to know,” the latter conducted an experiment to give aesthetics a mathematical foundation. Fechner conducted one of the first public surveys to measure statistically aesthetic preference. What he found was that people generally preferred ratios and proportions closest to large consecutive Fibonacci numbers. Proving the inherent preference for that which “we know,” a sort of “divine” truth in nature.

“Biologists, artists, musicians, historians, architects, psychologists, and even mystics have pondered and debated the basis of its ubiquity and appeal. In fact, it is probably fair to say that the Golden Ratio has inspired thinkers of all disciplines like no other number in the history of mathematics.”—Mario Livio, The Golden Ratio: The Story of Phi, The World’s Most Astonishing Number

Phi’s (φ) self-replicating symmetry appeals to us because we unconsciously sense its internal balance recognizing in the harmony of φ relationships the harmony within ourselves. φ resonates with the core of life, reminding us of our own infinite depth and beauty. – Michael S. Schneider, A Beginner’s Guide to Constructing the Universe

The point being, one need not be aware of mathematics and phi to appreciate beauty because we know them, we find its reflection in every organic and for that matter many an inorganic object we come in contact with. Appreciation and utilization, however are two very separate things. How an artist is able to incorporate such proportions or break them and its subsequent effects throughout history may very well be like its graphical depiction, seemingly infinite and full hidden harmonies and relationships to be uncovered and discerned by the careful observer/student.

RELATED LINKS & RESOURCES
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_works_designed_with_the_golden_ratiohttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fibonacci_numbers_in_popular_culture