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The Creative Triathlon: How I Stay Motivated with Art, Video & Writing

/ Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

I think a lot about how momentum works. Not just in training—although yeah, I do love a good triathlon—but in creativity too.

When I’m training for a triathlon, I’m not just running every day. I swim. I bike. And I run. Each discipline works different muscles, keeps things fresh, and somehow… they all support each other. Like, I come out of a bike ride with stronger legs for the run.

And that’s kinda how I’m approaching my creative life too.

I don’t just write. I don’t just draw. I don’t just make videos. I move between all of them—and doing that actually helps me stay motivated and inspired. If I’m stuck in one, I switch to another. If I’m tired of reading, I pull out my camera. If I can’t sit down to draw, I cut up footage and express my creativity in a whole new way.

So today, I’m sharing something I call the Creative Triathlon. It’s a predetermined length of focused time on three different creative practices: illustrating, video creation, and writing.
One discipline at a time. No pressure. No multitasking. Just a way to find time to do what you enjoy. 


First leg: illustration. For the past 4 years, I’ve been working on this massive personal project—drawing every single Pokémon. Yeah. All of them. It’s been slow-going, not because I don’t love it, but because finding the time is hard. Life piles up. Other projects take priority. And as strange as it sounds, drawing Pokemon doesn’t pay the bills. 

But when I do this creative triathlon, it forces me to carve out time for it. Even just 25 minutes. And honestly? It’s kind of like swimming. At first, it takes a while to get ready. But once I start? I don’t want to stop. It’s peaceful. It’s focused. And there’s something really satisfying about seeing one more little creature take shape.

This leg always reminds me why I started this project in the first place: because I love it. Because it brings me back to that kid part of myself that used to draw these things on notebooks. 

I’m almost at 1000 Pokemon. I really want to finish before they add more. If you are interested in see the rest, check out this video in the cards and the instagram in the link in the description. 


Second leg: video creation. Right now, I’ve been making a series of YouTube Shorts where I highlight key takeaways from books I’ve read. It’s honestly become one of my favorite creative outlets.

What I love about it is that it’s a true mashup of all my past-time activities—reading, thinking, writing, editing—it all comes together in these tiny videos. It makes everything I do feel active. Reading no longer feels like a passive intake of ideas. By turning it into a video, I get to spend more time with what I’m reading. I get to sit with the concepts, rephrase them, visualize them. And because of that, the lessons stick. They become part of me. A little snapshot of my life.

Video creation is great that way. It lets you experience your own thoughts in a completely new medium. You go from absorbing to articulating, from quiet reflection to something that moves and speaks. Seeing an idea come to life on screen—it just never gets old. 

Final leg: writing. I’m currently editing the fifth draft of the first book in a trilogy I’ve been working on for years. And yeah—it’s a slog. A meaningful one, but a slog nonetheless.

It’s such a big project that most days, I’m just chipping away at it. I don’t always see progress. There’s no big “aha” moment, no flashy breakthrough. It’s slow, repetitive work. And honestly, it feels a lot like running. Not a sprint—a marathon. You get tired. You want to stop. But you don’t, because the work is worth it. The fatigue is part of the point. It’s what builds endurance. It’s what makes the story matter.

Working on something this big, this long—it becomes part of your life. It’s something you carry. And the beautiful thing about creativity is that it’s not like sports… there’s no finish line in the same way. It doesn’t end. But that’s why I love this Creative Triathlon practice—because it does give me small finish lines.

Instead of focusing on finishing the book, I just focus on finishing a session. That’s it. One 25-minute block. And when it’s done, I get this little burst of relief, a sense of accomplishment. Like I’ve closed a loop. It’s such a good feeling—being able to look back at my day and say, “I did something today.” No guilt. No disappointment.

So that’s my Creative Triathlon. Three disciplines, 25 minutes each for me today. It could be more on other days, but today was only 25 minutes. Which is enough to get a good chunk of work done. Know this, though, it’s not about finishing a masterpiece in an hour and a half—it’s about movement. It’s about momentum.

Just like in a real triathlon, each leg has its own rhythm. Some feel strong. Some feel slow. But they all carry me forward.

If you’re someone who loves multiple creative things—or if you’re feeling stuck—try this. Treat your creativity like a triathlon. Mix it up. Work different muscles. Let each practice breathe new life into the others.

Thanks for hanging out with me today. If you decide to try your own Creative Triathlon, let me know how it goes! And if you already have a different combo that works for you—maybe it’s music, painting, and cooking—drop it in the comments. I’d love to hear what you’re working on.

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What is Pretentious Writing?

/ Elliot Chan / 1 Comment

What makes one writer formal, important, talented, and cultured — and another pretentious? 

This is a tale of two writers. Devon and Jessica. 

Devon is an aspiring novelist, he has this epic fantasy novel in his head and has spent many evenings and weekends outlining and drafting. He’s an enthusiast of all things mythology and considers himself a primo expert in medieval weapons. But he knows something is holding him back. Gatekeepers. He simply needs to meet the right people and get them to read his work. 

Jessica is an accountant and has never thought of herself as much of a writer. It was only when her grandmother started feeling ill that she even considered picking up a pen. After visiting her grandmother one afternoon and hearing her stories about her childhood in Vietnam, she decided that it was a story worth recording. 

Devon and Jessica although had different intentions for their writing, found themselves both applying for a spot in the local university’s creative writing program. One of the requirements for admission was to supply a 300-word essay explaining their writing goals and what they hope to achieve from the courses. 

Reid is an administration associate for the university and it’s his job to review the applications and create a short list of applicants. First he read Devon’s and it went like this:

As I commence my journey to ascertain knowledge to optimally communicate my story with the citizens of tomorrow, I aim to transcend the lives of those I have yet to meet as the literary legends I applauded had accomplished for me. 

Reid looked up from Devon’s essay, opened and closed his eyes to clear his vision and looked down at it again. Reid doesn’t say it out loud or announce it to his colleagues. He didn’t pass the essay around so it could be ridiculed, but something was glaringly obvious about Devon’s writing: it was pretentious. 

But how? 

While Reid avoided over analyzing the essay in the moment, there were a few aspects of Devon’s writing that couldn’t be ignored. 

1. Lack of Clarity

Big stuffy words made the writing hard to read. Although long complex words can often accentuate a piece of writing, like a pinch of salt can bring out the flavour of food, overdoing it can leave the meal inedible. The same goes for writing. 

2. Attempting to Be Impressive As Opposed to Expressive

All the choices made in the writing is in an effort to impress Reid. Devon was clearly flexing his vocabulary muscles — perhaps writing with a thesaurus beside him — and in doing so, failed to express himself in a genuine way. It comes across as inauthentic, as though the essay had been written by a robot programmed for optimum results, as opposed to a human aimed to connect. 

3. No Awareness of the Reader

Perhaps Devon had misinterpreted what the essay wanted. Reid was not looking to be blown away, but rather, he simply wanted to understand the person behind the submission. He wanted to get an impression of who Devon was. And perhaps he did. Devon is someone who, despite his insecurity as a writer, deems himself to be an intellectual specimen. However, by using words one wouldn’t use when speaking, Devon doesn’t appear smarter, but rather confused. 

Pretentious writing is unpleasant to read. It’s often composed with the attempt to stump the reader, giving the writer a feeling of superiority, like a specialist (a mechanic, a lawyer, or a politician) who uses jargon. However, all it achieves is a failure in communication. Pretentious writing stems from lack of confidence, where writers feel as though their ideas, as is, are not strong enough, so they need to juice it up with words or concepts that don’t serve the story in order to give the material bulk. 

Reid placed Devon’s essay to the side and picked up Jessica’s. Here’s a passage from it:

When my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, I thought I was going to lose her right away. But while some misfortunes take loved ones away quickly, my grandmother stayed strong and remained. Long enough for her to tell me the story of how she immigrated to Canada. Through this heart-wrenching process, I realized that I was given a second chance to know the woman that was my hero. Now knowing the stories she had in her, I feel it is my duty to capture them and share them with the world. 

One word popped up into Reid’s head after he put Jessica’s essay down. Vulnerability. It was not brilliantly written, but it captured why Jessica had decided to take on the gruelling task of writing. Where Devon was insecure, u sing his words as a shield to protect himself, Jessica was emotionally exposed on paper for Reid to see. 

Perhaps that’s the essence of pretentious writing. A piece that strives to impress but fails to connect. 

What do you think? Is there a piece of work you find pretentious? Let me know in the comments below.

If you want more videos about writing and the creative process, please check out my YouTube channel. 

If you found this article helpful, please consider signing up for my mailing list. You won’t receive emails from me often, but when you do, it’ll include only works that I’m most proud of.

What is Catharsis?

/ Elliot Chan / 1 Comment

Leonard planned the funeral when his mother passed away. Near the end, there was this moment at the crematorium where he was assigned to push the button that initiated the furnace that would torch his mother’s corpse turning it from flesh and bones to ash. 

At that moment, all he could think about was the button and whether it was real. Did it actually do anything, or was it all a show for his relatives all of which were standing behind him… sobbing. Leonard was not sobbing. He looked at his father, who was weeping quietly in his wheelchair. He looked at his aunt, who was breaking down into the chest of her husband. Friends and family all gathered to watch him push this button. They were all in different states of grief. So he took a deep breath and he did it. He pushed the button.

The crematory initiated. His mother’s coffin disappeared behind the oven’s door. A blind to the window looking into the crematorium was lowered. The show ended. Leonard and the rest of his family returned home. He will never see his mother’s face again. 

A month later, Leonard goes on a date with a former co-worker of his, Sarah. She wanted to see this Academy Award-nominated movie. Dramas were not Leonard’s thing, but he was willing to compromise. He’ll get to pick the movie next time. They bought tickets and popcorn and Leonard held Sarah’s hand as the movie started. 

At the one hour twenty-two minute mark, Leonard clenched his teeth and pursed his lips. He even placed his finger up against his mouth. This was unusual. He didn’t usually cry in movies. But here he was… 

On the screen was a hospital scene. The adult children were looking down at their dying mother as she told them all about her regrets. The tragedies of her life. Her missed opportunities. Her unrequited love. She tells them how she had let them down. How she wished she could have been a better mother to them. How she wanted to be a better listener. It was all too late. 

As the first drop of tears left Leonard’s eyes, an image flashed in his mind. The button. While the rest of his family had been sobbing, he was stoic. Now, in the theater… the floodgates opened. 

What Leonard was experiencing as he sat there holding his date in one hand and keeping himself from crying out loud with his other, is catharsis. 

Catharsis is the process in which we release our pent-up emotions. Some define it as a purification or purgation of emotions, as though it is some sort of cleansing. It’s as though we have poured Drain-O through our response system, unclogging the months and years of built-up feelings, so it can function properly again. 

Works of literature, television, cinema, and music that are deemed cathartic are often praised for being good for the human soul. It is often seen as therapeutic, as many of us like Leonard have repressed memories that we have not properly come to terms with. In this way, the artform allows us to “let it all out.” 

While Leonard had certainly felt sad that his mother had died, he was immediately tasked with coordinating her funeral. He had to call friends and family members and fulfill all his mother’s wishes. Letting it out then simply wasn’t a priority. There was no time for it. And so it goes with many of our own emotions. 

After the adrenaline of a car accident, we are immediately faced with dealing with insurance and maintenance. After losing our jobs, we are immediately faced with the pressure to get a new one. And on it goes: with every emotional experience, we are often expected to respond with another action, and rarely are we offered the luxury of time to assess what we’ve just been through. These moments afterward, can often compound in dangerous ways as we bury the feelings or deny them. We hold them tight and pretend like they aren’t there. We stuff them into a compartment in the back of our brain like a messy miscellaneous drawer. 

There is no time to clean that drawer. How selfish would it be… especially when we know what’s in there can’t be changed. No amount of crying will bring Leonard’s mother back, so why bother? Especially now that he had so much to deal with. Real life comes rushing back. Where was he supposed to find time to cry? In the morning before work? While brushing his teeth at night? No… there’s simply no time to be emotional about that stuff. There is no point. 

If this is the case, emotions can erupt at inopportune times. That is why people break down at the office. This is why we see people sobbing in the milk aisle as the sudden memory of a brand of milk triggers something about a long-lost cat. 

What cathartic work can do is allow us to unselfishly release these emotions in a controlled environment. To experience what the characters in the story are experiencing as opposed to ones of our own, we are given a separation. We are allowed to feel the feelings without having to dig within ourselves. Leonard could cry about the dying mom on screen and not have to think directly about his own. It is true that when it comes to these deep seeded emotions, it’s often easier to feel someone else’s. 

As Leonard and Sarah leave the theater, they give each other a hug and a kiss. She tells him how much she enjoyed the movie. He tells her about the hospital scene. She listens quietly as Leonard talks, and he feels a weight lifted from him. The conversation about the movie transitions to his mother and how they have grown apart in the last few years. He told her about how honoured he was that she wanted him to manage her final wishes. He wished there was a way he could have told her that. Sarah held Leonard’s arm as they walked towards the bus station. She looked forward to the movie he’d pick next time. 

Was there a piece of art that made you feel cathartic? Let me know in the comments below. For more videos about writing and the creative process, please subscribe to my YouTube channel.

And for more in this series, check out these articles here:

Go Back and Read Your Past Work — Here’s How to Do It

/ Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

I’ll admit it, in my short time on this planet, I have created a lot of content — content that I have little interest going back and enjoying. While one reason can be that I have way too much to do now: creating new material and reading, watching, and listening to other (more talented) people’s work; another more restraining reason is that I’m not convinced that it’ll be enjoyable. 

I believe that anything I create creatively, I make for myself, I’m the first audience member. That is how I pick my creative projects. I want my investment in time to pay off down the line. I create it with the intention that one day in the future I can enjoy it again as an audience member who has lost all connection with the initial creation process. 

While that is my encouragement to put in the time and effort — blood, sweat, and tears — I don’t know when it is safe to return to that piece of work. I worry that I’ll cringe. I worry that I’ll get critical. I’ll worry that I will see all the mistakes that I’ve made before and become unable to let go. Yet, I want to look back and see how far I’ve come. I am pulled and tugged by how I want to approach my corpus of old work. 

I start to wonder what successful creators and artists approach this aspect of their work, the revisiting phase. 

The Producer: Don’t Treat It Like A Job 

Perhaps the most famous incident of an artist claiming to have not seen his own work is Johnny Depp in an interview with David Letterman. 

Johnny Depp: In a way, once my job is done on the film it is really none of my business. […] I stay as far away as I possibly can. If I can I try to stay in a profoundest state of ignorant as possible. […] I just don’t like watching myself. I prefer the experience — I mean, making the film is great. The process is all fine, but then… he’s up there. You know what I mean?  

To me, there is a sense of freedom to that: to be able to create without the need to critique his work. As a copywriter, I can personally relate to that. I have a workman’s mentality to a lot of stuff I create. I don’t write a blog post to necessary go back and enjoy while sipping mai tai on a beach. I write it. I got paid for it. My obligation is done. Obligations are not enjoyments, and if you see your work as such… you might lack the fulfillment in your craft that can propel you forward. 

Perhaps that’s why some may think that Depp’s work today is derivative of his best from the past. If you start treating your creations as simply work, then yes, there is never a personal reason to go back and watch it. Then again, you should think about the work you are picking. 

The Fan: Make it for Yourself First 

Then on the other side of the spectrum is Samuel L. Jackson. There is a reason that Jackson is in so many fantastic movies, it’s because he has a brilliant philosophy for his work. 

In an interview with GQ magazines, Samuel L. Jackson said, “I like watching myself in movies….if I am channel surfing and I pass a movie that I’m in, I’m watching it no matter what. I have a drawer of nothing but my DVDs, so if nothing else, I can just go in and pull one out and put it in.”

When asked why some actors don’t enjoy watching themselves, he responded, “That’s bullshit! Actors that say, “I can’t stand to watch myself”, well if you can’t stand to watch yourself then why the f*** do you expect someone to pay $13.50 to watch you?”

Like chefs who cook food for others, that they would not eat themselves, an artist who is unable to enjoy their work should be viewed with slight suspicion. As if to say, “Oh, your work isn’t even good enough for you?” 

The Critic: Identify Errors

Sometimes you look back at your work and all you can see is the mistakes you’ve made. And in some pieces, the errors stand out more clearly than others. However, it’s sometimes better to bite the bullet, watch what you’ve made, and analyze why you dislike it. 

In a 2011 interview with Time Out, Lady Gaga speaks about her current relationship with her hit Telephone: “I hate ‘Telephone.’ Is that terrible to say? It’s the song I have the most difficult time listening to. I can’t even watch the ‘Telephone’ video, I hate it so much. Beyonce and I are great together, but there are so many ideas in that video and all I see in that video is my brain throbbing with ideas and I wish I had edited myself a little bit more.”

Trust in your taste. If you don’t feel the way Samuel L. Jackson does when reading, watching, or listening to your own work, ask yourself what you dislike about it. If you are blatantly ignorant, you may never learn to improve. And if it is more than just a paycheque for you, like it clearly is for Lady Gaga, then you must analyze the errors and do better next time. 

The Exhausted: Take A Long Break From It 

If the idea of consuming your old work is causing you to cringe, it might simply be the fact that you haven’t had enough distance from it yet. 

Talking to Rolling Stone back in 1993, Kurt Cobain stated: “It’s almost an embarrassment to play [“Smells Like Teen Spirit”]. Everyone has focused on that song so much. The reason it gets a big reaction is people have seen it on MTV a million times. It’s been pounded into their brains… I can barely, especially on a bad night, get through ‘Teen Spirit.’ I literally want to throw my guitar down and walk away.”

Like eating the same meal over and over again, creating content or performing can feel repetitive. As a filmmaker, after spending so many hours in the editing room watching the same scenes over and over again, getting it just right. Once it is completed, the last thing you would want to do is sit down with a bag of popcorn and watch the movie from beginning to end. The same goes with a writer writing and a singer singing. 

If you don’t take the time to put that piece aside, hide it in the dark, then you will feel fatigued from it. Your creation might be as delicious as chocolate, but if all you’ve been eating is chocolate for the past three months, maybe a piece of celery is what you need to cleanse the palate.   

The Historian: Treat Your Old Work As Snapshots of Your Life 

When you create something, you create in the present. You put your current emotional state into it. You choose words and form sentences in the way you currently know how. You tell stories and evoke emotions that relate to the person you are. When you look back on it, you are certain to see the changes, not only within the work but in yourself as an older writer. 

“It was interesting to come back to something I’d made and find how much it had changed,” writer, George Saunders tells New York Times about revisiting his collection of short stories CivilWarLand in Bad Decline. “Though we think we are making permanent monuments against which our egos can rest, we’re actually making something more akin to a fog cloud. We come back to what we’ve made and find out it’s been changing all along. We’ve changed, the artistic context around the story has changed, the world has changed. And this is kind of wonderful and useful. It made me remember that the real value of the artistic act is not product but process.” 

Like looking at an old photograph of yourself, for no other reason, revisiting your older work is a powerful way to understand the person you once were. The thing this exercise can achieve where simply looking at a picture of yourself can’t is that a picture can only show you what’s on the surface, but a piece of writing can show you want is underneath it all. 

At this time, I am debating with reading some of the work I have written, that I have worked so hard on: mainly those that I have published on Amazon. They haunt me in a way… but I think I might crack it open soon and see all the problems I made, my ability to entertain myself, and the younger man who was simply trying to express himself. 

If you found this article helpful, please consider signing up for my mailing list. You won’t receive emails from me often, but when you do, it’ll include only work that I’m most proud of.

Don’t be a brand; be brand new

/ Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

Opinions_Brand-768x512

Why your personal brand may be limiting

By Elliot Chan, Opinions Editor
Formerly published in The Other Press. May 4, 2016

At a young age, we created an identity for ourselves. This identity follows us like a shadow throughout our academic, professional, and even romantic endeavours. We become this persona of what people see us as, and we measure ourselves by our accomplishments within that scope.

While establishing a personal brand for yourself may be useful if you are marketing your services to employers, I don’t believe it should be a strict guideline for you to live by. As human beings, we should be allowed to have the freedom to explore. This exploration nurtures growth, a type of metamorphosis that can only happen when new experiences are injected into our lives. You cannot experience anything new if you live your life as a brand.

Let’s say you love rap music. It’s your thing. It’s your brand. Everyday you wear your headphones and you listen to rap. People know you for that and you wouldn’t be caught dead listening to anything else. That sounds like a pretty limiting life, doesn’t it?

It’s important for us to put aside our preconceptions once in awhile and be open-minded. Your brand shouldn’t be rap music; it should be music or art. While you can specialize in rap, you will have a more diversified understanding of music if you listen to the whole range. Rap can be your passion, but if you want your brand to grow and mature—and not just be a pretentious shadow that throws shade at other people who don’t like what you like—you have to broaden your horizons and explore.

It’s easy to establish a brand for yourself and live within those boundaries. People expect you to dress a certain way, talk a certain way, and act a certain way. We like when things are predictable. After all, that is why McDonald’s, Starbucks, and Wal-Mart are so popular: you know what to expect. However, unlike billion-dollar corporations, we as human beings need to have the flexibility to shift gears without upsetting the shareholders.

You are not a brand. You are a person. You might have followers, you might have employers, and you might have friends that will expect you to behave in a way that fits their branding, and that’s fine. You can wear a persona like a uniform. You can be professional and friendly, but you must also be pushing yourself beyond those that are already around you. While those within your vicinity will influence and support you, they also act as a black hole that is pulling you deeper and deeper into a character that is merely their expectation of you. Don’t be that character. Don’t be a brand.

When you wake up tomorrow, be someone who dares to do something different.

Chinese creative constructions must be within constraints

/ Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

Opinions_ChineseBuildings-768x576

Does the world need more strange buildings?

By Elliot Chan, Opinions Editor
Formerly published in The Other Press. Mar 2, 2016

When it comes to art, there is nothing more impressive than a city that sparks imagination with its façade while also facilitating practicality. There are countless unique buildings of great significance in the world that we can identify in a flash: the Pentagon, the Burj Khalifa, and the Petronas Towers, for example. These aren’t monuments like the Statue of Liberty or the Eiffel Tower, these are functioning buildings where people work and live everyday. So what’s wrong with making them look interesting?

On February 21, China’s State Council announced that there would be stricter guidelines for urban planning. What does that mean? Well, in the past few decades, China has been erecting odd buildings all across the country, many without any links to cultural heritage or functionality. In another word, China was making buildings weird for the sake of being weird. Buildings shaped like pants, coins, and even a pile of debris can be found in China.

Now, I love art. I don’t always understand it, but I like the fact that it exists. I live in a city full of art instalations that serve no purpose but to take up a spot where a bench or a garbage bin could have been. But it gets people talking, so that is a positive.

However, I always question the monetary value of a piece of art. I know artists need to get paid and all that, but when the money is coming out of taxpayers’ pockets, there better be a damn good reason for the art. China, of course, is now faced with the same predicament. They want to construct interesting buildings, but when the production to make them “original” is costing more than the façades are worth, then the projects need to stop.

A building at its most basic is a box. No matter how interesting a building is, once you are inside, you are in a box. The world would be a pretty awful place if all the boxes looked the same. Take a look at suburban America, where every house is constructed from the same blueprint. That is something we must avoid at any cost… even if the cost is saving money.

Economically, keeping buildings cube-shaped makes sense. It saves room, and in a world with limited space, that’s important. But we need landmarks. Humanity is built upon landmarks; that is why we have the Great Wonders of the World. But greatness is not just about being strange or impressive, it’s backed with history.

It doesn’t matter how the world sees it, it matters for the people who walk in and out of those buildings every day. Yes, tourists will come and go. They’ll snap pictures, and they’ll share the image with people all around the world. Yet, for the people who work and live there, buildings need to be a structure of pride. We spend so many hours of our lives in buildings. Let’s create ones that aren’t just weird, let’s create ones we are proud of. And pride is worth paying a premium for.

The ‘Blurred Lines’ of artistic plagiarism

/ Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

Marvin Gaye and Robin Thicke. Image via zenfs.com

We are reaching the end of artistic originality

By Elliot Chan, Opinions Editor
Formerly published in The Other Press. March 16, 2015

There is an old saying by Pablo Picasso that I take to heart every time I work on a creative project: “Good artists copy, great artists steal.” While it might sound like Picasso is supporting the notion of plagiarism, I actually believe he is condoning something different; he is saying that great artists are able to take ownership of their creation, which is inspired by a pre-existing work. But isn’t that what Robin Thicke did with the hit single “Blurred Lines”?

After listening to Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give it Up” from 1977, I am disappointed that the quote I have lived by—that Picasso probably stole from someone he overheard at a bar—had no support in the court of law. It might have seemed like millionaires arguing for a slice of a pie baked from a familiar recipe, but the event that took place will now open the door for many more lawsuits to come.

It’s clear “Got to Give it Up” and “Blurred Lines” share similar beats, but the two songs are not the same. The two songs do not have the same lyrics, the same theme, or the same audience. How many dance clubs are playing Gaye? With each passing generation, artists draw inspiration from works from the past. That is how creativity functions. Creativity does not exist in a vacuum. Artists take pieces from here and there and combine them. Can a cinematographer copyright a camera move? Can a painter copyright the scenery they painted? Can a musician copyright a series of musical notes?

More recently, Sam Smith was on the radar for his song “Stay With Me,” which to many sounding suspiciously similar to a slower version of Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.” In this case, Smith accepted a settlement and credited Petty as a co-writer. The not-so-petty Petty will now receive a portion of the money for “Stay With Me” and this may be a common trend for the future. Artists will be credited for works which merely influenced, or that coincidence caused the two to clash.

There is more music than there is time to enjoy it. Because of this, notes, rhythm, and melody will be replicated in some form. We call it plagiarism and perhaps it is. But the same way we don’t copy and paste words from Wikipedia, musicians don’t crop and paste music from iTunes. You take the content and you make it your own.

I still believe in the idea that great artists steal, because the artists today will always be standing on the shoulders of giants that preceded them. What’s different now is the system protecting those giants. We as artists need to craft our creative work better so that it doesn’t resemble that from the past. More than ever, we need to make our work our own. If that means adding a banjo, so be it. If that means a sitar, well damn it, play that sitar. If that means more cowbells, well, it’s about time we cure that insatiable thirst for cowbells already. Then we wait for someone else to copy us.

Speaking of the horny devil

/ Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

Opinions_Dick devilWhy provocative art is healthy for the city

By Elliot Chan, Opinions Editor
Formerly published in The Other Press. Sept. 16, 2014

On September 10, Vancouver commuters travelling past Main and VCC Clark got a chance to admire the newly erected statue of the Prince of Darkness—briefly. While some found good humour in the statue, others clearly had penis envy after seeing the nonchalant exposure of the red devil. With one hand up giving some weird Spiderman web-slinging symbol and the other one placed suggestively close to the large member, it’s not surprising that many people were upset and the statue was removed. However, a petition to “Save the Devil!” is now surfacing online and the number of supporters has passed 666 in less that 24 hours.

Phallic and nude monuments and statues have been around since the dawn of man. From the statue of David to the world-famous Haesindang Park in South Korea, the highly touted male appendage had been an inspiration for artists for generations. Nevertheless, Vancouver has once again shown itself to be a prudish, stuffy group with a snobby belief that in order to be a “world-class city,” the only monuments worth presenting are those of animals and of Douglas Coupland’s head with gum all over it. If Gum Head is art, then surely Horny Devil—the name I’m giving it in this article—is art too. What’s the difference?

Let’s be honest, there are much more pertinent things to worry about than those blasted devil-worshippers corrupting our children. If a devil statue with a large penis is going to upset you on your way to and from work, maybe it’s time to ask yourself why. Art is supposed to “comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable,” but most artwork around the city is so forgettable that it might as well be fire hydrants, garbage cans, or those mystery grey boxes painted with foliage.

When seeing something like the Horny Devil, I get excited—no, not in that way. I feel as though some cultural progression is happening. We get so focussed on what we have to do on a daily basis that we forget what we are: horny, sinful animals. The devil statue reminds us that we are all the same on the inside.

I, for one, would much rather look at the devil than at an empty podium. What the hell is that podium used for anyway? What is that little public square used for? I don’t know, but I guess freedom of expression is not one of them.

I applaud the person or group that constructed the Horny Devil. After all, the city is full of CEOs and thought leaders, but we need more artistic rebels. We need people to break us from our status quo, refresh our memory, and allow us—as a collective—to grow. The Horny Devil does not have to be a display of immaturity, but the general reaction is a perfect example that we, as a city, are not mature enough to handle it for what it is. The Horny Devil is a reflection of ourselves and we are not ready to embrace it yet.

Art attack

/ Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

 Bad-Artist

Judge the art, not the artist

By Elliot Chan, Opinions Editor

Formerly published in the Other Press. Oct. 2013

I always wonder what Hitler would have created if he had made it into that art school.

All throughout history, bad people have created brilliant artwork. There doesn’t seem to be a correlation between artistic ability and common courtesy. Musicians, painters, filmmakers, and all other artists are just average people, and people are complicated creatures. Sure, we might condemn a person for an unforgivable act, but is it right to boycott or banish the art they produced? Are we horrible people for enjoying the work of monsters? Shouldn’t the work of art have a life of its own?

In modern times, there are several despicable individuals who have created such a substantial body of work that we cannot help but admire. The first that comes to mind is Kanye West. Although I don’t know the man, I do know his work and his reputation. His arrogant persona often makes entertainment headlines and causes a stir. I for one don’t care how he behaves or what he does, as long as he continues creating evocative and enjoyable music. His 2010 album, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, is one of my favourite albums, and I couldn’t imagine it without the hit single “Runaway,” where Kanye acknowledges the fact that he is a douche-bag.

In 1977, Roman Polanski, director of classic films including Chinatown andRosemary’s Baby, was arrested for raping a 13-year-old girl. Fleeing from America to France to avoid imprisonment, Polanski went on to direct some of the most thought-provoking films of the past three decades. The Pianist, which received theatrical release in 2002, still remains one of my favourite World War II movies. Polanski was detained when he tried to attend the Zurich Film Festival in 2009, where he was to receive a lifetime achievement award for his work.

Anti-Semitism and racism have been the muses of many artists throughout history. From the works of Joseph Goebbels to TS Eliot to DW Griffith, all have had an impact on history—despite their bruised reputations.

Goebbels developed some of World War II’s most appalling and brilliant pieces of cinema, all of which were used in some form or another as wartime propaganda. He was therefore known as one of the most influential people during the Third Reich.

Many consider TS Eliot to be one of the greatest poets of all time, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t find inspiration from his prejudice. In a piece entitled “Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar,” Eliot uses a classic stereotype to compare the Jewish people with vermin: “The rats are underneath the piles. The Jew is underneath the lot. Money in furs.”

My last example is DW Griffith, who was best known for directing American masterpieces The Birth of a Nation and Intolerance: Love’s Struggle Throughout the Ages. The silent films made in 1915 and 1916 told the stories of the American Civil War, but through the eyes of Griffith’s racist ideals. Although the Old South bias stained the cinematic experience, the movie led the way in filmmaking and storytelling innovation and changed cinema for the better.

It seems as though art is a lawless occupation, where quality entertainment offers immunity. In a world where any other professional would lose their job, an artist can survive, because creating art is akin to creating life—the art lives on honestly, while the hateful person dies shamefully.