I teach the visual arts, but I push my students to understand that what their work looks like is less important than what it says. I want them to express an opinion in their work, to divulge something personal. Their plaintive cry is usually, “If it’s personal to me, how could anyone else understand it?” My answer is, “What interests you, interests others.” What is most particular to us, even though it may seem personal in its details, can have universal meaning and value to others.
George Lucas grew up in a small, conservative California town but yearned to be a filmmaker and loved racing cars. These three themes—(1) a young man in a repressive society, (2) escape to a better world, and (3) racing hot-rod cars—all form the story line of Lucas’s first three major films.
THX 1138 (1971) takes place in a dystopian future where the young hero, THX, yearns to escape the confines of his state-run society and does so in a stolen Lola T70 race car.
American Graffiti (1973) takes place in our not-too-distant past in a small California town. It’s the story of two young men on the verge of leaving home for college and a more exciting life. One of the film’s “characters” is a yellow 1932 Ford coupe with the license plate “THX 138.” And the actor Harrison Ford plays a charming rogue driving a black hot rod 1955 Chevy.
Stars Wars: A New Hope (1977) takes place “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away” and features young Luke Skywalker, who yearns to escape his small farm and seek adventure. He eventually teams up with a charming rogue played by Harrison Ford, who pilots what is essentially a hot rod called the Millennium Falcon. The references to THX abound throughout the Star Wars saga, as names of droids and labels on ships. Even the ubiquitous movie theater sound system Lucas helped develop in 1983 is called THX. Lucas didn’t have to look far or invent themes to write about. He never went searching for stories to tell or vehicles to carry them; he just had to look inside and tell his own story. The themes and details he drew on were already very particular to him, but now they have meaning for us.
A less Hollywood application looks like this: A young guitar player doesn’t ask marketing to run the numbers to see what kind of song to write. He falls in love with a redhead and is moved to write a song for her. We, in turn, love him for it.*
The common thought is to rely on trends, fashion, or whatever the going mode happens to be in order to communicate. Most marketing and advertising tries to appeal to a wide swath of the population by hiding behind what everyone else is already doing, by consciously not taking the lead. But what appeals to everyone is oatmeal. What works for a wide audience is prepackaged, easy to digest, and thoroughly bland.
The only thing you learn by following the herd is that the view never changes. You never learn how to express your own truth or beauty and never find out the power therein. You never get to know who you are or what you are capable of.
The more vulnerable and authentic you can be in expressing your opinion, the deeper the connection you have with others. This is the value of your opinion—what is most personal and unique to you is the very thing that, if you risk expressing it, will speak volumes to others. The hardest part is to trust that your story and opinions have value.
Your struggle with your weight, your love of bugs or rocks or fixing old motorbikes—any passion is a legitimate starting point. Trust your voice, your opinion, and put it in your work. Let it shine.
*Later, the redhead breaks his heart and he writes an even better song.