ri160509  Killer details: Devil in the details  

- Reflecting upon why he must terminate his work toward the Northwest Print Center Incubators, the author points to little things that mean a lot—moments of tiny indicators that he is not the one who will build and realize his dream of a great print center.  

Devil is in the details

What does it mean? Wikipedia: “The idiom ‘the devil is in the detail’ refers to a catch or mysterious element hidden in the details, and derives from the earlier phrase ‘God is in the detail’ expressing the idea that whatever one does should be done thoroughly; i.e. details are important.”

A catch or a mysterious element for me, given the wisdom that has come with age (I’m 74) is the somewhat paradoxical notice of little things that would undermine my role of founder of the Northwest Print Center Incubators.

The Northwest Print Center Incubators is a great notion—a world-class center for art and technology, sustained mostly by sales of Halfwood Presses and businesses spun off the presses—businesses like Sip ‘N Print, Young Printmakers, and Seniors Experience Printmaking.

But little things indicate that, while there may be a center like this someday, it will not develop with me. Not in my present state.

They say youth has great knowledge, but age brings not only knowledge but wisdom. Wisdom is a double-edged sword. For example, I may have the knowledge and wisdom to form the Northwest Print Center Incubators, but not the time. My time is running out and—although I may live another 20 or even 30 years—little indicators must be noticed and respected.

For example, as I booted up this computer this morning, I had to pause to ask myself, “Do I enter a-n-d in this, or the special character for and, the ampersand? A full three seconds passed; and I took a chance. I got it right, but those three seconds delay are a sign of age—short term memory loss.

For the man who would be CEO of the Northwest Print Center Incubators, three seconds could indicate the beginning of the end of the center. I love to take movies as lessons: Forever Young, for example, with Mel Gibson playing the cryogenic man, lost his capacities to fly a B-47 all of a sudden and a kid had to land it safely.

Remember the scene in the film, Is Anybody There? when the old man, Clarence (played by Michael Caine) in a magic act cut off a man’s finger with a toy guillotine when he forgot, in a split second, which way to toggle the hidden switch on the machine?

Say what you like about forgiveness for old-age memory loss, in the running of a large business like the Northwest Print Center Incubators of my vision, it could be fatal.

Besides this, there is plain ignorance that stands in my way—like the times I didn’t anticipate the rough handling of shippers and presses arrived broken. If large numbers of presses are to be shipped, someone like me must not be in charge of package design.

It’s true that expert packing and shipping methods come at a price, but I believe the volume of presses that would be shipped would justify the cost. The intent of the NPCI is to create jobs, after all, and companies like Daniel Smith, Inc. proved that jobs rise out of art materials and supplies—shipping included.

How best to apply wisdom?

A reader may scoff: Just because it took a moment to remember a password does not mean you should give up the Northwest Print Center Incubators. That’s true. I remembered my password sufficiently enough. Or, if I’m checking out in the grocery store and forget my PIN number momentarily, it’s no big deal. I remember it soon enough.

But if you extend this momentary lapse to something larger such as a forgotten, important appointment. For example, or the name of an important customer (and they are all important) or even an important co-worker’s name.

Old days

Today it is a brave notion, the Northwest Print Center Incubators, and bravery must be in great evidence when it comes to gathering co-founders. But if the potential co-founders see a moment of absent-mindedness, even in a trivial matter, their confidence is undermined. They hesitate, put off, and give lowest priority to further engagement with me. They withdraw, they hold back, maybe waiting to see if someone else will step forward.

America is neither the place nor, today, experiencing the time to take risks now. I got most of my courage from the days at the University in the 1970s. That was a decade when America was experiencing the Vietnam conflict. For good reason, youth were outraged. Injustices to black people, assassinations, bigotry, government corruption and failed international understanding built on stacks of bad education policies added up to a towering inferno.

Change was everywhere, and brave encounters were evident even in places unlikeliest of places like the UW art school. I saw students taking matters into their own hands—using their creativity to further their education when the faculty was interested only in their own security. We see how individuals like Dale Chihuly and Daniel Smith started things that have had economic benefits to our region. I was inspired by them.

The students in those days of crisis took risks and they won art careers for themselves. It was at a price, however. It cost me my job because I didn’t know that the fighting spirit on campus was over by 1980. I went on fighting for better education policies, and I lost—big time. My experience is a textbook case of knowledge typical of a young man (I was 38), but not the wisdom of the old men with power over me. They knew how to get rid of uppity young faculty—even if I had tenure.

Close call

By my reckoning, in 1984 I was close to realizing my dream of a world-class printmaking center of some kind. I modeled it on the centers I saw on our trip around the world. I believed Seattle’s version would go further, however, because we had a growing technology base. The art students proved art and technology made a powerful cocktail for artists to shape new careers and replace the old art market with new money.

1984 was a bad year to try, however.

Without the University faculty and administration behind it, there is no confidence in building a print center with art and technology money from the private sector. As for the students, they were mostly cowards, fearful for their degrees if they took my side.

In all my years since 1985, when I left the UW, I have never found a single “university person” who shared my interest in a print center of the global and economic magnitude in my vision. Not in the arts, nor business, have I found anyone. When I describe it, when I publish on the Internet, when I blog about it—people run and hide.

Even the late Larry Sommers (1953-2009), who by all reports had the heart and mind to improve the UW printmaking division, never responded when I wrote to him in 1994 about saving the printmaking major from being cancelled at the UW art school. Not even a simple acknowledgment. I owe it to the politics of the place. Under the thumb of Kurt Labitsky, who appointed head of the printmaking division in 1985 (illegally, I contend).

It’s enough to break an old printmaking teacher’s heart to see the losses I’ve experienced. My joys, however, lie in living and I have much to be grateful for—my wife and family, a space to use as a gallery or for whatever I choose, and an income sufficient to live on for the present and maintain my legacy.

Now it’s time to cut my losses, collect what I have into a work of art of yet another kind (probably a suite of games) and leave the Northwest Print Center Incubators for someone else to build. If anyone trusts me with any portion of the task, I will help.