By: Zobia Khalid, SFU Student

As an art student, I used to be consumed by fear. It followed me around like a putrid, burdensome shadow wrapping its arms around my neck, leaving me unable to think or breathe. I was afraid to make art, as the idea of it being perceived haunted me. If my piece was a sacrifice to the endless void of creative landfill, I would never get started. So, I would not begin my work until I simply had to in order to pass my courses. The results were dire; all-nighters produced images that were simply not good enough. And every 3 a.m. thought led me to the same conclusion: if I’m going to do badly anyway, why not just get it over with earlier? If my only talent is recreating ideas that have previously been articulated by someone far better, is it really something I should be pursuing?

Then I realized, I was not effectively procrastinating — I was passively consuming media, without a single thought in mind. So, I decided to delve into the thought processes of past visionaries. I looked into well-known enlightenment-age practices, like woodwork, but I needed something more. I needed something to fill my ravenous thirst to relinquish my curiosity, my inspiration to truly think. Something that made me wonder how the piece was even created, not how many years of hard work and talent it encapsulated. 

Then, I ran into a video titled “Sand Powered Automata.” The video introduced an acrobat continuously spinning around an axis inside a wooden box. It delved into the mechanics of the system: a simple wheel with segments to hold the rice and a funnel that led the sand inside. The user rotates the box in a complete circle to move the Acrobat. This led me down a rabbit hole about automata, which is the perfect hybrid of art and mechanical thinking. It is a very old art form that originated in France, similar to animation but manifesting in the physical world. 

The practice is still prevalent in French communities. At first, I wanted to recreate this mechanism. However, I did not have substantial material, so I decided to search Pinterest for inspiration. Alas, I found a design of a head hitting a wall. I thought it would be funny as a desk toy. It was a motor-powered version of the design I admired, so it forced me to think about the physics behind the task of hitting the head against the wall. At first, I wanted to use a weighted lever controlled by a handle using the same logic of the mechanism above, having rice move to one side and gravity influence the head to tilt. However, this was too complex. I then simplified the design to a pin slot which connects to a handle and a curve leading the head to the wall.

While I did copy an exact design, the process forced me to ponder the way I valued my artwork. Initially, I contemplated laying it down gently in my trash can, but I realized perhaps this was art to me. Only I know that I sculpted that head by hand, choosing to leave the eyes hollow and that I considered using rice instead of sand. The iterative process for me to translate emotion into motion artistically is meaningful to me. I love my art in a way no one else can. It encapsulates my own emotions and the action I wanted to take — to bang my head against a hollow cardboard wall that represents the empty void of my mind. 

The idea I’m trying to get at is we should all procrastinate more by spending time exploring things that interest us. Mindlessly consuming media will never allow us to confront our fears and inner judgement. Scrutiny and the failures of art not aligning with the exact replica of what we want are a given. But through this, we regain our sense of self and humility. We fail, but we pick ourselves back up eventually. It may feel like a waste of time, but it builds courage and strength.