Logic and Skill

There’s a logic that lives under the chaos. A slow, stubborn rhythm that ties one attempt to the next, like footsteps across an invisible bridge. When I look back, the path almost makes sense — though at the time it felt like drifting.

Again, I'm visiting diary entries from spring of 2016.

“Lueskelin läpi merkintöjä vuoden alusta lähtien. Jotenkin loogiselta vaikuttaa tämä eteneminen. Hirveetä epävarmuutta ja sit ymmärrys et riittää taiteeseen.”

“I read these notes from the beginning of the year onwards. Somehow this progress seems logical. Terrible uncertainty and then understanding that one is enough for art.”

Maybe that’s what logic really is — not certainty, but the quiet realisation that your confusion still moves forward.

Then came Egle, the teacher at art school, and her sentence that still echoes:

“Egle sanoi et mun portfoliotyöt oli ‘warmup exercise’. Osuvasti. Hitsi. Pitääkö täs ruveta developpaamaan. Ja hiomaan skillssei.”

“Egle said that my portfolio works were ‘warmup exercise’. Straight to the point. Damn. Time to start developing? And polishing skills.”

Warm-up exercise. It hit like a small truth disguised as an insult. Skill — that word I used to distrust, fearing it would domesticate intuition — suddenly felt like a door. Maybe logic and skill are not the enemies of inspiration, but its spine and bones.

There’s the mystical side that keeps whispering, and then there’s the sober side that counts the hours and lines. Between them: a fragile artist trying to turn uncertainty into method.

“Mulla on kaikki mitä taiteilija tarvitsee. Mä olisin voinut tehdä sitä koko elämäni.”

“I got everything what artist needs. I could've done it for my whole life.”

Perhaps the warm-up never ends. Perhaps the skill itself is the life’s work — the gradual clarifying of the muddy water, the discipline that keeps intuition alive.

In the end, logic is just love in structure, and skill is in the very attempt, in that small act of faith that the form will eventually appear.