George Lucas Is Right When He Says Art Is Never Finished

Attributing quotes to artists is a risky business. Even as I began to write this article I was immediately confused by my research and became very unsure of what Lucas actually said. It appears he was actually quoting someone else before him, which made me realize a lot of artists agree with what I'm about to say – George Lucas in cinema, Oscar Wilde in writing, and Pablo Picasso in painting. However, and regardless of the confusing quote game, I had Lucas on my mind for a little while now, and that is because he is famously known for going back to Star Wars and reediting it with new technology. Some changes, in all fields of art, can be minor and tame, such as merely improving upon the special effects, enhancing the picture quality, or, in the case of writing, correcting a few slips of the pen. But then again, some changes can be big enough to make us rethink the whole thing. Indeed, a quick search for additions and changes in Star Wars reveals a list far bigger than what I first had in mind... I remembered some additions of alien beasts and new tech as background elements, I remembered the infamous CGI Jabba, the Ewok celebration music, the Greedo controversy and, perhaps most noticeable of all, the inclusion of Hayden Christensen in Return of the Jedi. Because while some changes can be merely aesthetic or corrective of minor mistakes, this one purposes a legitimate question about the story – when did Anakin Skywalker really die? If he died after being defeated by Obi-Wan then Christensen's inclusion makes some kind of sense, but that would then seem to suggest Vader wasn't redeemed by Luke at the end, and thus Luke never did get to see his father's face...

I dunno and it don't matter. My point is that art is never truly finished. Artists simply get to a point where they have to share their work with the world and move on... Some works of art may well be more finished than others though. Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis appears to be whole and complete, but sadly, some of his other works, such as The Castle, certainly aren't. With Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time, though we got seven volumes, the last one seems incomplete as well, and considering the numerous changes and additions Proust would make, it seems likely that, were he immortal, he would still be writing the book to this very day. On the other hand, William Faulkner claimed As I Lay Dying was concluded to the absolute limit of his inspiration, and that after finishing it, he didn't add a single letter to it, which may or may not be true. Regardless, it does seem to be the case that some works of art are more complete than others, but can we really say that any of them really is wholly complete? To explore that question I'd like to be able to focus on painting or music but, for the purposes of this essay, and due to my lack of talent in those other areas, I can only talk about writing.

At the time of this article I have written two books and forty-two blog posts, not counting this same one. When it comes to my books, I quickly found the writing process to be strange... I would stare at the blank page for hours, I'd let my mind wander free and, most of the time, hours would go by and I wouldn't write a single word. But when I would write, even pages on end at times, I would afterwards feel I had made tremendous progress and that I had written some pretty neat stuff. But then, sometimes months or even years later, I would reread it and it all positively sucked. That's when I knew my books would have to be saved in editing. The way I describe it, the initial writing process is quite literally placing the bare-bones ideas onto the page, it's more about exteriorizing the basic structure of the story, thereby building its skeleton. Then on the first sessions of editing I'd find some structural errors such as paragraphs that needed to be deleted, paragraphs that need to be added, paragraphs that needed to be changed around, characters that needed to be merged, characters that needed to be deleted, characters that needed to be improved, and so on. Because that still involves quite a bit of structure, I'd say that this phase is about adding the organs and muscles onto the skeleton. And after that comes what is perhaps the best phase, although it's one that can cause a whole lot of anxiety... I'd read my manuscript almost like I would read a normal book but I'd change little bits here and there, trying to make the text as clear as possible when clarity was needed, and as beautiful as possible when beauty was needed. You probably guessed by now that, according to metaphor, this last phase is about placing the skin over the organs and muscles, thereby making it presentable and concluding the complete body of work. And with my blog posts it's a very similar thing, only much faster and less worrisome because I write here in a much looser style, in fact, I at times try to make it similar to a conversation or even a rant.

But still, when I look back on my writing, I often catch myself thinking about it, second-guessing myself, wondering if a character's line was left unsaid, if a clear sentence could have been more clear, if an eloquent sentence could have been more eloquent, if a word could have been swapped for a better one. Because I mean, my first book has ninety-one thousand words and my second one has a hundred thousand... Can I really claim that every single one of those words is the best possible one, and that they are all strung together in the best possible combination? Of course I can't, the possibilities are endless. It's just that, when the skeleton is built in such a way, our possibilities become limited, but that limitation is actually a good thing. Because a blank page, though full of possibility, is also barren of everything. It's like that bit in Neon Genesis Evangelion when Shinji, by being completely free, exists without the possibility to do anything at all, but when he is limited by gravity, he can at least walk.

So my books and my blog posts are out there, and though very few copies have been purchased, the sad truth is that there are different versions already. Some are very stupid formatting mistakes on my end, while others are very minor changes I had to make when correcting those same mistakes. And that means that already, in a book with only one writer and like ten existing print copies, there are already textual variants... Isn't that something? But I suppose no one will care enough to discover them, and in truth, a lot of books have them. Some manuscripts contain multiple options for any given word, and since the author died before publication, it's up to editors to decide on the best one, or to even fill in the blanks, when they come across them. But that's not a problem only when the author dies... Our Lucas is alive and well, and he still goes back to his own work, almost obsessively, and adds to it or changes it. I have to admit I only don't fall into the same rabbit hole because I refrain from looking too closely at my own books. For if I do, I'll end up editing the whole thing from beginning to end, thereby creating yet another “perfect” version.

Because that is precisely the feeling I got when editing. I remember after finishing my first book I was faced with a mess of raw text, numerous and confusing notes detailing what should happen in missing paragraphs, underdeveloped characters, plot holes and all that. But when I soldiered on through the text and came out on the other end I felt I had really accomplished something, I felt I had perfected the text to the very best of my ability. Then a few days later I'd do the same thing and I'd have to correct a ton of other stuff, now feeling like a total moron because somehow I didn't catch those mistakes on my first run. And then again, and again, and again... I decided on editing my books five times plus one before considering them finished. Five because it's a nice, round number, and the extra round is just to give it the finishing touches, usually after having formatted the text. Of course on my first two books I didn't exactly do it that way, I was still making it up as I went along. As far as my method went, they were sort of prototypes, I suppose... With my blog posts I decided on three times plus one, for the same reasons.

But even so, are those times sufficient? And as they are now, are my books really complete? Couldn't I improve on them just a little bit more? I think I could because after a while I can always return to my writing with fresh eyes and I can find more mistakes or ugly bits, or I just learn something new in the meantime that makes me feel tempted to squeeze it into the book. With my blog posts that may be easier, I can always sneak in and give it a little edit, but with the books does that make sense? Would it be at all wise to create a ton of different versions? If so that would create the obvious search for the definitive one, which might actually not even exist. And even without variations, can a definitive version of any work of art really exist? Couldn't Starry Night or Stairway to Heaven be better, even if just a little bit? I for one can't see any room for improvement but that's just because I can't draw a stick figure nor can I hold a tune, but I'm fairly certain their respective makers might at the very least wonder about this detail or that one...

Going back to our titular artist, I suppose the constant advent of new technology adds a strong temptation to go back and improve, a temptation that's already there and can be quite powerful unless new ideas come along. For now I resist it because I do have new ideas and that's why I don't dwell too much on my past writing. But the question still remains – how do I know if my books are out there, having been written in the best possible form they can ever take? I suppose I can't, I just have to rely on my eventual readers being far less critical than me, I have to rely on them reading every word as it is and not as it could have been. But all the while I have to reiterate that art is never finished, it could always be better, even if only in the tiny details. I just hope my eventual readers know that, though I inevitably failed, I really did try.

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