While that’s technically true, there’s obviously a pretty big gap between painting and programming (although of course, I appreciate my friend’s inclusiveness). However I’ve struggled to concisely express the nature of the gap. I doubt there’s any original insight here, but this is how things finally clicked in my mind. It’s partly about the work process, and partly about the end result.

Every job that is not completely routinized involves a mixture of three levels of creativity. I’m going to call them design, craft, and building; but those terms are a little misleading, because not all designs are creative, and building often requires craftsmanship. What really distinguishes the three types of work is the objectivity of evaluating the output.

By design, I mean decisions where experienced practitioners can disagree wildly about what constitutes good or bad work. Visual art is an extreme case, with products such as color fields or pop art, which explicitly rely on social construction to become art. But software engineering has plenty of subjective decisions as well. Objective measures of usability are extremely limited; and it can take years to determine if a programming abstraction enables the right constructs, or what interactions are promoted by a piece of social software. Conversely, a painting or drawing intended for advertising or propaganda is much easier to evaluate than fine art, even if the techniques of production are the same.

Craft is technique that is generally agreed upon by practitioners of the field. Even if there are different schools of thought, experienced members of a school will typically agree on what constitutes good craft, and can probably even evaluate what is considered good by other schools. A lot of programming falls into this bucket; fans of Extreme Programming and dynamic languages may fall out with functionalists and formalists, but most developers can ultimately agree on whether a program is clean, elegant code. Most math and science probably fits here as well; except for trivial or automatically checkable proofs, or experiments with very few variables, a good deal of professional judgment is needed to evaluate a published result.

Finally, building is work whose quality is scientifically measurable. As in any science, the choice of what and how to measure is still subjective; but once that is decided, a computer can mechanistically determine whether a musician hit the right notes, or whether the new version of a program is 10% faster at specific tasks.

Of course, the creativity of any work also depends on how granularly you look at it. Debugging is often a very objective process: you know exactly what the program is doing wrong, and what it should be doing instead. But for some complex bugs, finding the cause of the error can require intuitive leaps, which are not provably right or wrong unless they ultimately lead to solving the problem. The same applies to finding mathematical proofs. Still, the mix between the three types of work provides a good measure of how creative a job ultimately is.

The other key question is the emotional impact of the output. Of course that depends largely on the observer; I’ve written before that Computer Science is beautiful (though software engineering is much less often so). But even the most elegant theorem does not touch me the same way as an Arcade Fire song or an Anselm Kiefer painting. I don’t know what it’s like to work on Transformers 3 or write Justin Bieber songs; maybe the purely manipulative commercial production of emotion is deadening to the creator. But most creative work with emotional content has to involve a certain attunement to that emotion.

There are also visual artists who use software as their medium. Movie and game studios typically have separate visual designers and programmers; artists such as Robert Hodgin do their own programming, albeit using frameworks developed by dedicated software engineers. I don’t know how many individuals out there are simultaneously pushing the boundaries in both technology and visual or aural art, but it would certainly be an admirable combination.

The bottom line is that creativity is not an either/or. No one’s job is 100%  creative (the most successful painter in the world still has to order supplies) and the only work that’s 0% creative is an assembly line. Personally, I’m glad that my work has enough creativity to keep me interested, but not so much that I come into work in the morning with no clue what to do. To everyone out there–whether for job, vocation, or hobby–who frequently stares down the blank canvas, the empty page, the clean sheet of music: you have my admiration.

The article brings back memories for me, because George is a Thomist, and I was very attracted to the Scholastics when I was a Christian. The claim that Christian morality can be arrived at through universal reason is, I suppose, the only way that someone who loves intellectual rigor can justify imposing their beliefs on the rest of the world.

What’s flabbergasting, looking back, is how incredibly weak the edifice is. Sure, us mushy relativists have a hard time making a coherent case for any single position. But George is attempting to carry the meticulously jointed weight of a skyscraper on premises blatantly selected for their end result:

First, he contends that marriage is a uniquely “comprehensive” union, meaning that it is shared at several different levels at once — emotional, spiritual and bodily. “And the really interesting evidence that it is comprehensive is that it is anchored in bodily sharing,” he says.

In other words: sex only belongs in marriage because marriage is about sex.

I understand the pleasure of certainty. I remember the comfort of believing that the world actually has a right answer. But I also remember the nagging–and later searing–doubt of knowing that the whole approach was build on a few, highly doubtful assumptions. I’m sure George is too smart not to realize that, and I don’t envy him that feeling.

After a 9-hour Seattle-to-London flight where our late check-in lucked us into exit-row seats with vast tracts of legroom, we arrived in Barcelona just in time to fall asleep on European time. I’d been unable to get a hotel downtown, because we overlapped with the tail end of August vacation season, but given our later experience in Seville I’d say that was actually a stroke of luck. We stayed at Aparthotel Silver, an old-fashioned Residence Inn-type place where they still give you a manual key which you return to the desk when leaving the hotel. It was in the Gracia neighborhood of Barcelona, just a block away from Casa Vicens, one of few (or perhaps the only?) Gaudi houses still in use as a private residence. We were also only a block away from the excellent Barcelona metro, and were surrounded by lots of little cafes for cheap and good breakfasts and snacking.

I absolutely loved the Barri Gotic, with narrow cobblestone roads between old buildings that lean into one another; Sagrada Familia and the other amazing buildings (Gaudi, Modernista, and more) in L’Eixample; and all the food we had, but especially the 14-course tasting menu at Alkimia. The Picasso Museum, the Pedralbes Monastery, the Cathedral (which we got just a quick peek at), and other sights were also excellent; but I really loved the city itself: its openness, walkability, diversity, and smooth integration of old and new, of homes and businesses, of languages and cultures.

Foodwise, aside from Alkimia (which at 100 EUR/head for the full tasting menu and four glasses of wine each, was a bargain), I’d particularly recommend Origens for casual dining near the tourist district, the Basque pub next to the Picasso Museum (can’t find the name) for pintxos, and La Rita for a great value on simple Spanish home-style cooking.

From Barcelona we flew to Bilbao, where we checked in to Abba Parque (more of a business-class hotel, but IMHO 4-star room and service despite the 3-star rating) and headed straight to the Guggenheim. We’d seen Cai Guo-Qiang’s Inopportune at SAM, but it definitely worked better in the tall, cylindrical lobby of Frank Gehry’s brain-tickling building. They also had a full retrospective on Cai, none of whose other work I’d seen before. The Age of not Believing in God was my favorite, but his entire opus is moving and attention-grabbing.

I was rather smitten by Bilbao. It has a lovely medieval Casco Viejo, with the ground floors turned into hip (but not touristy) retail and a broad mix of dining. I also had my first experience there of a European town square on a weekend evening. The square was actually a large patio, completely enclosed by buildings; we ate supper at an outdoor cafe while crowds of people stood under the arcade, outside bars, and sipped on wine as their children played in the square. I was struck by the way that drinking, socializing, and childcare all joined together seamlessly in a public space, not needing to be roped off from each other as they are in the US.

We rented a car in Bilbao. They didn’t have the Citroen I’d reserved, and as automatic transmission is not very common in Spain, we got upgraded to the next automatic they had available, which was a Mercedes A150. We drove along the coast, through the Urdabai Biosphere Reserve, filled with rolling hills and rocky coast. We stayed the night at a Casa Rural (kind of like a B&B, although without breakfast; but restricted by law to being hosted on a working farm), then finished up the next day by driving to Donostia (San Sebastian), with only a couple of mishaps along the way: a detour arranged by some mixed-up cops led a long line of cars into a dead-end in a residental subdivision, leading to the longest line of u-turns I have ever witnessed; and a brief excursion through the Spanish healthcare system, as I burnt my finger on the car’s cigarette lighter and decided to get it treated at a doctor, since I had never had a burn that severe before. (It turned out to be second-degree.)

We were graced with a couple more culinary highlights during our coastal drive: our first-ever taste of blood sausage (surprisingly sweet), at a restaurant a few kilometers south of Bermeo; and some of the best steak I’ve ever had, at an ocean-view restaurant in the literally cliff-side village of Elantxobe.

San Sebastian was a bit of a disappointment after Bilbao. It’s actually a lovely town, but more of a high-class beach resort, with a strong surfer/stoner/frat/party vibe. It’s a good place to go if you need a dose of sun, like a European version of Southern California. It does have great beaches, a beautiful estuary, seaside walks, and a more ornate cathedral than Bilbao.

For last, we saved Seville, my old hometown. Seville has changed a lot in the last 20 years, but it has still kept more of the flavor of old Spain than the North has. (We stayed in the Barrio de Santa Cruz, in the eponymous Apartamentos, which were excellent except for lacking an elevator.) This was a different kind of old city than what we’d seen up until then: less ponderous old stone, more winding roads, whitewashed houses, tilework and fine craftsmanship. Most of Seville’s tourist sights are in or near the Barrio, which is a good thing for walkability (especially since Seville, while catching up, is still far behind Northern Spain as far as transit goes), but has a very bad effect on the food that can be found nearby. (We also noticed a far greater number of American tourists in Seville, whereas in the North we’d seen more Europeans; that may have also played into the food equation.) We did find great tapas (including a proper Gambas al Ajillo, which I’ve been craving for years) at a bar in my old neighborhood; and on our last night we found good seafood on Calle Betis, by the riverside. (I don’t know the name of the place, but the kitchen is in an open sidewalk stand, on the north side of the street, about halfway between the Puente de Triana and the Puente de San Telmo.)

While I don’t think I’d actually want to live in Seville again (unlike Barcelona), I did have an immediate feeling of home as soon as we arrived. I chatted animatedly with the cab driver, my Andaluz accent and gestures finally making an appearance. Finding my old apartments, my old playground (the school has closed, but we could still indentify the entrance, nothing has replaced it yet), the old Kingdom Hall… it was all moving, and satisfying. Just to find a piece of myself, see it again, reintegrate it into my reality. I wasn’t able to meet up with any old friends; most of them were Witnesses, and the one classmate I looked for had too common a name to track down. But it was still wonderful to get a sense of solidity, of renewed connection to my past.

Tourismwise, the main sights we saw were the Cathedral (absolutely awe-inspiring), the Alcazar (a good consolation prize if you can’t make it to Granada for the Alhambra), and the Plaza de España (a fun exercise in remembering my elemtary-school geography). If we get to Sevi
lle again, I’d like the see the Roman ruins (Italica) and probably more of the surrounding country.

And that was the trip. We got lucky again on the way back, upgraded to Coach Plus on our Transatlantic flight. Two bottles of Pedro Ximenez Solera made it home in my luggage intact, and we’re trying to decide what part of Europe to go to next. Probably Italy in 2011.

P.S. Meia is posting all the pics at http://s12.photobucket.com/albums/a211/meiastar/Fotos/Spain%202009/, although she’s only up to Bilbao so far.

I’m still in shock that Nickels didn’t make it through the primary. I voted for McGinn with the thought that Nickels would undoubtedly make it through the primary, and trounce McGinn in the general election. But I figured that McGinn giving Nickels heat on environment and transit issues for the next two months would be a good thing. (And maybe it would force Nickels to lay off a little on the clubs, too.)

At this point I’m obviously inclined to favor McGinn–a long-time activist with at least one clear achievement in local politics–over Mallahan–who’s not only a Johnny-come-lately to politics, but seems to have a bit of a worrisome anti-tax streak. On the other hand, Mallahan has a much more comprehensive and detailed agenda at this point, although he’s pretty fuzzy on the funding. And even on transit (McGinn’s home turf), Mallahan takes on two of my pet peeves: the money wasted on the South Lake Union Trolley, and the excessive distribution of Metro funds to the suburbs as opposed to the urban core.

So I’m looking forward to the agendas and details coming out over the next two months. But unfortunately I’m not sure that either of these guys will actually be a competent mayor.

Nine mocking years with the golden calf and three long years of the scourge! Nine crazy years at the ticker and three long years in the breadlines! Nine mad years of mirage and three long years of despair!

It seems churlish to complain about anything after the last election, but I would love to see some equally eloquent denunciations of the last eight years of Republican rule.