Imperfection makes practice

Tree #15, from batch #2

I’ve been thinking about Galen’s posts on the importance of practice (Practice and More Practice), but it wasn’t until I read the following paragraph in Robertson Davies’ 1951 book, Tempest-Tost, the first novel in his Salterton Trilogy, concerning math teacher Hector Mackilwraith’s methods of instructing his students that I felt I could begin to clarify my own formative experiences regarding practice:

It was in dealing with stupid pupils his wit was shown. A dunce, who had done nothing right, would not receive a mark of Zero from him, for Hector would geld the unhappy wretch of marks not only for arriving at a wrong solution, but for arriving at it by a wrong method. It was thus possible to announce to the class that the dunce had been awarded minus thirty-seven out of a possible hundred marks; such announcements could not be made more than two or three times a year, but they always brought a good laugh. And that laugh, it must be said, was not vaingloriously desired by Hector as a tribute to himself, but only in order that it might spur the dunce on to greater mathematical effort. That it never did so was one of the puzzles which life brought to Hector, for he was convinced of the effectiveness of ridicule in making stupid boys and girls intelligent.

Way back in grade school I was one of those mathematical dunces. 

And, it's true, ridicule doesn't make people better, practice does.

For some reason I never could figure out how to do long division. And it was made quite clear that I was a stupid pupil. I recall one pedagogical method was for the teacher to write ten or so division problems on the blackboard and then summon pupils to go up to the board to solve them while the rest of the class looked on. More times than not I was either the last to finish, usually with a wrong answer, or asked to return to my seat before finishing, much to my embarrassment. Things came to a head when I had to take home a test for my parents to sign that I scored 2 or 3 out of 10 on. When my father saw the test paper he blew his stack. There was much yelling, screaming, and shouting, not to mention a brief contribution of crying from me. He signed once he’d calmed down, and told me to bring my exercise book home the next night.

Batch #1 of trees are a bit too fluffy

The next evening, with my arithmetic exercise book of shame front and centre, my father went though it and tried to figure out what I was doing wrong. He even tried a few problems for himself, and much to his consternation, he couldn’t figure out what was going on with these problems either. It turns out at that time in the mid-1960’s the school system seemed enamoured with so-called New Math, and was using its techniques to teach grade school pupils how to divide numbers. Long story short, for either of us to make any headway, my father taught me how to do division using the method he was taught as a schoolboy in the 1930’s. After many nights of doing problems in the evenings at home under my father’s supervision, I finally got the hang of it.

Gluing sand 'bark' to a tree armature

Soon enough, there was another test of division skills. I did a lot better and scored 8 out of 10, but I had to take that test home too for my parents to sign. My father thought I should have got 10 out of 10, and as it turned out I did get 10 correct answers, But, like Hector, my teacher deducted points for using the wrong method. There was some more yelling, but thankfully it was now directed at my teacher and the school.

I only recount this as it’s the first serious experience I can remember where practice made a big difference on something I was doing. There was one-on-one tutelage from my father of course, but it took the form of me doing one division problem after another, with him pointing out any errors along the way until the whole procedure became second nature. I’d like to say I transformed into some sort of mathematical wizard after that, but I didn’t. I was still one of Hector’s plods, but I at least knew how to compensate using practice. Years later in high school, and then university, practice for me went beyond just rote learning procedures. It became a tool I used to see the patterns in whatever math I was studying, which allowed me to better understand what was going on, and this I considered something of a personal break though. I never became what I’d call a true mathematical thinker, but at least I could get the odd glimpse into the world of real mathematical thought. This has lead to a lifelong belief that one can learn just about anything if one’s willing to commit to some sort of practicing, although with the realization that one may never have the skill of someone who is a natural talent. 

Painted tree trunk

But, to withstand the rigours and possible boredom of practice, one needs motivation. Grade school me was motivated to master division because I wanted an end to the punishment and humiliation of the Hectors. I didn’t really care about being able to divide one number into another. When I practice making HO scale Eastern White Cedar trees for my layout my motivation is a desire to make a model tree that reminds me of a real tree I’ve seen.

I’ve looked up tree making instructions in books, magazines, blogs, and videos, and eventually used a hybrid approach given my constraint that I can’t use spray can paints, airbrushes, hair spray, spray can glues, or any other sort of aerosolized paint or glue. The only concession has been the use of Mod Podge matte spray, which is some sort of watery matte medium delivered by a pump action spray bottle. For that product the sprayed particles are water droplets, much larger in size than their aerosolized brethren, so they don’t remain in the air very long because they’re big and heavy, and don’t go far from the spray nozzle for the same reason. 

With that constraint I’ve beavered away on making trees - 19 so far - which I’ll discuss in detail in a future post. Here I’ll just mention a few points concerning this practice activity:

Branch substructure: stained & teased Woodland Scenics Poly Fiber

1. I was initially quite happy with my first batch of 10 trees. But as the days went on, and after viewing them over and over from different angles, I realized that many didn’t have site specific characteristics that would have grown into them had they really lived in the layout’s modelled terrain, and the leaves and branches weren’t airy enough - they seemed a little too dense and puffy.

2. I painted the trunks and branches a stereotypical dark brown mixed from a flat brown and black acrylic paint. I should have studied my reference photos more and realized the trunks were multiple variations of grey. My model tree trunks look ok, but I know they and their branches need a different colour. So, the message is, consult your reference material frequently, and try not to slip back into stereotypes and preconceptions.

Adding poly fiber to branches - too fluffy!

3. It wasn’t until the 15th tree that I obtained an airiness to the leaf and branch structure that I liked. This was accomplished by applying the teased Woodland Scenics Poly Fiber that I’m using for the secondary branches in far thinner layers than I initially thought reasonable, and applying much less static grass than I had been doing. It took 14 trees to realize what to do. With the first 14 I was mesmerized by the look of the trees, and it took me awhile to shake that off and look at them critically. Back in grade school division days, my father provided the critical feedback while I was practicing, but in modelling, I’m a lone wolf, so I have to provide my own feedback while I work. I find that the only way I can provide my own effective feedback is to step away from a project for a few days or weeks and then come back to it with fresh eyes. I’d say for practice to be effective, it’s key to get feedback when you’re doing the work, not months later when every tree is glued in place and the layout is ‘done’. 

4. The first batch was made by applying the same construction step to all trees at once so that at any given time they were all at the same stage of construction - it was like an assembly line. In the second round I only applied that approach up until all the armatures were covered with ‘bark’ and painted. From then on I would pick 1 or 2, take them to completion, and then install them on the layout. This allowed me to focus on making specific trees for specific locations, instead of pursuing a bulk, one-size-fits-all, assembly line approach. It also gave me breathing space between foliage assembly steps so I could consolidate my learnings into the next couple of trees coming up for finishing instead of applying the same mistakes to all trees.

Tree #18, from batch #2

My trees aren’t yet perfect. They’re maybe half way there. The imperfection of what I’m producing drives the need for more practice. Practice may make perfect, but imperfection makes practice.