The two Alka Seltzer tablets fell out of my hand, landing in a glass of water.
A subtle hissing sound rose from the glass. The circular tablets disintegrated into a fine powder as the water transformed into tiny bubbles.
It was like the homemade volcano model I showed off to my parents and teachers back in second grade.
Only I wasn’t 8 years old anymore, looking for an A. I was an adult, looking to ease the burning sensation in my throat.
And that would demand a Part 2 of this experiment. It would require me to ingest the contents of this bubbling glass, so that they could neutralize the acid in my throat.
So, without hesitation, I gulped down the concoction. And within a minute or two, my discomfort dissipated.
This was the power of modern medicine. A vivid testament to the wonders of science.
But it might not have been possible without art.
You see, this whole Alka Seltzer setup is unique. Most other medical remedies come pre-prepared, making them far simpler to consume.
This posed a problem when Alka Seltzer first hit the market. The extra work of dropping tablets into full water glasses threatened to scare away consumers. And without robust sales, the product line would be doomed.
So, the makers of Alka Seltzer turned to advertising. Marketers invented the jingle Plop Plop, Fizz Fizz. Oh, what a relief it is.
There was precious little science behind this rhyme. It was mostly artistic expression. But it worked wonders.
Consumers added Alka Seltzer to their cabinets, followed the instructions from the jingle, and saw the desired results. This pattern continued for decades, until I was the one dropping tablets into a water glass on my kitchen counter.
Art and science had come together. And we all reaped the benefits.
There’s a poignant scene in the film The Dark Knight.
Batman is interrogating The Joker at the Gotham Police Headquarters, and the masked crusader asks why the sociopathic villain wants to kill him.
I don’t want to kill you, The Joker replies. You complete me.
This exchange encapsulates the relationship between art and science. They find themselves in the same venue time and again – and at tension with each other.
Take cooking. Many are drawn to the art of it, and TV shows – from Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives to The Bear – have only furthered that perception.
But there’s a heavy dose of science in cooking as well. Ingredients meld, char, evaporate, or congeal, resulting in palatable textures and flavorings.
The clinical precision of these changes has helped countless chefs notate their recipes and share them with the masses. And the members of those masses have been able to whip up reliable meals as a result.
Yet, this scientific contribution to cooking is all but forgotten by most. It’s constantly overshadowed by the glitz that often comes with meal preparation.
Whether it be Hibachi’s tableside acrobatics, elaborately plated desserts, or surprise menu specials at five-star restaurants, people go wild for the art of cooking.
It’s flashy. It’s notable.
But it’s only part of the picture.
I am putting these words on the page. And you, dear reader, are taking them in.
This is the process of writing. Of sharing testimony through the written word.
What should we make of this process? Is it an art or a science?
Many would lean heavily toward art. The trope of authors crafting novels in secluded cabins remains prevalent. The Michelangelo of the Moleskin moniker still sticks.
Yet, if you were to ask an author about their process, you’d likely get a measured response. One filled with rules, patterns, time management hacks, and much more.
Many writers, as it turns out, don’t sit around waiting for inspiration to strike. They take a scientific approach to their craft, mixing artistic talent in along the way.
I know this, because I am one of them.
As I write this, Ember Trace has been running for close to a decade. For more than 450 weeks, I’ve shared a fresh article with you, dear reader.
This venture has been my passion, and my pleasure. But make no mistake, it’s entailed plenty of work.
Such efforts cannot be chalked up solely to artistic expression. On finding a dose of inspiration and putting it on the page.
No, a great deal of the credit goes to science. On uncovering what works best for topic generation, article length, and literary style. On determining which days and times work best to type away on my computer. And on replicating that successful formula, over and over.
There’s certainly some art involved. But my work is built on a foundation of science.
As such, I bristle a bit when I’m labeled a creative. And I roll my eyes when others say they’re too left-brained to do what I do.
It’s not that they cast me on the wrong side of the divide. It’s that they put me on one side to begin with.
Writing is not art or science. It’s both.
I could keep going. I could bring up more examples of disciplines we consider to be strictly art or science. And I could share how we’re mistaken.
But I’m not going to do that. Your attention is much appreciated, dear reader. And it’s worthy of something far better than an endless ramble.
I will pose a question though. Why are we so hesitant to accept reality?
It seems we can’t wrap our brains around the idea that art and science can co-exist. It’s too nebulous, too uncomfortable.
So, we focus on the inherent tension between them, and we seek to resolve it definitively. Even as such a quest is doomed to futility.
It’s high time we take a different approach. It’s time we look at that tension as an opportunity, rather than a threat.
Indeed, if we can manage the intersection between art and science in cooking, writing, and other disciplines, we can differentiate ourselves. We can get one step closer to mastery of those crafts. And we can stay one step ahead of whatever innovations yearn to commoditize them.
Leveraging the tension can do us a world of good. But only if embrace the mission.
Art and science might be strange neighbors. But they belong together.
Let’s put the wedge away.