Art ↔ Science: Rigor and Chaos

Art without rigor drifts into chaos. I’ve always believed my spontaneous thoughts mean something — and often they do. Writing them down gives them a chance. But they can’t mean much more if they’re never tested, never executed.

Creativity is energy that flashes up in the mind. If you want that energy to matter to anyone else, you have to harness it. You have to put the pen to paper.

Spontaneous thoughts are like raw ore. They carry value, but the value is hidden. The spark feels alive and authentic, but it speaks in your private shorthand — a language made from your own associations and shortcuts. To bridge the gap to someone else’s understanding, you need rigor: the deliberate work of translation.

This isn’t about killing spontaneity. It’s about honoring it enough to do the hard work of making it clear. The act of shaping raw thoughts reveals what they actually are. Writing isn’t just recording; it’s discovery.

The trick is to keep the original energy alive while you refine it. Some sparks burn out under pressure — they were fragments, not full ideas. That’s fine. The ones that survive emerge sharper, stronger, able to resonate beyond your own head.

That’s the tension: chaos creates, rigor shapes. Sit in the middle and you find meaning.