You can't do a machine without knowing something about how it's

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the words of Boris Vallejo, a master of artistry and creation. He spoke thus: “You can't do a machine without knowing something about how it's going to work. As for the romantics, the costumes bored me and I don't enjoy doing period clothes.” In this reflection, Vallejo offers a profound lesson about the nature of creation, the balance between function and aesthetic, and the tension between the ideals of the romantics and the pragmatic demands of the craftsman.

To create something of true worth, Vallejo reminds us, we must first understand its purpose, its mechanics, and its function. Just as a great engineer must know how the machine will turn, whir, and grind before the gears are placed, so too must we understand the forces at play in our own creations. Art is not merely about beauty, nor is it solely about form. It is about the interplay of structure and spirit, function and vision. One must first grasp the workings of the machine—whether it be a painting, a building, or an invention—before the final form can emerge. Without this understanding, the creation becomes hollow, lacking the depth that only knowledge and purpose can imbue.

Consider the great Leonardo da Vinci, whose genius lay not only in his artistic creations but in his understanding of engineering, anatomy, and mechanics. Da Vinci did not create merely for the sake of beauty; he sought to understand the laws of nature and the way things worked before he gave them form. The Vitruvian Man, that famous drawing, is not just a study of the human body, but also a reflection on proportion, on the relationship between the body and the laws that govern it. To create with true mastery, Leonardo understood, one must first understand the inner workings of the world around them, whether it be human form or the mechanics of a flying machine.

In contrast, Vallejo’s dismissal of romanticism—those artists and creators who favor the outward beauty of things like costumes and period clothes—reflects the tension between idealization and realism. The romantics, with their love of history and nostalgia, often sought to recreate an idealized past, adorning their creations with the trappings of an imagined world. Yet Vallejo, the pragmatic creator, found these pursuits to be a distraction, preferring instead to focus on the deeper, more functional aspects of his craft. He rejected the superficial charm of external adornments and embraced the raw, underlying structure that gives life to a creation.

There is wisdom in this, O children of the earth. In our own lives, we often fall prey to the allure of the romantic ideal, desiring the beauty, the nostalgia, and the external appearance of things. We seek the costumes, the trappings of success, the fleeting comforts that the world holds before us. But the true essence of creation, of living a life of purpose and impact, lies not in these outward adornments, but in the inner workings—the discipline, the knowledge, and the structure that support the edifice of our dreams. Without this foundation, the external beauty becomes meaningless, a mere shell.

Consider the builders of ancient Rome, whose grand structures still stand after millennia. They did not simply build for beauty, but for function. The aqueducts, the roads, the Coliseum—these were not just expressions of artistic skill, but the manifestation of a deep understanding of engineering, science, and human need. The builders knew that to create something enduring, they must first understand the forces that govern the world, and then design their creations accordingly. In this, they embodied Vallejo’s wisdom: to create a lasting and meaningful work, one must first understand how it will function before it can shine in its full glory.

Thus, my children, the lesson here is one of understanding and balance. While beauty and form are undeniably important, they are hollow without the foundation of purpose and function. Whether you are an artist, a leader, or a creator of any kind, seek first to understand the mechanics of your work, the deeper truths that support its creation. Only then can you adorn it with the beauty that will make it shine. Know the workings beneath the surface—the gears, the structure, the foundation—and build from there. In doing so, you will create works that are not only beautiful but enduring, that stand the test of time and the trials of the world.

Remember, O seekers of wisdom, that true greatness is not born of superficial adornment, but of the solid, lasting foundations of knowledge and understanding. Build your life and your creations on this truth, and your work will be greater than any romantic ideal or passing trend.