In 5th grade math class, we were assigned to create a math Jeopardy game in small groups using everything we learned so far in the school year. It was a lighthearted, almost frivolous project, the sort you’d expect in grade school. At the end, we’d all play through the games together. My friend Sacheth had an extraordinary theory to make all of our problems obscenely long. He thought our peers would associate it with our “genius,” as we could falsely augment the game’s difficulty to an arbitrary degree. Of course, the class saw our group as total nerds when it was time to play through our game. However, we were also perceived as utterly brilliant, gaining us—especially when we solved, or recalled, the problems in real time—more authority than the teacher herself for a brief period. I don’t think we could ever not be seen as nerds, as I doubt 5th graders could hold the archetypal nerd and the genius we aimed to be recognized for in distinction. Beyond being briefly scolded by our teacher for making an unplayable game, we found great success in our experiment.

I was reminded of this project when I saw an Instagram reel of a human calculator. He received great praise in the comments for his multiplication ability, as he should. I, however, contrasted him with our modern mathematicians, who have not received nearly as much acclaim outside their fields. Dennis Gaitsgory, a key player in the over-800-page-long Geometric Langlands Conjecture, spent 30 years proving the conjecture; he has not received even a fraction of the public acclaim the human calculators get outside of his field, for the sole reason that he is not an entertainer, unlike the multiplication machines we gawk at. I don’t intend to disparage human calculators, as fast mental computation is an art of its own, but they are performers. It’s not possible to appreciate Gaitsgory’s work because, to understand it, you must dedicate decades to math. I won’t attempt to describe what he’s done because it’s impossible for me to understand the nuanced implications of his work without the enormous mathematical context necessary; I’m constrained to the nebulous and superficial idea that he did some great deed to the world of math.

I’m a victim of this when pertaining to scrutinizing art (here, I’m restricting the scope primarily to drawing and painting). My art illiteracy is most palpable when I try to draw anything beyond a stickman. When looking at the winner announcement of the 44th International Illustration Contest by Clip Studio, I realized that I could not define any particular metric to grade the artworks; I could not distinguish quality between the artworks beyond my personal aesthetic appeal and therefore could not rate the art to any extent. The common observer, like me, does not see the composition in all its constituents. We don’t see the story, the symbolism, the color theory, nor the other numerous components which we gloss over in our perfunctory sweeps. It’s not possible for the untrained eye to see beyond what’s in front of it.

By embracing nuance, we consequently concede the common appreciation of it. However, it may be that common appreciation is an ephemeral form of recognition in comparison to the recognition of the value added through nuance. Gaitsgory’s work probably won’t ever be applauded by Instagram commenters, but his work will be built upon for hundreds, or even thousands, of years by other mathematicians who will continue to explore the mathematical world. While much of an artist’s work may be completely glossed over by an ordinary onlooker, it will be scrutinized, appreciated, and noted by another artist, who will keep those details in mind when making their own piece, advancing the particular field of art by some nonzero amount. Much of the value generated by nuance may never be picked up on and attributed to the name of the creditor, but influence does not require attribution.

NOTE: I've recently (about a few weeks ago) concluded that I want to leave an enormous legacy when I'm gone. I think the best way to about that is by working as hard as I can and one day do some great deed to society and the glory will come as a consequence of it. Prior to writing this piece, I did not have the essay's conclusion in mind—it came as a realization as I was writing. This shifted my mindset: I still want to contribute some great deed, but I think I'll remain content if I'm not remembered for it.

tags: life