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INTRODUCTION

An “Artist of Life”

Approximately six months before his death, Bruce Lee wrote a profoundly personal essay, “In My Own Process,” which set out his insights on the process of life. Writing from his heart, Lee jotted down his deepest feelings before they could be passed through the filter of his ego.

Over several weeks, he returned to his essay in between filming Enter the Dragon and drafting additional ideas for The Game of Death. He added more jottings as the insights came to him—at his office in Golden Harvest Studios, Hong Kong, in his study in Kowloon Tong, or when he went out to eat. All told, he wrote eight versions of the essay, each containing slightly more of his experiences as a martial artist, as an actor, and, most importantly, as a human being.

In the final draft of this essay (which, presumably, was written solely for Lee’s own edification, as it was never published), Lee penned a rather telling statement: “Basically, I have always been a martial artist by choice and actor by profession. But, above all, I am hoping to actualize myself to be an artist of life along the way.”¹ “Artist of life” refers to the process of being an individual who, through the use of his own independent judgment, sought to fully actualize himself as a total human being (i.e., physically, mentally, spiritually). Moreover, the “artist of life” is willing to bare his soul for the purpose of honest communication and not get caught up in societal role-playing (self-image creation). As Lee once told journalist Pierre Berton, “It is easy for me to put on a show and be cocky and then feel pretty cool. Or I can do all kinds of phony things and be blinded by it. Or I can show you some really fancy movement. But to express oneself honestly, not lying to oneself—that, my friend, is very hard to do.”²

Lee sought to infuse this perspective into everything: dealing with friends, family members, and business associates; creating, choreographing, directing, and starring in films; and writing philosophical treatises, psychology papers, poetic musings, and personal essays. He told interviewer Ted Thomas: “My life… seems to me to be a life of self-examination, a peeling of my self bit by bit, day by day.”³ This is most evident in Lee’s writing. No matter what the topic, from Chinese martial culture to heartfelt poetry, here, was a “real man” who was laying bare his soul.

Although he attended the University of Washington, the bulk of Lee’s education was gained informally from his voracious reading. As he lived before the age of home computers and photocopiers, Lee wrote notes, often verbatim transcriptions in longhand, from passages he found both true and helpful. Reviewing them would inspire him to further writing. These were his private journals, where Lee contemplated the thoughts of men and women of like mind. Many of his entries (the excerpts from Eric Hoffer’s The Passionate State of Mind and Frederick S. Perls’ books on Gestalt therapy, for example) have been included, to share some of Lee’s influences and the attitudes and worldviews he found congenial.

Ideas encountered in his reading often surfaced in his private moments. For example, in his essays on acting, he explores Perls’ tenets regarding self-actualization versus self-image actualization. Finding a truth in one discipline and then applying that truth to an entirely unrelated discipline is a hallmark of Lee’s genius: he saw the connections where others did not. Lee read Krishnamurti and Alan Watts on spirituality and saw a direct application to a divergent activity, martial arts. He also examined Perls’ work in psychology and saw an application, not for the treatment of neuroses and depression, but for truer and more dynamic acting.

Even though these were Lee’s private papers never intended for publication, they are important documents that allow us to see the evolution of Lee’s beliefs and art in context. In addition to his journal entries, this volume also includes Lee’s personal essays, poems, and philosophic writings on a wide range of subjects. It is therefore ironic that for over a quarter of a century Lee has been recognized primarily for his physical skills and tactical principles in the art of unarmed combat. But as Bruce Lee, Artist of Life reveals, such a shallow perspective is completely inaccurate.

Lee was equal parts poet, philosopher, scientist, actor, producer, director, author, choreographer, martial artist, husband, father, and friend. He sought out life in all of its wondrous aspects and was enthralled by the process of what he was experiencing. Always a thinker, Lee was fascinated by the insights into spiritual truths that could be garnered through adjusting the focus of human awareness. This is not to suggest that in reading Artist of Life you need to first “empty your cup” entirely of the notion of Bruce Lee the martial artist, but you do need to prepare room to meet the complete Bruce Lee, the “artist of life.”

In the future, all who wish to represent themselves as torchbearers of Lee’s art and philosophy will need to know ALL aspects of the man. They will as much need to know, understand, and, most importantly, feel the meaning underlying Lee’s various drafts of the essay “In My Own Process,” along with the deeper message inherent in the eight drafts of “Toward Personal Liberation (Jeet Kune Do),” for example, as they are now able to physically recite his combative techniques and repeat his martial maxims.

A great artist communicates through art. Looking at a painting, one can instantly know what the artist was feeling and thinking when he painted it. Time has no place here, as the emotion is as clear and distinct as if you were the artist yourself. Similarly, in looking at the broad and colorful strokes that Lee painted across life’s canvas, we are able to intuit his personality, his passion, his heartfelt convictions, his very soul. If, as Lee once said of art, it is the “music of the soul made visible,”⁴ then surely this book is his symphony.

If you read Artist of Life with what Lee liked to call “quiet, choiceless awareness,” you will find that you are not so much reading a book as you are visiting with an old friend. And while Bruce Lee may no longer be with us physically, he is still able to communicate with us via the printed page in a manner that transcends the limits of human mortality. While appreciating his company, we should also note his counsel: become “artists of life” ourselves. We would be doing our friend and ourselves the gravest of disservices if we simply put him on a pedestal and adopted his words and beliefs as our own. In his letter (included in Part 8 of this book) to “John,” Lee states as much:

You see, John,…that your way of thinking is definitely not the same as mine. Art, after all, is a means of acquiring “personal” liberty. Your way is not my way; nor mine yours. So whether or not we can get together, remember well that art “LIVES” where absolute freedom is.⁵

There is considerable danger in standing too close to the river of another’s thoughts—the faster the current, the easier it is to fall in and be swept away from ourselves. Instead, let us simply enjoy watching Bruce Lee’s thought as it courses through these pages, noting where it bends and turns and where it rages, froths, and bubbles with greatest energy. If we pull back and look at these thoughts from our own vantage, from where we each stand upon life’s bank, we can see the bigger picture—what Lee’s “finger” is pointing at. And it is at this point—where the river of one man’s thoughts meets the sea of human understanding—that we will finally be able to see “all that heavenly glory” that Lee first told us about over a quarter of a century ago, and we can directly experience the awe of being fully conscious, fully human, fully alive, and fully ourselves. For, as Lee wisely observed, it is only in the process of coming to know ourselves that we can come to know anything.

—John Little

I cannot teach you; only help you to explore yourself. Nothing more.⁶

—Bruce Lee