Gather your restrictions
So last week I talked about how I use (manipulate?) the Dunning-Kruger effect to motivate myself at the beginning of a project, and to then be realistic when evaluating the result at the end of the project.
This week, I want to talk about restrictions as an aide to creation. I know the romantic view of creativity is all about removing artistic limits. You know, “artists must be free to express themselves.” Isn’t that freedom the goal?
For me, not exactly.
I find getting started is crazy scary. As this Monty Python sketch demonstrates, just choosing the first word can be a struggle.
And even when I finish, what did I finish? Is it any good? Did I just waste a bunch of my time making something not that good that nobody wants anyway?
For me, too much freedom is terrifying, in the way The Blob is terrifying: an amorphous, shapeless threat that could be any— oh, no! Look out behind you!
(Yeah, that was a prose-based jump scare. Did it work? At all?)
Anyways, the point is, if your project can be about anything, then how do you decide what to make? Because there’s a whole lot of anything, and only a small percentage of it is worth the attention of you and your audience.
That’s why I love restrictions. Choosing the right ones help define the path, define success, and can even attact an audience. I’ll show you an example how I used restrictions to help me get to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, and also show you one famous project– based on some unique and extreme restrictions – that launched a musician’s mini media empire, and helped redefine how art is done on the internet.
Right after the news.
What’s going on?
- I can’t say where or when before the official announcement, but Your Parasite and You has been selected for another film festival. This makes me very happy. I’ll announce deets as soon as I can.
- Resist rest create rest repeat.
All the world’s a stage (especially Edinburgh in August)
When the Edinburgh Festival Fringe is running, a lot of people want to use every available square foot of the city to put on a show. Nearly the entire city gets in on the act (see what I did there?), converting lecture halls, conference rooms, bars, basements, and even shipping containers into surprisingly well-equipped performance spaces.
And these unique spaces mean unique scheduling. Shows start before lunch and end well after midnight. Most venues run continuously in that time, with shows shuttling in and out.
I’ll say this for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe: they are a well documented festival. They provide handbooks, workshops, and other support for artists wanting to perform there. So after I read the materials and talked to people who had performed there, I ended up with a list of requirements for the show to be successful (or even survive):
- 45 to 50 minutes of show
We would have just an hour to set up, do the show, and get back out. - 1 puppet, 2 women on stage
We had a set cast, and I wanted everybody to get their moments on stage. - Cabaret/jukebox style
I needed to write an original script/book, using existing thematic songs. - Recorded music
The lack of space and budget meant live music was beyond our scope. - No sets/Minimal tech (lighting/sound)
We had at best 5-7 minutes for setup, and the same for teardown. And no place onsite to store anything between shows. - By August of the next year
Planning the next Fringe starts right after the current one ends, so the good venues can be snapped up by early autumn. Our clock started ticking right away. - In Edinburgh
I had to make sure whatever we came up with was portable and thoroughly tested before we went to the airport.
Believe it or not, every single one of these requirements was a comfort. They were based on a definition of success provided by the Festival and artists who had been successful at it. These restrictions helped define what the script, show, and production schedule had to be in order to replicate those successes, down to the number of pages of script and the entire writing/rehearsal/test performance schedule, built backwards from that hard date of August.
When I don’t know what the first steps of a new project should be (and I never know what the first step should be), I gather requirements and restrictions, and use them to set goals. That reduces my possible first steps down to whatever takes me in that direction.
Throw knives at it
In a weird corollary, knowing what I definitely do not want to do also helps me get a project defined and moving.
Take a look at this knife thrower's assistant and the knives clustered around him.
They are starting to make a rough outline of his head and shoulders, aren’t they? And more knives she throws, the clearer the outline will be. Throw enough knives, and he could walk away and leave a recognizable silhouette on the wall.
Think of those knives as all the things you can’t do or don’t want to do with your project. It seems a little negative, but the “don'ts” can be used to build a picture of the “dos."
Sean Penn once described a similar approach in his acting process (emphasis mine):
You build a cage based on your sense of the truth and your sense of the aspects of the character that need to tell the story. If you've done your job right...then you're able to function very freely within that cage.
Notice he uses the words “freely” and “cage” right next to each other.
As a member of ASO (the American Society of Over-thinkers), it helps me when I identify what I don’t have to think about. It frees up valuable neurons that I can use to think about what I want to think about. It’s like in the The Fly when Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) explains why his closet has 5 sets of the exact same clothes:
Learned it from Einstein. This way I don’t have to expend any thought on what to wear. I just grab the next set on the rack.
When I reduce my options myself, I can cut off analysis paralysis before it begins, and instead choose from a tasty sample platter of options that I know are from the “could work” list.
Restrictions: a feature, not a bug
Back in 2005, Jonathon Coulton, a little-known programmer-turned-musician, launched a new project. He called it Thing a Week, and the whole thing was based on restrictions:
- Write, record, and release a new song every week for a year
- Distribute these songs via the internet
- Release them under Creative Commons licensing
This experiment was wildly successful. Coulton now has an established music career, with multiple albums, strong online song sales, videos, tie-in comics – even a yearly themed cruise for fellow artists and fans, the JoCo Cruise.
I credit Coulton with some graduate-level black belt restriction selection here:
- It was a wide open time to commit to the internet, which was still defining itself as a sales and consumption hub. He could build his own storefront and communications, and stand out in a relatively sparse space. The barriers – and cost – of entry were low, and the opportunities for access were starting to mushroom.
- There was a heavy overlap on the Venn diagram of people who were on the internet at the time/people likely to enjoy Coulton’s quirky, nerd-centric lyrics and retro 80-90’s rock riffs.
- And importantly, the Thing a Week challenge itself grabbed attention. Who was this guy who was releasing a song a week from scratch? And were the songs any good? The answer was yes, yes they were. A lot of people listened to their first song out of curiosity about the project, and then got hooked by the music (like I did).
Sometimes, imposing a restriction on yourself and then announcing it can generate interest and community with your audience. Especially when, like with Thing a Week, the restriction aligns with existing interests of the people you’re trying to reach.
Fun facts to know and share
It’s Fiber Arts Week at Fun Facts!
Such a beautiful, brilliant idea.
"Using a knitting machine to create animations…” I guess now I have to clear more room in my garage, because I want one!
Neha Tandon Sharma
Yes, but no? Sent to me by Mari.
More fiber animation in “Cooking with Wool” from Andrea Love. Adorable, delicious, fuzzy.
Over to you
First of all, we have a new reader! Welcome, Ken!
I’ve really come to appreciate the restriction-gathering phase when I start a project. It also helps me to embrace aspects of a project that I might otherwise view with resentment (“What can’t the show be 63 minutes long?” “Because we only booked an hour.”)
It makes we wonder: what barriers do I currently resent that are actually helping guide me? After all, a water slide without the confining tube is just a very tall platform over a pool.
If you have any of these hidden helpers in your creative life, or even in your life life, let us know in the comments.
And until we talk again, I remain,
Your pal,
Jamie