From the category archives:

Exercises

Brevity

by Matt Blair on January 18, 2009

in Exercises,Process and Workflow

I’ve been thinking a lot about brevity lately.

Some of the best things in life are small. DNA, for example. Small is generative.

Our sound bite and text message culture can create the impression that small is insignificant, that short is shallow. When an experience lacks context or detail, our brains build an environment around that experience and fill in the holes. At the risk of overstating things: when details are lacking, audience members can become co-creators by exploring the implied depths.

Last year, Smith Magazine published a book of six-word memoirs titled “Not Quite What I Was Planning”. The original inspiration was Hemingway’s (possibly apocryphal) six-word short story:

“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

You don’t need a thousand words to evoke a compelling image.

They have since expanded the idea, with a new collection on “Love & Heartbreak” (promotional video) and recently ran a contest to come up with a six-word inaugural address for Barack Obama. (The contest is over. My submission would have been: “Thank you. Now, we rebuild together.”)

I can read and re-read some of these concise memoirs, and they strike me differently each time, depending on my mood, or a conversation with a friend a week ago, or something I saw yesterday.

Some describe a life-defining moment:

Just in: boyfriend’s gay. Merry Christmas.

– Seshie Harget

Or life in a series of abbreviations:

ABCs
MTV
SATs
THC
IRA
NPR.

– Jancee Dunn

What an extraordinary outline of a life in twenty letters! Of course, such density is only possible with an awareness of the cultural context of those abbreviations.

Others summarize a disposition:

Wildly crooked,
unlikely to be straightened.

– lê thi diem thúy

And some are ambiguous enough they could describe a moment or a disposition or a lifetime:

No thank you, I’m just looking.

– Kariann Burleson

Twittering

I’ve also started to twitter recently. (No, don’t worry — that’s not a medical condition. If you aren’t familiar with Twitter, here’s a primer.)

Yes, banal tweets vastly outnumber the epigrammatic, as in other spheres of communication and life. But if you think texting and tweeting are limited to tween preening, I’d point you to actor/writer/director Stephen Fry or New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof as counter-examples, among many others.

Figuring out how to say what you want within the 140-character limit becomes a kind of editorial game. As you type, the editing window indicates how many characters you have left. The trade-offs are as clear as they are for a poet writing in a traditional form: “If I get rid of that adjective, I can add an interjection. Or maybe a link? I’ll trim that excessive adverb, and be able to properly punctuate. Could that sentence make sense without a subject?”

After a while, you just start thinking smaller, unconsciously shifting to a more terse frame of mind.

Concise. Terse. Laconic. Pithy. Whichever appeals. That’s the trick for this month.

Questions

Are you generally attracted to small art or big art? Short songs or multi-hour operas?

What is the smallest or shortest art work that you have really enjoyed? The biggest in size or longest in time?

Some words are worth more than others. Much more. Think of some of the key turning points in your own life: did it take a thousand or ten thousand words for you to realize that your life had changed in a profound way? Or a single breath’s worth?

Exercise

1.

Take something you’ve been working on: it could be art or an email or a piece of music or a memo on some boring topic. (It might be easier to do this non-destructively, with something you can easily duplicate.)

What is essential? Is there anything that can be trimmed? What aspects must remain for it to retain its meaning?

Cut it in half. I don’t mean physically, although that may be an option. I mean remove half of the material, however you define material. If it’s a song, it could mean making it half as long, or taking out half of the instrumental parts. If it’s a sonnet, try to cut it down to a quatrain and a tercet.

How small could this work become before it changes unrecognizably? Is it changing into something else interesting and alive? Or is it losing its vigor? Can you cut it in half again?

2.

After completing the exercise above, set your intermediate drafts and final result aside for a few days or a few weeks.*

Then review the details of your decisions with fresh eyes (or ears) and ask yourself: “Did I lose anything vital or essential in my reductions? Did less turn out to actually be less, not more?”

If you look at your final version as though it is a rough draft, would you be inclined to expand it? Or would you maintain its size and scope and refine what is there already?

* You may have noticed by now that letting ideas age is one of my favorite techniques. It is not the ideas that are altered by time. It’s our perspective on our ideas. Setting a project aside is frequently the best way to ‘work’ on it — as long as the schedule allows for it. I let this piece sit for about ten days and then applied this exercise to an earlier draft of itself. At one point, it had swelled to more than two thousand words! By the time I hit the ‘Publish’ button, it was less than half of that.

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On second thought…

by Matt Blair on December 15, 2008

in Exercises,Life Cycle of Ideas

Allen Ginsberg popularized the aphorism: “First Thought, Best Thought.” For me, “first thought, worst thought” is more typical. Sometimes I can barely even parse the phrases I’ve scribbled down on notecards!

I don’t mean to say that Ginsburg is wrong, just that we don’t all think and create in the same way. More importantly, different projects require different techniques. Sometimes our first thought fits right into the flow of our work, and at other times, the first iteration offers only the merest hints of what a new idea could become.

I’ve learned that giving an obviously flawed “first thought” too much weight can actually discourage me from working on it at all. I can become intimidated by the sense that my first attempt is close to the idea’s full potential, and that additional effort can only yield incremental improvements or ornamental refinements.

Developing those initially unpromising fragments requires time, craft, patience and an ability to set ourselves free from any sense of reverence that might hinder our ability to explore what it is we are really trying to say.

I recently heard Jay Allison, series host of the revived This I Believe speak at Wordstock. The radio series features 500-word essays in which people “from all walks of life share the personal philosophies and core values that guide their daily lives.” On the submission page of their web site, below the space for entering an essay, there is an additional text area titled “Reflections”, with the following instructions:

“Please tell us what it was like to write your essay.
Was it an easy or a challenging experience?
Please limit your response to no more than 500 words.”

Allison explained that the thoughts submitters share in this “Reflections” box are often both clearer and more powerfully written than their submitted essay, and frequently form the basis for the show’s collaborative editorial process. In other words, the essayists can become so caught up in their first thought that they can’t say what they really want to say until they are given a new blank space to fill.

At times, creating can be like trying to knit a warm pair of socks, and ending up with a big tangle of yarn. We have to choose: Am I going to stick my cold toes into the middle of this mess, tell myself it is a pair of socks and imagine the warmth? Or am I going to consider that first attempt a gorgeous abstraction, hang it on the wall as art, and make a real pair of socks?

Questions

  • In day-to-day life, do you tend to be more spontaneous or more deliberative?
  • When working or thinking creatively, are you the same way?
  • Do you feel like you are uncovering or discovering something that already exists, or are you consciously constructing something?
  • Has the first attempt at working on a new idea ever become a stumbling block for you? How did you get around it? Was it difficult to do so?
  • If you find yourself with multiple “first” drafts of an idea, do they tend to be similar or different? How do you negotiate the differences between them to work on the project? Do tensions emerge that slow you down, or do the differences accelerate the process?

Exercise

  • Start working on a brand new idea, and capture as much of it as you can in twenty minutes or less. This could mean twenty minutes of free-writing or drawing or talking/singing/ranting into an audio recorder. However you want to do it, as long as it is a format you can review later. The goal is to create an artifact of your idea, and then put it away.
  • Repeat the same process at least four more times, with at least twenty-four hours between each repetition. Don’t look at your previous attempt, don’t borrow or cut and paste. As much as possible, start from scratch, capture the idea quickly and put it away until the end of the exercise. (You don’t have to ‘store’ the idea in the same form. If you made a recording yesterday, you could write phrases on notecards today.)
  • After you’ve done this five times (or more) let all the different artifacts you’ve created sit for a few days.
  • Pull them all out and review them. How did your expression of the idea change over time? Were there core elements that kept recurring? Did the underlying ideas become clearer — or murkier?

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Making Use of Excuses

by Matt Blair on November 12, 2008

in Exercises,Process and Workflow

Excuses have a bad reputation. They are often interpreted as contrived half-lies meant to allow the excuse-maker to shirk responsibility or weasel out of obligations and expectations. Sometimes this is true.

Excuses can also be valid signals of dysfunction or genuine difficulty, indicating that you don’t yet have the right tools or time or skills or knowledge to proceed. With this interpretation, they can be essential catalysts to our creative work and growth.

For example, I’ve had a note on my to-do list for a few weeks now reminding me to assemble a set of photographs for another article I’m working on, but I haven’t done it yet. Why? Whenever I noticed it on the list, I’d develop a vague sense of unease: that the task was overwhelming, or might take longer than I had time for at the moment, or that maybe it wasn’t that important anyway. I would start to tidy up my desk instead, or go make tea and then decide that I should roast some squash for dinner, or that maybe the time would be better spent re-organizing a bookshelf or two.

What are these excuses telling me? If my intention is to organize a set of photos, why is my brain leading me towards other activities? Why did I spend the last few hours cleaning up my desk and typing up notes from unrelated projects when I had set out to organize those photos? What are the real reasons for my reluctance?

Working backward through my internal dialogue, I start to understand several sources of my discomfort:

  • I’m not sure which of two possible articles I’d like to pair with these photos. My lack of clarity on the writing side makes me unsure which photos I should select. There are hundreds of photos related to this project, so without clarity, it becomes an overwhelming task.
  • Because of that fuzziness, I’m also not sure which set of keywords to use to classify the photos, or where to file them. Should I create a new set of keywords altogether, or just use what I already have? (This is related to the naming problem I wrote about earlier.)
  • Will these images be used in a gallery, which means I could select ten or so photos that together represent the idea, or do I need a single representative image?

Underneath the excuses, I discovered a series of questions that I hadn’t answered because I wasn’t consciously aware of them. Once I paid direct attention to the excuses, and tracked them to their origin, I was able to make the decisions I needed to make to clarify the project, and start sorting the photos.

Exercise

  • Identify a project you have been wanting to work on for a while, but have avoided for some undetermined reason.
  • Keep a piece of paper or a notebook in your work area for that project.
  • Every time you think about working on it — but don’t — write down the reason or excuse. The first one that pops into your mind. Try not to punish yourself over it or go on a guilt trip. You are gathering information, not pressing charges.
  • After a week or so, or however long it takes to start finding that your latest excuse is already on the list, set aside some time to think about each excuse on your list in detail. What is the source? Do not slip into trying to work on your project: this is work about your project.
  • For each excuse, look for underlying problems. Line by line, go through everything that is possibly getting in your way. You may not be able to resolve each one, but you can probably think of some workarounds.
  • After doing this, set a schedule for working on the project, and try to adopt the attitude: “No excuses. I’m going to work on this.”

No matter how well you analyze and develop workarounds for your excuses, new sources of friction will appear. It’s a continuous process. Repeat as necessary.

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Internal Dialogues

by Matt Blair on October 14, 2008

in Exercises

As darkness falls earlier each afternoon, a mug of hot coffee, a slice of pumpkin pie and a pile of books can seem a lot more compelling than trudging through cold drizzle to the gym. On days when I plan to go exercise, I often notice an internal battle of wits unfolding with increasing (though benign) intensity in my head: one part of my brain tries to come up with reasons not to go exercise, while another part of me responds with ever more creative reasons to stay on track, as it were. Here’s an excerpt:

A: Isn’t that book of contemporary poetry from the Middle East and Central Asia due back at the library tomorrow? You haven’t even read any of the Uzbek contributions! Maybe you should stay here and focus on that.

B: The fine is only twenty-five cents, and you can’t possibly read two hundred pages by tomorrow, gym or no gym.

A: Hmm. You haven’t finished that article for the website yet. Maybe you should stay here and work on it?

B: Maybe fresh air and a little sweat would change your perspective on that paragraph that’s not working.

A: But your feet are already cold, and it’s only 47 degrees outside!

B: Jump on an elliptical and they’ll be warm in no time, I guarantee it!

So far this autumn, the fitness-advocate part of me has been winning, but I can see the drops of rain on my window, and know the conversation isn’t over yet. And I’ve still got to get through winter.

Questions

  • What internal dialogues do you have going on at the moment? What impact do they have on your decision making and creative approaches to problems?
  • Are the conversations filled with facts, or feelings, or rhetorical flourishes? Does the nature of these conversations more closely resemble a bogged-down bureaucratic meeting or question time in the British House of Commons?
  • In general, do you consciously pay attention to the details of such dialogues, or does paying attention to the details make you more inclined towards intuition and impulsivity?
  • Do you externalize these dialogues to family or friends, including their ideas and opinions in your thought process before making a decision? Or do you like to reveal only polished conclusions?

Exercise

  • Choose an internal dialogue that you are having in day-to-day life: about a creative problem or a career change or planning a trip or even what to make for breakfast. It can be a big decision or a minor one.
  • Focus on that dialogue, and write down as many of the statements you ‘hear’ as you can.
  • Look at what you’ve written, and try to identify the different ‘voices’ or characters in the conversation. How many are there? Are all of them serious, or are there a few imps and hecklers in the mix?
  • Try to understand the roles of each interlocutor: what sensibilities and inclinations and desires inform their statements?
  • Which characters come up with the better arguments? Which are more creative? Which is most authentic?

Remember: sometimes the boring voice might be right, while the creative one leads you away from your goals.

That said, I’m off to the gym!

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Patterns and Motion

by Matt Blair on September 10, 2008

in Exercises

In a previous exercise, I focused on rhythms — patterns that happen in time.

We are also surrounded by patterns that happen in space, and we experience these patterns as rhythms when we move through space. When we travel in cities, for example, that experience is shaped by three factors: the roads and buildings on the land, the speed we travel, and how our speed changes.

The roadways and architecture are like the grooves on a record: what music would a city play if a stylus was dragged through it?

(Note to younger readers: I’m talking about phonograph records — look it up!)

Here in downtown Portland, the city blocks are relatively small: 200 feet by 200 feet. To visitors from a city with blocks twice the size, walking in Portland might feel twice as “fast” even if they were walking at their normal pace. I grew up in the suburbs, with a hodgepodge of grid and amorphous street designs, and to me, Portland feels metronomic by comparison.

Our pace affects our perception, too: is the record spinning at 78, 45 or 33 and 1/3? I usually walk, experiencing the city as an LP. When I’m on a bike or driving, especially if there’s not much traffic, it’s more like a single.

Different details emerge from the landscape at different speeds, just as different sounds become easier or harder to identify when playing a record at different speeds.

On foot, I notice individual faces, the little spaces that stay wet days after it rains, and the undulations in the asphalt of the bus lanes.

In a car, we usually zip right through such details. We might feel the undulations slightly, get a general sense of how wet or dry the city is, and perceive people moving in flocks around us. But our attention is both farther ahead, and farther behind us. We experience more in the same amount of time, and so we have less attention to direct towards any one patch of ground or building or face.

In crowded urban places, our proximity to one another, and our need to avoid collisions, keeps us continually adjusting our speed, and this too affects our perception of space.

I’ve noticed that on 4th Avenue in downtown Portland, I’m often able to walk at a fairly steady speed and hit every green light. This city is made for foot traffic, or at least the lights are calibrated that way.

Driving the same street, even after rush hour, it’s usually a choice between coasting down hill at eight to ten miles an hour, or constantly accelerating to twenty or twenty-five, then stopping a minute or two at the next red light. This start/stop effect is almost like a hip-hop DJ scratching a record during a transition: the underlying music is recognizable, but it’s not all that easy to settle into a groove until the record starts spinning again.

Questions

  • What is the distance between streets and buildings in your neighborhood? Is it consistent?
  • How many homes or stores or parking lots are there in each block? Are there even discernible blocks?
  • How is it different from other places you’ve lived?
  • And how does your speed affect your perception of the patterns and of place?
  • How do other people affect your speed?

Exercises

1.

Move around your neighborhood in at least two modes of transportation. Note any patterns you experience, and the ebb and flow required for navigation.

If you walk at a comfortable pace, do you tend to hit the green lights, or do you find yourself rushing across the street as the light turns red? Do you find yourself yielding to traffic, or vice versa, or is traffic not an issue?

What do you experience at slower speeds, but not faster speeds?

2.

Look at your neighborhood on Google Maps. How do your perceptions on the ground compare to the view from above?

Some patterns are so large that they are difficult to experience by moving through them. How does your neighborhood look at different scales? What patterns can you see that weren’t obvious on the ground?

3.

Also in Google Maps, take a look at a few neighborhoods nearby, or in a city you might be visiting soon.

Select one that looks interesting from a few thousand feet up. Go to that neighborhood and travel through it using two modes of transportation, reviewing the questions and your thoughts from the first exercise. Does the experience differ in a significant way from your own neighborhood?

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What are the rhythms in your life?

by Matt Blair on July 18, 2008

in Exercises,Senses

About ten years ago, I had a chance to hear the Tuvan musical group Huun-Huur-Tu perform their extraordinary overtone singing live in London. Between songs, one of the performers explained the nomadic origins of Tuvan musical culture, and asked the audience to listen for the rhythm of trotting horses in the rhythms they were playing.

Every time I’ve heard their music since, even in films that have nothing to do with Tuva or cavalry, I hear those hooves moving along, and half expect a horse to enter from the side of the screen.

The rhythms of our lives infuses our art, our perceptions, and our aesthetics. It changes what we expect to see and hear, the small decisions we make in our own creative work, and, if it is something we encounter regularly enough, I think it even changes what we find beautiful, and what we don’t.

Questions

What are the rhythms in your daily life? How are these environmental patterns shaping your own perceptions, choices and aesthetic attractions?

How often can you hear planes flying overhead or train whistles?

How much time do you spend in transit? How much time do you spend waiting?

How much time do you spend sitting, and how much standing?

How many cups of tea or coffee do you drink each day? Do you notice if that pattern changes?

On a typical day, do you speak with twenty people on the phone for an average of five minutes each? Or three people in person for an hour or so? Or do you spend long periods of time working on your own, with only brief and occasional interactions?

Exercise

Although poetry and drama are the most overt examples, all language has rhythm. In print, in conversation, through radio and television, we marinate each day in the nuances of the language around us. What effect does it have on us?

Sometimes it is easier to enjoy the musicality of language when the meaning of the words is entirely beyond our grasp.

In this exercise, listen to the news in a language you don’t understand.

The BBC World Service has quite a few options. Here are a few suggestions to get you started:

Choose a few from this list, and spend several minutes listening to each before drawing any conclusions. Try to listen to each long enough to get ‘acclimated’ to it.

Then explore these questions:

  • How does this sound different from your own native language?
  • How is the intonation different?
  • Do the phrases seem longer or shorter?
  • Does it sound faster or slower?
  • Can you imagine someone singing your favorite song in this language?
  • What kind of music could provide support for this language?

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