Embracing Limitations

"What are you doing in my coop?"

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Way back in the day, when I was still hopelessly addicted to video games, I went through a phase in which I was obsessed with the N Game, a ninjalicious java applet with an absurdly good physics engine. The game itself was fun, but the aspect that really got me hooked was the level editor. A sizable online community had formed for the purpose of sharing levels, a sub-clique of which were the DDA makers. A DDA, or "Don't Do Anything", is a level which completes itself without any input from the player -- essentially an action movie in which the ninja protagonist confidently dodges rockets, lasers, and killer robots.

My first few attempts to make DDAs were pathetic, even by my own standards. The level designs were clunky, unimaginative, and relied too heavily on the more obvious methods of propulsion. At some point, without putting any thought into the matter, I started imposing arbitrary limitations on myself. Can I make a DDA without any launch pads or gold delay? How about one using only thwumps for propulsion? Can I make a DDA with every object hidden behind a bounce block? I found that, with enough time and effort, the answer to every one of these questions was a resounding "Yes!", and the resulting levels were far more interesting than those I had created without any restrictions.

A few months ago, I tried applying this concept to songwriting: I wanted to compose yet another meandering, astructural, progressive, instrumental piece, but instead of having different sections employ different techniques, I wanted the entire piece to rely on slapping. After churning out dozens of fun new riffs, I eventually stumbled upon a wildly different way of incorporating slapping, one which I had never thought of before. I deemed the experiment a success, and made a mental note to try imposing other limitations in the future.

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During the third week of my photography class, the professor announced that we were no longer allowed to submit photos that had been taken on campus. He was understandably tired of seeing the same buildings over and over again, and wanted us to explore more of the city in our search for interesting subjects. At first I resisted, only ever venturing a few blocks from campus with my trusty Canon Rebel, and the results were mediocre at best. This weekend, however, I spent a few days in New Hampshire with my lovely ninja queen, and I brought my camera along with me. The surrounding environment was so vastly different from my daily routine that it was almost too easy to find interesting things to photograph -- bridges, gravestones, flowers, cats, dogs, and even chickens.

Unlike in previous projects, I liked so many of my shots that I found it hard to pick which ones I wanted to submit. Eventually I decided to impose another limitation: my project would be dedicated to exploring the emotions of animals. The collection I came up with was, without any doubt, the most innovative I have created thus far. Of all the lessons that have crystallized during the 1000 hour quest, the one that most readily applies to any subject is this: creativity is unlocked not by avoiding limitations, but by embracing them.

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Week 34 total: 15 hours
Grand total: 760.5 hours
Required pace: 654 hours (+106.5)