I was working on some 9-slice generic game UI, just for fun, all while getting fed up.
Lower Your Expectations
Missing bits of information and small misunderstandings lead to the big misunderstanding; Knowing how to read is a prerequisite for starting in school.
When my youngest cousin was about to first start in school, his mood was getting worse as the first day of school approached. At five years old it seemed like quite a mouthful to trade the cozy and familiar kindergarten in for a full blown public school reality.
Even though the public school was a fairly small one, and he already knew lots of the kids he’d be joining, it was getting clear that he felt more and more anxious about the whole thing.
One day, as his mom casually tried to approach the subject, and to defuse the fear of the unknown, he couldn’t keep it tied up inside anymore.
“But, mom, I don’t know how to read!” he cried. “How can I go to school if I don’t know how to read yet?”
Where did he get that idea from?
There is probably no specific answer to that. Rather it’s a range of missing bits of information and small misunderstandings that lead to the big misunderstanding; Knowing how to read is a prerequisite for starting in school.
My five year old cousin had through unfortunate circumstances established a self-imposed false expectation that was partially hidden for himself and his surroundings up until the point where it revealed itself as anxiety and tears, and he finally expressed it. He had in a way overthought what school meant, painted himself into a corner from where no escape seemed possible. The only escape–fortunately a good one–was to burst into tears and tell his mom.
Imagine the relief my cousin must have felt when he realised that school is in fact for learning how to read, and that kids–all the other kids too–are supposed to start from scratch on the first day.
Self-imposed hidden expectations are perfect for inducing anxiety and killing good ideas, action and energy in the cradle. Like a five year old we hold misunderstood and hidden expectations of how and what we should and ought to be and do. Positive and negative, both kinds potentially severely limiting our mental range of motion.
Worrying is imagination wasted they say. So is fantasizing about how amazing the not yet started artwork will be when it’s completed. Both perspectives are crippling. Worrying leads to anxiety, anxiety eats the soul. Fantasizing builds unrealistic and unachievable goals, and sets the soul up to failure.
The creative mind vividly imagines the future. It imagines future realities, works, outputs and outcomes. That ability is your strength as a creative person and—if not careful—your potential downfall.
The more vivid the vision, the more ambitious the goal, the higher the expectations, the larger the gap between desired and expected outcome and what we are actually able to produce. What we produce does not compare to what we imagine before we start. Our limited ability does not deliver the desired outcome so vividly imagined.
We become frustrated with the process and disappointed with our results. We feel self-conscious and embarrassed by our failure to deliver on our own expectations and the expectations we believe others will have to us.
Worst case we quit new things before we get any good.
The challenge with expectations is that they tend to (often secretly) evolve along with one's skill level and results. The expectations of my cousin as a five year old first grader were naturally very different as he grew up and became a sought-after bricklayer.
As we do creative work, as we learn and practice, we need to actively manage our self imposed expectations and make sure that they still benefit and support us, and that they point the direction that we intend to go.
I’ll end with another lesson taught to me by kids.
My two four year olds (yes, twins) were playing on the living room floor. I was zoning out and wasn’t paying attention to what they were doing.
“I can do it!” she yelled, fed up with her brother’s repeated attempts to show her how to. “I just can’t do it yet!” she added.
Basically: “Back off, I can do this, if you let me figure it out!”
To me that’s a perfect example of picking meaningful and fair expectations of oneself.
“I expect myself to be able to do this thing that I’m trying to learn. I know and fully accept that I can’t do it yet, but I firmly believe that I will be able to some time in the future. If only I practice.“
Examine the expectations that you feel family, friends, people, job and society have of you. Which ones are real? Which ones only exist within you? Most importantly; which expectations are aligned with your personal values and your dreams?
Cherry pick expectations that make sense for you. Pick meaningful and beneficial expectations for yourself. Don’t measure yourself by someone else’s ruler.
And cut yourself some slack. Pressure doesn’t work.
When Creativity Is The Enemy
Tom Sachs is the artist, and his studio assistants must work in strict adherence to Sachs’ code, to fulfill his vision. Or else.
Andy Warhol was somewhat notorious for his use of assistants. Three of his studios were even nicknamed “The Factory”. As in; an army of assistants mass-produced art, straight from the assembly line to the gallery.
Slightly controversial: If the artist isn’t producing the actual piece, is it then their work?
Lots of the most successful artists in the World have big studios and several assistants employed to produce their works. The artists themselves have more of a directing role than an executing one. Tom Sachs (1966), a renowned American artist, is one of those artists.
To help manage his studio, assistants and production, Sachs has compiled a detailed set of rules that his New York studio employees have to adhere to. The rule set “Ten Bullets” was released as an artist zine in 2005 and turned to film by Tom Sachs and Van Neistat, filmmaker and then Tom Sachs assistant, in 2010.
The opening page of the zine reads:
“CREATIVITY IS THE ENEMY” – Tom Sachs
Creativity is the enemy when working in adherence to established principles.
Creativity is unwanted when following a specific set of instructions aimed at reaching a certain objective. Whoever gave the specific instructions has no interest in any displays of creativity from the person carrying out those instructions. Working to code–abiding by the set of instructions–has top priority. The person doing the work is nothing more than a mere worker ant, carrying out their task.
Tom Sachs is the artist, and his studio assistants must work in strict adherence to Sachs’ code, to fulfill his vision. Or else.
“Work to code and you might not get fired,” as it’s stated in the film.
Tom Sachs and his studio assistants is a case of two modes of working:
Open mode, and
Closed mode
The Artist–Tom Sachs–operates in the open mode. From the open mode, the artist will produce instructions in the shape of ideas, sketches, rules and directions. Open mode is about inventing the new. The Artist will hand off instructions to the assistants, and expect them to produce the work, no questions asked, no detours made, no ideas added.
The studio assistants operate in the closed mode only. Here they submit to the instructions received, and produce accordingly. Closed mode is about producing the work imagined in the open mode. Assistants do not question instructions from The Artist, they don’t add their own instructions, they don’t get any new ideas. They don’t get creative.
The artist has oversight, and makes sure that any unwanted creativity displayed by the closed-mode assistants is defeated and a work is produced.
A lot of Tom Sachs’ works would not exist without his staff of assistants. The assistants are crucial in order to produce the works. Without The Artist’s instructions the works would not exist. Both functions are needed to produce works of art.
When you’re working on your own, there is no Tom Sachs to hand out a set of rules. There is no Tom Sachs to foster a vision that you can submit to. There is no studio full of assistants ready to execute blindly. There is only you. You are the artist and the assistant. You are vision and execution.
The Auto Repair Shop Where New Cars Go To Die
First we have to suck. Then we get better. But only if we allow ourselves to suck.
I once had a conversation with a teacher at a vocational school. He trained youngsters who dreamt of becoming auto mechanics to a point where they would be good enough to complete their education as trainees at an actual auto repair shop.
We were kicking tires and talking as he showed me the shop. His on-campus garage had a fully equipped, professional looking repair shop with all the tools of the trade. The place smelled of oil, tires and exhaust fumes, the music was loud and everything seemed just right. They even had a couple of very nice cars sitting on the lifts, plus a few more waiting their turn outside, completing the illusion of a commercial repair shop.
I assumed that people would book a repair, drop their cars off at the shop and wait for a few weeks to get a repair done by students, at a very slow pace, overseen and validated by a professional. In return for a longer stay at the shop, customers would get a very fair price on an otherwise expensive repair. That made sense to me.
The guy laughed. No, these cars would never be driven by anyone, except for the youngsters at the shop. In fact, once the cars had stayed in the shop for a while they would typically have sustained quite a few damages. Usually you’d expect the opposite of a repair shop.
“They’re just kids,” he said. “Some of them walk in the door, so sure of themselves, inflated egos, convinced that they’ll be World class mechanics in a minute. They usually don’t last long though. The ones who last know how to suck.”
Youngsters, full of high expectations of their own mad skills, rushed in, and made a shit job of even simple repairs. Broken bolts, ruined threads, missing bits and so on. When faced with their own–expected and natural–incompetence, those, who had never learned how to suck, left.
First we have to suck. Then we get better. But only if we allow ourselves to suck. We are not meant to be good to begin with. We need to lower our expectations. Strive to suck less today than we did yesterday. And then keep at it until we don’t suck. We are meant to suck. We are meant to practice. And gradually to suck less.
So where did the nice cars in the repair shop come from? It turned out that local car dealerships sponsored cars for the students to work on.
Why? What is a better way to make sure you can get qualified trainees to your dealership, specialized in your brand of cars?
Give them a nice car to work on…
Underthink
Overthinking things is a big culprit in choking creativity. Lately I’ve been challenging myself to underthink and focus on quantity in my output.
I’ve made a simple dogmatic setup for myself:
Quickly put the first thing that pops into mind on paper…
Snap a photo with the phone and airdrop it to the computer…
Adjust levels in Photoshop, paste into Illustrator, image trace, quick edit…
Paste back into Photoshop (Smart Obj., new artboard), layout, tweak, fix…
Auto-export .png with File > Generate > Image Assets = Done!
To me, the key is to minimise the distance and amount of work I need to do from “idea” to “finished product”. I’ve set a very low barrier for what constitutes an idea, and a very low barrier for what a finished product is.
Best case is, that—given enough repetitions—I’ll come up with some design that’ll be good, or that I’ll end up with a body of work that as a whole will amount to.. well, something.
Limit Your Canvas to A Minimum
A big empty sheet of paper is intimidating.
Make the canvas smaller.
Subdivide the area to release tension.
Subdivide and conquer, bit by bit.
The Antidote to Insecurity
The antidote to insecurity is to allow yourself to be vulnerable and take action. To be vulnerable means allowing yourself to ask “stupid” questions, to seek answers, ask for help and to be coachable.
Being vulnerable, asking questions and having a learning mindset is something many people need to practice deliberately. I know I do.
Ask yourself:
“Why do I feel insecure right now?”
“What is the underlying question/uncertainty/challenge that make me feel insecure?”
“What are some questions I can ask, to mitigate, learn about or solve this?”
“Who can I ask?”
Phrasing questions without feeling too exposed can be hard. Here are some starting points:
“Would it be OK if I ….?”
“How would you approach [the challenge]?”
“Do you have any ideas for how to ….?”
“I’m thinking of [the challenge]. Do you have any thoughts on that?”
“I’m feeling insecure about … “
That last one is not a question. But simply stating our insecurity to someone else most often unlocks a comment, a conversation or a moment of sparring that can help us through. And often stating the fact deflate the feeling.
I often feel insecure about sharing what I made.
But today, I’m sharing my course The Value Playbook publicly for the first time. One of the things I wanted to address with the course, is first time founders’ secret insecurities.
Complete More Product Cycles ♻️
Completing product cycles teach you things you can’t learn except through experience.
What is a product cycle?
Getting from initial idea 💡…
to finished product 📦 …
… in the hands of the intended audience
You’ll get answers to things like; When is it really done ✅? How long does this thing take? How do I react to the different stages of the process? What do I find easy, and what am I struggling to get done?
You’'ll experience a long tail of unforeseen issues. Solving those issues — following through — will bolster you with experience, and — maybe most importantly — self-esteem.
Following Through
Completing full product cycles is all about following through. That’s easier said than done. Here is a few pointers:
Lower your ambitions and expectations
Lower your standards for what a product is
Start with the smallest imaginable product — if in doubt, make it smaller
Follow through, all the way to serving a live audience
Repeat with a new product cycle ♻️
Apply this to both personal creative work, and product development in a business context.
Mute the Desire for Perfection
Striving for perfection is good when approaching a new plateau of mastery. But stiffling when you are in the beginning of the climb to a new level.
Whether you are drawing, writing, or painting or any other kind of creative work, the desire for perfection will at some point hold you back.
It can be difficult to identify when you’re “doing it wrong”. Instead, try to sense when you’re getting frustrated.
If you feel stuck where you are, or scared of starting, try to mix up things:
Set rules that are deliberately destructive. Draw over your own drawing, again and again. Break your sculpture, and rebuild it again and again.
Focus on quantity instead of quality. Maximise your output. Minimise your thinking and judgement.
Know that what you are doing — in spite of the destructive surface value — is an act of self-love ❤️
Break the Paper Before You Start
Beginnings can be intimidating. A blank canvas, or an empty white screen staring back at you. Laughing in your face. Rattling to your fear of failure.
The cure is simple: Start by breaking the paper.
Break the whiteness before you start working. Breaking comes before working. They are two very different things. The sequence is important. You want to break the emptyness in order to take the pressure off the first bit of the real work.
Type nonsense, pour random colour, drag the pen, spill ink. Physically or digitally, same deal. Then leave it to cure for a bit. Do something else.
Then — and only then — start working on your newly broken paper.
Make a Jar of Rules
Creative work without limitations is intimidating and stiffling. If every option ever is available to you, how on Earth would you choose what to go with? Fear of choosing, fear of making wrong choices.
You need to keep the endless options in check. You need to make — sometimes arbitrary — choices, that limit you. That limit the playing field and the scope of options.
Introduce a few rules, and obey them, blindly, whitout question.
Make it a habit to collect rules. Write a simple rule down on a slip of paper. Put it in a jar. Consult the jar, when you feel lost.
Here are some to get your jar started:
Two colours, one tone
Approach inside out
Starting to think? Turn the page
Repeat yourself 3 times
Only white hairline on black
Awkwardly holding the pen
Be a Perpetual Beginner
The beginner is the person with less experience and with and a curious, open and moldable mindset.
As a beginner you expect to be skating on thin ice. You hope and expect to learn something new, every time you practice. Or at least to suck less.
Maintain the beginners mindset as you gain experience.
Allow yourself to wonder and experiment, as if it was the first time you held a paintbrush, or typed a sentence. Let your curiosity drive you. Discover something new. Hold the pen in an awkward posture. Skate the thin ice. Be at peace with it.
Playing Cards with Liquid Rules
Jakob and me were playing a nice game of cards the other day. It started out as a simple attempt at getting an overview of exactly how many trading cards he owns, and ended up up a fierce battle between good and evil, between darkness and light.
It was a special battle with Pokemons, Duel Masters, Yo-Gi-Ohs and the recently added Narnia cards, all fighting next to each other, against each other, across race, kind and manufacturer. Jakob isn’t old enough to know or understand the *real* rules, and I’m old enough to know that I don’t care about the *real* rules anymore. When playing like this, rules are added, revised, rendered obsolete and overruled on the fly.
If we cared about the actual rules, I think we would run into trouble pretty fast after all. Some of the cards – especially the Yo-Ghi-Oh cards manufactured by Konami – are written in Engrish (Japanese-English) and make no sense what so ever (some of them are hillarious – remind me to find some examples at some point). If the rules did make any sense, it seems that they would turn out to be either too complex or too shallow for it to make any fun at all.
Back in the days I had a brief fling with ‘Magic – The Gathering’ cards, and I actually played the game while learning and obeying the ruleset. It seemed to wear out and get boring pretty fast though, unless you really got into the whole collecting and trading side of things. Which is – obviously – the key feature of the trading card games. Buy more cards buy more cards buy more cards. My guess is, that I was getting too depressed and bored at the time to really dig it.
In Jakob’s mind the cards are plain cool. All of them. Just looking at them one by one is great fun. Commenting on every single one of them, while making up cool-sounding names for the ones he doesn’t remember, or asking anyone within hearing range if they would read the card to him. Pick basically any card and it will turn out to be one of the supreme ones, one of his favourites and/or the most powerfull card of them all. All the boys at kindergarten seem to be emerged in the same kind of card frenzy. Each of them having their own additions to the backstories, the myths, the rankings of the cards and their own set of on-the-fly rules.
I remember the thrill he gets from looking at the cards from my self. Not that something quite like it existed when I was his age. But the idea of this ever-expanding world of absolute and supreme coolness, wow and power, that more or less all takes place inside your head is really how most boys play I’d say. It somehow all boils down to “My dad can beat up your dad!” “My monster is stronger than yours!” “My car is faster than yours!” Boys will be boys. Always. “Mine is bigger than yours!”
Anyway, what made me thinking wasn’t really all that usual macho pissing contest stuff that the trading cards are really about, but more the way that the rules in this testosterone universe are bendable, pliable, stackable and – to some extent – breakable. At least when you’re 5 and a half years old and still learning how to become a big boy.
It’s a wonderful flow of creativity, innovation and fun that floods you if you play by the on-the-fly-rules of a 5 year old. Experimenting is allowed at all times. Unless when it’s not. New rules can be added at any time. Except when they can’t. Rules apply as long as they’re fun, relevant or anyone can remember them. Jakob can add new rules. Dad can add new rules, except sometimes when he can’t. This card can beat that card, but not that one, unless I say so.
The end result is, that we play a unique game with a ruleset the size of Amsterdam and we have a great time. We wouldn’t be able to play the same game again, and it wouldn’t matter, because we would make up another one from the same cards.
This way of playing (/learning) is so natural for kids.
This way of playing (/learning) is so rare in computer games for kids. Needless to mention that I think that’s stupid.