Minimalist vs. Maximalist Creativity
A few thoughts on creative work, procrastination, and desk toys.
I’m a minimalist. A tried and true, genuine minimalist…ish. When I say I’m a minimalist, please ignore the stack of books in the corner. And that binder full of Blu-ray discs tucked into the overfilled bookshelf. And also please ignore the box of action figures in the closet.
Okay, let's say I’m working hard to minimize. I mean… technically I just love watching videos about minimalism.
FINE.
I am not a minimalist. But dammit they’re all so cool on YouTube!
The minimalism subculture is fascinating. Wearing one outfit to maximize your creative energy by reducing decision fatigue? Cool. Keeping a clutter-free desk so you stay on target and produce your best work? Super cool. But like, what about my Daredevil bobblehead? Where does he go on a freshly decluttered desk? I need him. He inspires me.
Apparently, Stephen King has all his papers organized the same way on his desk every morning when he begins to write. Matt D’Avella’s desk looks like it’s never been used, but he’s always making videos. Ian Fleming wrote a large chunk of the James Bond novels on a golden typewriter at his resort home in Jamaica. Steve Jobs wore the same outfit every day, mostly ate fruit, and dramatically changed the tech world a couple of times. There’s no consistency here!
“They say a cluttered desk means a cluttered mind. I say an empty desk means an…”
“Empty mind.”
“I was not going to say that.”
-Conversation between Michael Scott and Dwight Schrute, The Office
Clearly, there’s no one way to be a creative person. Plenty of books on the subject of creativity could tell you that. I have a lot of respect for those who don’t need stuff around them to create wonderful work, but I just don’t get it. I know, I know, if you distill my work down to its simplest form it’s just me typing on a laptop. Hell, I could do my job with a pen and paper if I had to. Technically, I could work from anywhere at any time with my cell phone alone. I could be a digital nomad, and nomad all around doing nomad things… digitally.
But where’s the fun in that?!
I like being surrounded by my stuff. My stuff inspires me. It puts procrastination at my fingertips and I’m not willing to give that up. It’s too important to my process. A pristine desk makes a lot of visual sense until you hit a mental wall. Because then, I ask, with what do you fidget?
What distracts you from that impending sense of doom, that deep-seated knowledge that you’ll never amount to anything in the history of Hill Valley, that simmering cauldron of Imposter Syndrome Potion just waiting to tip over? We must distract our bodies when our minds are working on ideas. That’s why some people take walks and exercise and stuff when they’re stuck. Those are the ones making healthy life choices.
Me? I like to play with a toy. Preferably something that can fire darts at a row of action figures.
Some of my best work happened when I was talking through a problem with a Nerf gun in my hand. I’m like Cool Hand Luke, except I’ve never seen Cool Hand Luke so that was a terrible metaphor to jump into. Maybe I’m more like Han Solo, because all that hokey creative stuff isn’t any match for a good blaster at my side. Coincidentally, the Nerf gun I had was actually shaped like Han Solo’s blaster.
You’ll notice the past tense in that last paragraph. Who’s ready for a tonal shift?! I’ll even add those little dot thingies to denote the switch.
Sadly, I no longer have an office with a shut-able door and easy access to my Nerf gun. I no longer have walls coated in posters, nor do I have a creative partner with whom to shoot the shit (or the action figures). Hell, I no longer have the action figures. And I repeat, I no longer have a shut-able door what the shit is wrong with me why would I EVER give that up?
I changed jobs earlier this year. It was a step up and out, but also meant leaving behind a lot of the stuff I’d grown accustomed to having around. Recently, I’ve felt absurdly uncreative, unfulfilled, and stressed the F out. F stands for ‘fuck,’ in case you were wondering. There are plenty of explanations for this, but a big part stems from being crammed into a small, overly florescent space with 9 other people. I have no personal effects, no toys, no posters, nothing.
My desk looks like it does in the catalog it came from. It stretches before me, a snowy slab of nothing. Nothing unique. Just a resting place for a keyboard and monitor. I keep it that way because it’s not mine. It has yet to feel like it is mine, and I don’t think it ever will. I have become a minimalist creative by someone else’s choice. I do not like it. Daredevil no longer bobbles, he rests in a case in a closet in my apartment.
At the very least, I’ve discovered that an important aspect of my own creative health is the space I work in. This is good knowledge for the future and frustrating knowledge for the present. I’m longing for a space I can’t have. A space that feels like a library had a drunken fling with a comic book shop and then they met up for drinks with a music store. I need those distractions and inspirations! Because when I hit a creative wall now I just get sad and the wall feels insurmountable. But it isn’t forever, and that’s what I’m focused on.
Someday soon, Daredevil will bobble again.
