That's Such a Dumb Idea, it's Kind of Refreshing

another doorway

dear creators,

…I used to be afraid of any dumb ideas. Sure, there’s some good sense in this— if the idea involves jumping off a shed roof with a sheet of plywood to take flight (something I’m told my cousins once attempted). But this fear also may have come from a time when I shared something and was told I was dumb (or I felt shamed or inadequate, somehow).

Now I kinda have a thing for them—especially the ones that will lead me to freedom. I’ve realized that there’s a power in a dumb idea that could expose a wider scope and cut through limiting walls of knowingness, goodness and rightness. The meaning of the word itself hints at this: 1) having or using no voice and 2) unintelligent— both of these involve a sort of not-knowing and there’s potential for something fresh in that.

I’ve mentioned this elsewhere: when I don’t have anything to go on, I find it best to forget about it and turn to something that I enjoy. On one of these occasions, I needed to come up with something for a performance art class and instead I turned to one of my favourite films from childhood: Francis Ford Coppola’s The Black Stallion. The cinematography is stunning and it portrays one of my early (typical) fantasies about being stranded on an island with a horse (try not to psychoanalyze me, here).

(a film still from The Black Stallion)

At the beginning of this film, a young boy (Alec) is at sea with his father on a large passenger boat. One night, his father is out gambling with several people from different parts of the world and so they are using valuable objects as currency to make their wagers. He wins and when he returns to their cabin, he dumps all of these small treasures on the bed and singles out a small figurine of a horse. Then he tells Alec the story of Alexander the Great and his incredible horse, Bucephalus…

Now at this point, I get super excited and turn to Luke to say, “Hey! We should invite all of our friends over to play poker and we can bet trinkets instead of money!”

Luke: “That’s a dumb idea. Our friends don’t own trinkets like you and you aren’t going to want to part with any of yours.”

True true true. (It may sound like he shot me down but it didn’t feel that way because, well, he was totally right)

The next day I went to school and relayed this happening to my friend, Hazen. His response was, “Why don’t you just get rid of the trinket and tell the story about it.” This got me thinking about playing a poker game where you bet stories from your life. And that’s what Hazen and I did for our performance art assignment.

We bought some nice green felt and covered a table that we placed in a critique room (that looked like a basement) and then we hung a single light bulb above it.

(a shot of the actual performance)

We casually invited people to play and didn’t dictate what kind of stories— nor did we worry about whether a story qualified to raise someone else’s bet. The general idea was that you tell your story and if you lose the hand, someone else has won your story to tell in the next hand.

People shared all sorts of hilarious, mysterious, woeful and devastating tales. Someone even bet his brother’s life experiences. There were spectators and would-be players lined up until a player would bow out after a hand to let someone else in. The game went on for a few hours. It was a pretty novel opportunity for strangers and friends to tell their stories and I, for one, was so spellbound that I kept forgetting about my hand of cards.

I know I’m not the only one who pays attention to dumb ideas. In the 2013 documentary, The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness, there’s a scene where Hayao Miyazaki and his team can’t find the actor they’re looking for to fill the main character role in The Wind Rises. At one low point someone casually jokes about casting a friend and fellow animator/filmmaker (who has kind of a funny voice) and everyone starts laughing —and then they quickly realize that he’s actually the best person for the part.

Without even looking, I bet there are all sorts of wonderful inventions and discoveries that started as dumb ideas. Maybe the wheel seemed stupid at first (didn’t people doubt the bicycle at one time?). And what horrifying battles were started, fought, won or lost over something ridiculous?

(This grade 2 kid in one of my classes came up with an impromptu pen pocket using tape…or it might have been glue)

We may be tempted to say that there are no dumb ideas in a creative practice, but I don’t want to deny those thoughts or impulses that we want to reject immediately when they arise. To say that any idea is a good idea doesn’t acknowledge the unique nature of those that easily slip past our radar (or really aren’t appealing).

I don’t know if it’s a byproduct of cultural conditioning and personal experience or if it’s also intuitive, but there’s something in me that knows when an idea feels dumb. One part of me is hasty to cast out such an inkling, and another part of me recognizes that there’s a special potential to consider before I shut the door.

I’ve learned to appreciate the part of me that’s usually smiling or even laughing at a dumb idea — it’s like, Hahahah.. WAIT. Hold on. That might actually work.

~Corrie