The Multicolored Meal
As many colors as possible on one plate. Photograph before eating.
Workshop for Potential Life
The OuViePo creative constraints
As many colors as possible on one plate. Photograph before eating.
Call someone just to say something kind. No reason. No preamble.
Cook a dish from a country you know nothing about. No shortcuts.
Write a list of things you will never do. Be precise.
Translate a text into a language you don't speak. Without a dictionary.
Invent a game on the spot. Play it right now. Make up the rules as you go.
Cook a meal with only what you have right now. No recipe, no shopping.
Write a real thank-you letter. On paper. By hand. Mail it.
Plan an impossible day. Try to live it anyway.
Play music for just one person. In person. Just for them.
Cook a dish from childhood, purely from memory. No recipe, no help.
Set a table for dinner. Beautiful plates, candles. But nobody is coming.
Carry your bag in front of you for a whole day. See what changes.
Invite people you don't know to dinner. Cook for them. Talk.
One full day without any screen. From wake-up to bedtime.
Cook an entire dish blindfolded. Trust your other senses.
Choose a storefront. Redesign it entirely in your mind. Write it down.
Record yourself reading a text in someone else's voice. Not an imitation... a channeling.
Compose a meal based only on colors. Ignore taste.
Cook without a recipe, with five random ingredients. No going back.
Leave a book in a public place. Slip a note inside. Wait.
Cook a recipe that belongs to someone else. Follow it exactly. Don't adapt anything.
Dessert first. Starter next. Main course last. Nothing else changes.
Respond in alexandrines all day. At the supermarket checkout too.
Cook with sounds as a score. Record it. It's a composition.
A word drawn at random. Slip it into every conversation of the day. Without anyone noticing.
A dish you've never made. No recipe. With your instinct.
By hand. In an envelope. With a real stamp. For someone 30 minutes away from you.
Dine together. No phone. No music. Just you two and the food.
Shit in a jar. Label it. Preserve it. It's a work.
Introduce a plausible false element into a group. Reveal within twenty-four hours.
Each scar has a story. Draw them. Tell them.
Recover an old PC. Install Linux. Discover that obsolescence is software.
You dictate your diary aloud, walking down the street.
Count absurd things during a day. Share your numbers.
Follow a stranger for a day. Document their route.
Adopt your friend's identity for an entire day.
Draw a face. Paste it at night. Don't come back to see it.
Each day, an imprint of a different part of your body.
Fall. Every day. Film the fall. Start again tomorrow.
Spend an entire day without your dominant hand.
Every morning, write by hand the number of days you have lived.
Draw a verb at random. Do it.