The Daily Scene
Choose a mundane moment. Replay it as if it were a scene in a film.
Workshop for Potential Life
The OuViePo creative constraints
Choose a mundane moment. Replay it as if it were a scene in a film.
Call someone just to say something kind. No reason. No preamble.
Record all the sounds your home makes in one day. Make a catalog.
Write kind messages on post-its. Stick them where people will find them.
Write a list of things you will never do. Be precise.
Translate a text into a language you don't speak. Without a dictionary.
Write about your body every day for a week. Not what you think... what you feel.
Walk out your front door. No plan. Follow what catches your eye.
Write a real thank-you letter. On paper. By hand. Mail it.
Plan an impossible day. Try to live it anyway.
Map the sounds of your neighborhood. Walk, listen, note everything.
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.
Make a sign with a kind message. Hold it up in a public place. Observe.
Replace your doorbell with a tune you hum yourself.
One full day without any screen. From wake-up to bedtime.
Write compliments for strangers. Leave them where they'll be found.
Choose a storefront. Redesign it entirely in your mind. Write it down.
Compose your personal anthem. Sing it every morning for a week.
Record yourself reading a text in someone else's voice. Not an imitation... a channeling.
Cook without a recipe, with five random ingredients. No going back.
Leave a book in a public place. Slip a note inside. Wait.
Create a playlist that tells the story of your commute. In order.
Create an object that serves no purpose. Carry it with you for a week.
Scroll through your contacts. Call someone you haven't spoken to in over a year.
Replace your ringtone with a sound you recorded yourself. Keep it for a month.
A public bench. Three hours. No phone. Just be there.
Respond in alexandrines all day. At the supermarket checkout too.
Eyes on all round objects. Live a week with a house that watches you.
Cook with sounds as a score. Record it. It's a composition.
An entire album. In the dark. Lying down. Doing nothing else.
A word drawn at random. Slip it into every conversation of the day. Without anyone noticing.
By hand. In an envelope. With a real stamp. For someone 30 minutes away from you.
An unknown artist. One week. A work in response.
Choose a website. Paint it by hand. Freeze the digital in matter.
Shit in a jar. Label it. Preserve it. It's a work.
Draw the path of an email. Compare your drawing to the actual traceroute.
Manually back up an element from your digital life. Understand what you keep.
Draw an object without looking at your paper. Eyes on the object, hand on the paper.
Introduce a plausible false element into a group. Reveal within twenty-four hours.
Each scar has a story. Draw them. Tell them.
Create a website with a single concept. The URL is the title of the work.
Recover an old PC. Install Linux. Discover that obsolescence is software.
Use an AI for a week. Document everything. The gap is the work.
Create an image pixel by pixel in a spreadsheet. Each cell is a pixel.
Open an old file or system file. Analyze its metadata like an archaeologist.
Write the HTML/CSS of a web page... by hand, on paper.
Use the terminal (cmd/bash) to create a code or data artwork.
Record all the sounds of your day. Create a sonic composition.