by A month ago, I wrote about creativity (rather, my lack thereof). My wordsmith fire was smoldering and desperately needed kindling. As I scrolled through Instagram, my friend’s daily artwork caught my attention. Fascinated, I found those images pulling me in an unexpected direction.
Her drawings reignited my passion for writing.
The 100 Day Project
Leigh Ann’s daily drawings were part of an online global experience called “The 100 Day Project.” Creatives, put a pin in your spring 2020 calendar (if you’re a procrastinator and commitment-averse rebel like me, start anytime). The basic idea is to practice some type of “design operation” by repeating and documenting the same format daily for 100 days. In the end, you’ll have a connected, cohesive whole made up of 100 different parts.
The idea originated with Michael Bierut, who used the “100 Day Workshop” format with his Yale School of Art graduate students. In “Five Years of 100 Days,” Bierut writes
The only way to experience this kind of discipline is to subject yourself to it. Every student who has taken this project had a moment where the work turned into a mind-numbing grind. And trust me: it won’t be the first time this happens. The trick is to press on. For each new day (whether it’s Day 28, Day 61, even Day 100) brings with it the hope of inspiration
Michael Bierut
In 2013, Elle Luna, an artist and author, turned the concept behind Bierut’s workshop into a free world-wide collective activity on Instagram. If you follow #the100dayproject, you’ll discover all sorts of amazing creators and inspiring projects. There’s also a wonderfully supportive community.
So what does a word person do with a visual platform?
Introducing Blackout Poetry
long strides / forward momentum / “Don’t wait for me.” / No time to slow down / I gasp for breath / so fast 
Hell, it’s not like / I hurried just to get out / the opposite / It wasn’t the fastest route but I liked the view 
inner, outer / choice, rule / ground, hemisphere / vantage point, blind spot / balance and damage / connection 
look past the worst / leave hate alone / and show another right / another best 
your hand / in my hands / perfectly locked / each joined together / both sealed / in explosive compression 
The damage was enough / the fix identifiable / I had to leave / cleared of everything but options / I took a roundabout path resembling a straight line 
outside would be blinding if you only have been exposed to years behind a door
Poetry is a lot like my friend’s drawings: spare. Colorful without a large spectrum of hues. Constricted in scope but expansive in thought. Seemingly simple in execution yet often complex in content.
Visual.
Poetry was my first love, and practicing a particular short form seemed like just the thing for The 100 Day Project. But which form to pick? Rhyme or not? Metered or free? Prescriptive lines and stanzas? I did a little research to find what fit me best:
- Everybody knows haiku (hello, English class!) but I’ve never been a huge fan.
- “Sevenling” is a poem of seven lines; the first three are connected or contrasting statements and lists; the next three follow the same format but aren’t necessarily related to the first three; and a final line summaries, juxtaposes, or gives a punchline. Interesting but not likely sustainable over 100 days.
- Butterfly cinquain intrigued but lines of 2-3-6-8-2-8-6-4-2 syllabic construction felt as constricting as haiku. Plus, it’s longer.
- And while I adore free verse, a byte (short poem of 140 characters or less) is essentially Twitter–and I already do that!
- A blackout poem, however, felt just right.
The concept is simple: take a page of existing printed text and select words to convey a new meaning. Whatever words remain are then obscured or minimized in some way. You can cover (“blackout”) or leave them bare, opting to highlight your chosen text in some other way.
For the past 25 days, I’ve been eagerly crafting blackout poems. For text, I chose Andy Weir’s novel, Artemis, a hardback book with good paper. Each day, I tear out a random page and go on a poem hunt.
Using pencil and eraser, I play with word selection and meaning until I’m satisfied with the resulting poem. Out come the Sharpie pens and–depending on my mood and the poem’s content–other tools: ruler, stencil, White-Out, washi tape, scissors, Post-Its, colored pencils, and more.
Some days, creating takes a while; other days, poems appear quickly. The graphic side is closely linked to the poem. While I work, time vanishes.
Each finished poem is given a sequential number, appropriate title, and dedicated page in large spiral drawing notebook. When I’ve reached my last day, I’ll have created a 100-page book of graphic poems. And that has me very excited.
What I’ve Learned So Far
- Limited, specific vocabulary leads to simple poems. Choosing a novel set on the moon whose narrator and main character is a welder with a basic vocabulary wasn’t the wisest move.
- I don’t have any problem creating daily. Any issue seems to be with form or platform, not writerly dedication.
- For some reason, I prefer making poetry while seated on the floor. My cat likes this, too, and snuggles up with me while I work.
- Who knew how much pleasure I’d get from looking through my growing book of poems?
- Instagram’s #blackoutpoetry community is very supportive. I’ve appreciated their comments, likes, and encouragement.
- Showcasing my poems means my website needs updating.
- Perhaps the most surprising discovery is how much people seem to enjoy talking about these poems with me.
Links to Learn More
“What Do You Do When the Creative Well Runs Dry?”
“Five Years of 100 Days” by Micheal Bierut
Find Your Favorite Poetry Form
Follow me on Instagram to see my latest blackout poem
Wow Leah! I LOVE your creative work! What a cool idea. Kudos for taking on this project and thanks for sharing it. I’m going to have to give it a try.
Watch your inbox, Francine—I’m hosting a “Walk and Poem” this week. Thanks for reading.