On Constraints and Creativity

[JimKasson]

Yesterday I wrote about boundary conditions and their role in photography. Some readers misunderstood my point. Let me be clear. I am not arguing that constraints are bad. Quite the opposite. I believe they are essential. What I was trying to say is that photographers benefit by being deliberate about which constraints they accept, which ones they challenge, and which ones they set aside.

In mathematics and engineering, boundary conditions give shape to problems and make them solvable. If someone hands me the heat equation and asks for a solution, my first question is, “What are the boundary conditions?” Without them, there is no meaningful answer. They define the problem.

Photography is no different. Constraints give form to our efforts. They define the box we are working in. Sometimes we inherit those boxes from the world around us. Sometimes we build them ourselves. Either way, they can be the source of real creative energy.

When I was working as a design engineer, I often found that the most valuable breakthroughs came not when everything was going smoothly, but when I was painted (or painted myself) into a corner. That corner, that set of constraints, forced new ways of thinking. It shaped the solution. The discomfort became the catalyst.

The same thing happens in my photography. If I grab a camera and just wander, hoping for inspiration to strike, I usually make forgettable images. But when I commit to a project, a series, or an idea, and I define the boundaries for myself, something changes. The constraints focus my attention. They give me purpose. They help me dig deeper.

Working in a series means choosing a subject, a style, a palette, or a process, and seeing how much I can explore within that limited space. It means learning from repetition. Over time, with patience and persistence, something begins to unfold. The work gains coherence. Sometimes it surprises me.

None of this means constraints are inherently good. It means they are powerful. They are tools. They are not to be blindly accepted or rejected. The creative act lies in choosing them, testing them, reshaping them, and using them to build something meaningful.

So, the point is not to break free of all constraints. The point is to be conscious of them. To understand their role. To use them with intent. That is where the magic lives.

 

[Rob de Loe]

This is the follow-up I was waiting for.

In the absence of project-driven constraints, I don't feel any pressure or incentive to try again because the first attempt isn't good enough. There's no incentive to try a different approach, to get up earlier for better light, or to walk a bit farther even though I'm exhausted.

I work in projects because having a project creates the constraints I need. Projects motivate me and get me out the door.

Equipment-related constraints play a different role. The equipment I have at hand defines the shooting envelope (which is another way of thinking about boundary conditions I suppose).

If the project-driven constraints are strategy, then the equipment-related constraints are tactics.

Creativity benefits from both kinds of constraints, I think, because the constraints generate problem-solving behaviours, and because they can result in "failures" that are actually opportunities.

 

[AshleyMC]

Another insightful post.

Like the one preceeding it, I appreciate it greatly.

Speaking of series, I hope to read more from you along this line of thought.

I intentionally revisit a scene or a subject multiple times, in different light and weather conditions, at different distances, from different angles, looking at it with new perspective every time.

Also, I make multiple exposures for any intended capture. I study the exposures when I get home, and a single exposure cannot help me with such process that leads to a satisfactory selection. (This deliberate practice is far from the so-called “run-and-gun” approach.)

 

[JimKasson]

I mentioned magic in the original post; while that might sound like a poetic exaggeration, I think it's an good word for the experience. Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

The groundwork is important. You do the thinking, the research, the sketches, the failures. You explore the problem space. But the final piece, the flash of connection, rarely shows up on demand. It arrives when the conscious effort quiets down and the subconscious takes the reins. That moment feels unearned and unexpected, even though it depends on everything that came before it.

In photography, this often plays out across a series. You spend months inside a set of constraints (location, lighting, subject, technique), and nothing quite clicks. Then one day, without ceremony, you start seeing things differently. Patterns emerge. Relationships cohere. You find the thread, and start pulling. That’s the kind of magic I’m talking about.

It isn’t supernatural, but it’s not fully logical either. It’s the payoff that comes from letting your mind work in the background, from living with the problem long enough that the solution can find you.

--
https://blog.kasson.com

 

[DavidMillier]

I mentioned magic in the original post; while that might sound like a poetic exaggeration, I think it's an good word for the experience. Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

The groundwork is important. You do the thinking, the research, the sketches, the failures. You explore the problem space. But the final piece, the flash of connection, rarely shows up on demand. It arrives when the conscious effort quiets down and the subconscious takes the reins. That moment feels unearned and unexpected, even though it depends on everything that came before it.

In photography, this often plays out across a series. You spend months inside a set of constraints (location, lighting, subject, technique), and nothing quite clicks. Then one day, without ceremony, you start seeing things differently. Patterns emerge. Relationships cohere. You find the thread, and start pulling. That’s the kind of magic I’m talking about.

It isn’t supernatural, but it’s not fully logical either. It’s the payoff that comes from letting your mind work in the background, from living with the problem long enough that the solution can find you.

The ancients didn't consider creativity something that individuals invented, rather creative inspiration was handed to you by the Muses, gifts from the gods.

I guess it can feel like that, sometimes, when an idea seemingly pops out of nowhere.

Of course, what is going on is what nearly always goes on with thinking: your subconscious does all the heavy lifting, then hands it to your conscious mind as a present. Which is why intensive training of the subconscious can be so productive.

--
2024: Awarded Royal Photographic Society LRPS Distinction
Photo of the day: https://www.whisperingcat.co.uk/wp/photo-of-the-day-2025/
Website: https://www.whisperingcat.co.uk/wp/
DPReview gallery: https://www.dpreview.com/galleries/0286305481
Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/davidmillier/ (very old!)

 

[JimKasson]

As I was driving a while back, Molly Tuttle’s Good Enough, a plea to avoid perfectionism, came on the radio. It got me thinking about art and the often misplaced pursuit of perfection. As a design engineer, I found the concept of “good enough” to be ever-present. The constraints of any project meant the product could never be perfect in every respect. Good engineering is the art of balancing tradeoffs, making judicious choices among imperfect alternatives.

Is making art any different? Yes and no. If you are not trying to feed your family with it, then in theory, you can take all the time you want. But every hour spent perfecting one piece is time not spent exploring new ideas, finding new projects, or getting your work seen. The opportunity cost is real.

And then there is the question of whether more time actually improves a piece. At first, it often does. But there comes a point where continued polishing dulls the edge. The initial clarity of purpose can fade, the image's intent may get confused, and it can start to feel overworked. (As an aside: if you can see the editing in a finished photograph, something is probably wrong.)

Consider what happened when desktop word processing became widespread. It became so easy to make changes that people revised endlessly, tweaking things past the point of value. Programs like Photoshop and Lightroom invite the same temptation. Without discipline, a piece risks becoming perpetually unfinished, constantly revised, never completed, and never shared.

This is not an argument for sloppiness. By all means, refine your work. Re-shoot if you can make it stronger. But pause often to ask: is it actually getting better? Try hanging it on your wall for a while. See it every day. If it still bothers you after a week, fix it. If not, maybe it is time to move on.

Sometimes, “good enough” is more than good enough. It is what lets the work breathe, and the artist grow.

 

[tex]

I mentioned magic in the original post; while that might sound like a poetic exaggeration, I think it's an good word for the experience. Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

The groundwork is important. You do the thinking, the research, the sketches, the failures. You explore the problem space. But the final piece, the flash of connection, rarely shows up on demand. It arrives when the conscious effort quiets down and the subconscious takes the reins. That moment feels unearned and unexpected, even though it depends on everything that came before it.

Absolutely true. One needs to be open to the uncanny. You'll find examples of this throughout the arts---but that's not the only place. In Marie-Louise von Franz's "Number and Time" (she was Jung's assistant and collaborator) she recounts the story of one of the early leading lights of quantum physics having a major epiphany while on the street and seeing sequenced traffic lights turning.

In photography, this often plays out across a series. You spend months inside a set of constraints (location, lighting, subject, technique), and nothing quite clicks. Then one day, without ceremony, you start seeing things differently. Patterns emerge. Relationships cohere. You find the thread, and start pulling. That’s the kind of magic I’m talking about.

One has to get to the point where the work leads you, not the other way round. The latter is going to lead to work that either seems forced or awkward, or just not so interesting. It seems to me that the artist's principal job is less as a "creator" and more as a translator, from the unseen to the seen. The artist is in this way the "proto viewer", everyone else in line after her.

It isn’t supernatural, but it’s not fully logical either. It’s the payoff that comes from letting your mind work in the background, from living with the problem long enough that the solution can find you.

Well, that depends I guess on the constraints one puts on the term "supernatural", and I guess "logical" as well. I would say that our sense of the natural and logical are subject to evolving over time. I've always felt that the "solutions" that come about in art seem entirely logical when you look at them backwards in time; they don't seem that way looking forwards---they can look bizarre. The sleight of hand in magic is not unrelated I don't think.

 

[UsherFellig]

I always heard the saying as, "Perfection is the enemy of the good." But I see online that "Perfection is the enemy of progress" is attributed to Winston Churchill.

Regardless of whether it is working in series or another parameter, even a favored theme or favored subject category, operating in a box with four corners can be liberating. Conversely, some flourish having no box. Photography does have its Ornette Colemans and Jimi Hendrixes. Though there is the saying that you need to know the rules before you break the rules. Personally I do better in a box even if I'm kicking at the sides. But enjoy checking out what others do who chewed their way out of the box and are tearing it up outside, too.

 

[GonnaSnap]

Since acquiring my Fuji GFX gear, I've found that I shoot a lot more like I did when I shot transparencies (slide film). I invest more time into conceiving the shot, waiting for the right lighting and moment, and then having fun with it. I didn't shoot this way with my Nikon D850. I never shot fast action or high FPS, so I don't know what it is about the GFX setup that causes me to pause and consider my shots more. Perhaps it's simply the notion of holding a "medium format" equipment in my hand that makes me think differently.

Just a little different take on the topic. Constraints imposed by my camera system—whether perceived or real—have changed the way that I shoot for the better.

 

[SeeingSomeThingsMissingMany]

Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

Because it did.

Same similar happened to Issac Newton only after he took extended break from his strenuous studies work.

Newton's accredited third law of motion "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction" is a limited understanding by Newton of a thing that's been known for thousands of years prior for instance in Hinduism : the Universe is in Dynamic Balance.

 

[JimKasson]

Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

Because it did.

Same similar happened to Issac Newton only after he took extended break from his strenuous studies work.

Newton's accredited third law of motion "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction" is a limited understanding by Newton of a thing that's been known for thousands of years prior for instance in Hinduism : the Universe is in Dynamic Balance.

Newton's third law is quantitative.

 

[Truman Prevatt]

As I was driving a while back, Molly Tuttle’s Good Enough, a plea to avoid perfectionism, came on the radio. It got me thinking about art and the often misplaced pursuit of perfection. As a design engineer, I found the concept of “good enough” to be ever-present. The constraints of any project meant the product could never be perfect in every respect. Good engineering is the art of balancing tradeoffs, making judicious choices among imperfect alternatives.

Is making art any different? Yes and no. If you are not trying to feed your family with it, then in theory, you can take all the time you want. But every hour spent perfecting one piece is time not spent exploring new ideas, finding new projects, or getting your work seen. The opportunity cost is real.

And then there is the question of whether more time actually improves a piece. At first, it often does. But there comes a point where continued polishing dulls the edge. The initial clarity of purpose can fade, the image's intent may get confused, and it can start to feel overworked. (As an aside: if you can see the editing in a finished photograph, something is probably wrong.)

Consider what happened when desktop word processing became widespread. It became so easy to make changes that people revised endlessly, tweaking things past the point of value. Programs like Photoshop and Lightroom invite the same temptation. Without discipline, a piece risks becoming perpetually unfinished, constantly revised, never completed, and never shared.

This is not an argument for sloppiness. By all means, refine your work. Re-shoot if you can make it stronger. But pause often to ask: is it actually getting better? Try hanging it on your wall for a while. See it every day. If it still bothers you after a week, fix it. If not, maybe it is time to move on.

Sometimes, “good enough” is more than good enough. It is what lets the work breathe, and the artist grow.

Like any generalization - this one also suffers from being too generalized. Creativity is as individual as those that are involved in the process. I have often awaken in the middle of the night after obsessing over working out a detail in a proof or the calculation of a curvature form, or estimate for growth conditions of the solution of an equation. I awaken - with an ah- ha moment, get up jot down some notes to myself feeling satisfied. In the morning I jump out of bed running to my desk to wrap meat around my revelation - only to find it's plain wrong and I would have been better off getting more sleep.

What works is time in the library, time talking with colleagues - sciences in general and mathematics in specific is better done as a communal process. There the time beating my head against the slate board until the fog starts to lift and understanding opens my eyes to deeper truths. The creative process is about putting in the time and doing the work. It is about doing the work to gain understanding of the underlying principles of the problem and then how to bring something new to in the solution of the problem. That can take days, weeks or even a lifetime. Fermat's Last Theorem took over 350 years to prove and numerous failures along the way. However, in the process - the efforts to solve it lead to great advances in many areas of mathematics which was probably more important the proving Fermat's Last Theorem - although Andrew Wiles received significant prize money for this solution and was Knighted by the Queen and won the Abel Prize (the Nobel Prize for Mathematics) from the Nobel Commission - his techniques and methods were more important in the understanding of modular elliptic curves than Fermat's conjecture. That is he proved something much more general of which Fermat's Last Theorem was a simple corollary.

In art that process seems to also be common. Ansel Adams viewed his negatives as nothing more than the starting point. "the negative is the score, the final print is the performance of the score." Just as Miles Davis reinterpreted the famous Thelonious Monk's composition "Round About Midnight." in multiple different ways, each interpretation was unique. Adams printed over 1300 copies of Moonrise. Each run of prints was a different interpretation that sliver of space and time. W. Eugene Smith always was trying to "get it right." He was his own biggest critic.

Some mathematicians, e.g., Alexander Grothendieck are theory builders. He spend their life building a monolithic theory expanding algebraic geometry to rings and merging algebraic geometry with number theory. He introduced the concept of the scheme and used new methods arising in homological algebra and sheaf theory to bright the machinery of algebraic geometry as powerful tools in number theory. On the other hand the most prolific mathematician in history by his impact was the opposite category - a problem solver, Paul Edros. If a problem was open and said it could not be solved - Erdos would work on it.

He published over 1500 papers during his lifetime in multiple different disciplines - each one addressing previously open problems. He relished the challenge of solving a problem no one else could. He often said, "Problems worthy of attack prove their worth by fighting back." Erdos also loved to work with other mathematicians so much so that today in mathematics there is something call the Erdos number that will track back a linage to writing a joint paper with Erdos. Write a joint paper with Erdos you have an Erdos number of zero. Write a joint paper with someone with an Erdos number n, your Erdos number is n+1. Mine is 2. Both the style of Grothendieck and Erdos are unique and equally valid and equally important in mathematics. Most mathematicians fall somewhere on the continuum between the two. But each one is more or less unique on how they approach wrestling an open problem to the ground and defeating it.

W. Eugene Smith was known to be project driven. He was the great story teller as the founding father of the photo essay. He would immerse himself in a project often to the determent of his own health and well being and obsess until he was satisfied. His Jazz Loft and Minamata being perfect examples.

I think the difference between engineers and mathematicians (with physicists lying somewhere between), engineers get done. At that point good enough is good enough. When the spec is satisfied and the design is signed off, the engineer is finished. When the mathematician proves a theorem or solves a problem, that opens up more generations and spawns more problems to be addressed. The physicists finds as instrumentation becomes better - new questions arise that need addressed. Erdos often said a mathematical is a man with an infinite job ahead of him.

I expect every artist has his/her own unique way of approaching their art. The important thing is how well it works for them.

 

[SeeingSomeThingsMissingMany]

Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

Because it did.

Same similar happened to Issac Newton only after he took extended break from his strenuous studies work.

Newton's accredited third law of motion "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction" is a limited understanding by Newton of a thing that's been known for thousands of years prior for instance in Hinduism : the Universe is in Dynamic Balance.

Newton's third law is quantitative.

So is the Universe being in Dynamic Balance.

To able to grasp this requires a form of knowledge quite beyond.

 

[JimKasson]

As I was driving a while back, Molly Tuttle’s Good Enough, a plea to avoid perfectionism, came on the radio. It got me thinking about art and the often misplaced pursuit of perfection. As a design engineer, I found the concept of “good enough” to be ever-present. The constraints of any project meant the product could never be perfect in every respect. Good engineering is the art of balancing tradeoffs, making judicious choices among imperfect alternatives.

Is making art any different? Yes and no. If you are not trying to feed your family with it, then in theory, you can take all the time you want. But every hour spent perfecting one piece is time not spent exploring new ideas, finding new projects, or getting your work seen. The opportunity cost is real.

And then there is the question of whether more time actually improves a piece. At first, it often does. But there comes a point where continued polishing dulls the edge. The initial clarity of purpose can fade, the image's intent may get confused, and it can start to feel overworked. (As an aside: if you can see the editing in a finished photograph, something is probably wrong.)

Consider what happened when desktop word processing became widespread. It became so easy to make changes that people revised endlessly, tweaking things past the point of value. Programs like Photoshop and Lightroom invite the same temptation. Without discipline, a piece risks becoming perpetually unfinished, constantly revised, never completed, and never shared.

This is not an argument for sloppiness. By all means, refine your work. Re-shoot if you can make it stronger. But pause often to ask: is it actually getting better? Try hanging it on your wall for a while. See it every day. If it still bothers you after a week, fix it. If not, maybe it is time to move on.

Sometimes, “good enough” is more than good enough. It is what lets the work breathe, and the artist grow.

Thanks for the excellent thoughts. I've made a few comments.

Like any generalization - this one also suffers from being too generalized.

Including that one, too?

Creativity is as individual as those that are involved in the process. I have often awaken in the middle of the night after obsessing over working out a detail in a proof or the calculation of a curvature form, or estimate for growth conditions of the solution of an equation. I awaken - with an ah- ha moment, get up jot down some notes to myself feeling satisfied. In the morning I jump out of bed running to my desk to wrap meat around my revelation - only to find it's plain wrong and I would have been better off getting more sleep.

That used to happen to me. Now when I wake up with an idea, it's almost always a good one.

What works is time in the library, time talking with colleagues - sciences in general and mathematics in specific is better done as a communal process. There the time beating my head against the slate board until the fog starts to lift and understanding opens my eyes to deeper truths. The creative process is about putting in the time and doing the work. It is about doing the work to gain understanding of the underlying principles of the problem and then how to bring something new to in the solution of the problem. That can take days, weeks or even a lifetime.

I don't disagree with that. It's what's necessary to get to the point when you hove those bolt from the blue inspirations.

Fermat's Last Theorem took over 350 years to prove and numerous failures along the way. However, in the process - the efforts to solve it lead to great advances in many areas of mathematics which was probably more important the proving Fermat's Last Theorem - although Andrew Wiles received significant prize money for this solution and was Knighted by the Queen and won the Abel Prize (the Nobel Prize for Mathematics) from the Nobel Commission - his techniques and methods were more important in the understanding of modular elliptic curves than Fermat's conjecture. That is he proved something much more general of which Fermat's Last Theorem was a simple corollary.

In art that process seems to also be common. Ansel Adams viewed his negatives as nothing more than the starting point. "the negative is the score, the final print is the performance of the score." Just as Miles Davis reinterpreted the famous Thelonious Monk's composition "Round About Midnight." in multiple different ways, each interpretation was unique. Adams printed over 1300 copies of Moonrise. Each run of prints was a different interpretation that sliver of space and time. W. Eugene Smith always was trying to "get it right." He was his own biggest critic.

When someone orders a print from me, I always look hard to see if I can make it better before I hit Pretzel-P. So I'm with you there.

Some mathematicians, e.g., Alexander Grothendieck are theory builders. He spend their life building a monolithic theory expanding algebraic geometry to rings and merging algebraic geometry with number theory. He introduced the concept of the scheme and used new methods arising in homological algebra and sheaf theory to bright the machinery of algebraic geometry as powerful tools in number theory. On the other hand the most prolific mathematician in history by his impact was the opposite category - a problem solver, Paul Edros. If a problem was open and said it could not be solved - Erdos would work on it.

He published over 1500 papers during his lifetime in multiple different disciplines - each one addressing previously open problems. He relished the challenge of solving a problem no one else could. He often said, "Problems worthy of attack prove their worth by fighting back." Erdos also loved to work with other mathematicians so much so that today in mathematics there is something call the Erdos number that will track back a linage to writing a joint paper with Erdos. Write a joint paper with Erdos you have an Erdos number of zero. Write a joint paper with someone with an Erdos number n, your Erdos number is n+1. Mine is 2. Both the style of Grothendieck and Erdos are unique and equally valid and equally important in mathematics. Most mathematicians fall somewhere on the continuum between the two. But each one is more or less unique on how they approach wrestling an open problem to the ground and defeating it.

W. Eugene Smith was known to be project driven. He was the great story teller as the founding father of the photo essay. He would immerse himself in a project often to the determent of his own health and well being and obsess until he was satisfied. His Jazz Loft and Minamata being perfect examples.

I think the difference between engineers and mathematicians (with physicists lying somewhere between), engineers get done. At that point good enough is good enough. When the spec is satisfied and the design is signed off, the engineer is finished.

Not quite. Field experience and manufacturing issues sometimes send you back to the drawing board, sometimes in a panic.

When the mathematician proves a theorem or solves a problem, that opens up more generations and spawns more problems to be addressed. The physicists finds as instrumentation becomes better - new questions arise that need addressed. Erdos often said a mathematical is a man with an infinite job ahead of him.

I expect every artist has his/her own unique way of approaching their art. The important thing is how well it works for them.

Well said.

 

[JimKasson]

Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

Because it did.

Same similar happened to Issac Newton only after he took extended break from his strenuous studies work.

Newton's accredited third law of motion "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction" is a limited understanding by Newton of a thing that's been known for thousands of years prior for instance in Hinduism : the Universe is in Dynamic Balance.

Newton's third law is quantitative.

So is the Universe being in Dynamic Balance.

Please explain the quantitative aspects of that broad phrase.

To able to grasp this requires a form of knowledge quite beyond.

Beyond what?

 

[SeeingSomeThingsMissingMany]

Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

Because it did.

Same similar happened to Issac Newton only after he took extended break from his strenuous studies work.

Newton's accredited third law of motion "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction" is a limited understanding by Newton of a thing that's been known for thousands of years prior for instance in Hinduism : the Universe is in Dynamic Balance.

Newton's third law is quantitative.

So is the Universe being in Dynamic Balance.

Please explain the quantitative aspects of that broad phrase.

To able to grasp this requires a form of knowledge quite beyond.

Beyond what?

I would love to explain it to you Jim.

What I can say it takes in most cases decades of dedication in a specific learning field .... as with various learning fields on earth. Thereafter were we selfless sincere the inner workings of the universe reveals itself unto us. This inner working is mathematical is scientific as well as beyond these.

--
Photography after all is interplay of light alongside perspective.

 

[JimKasson]

Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

Because it did.

Same similar happened to Issac Newton only after he took extended break from his strenuous studies work.

Newton's accredited third law of motion "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction" is a limited understanding by Newton of a thing that's been known for thousands of years prior for instance in Hinduism : the Universe is in Dynamic Balance.

Newton's third law is quantitative.

So is the Universe being in Dynamic Balance.

Please explain the quantitative aspects of that broad phrase.

To able to grasp this requires a form of knowledge quite beyond.

Beyond what?

I would love to explain it to you Jim.

Please do. Show me how what you are saying translates into numbers.

What I can say it takes in most cases decades of dedication in a specific learning field .... as with various learning fields on earth.

Sure, it's like peeling an onion. But you have to start somewhere.

Thereafter were we selfless sincere the inner workings of the universe reveals itself unto us. This inner working is mathematical is scientific as well as beyond these.

 

[DavidMillier]

Answers don't usually arrive while I'm staring at a whiteboard or framing up a shot. They come while I'm walking the dog. Or driving. Or, quite often, at 3:00 a.m. when I sit bolt upright with a half-formed idea that feels like it came from somewhere else entirely.

Because it did.

Same similar happened to Issac Newton only after he took extended break from his strenuous studies work.

Newton's accredited third law of motion "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction" is a limited understanding by Newton of a thing that's been known for thousands of years prior for instance in Hinduism : the Universe is in Dynamic Balance.

Newton's third law is quantitative.

So is the Universe being in Dynamic Balance.

Please explain the quantitative aspects of that broad phrase.

To able to grasp this requires a form of knowledge quite beyond.

Beyond what?

I would love to explain it to you Jim.

What I can say it takes in most cases decades of dedication in a specific learning field .... as with various learning fields on earth. Thereafter were we selfless sincere the inner workings of the universe reveals itself unto us. This inner working is mathematical is scientific as well as beyond these.

I'm not entirely immune to a bit of mysticism but sometimes it actually helps to explain what you mean rather than just waffling sagely...

 

[dbateman]

This is the exact point I was trying to make in my response to your other post.

But this is more detailed and complete. Too bad it wasn't the second post after the start of that thread.

 

[JimKasson]

This is the exact point I was trying to make in my response to your other post.

When you said this?

Outstanding post.

I just wanted to add if you're new to a style, genre or photography in general, than constraints and boundaries are good to hold your variation on your variables. To allow things to be easier to comprehend and visualize.

Once you're established, than you must remember that the variables are variable and not constants and should be explored.

That's actually a different point than I'm making in this thread, although I don't disagree. Constraints are valuable to photographers at all levels.

But this is more detailed and complete. Too bad it wasn't the second post after the start of that thread.

Why is it too bad? The two posts are not at all in disagreement.