Potty Party

As people in the creative industry, we’ve all heard some variation of the following adage: “Limitation breeds creativity.” It’s affirmation that you don’t need to have all the time, money, or resources in the world to make good work; that you can discover unique, unorthodox solutions precisely because you’re constrained.

On the other hand, platitudes like this can be insanely frustrating because they provide no detail or direction. How do you turn limitations into something that propels your work, rather than impedes it? What does creative work produced from limitation actually look like? How can working within limitations make you a better creative overall?

Let’s Take A Bathroom Break

I recently produced a personal project from within the framework of limitation, and I figured I’d share the nitty gritty of my creative process rather than simply add to the chorus of vaguely encouraging aphorisms.

First, some context:

1. This project — which I’ve called Bathroom Breaks — came about during the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic.
2. Photography is one of my main creative pursuits, but the pandemic severely limited subjects and opportunities to shoot. I knew I needed to adjust my creative outlet to reflect this new reality.
3. I had my bathroom renovated recently (the contractors finished tiling my shower right before the stay-at-home orders went into effect).

Those elements coalesced around a feeling I had about quarantine. My life — typically lived out across a multitude of physical locations — was being compressed into a much smaller footprint. The separate elements of my life were overlapping and intruding on each other, which created a real sense of claustrophobia-tinged cabin fever. I wondered what that sense of compression would look like if it continued unchecked.

My newly-finished bathroom ended up being the perfect setting for exploring that thought. For one, it’s small. It’s only 35 square feet, and that’s including various things that take up the space: a tub, toilet, vanity, and miscellaneous fixtures.

It’s also what many of us consider a refuge. Bathrooms are usually a safe bet for sheltering during stormy weather, and they’re also where you go for real privacy, especially if you share a space with a partner or children or pets.

So this became the core of the concept: What does life look like when it all happens in the bathroom?

Settling on this concept created technical and creative limitations. On the technical side, my bathroom doesn’t get much natural light, so I would have to figure out how to artificially light a space where tons of lighting modifiers won’t fit.

On the creative side, I had to figure out how to make the same space feel interesting, over and over again. How could I differentiate images that would look very compositionally similar?

Bathroom Humor

The key to making this concept work was leaning into its inherent silliness. Whereas a lot of the conversation and creative work around the pandemic has been rightfully somber, it didn’t make sense for this absurd concept to take itself seriously. It’s difficult to escape the childish sensibility that bathroom stuff is funny.

That direction shaped the technical solution for lighting my bathroom. I could use a more compact bare bulb strobe (or direct flash) to create a graphic and punchy vibe that highlighted the absurdity, rather than use a large softbox or umbrella to try to create drama or replicate a lifestyle look. The underlying humor also allowed me greater latitude in when it came to props, facial expressions, posing, and the ideas for each image I’d create. The backdrop and composition could be repetitive if the other elements in each image were distinctive.

I did lighting tests and eventually settled on a list of vignettes to shoot. I wanted each vignette to be recognizable while simultaneously speaking to the weirdness, frustration, and futility of this historical moment.

(Not Just) A Vanity Project

So what was the practical benefit of taking a bunch of glorified selfies in my bathroom? In a word: practice.

1. Lighting technique. This was really just a study in how to use direct flash photography in environmental photos. It provided ample opportunity to refine a punchy, modern look that’s en vogue right now.
2. Visual narrative. Each image could stand alone, but I also wanted them to be cohesive as a set. The consistent lighting and setting helped, but I made sure that each vignette stayed true to the weirdness, absurdity, and futility of the historical moment that informed the original concept.
3. Minimal production overhead. The pandemic has made large-scale productions much more complicated (from a health/safety and logistical standpoint), and a large support apparatus isn’t necessarily possible or desirable right now. This project was the definition of minimal: one room, one subject, one camera, one light, one tripod, and one light stand.
4. Creative iteration. Eye candy — pretty products, models, and locations — can make up for a lot of shortcomings. This project was a test of what’s possible without any of that eye candy.

And of course, it was also a way to be creative, to have fun during a really serious time, and to invite others to have a laugh as well.