I think back on my naive past self from just a few months ago, who bemoaned having no time to commit to the half-dozen projects strewn about his workshop; after accounting for the daily commute, work day, meal prep, and compulsory socializing, there seemed hardly a daily half-hour to spend working on anything creative. I wish he knew what I know now: that working from home is perhaps even harder. Despite regaining the time previously spent commuting and having a flexible schedule, there’s something creating a mental block to productivity: clutter. Every project is out on the work surface, begging for attention and exacerbating an ongoing case of option paralysis. A simple technique exists to combat clutter: knolling. Craftspeople and creatives have used this method for decades, probably long before it obtained its popular moniker and was coopted by lifehackers worldwide (including this writer). The artist Tom Sachs, who named the technique and popularized its usage in his studio manual Ten Bullets, was introduced the idea by Andrew Kromelow, a custodian at Frank Gehry’s furniture studio, where Sachs worked at the time. During his shift, Kromelow would arrange his tools in a sharply-geometric layout reminiscent of the angular modernist furniture that was being fabricated for the Knoll company. Sachs later incorporated the idea in his own studio, coining the maxim “Always Be Knolling” as guidance for his studio assistants. Sachs’ rules for knolling are as follows:
A cursory internet search yields color-coordinated photos of “knolled” objects with no relation to one another: tastefully-beige steaming-coffee-and-notebook photos from social media, and photos of common machines and vehicles laid out in a geometric exploded view. Artfully arranging objects, whether adhering strictly to Sachs’ outline or not, can be a creative act in itself. I am, however, interested in its use as an act not done in service of a goal or glory, but one done as meditation, to clear a path for other creative acts. The technique is useful from a practical standpoint and, when employed strictly, certainly has the potential to introduce structure into a dismantled work-from-home life. For this reason, it’s exactly the place I needed to start. After a quick gathering-up of unused items left out days ago — scraps of fabric, books, charging cables — I set about straightening the items I knew would be needed soon. The pen and pencil lined up pleasingly with my notebook; the scissors created a void in the grid filled perfectly by a tape measure; an old book of electronics project ideas sat close-at-hand, while a tiny bluetooth speaker and phone occupied the furthest position from my chair. Beyond the pragmatic tools, I placed nearby some personal items to spark joy and inspiration: a birthday card from my grandparents (with the annual two-dollar bill they sent) and a miniature architect’s pocket scale acquired on a tour of the Frank Lloyd Wright Studio in Chicago. The whole affair took no more than ten minutes, and don’t all these items look sharp, waiting quietly at attention to be deployed? More than this, there seems to be an energy in my workspace now, which before was stifled by the meaningless clutter. I think there truly is something to this process of knolling; one creative act, no matter how trivial, begets another, and another. In this time of stay-at-home orders, I find it crucial to create and maintain a sense of purpose and progress, and a little physical and mental housekeeping goes a long way towards maintaining that momentum.
That pocket scale on my desk is inscribed with a quote: “Architecture is the frame of life.” Whatever your methodology, may you develop a frame for your own practice, and do good work. - Chad Brown, Center for Creativity Assistant. You can find Chad's work on Instagram here.
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