I realize that I like a challenge — tying myself into knots trying to realize some impossible structure. The act of making art, for me, is designing a puzzle for myself that nobody has ever solved before… and then solving it.
droqen – art as answer-space
I feel the same way, for the most part. The reason I am making something, is because I have an idea of something that intrigues me, and making something about that idea helps me to understand it. I’m not sure that I ever fully solve these puzzles, I am not that good at making (yet?). I am not sure that it is really possible, either. (thankfully)
Without any constraints, what am I solving? I may create something, but I haven’t triumphed over anything. With external constraints, I’m not making art… I’m merely solving an ordinary problem, perhaps in a way that someone else has already solved it before… Hmm.
droqen – art as answer-space
Last time I mentioned ‘The Grasshopper’, and said it was relevant, but a bit of a distraction. And then you provided this segue, that is almost too good…
By way of discussing edge cases, The Grasshopper outlines a definition of games in the broadest sense, capturing the essence of what we like about games, any game. Or at least, it is an identification of something that Bernard Suits came upon which has tremendous overlap with the loose concept of ‘games’ and the ways and reasons that we engage with them, to the point where he claims that it provides “a definition of games, or to be more precise, a definition of ‘game-playing'”. The definition is:
To play a game is to attempt to achieve a specific state of affairs [prelusory goal], using only means permitted by rules [lusory means], where the rules prohibit use of more efficient in favour of less efficient means [constitutive rules], and where the rules are accepted just because they make possible such activity [lusory attitude].
Or, more succinctly:
playing a game is the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles.
With this definition, I can rephrase your quote to say ‘The act of making art, for me, is playing a certain kind of game of my own invention.’ Which is, I think, the understanding I was working towards in my letter ‘Recognizing Play‘.
I think this also clarifies your struggle with ‘external constraints’. I’d say that external constraints are not the problem, we play in external constraints all the time, and find novel ‘solutions’ to them in a way that could be called artful. But it becomes not art, not a game, once it is a necessary problem with necessary constraints. Maybe I should move on before I recount the whole book…
I also wrapped up my time with ‘Rules of Play’ recently. I think I really only liked (and really only read) two sections, the ones that talked about ‘play’ specifically instead of the broad practice of game design: the introduction to the book, and the introduction to the section on play called ‘Defining Play’. It talks about what the word ‘play’ means for us, in its various forms and uses. I particularly liked considering the uses ‘the loose space between gears or cogs: the play of a car’s steering wheel’ and ‘activating a process: putting something into play‘. They feel like uses I would overlook when thinking about play from games first, but they provide an interesting connection to the same ideas.
It defines play as ‘free movement within a more rigid structure’ (as Ezra mentioned in a comment on Recognizing Play – thanks again for the recommendation!). Not sure where I’m going with this, but I like thinking about play and games in these ways.
Would it be foolish of me to say now — after over a year of letterclubs! — that the purpose of exploring and discussing the definition of haiku games is to present ourselves with a beautifully impossible riddle to solve, whose answer-space we find fascinating, and whose (eventual) answer’s flaws we might pick apart for spare parts before building our next puzzle?
droqen – art as answer-space
This doesn’t sound foolish. Even as we were discussing how we would start the letterclub, I remember talking about ‘haiku games’ as a fence we were erecting in the forest of games and game design, as a designated space to wander in. A more rigid structure to move freely in, to play in.
It was a space I felt a deep connection to, but felt unable to really understand my connection to it. I wanted to make things in that space, to better understand it, but didn’t even know where to get started. Haiku games was a way to put this connection under a microscope, study it at a small scale.
I still feel connected to and interested in that space, but as we’ve talked about it more and more over the past year, I think I’ve come to realize that what I really liked about that space was present in all games spaces, I just wasn’t looking at them the right way. I’ve been working on games more than ever, recently, but still not so much in haiku games as I envision them. Gamefeel is still top of mind, the efficiency of our cybernetic circuit with the video game system. Best facilitating the precise modes of play that I am interested in exploring. But real-life ‘meaning play’ has taken a back seat for now, as far as my practice-play goes. They will always be a big part of my theory-play.
I’ve been working on my sokoban implementation, analyzing the ways that I solve sokoban-like puzzles, designing an interface which optimizes the play that goes on during that logical process. The routing I do through the discrete state-space of these dynamic gridded arenas. The logical climbing I do through the maze of options available to me at every turn. Making it more direct, more physical.
I’ve been working on a time-stepped platformer, realizing the rush of platforming inside that discrete state-space of sokoban-likes. Highlighting, enabling, maximizing that same routing play that goes on in these systems. Setting aside the logical gymnastics in favor of pure play. Taking inspiration from [fr0g] clan official server 24/7 zk map (for stranger), discone, ynglet, and super mario – I want to make a real playground for this mode of play, this particular type of free movement in a rigid structure. It’s also a fascinating, voluntary restriction on making a game – fascinating to me because it allows me to explore this space, this problem.
Puzzles provide a promise to the player that something interesting and satisfying will come from playing in this space. But sometimes that promise can be too much of a restriction on expression, too much of a motivational hand-holding. After spending so long feeling like I needed that promise to play, I am excited to explore the other side of this coin. To play where I want to, because I trust myself enough to enjoy my time there.
(But puzzles are still great – little magic tricks in game form)
I thought I might end this letter with a brief discussion of ‘The Tower‘ by tally and pancelor. Or maybe its a review. It will contain spoilers, beware. I think it’s a great example of a Haiku Game.
In it you climb a narrow tower filled with people to talk to and simple things to see. Each floor is numbered, and to reach the stairs to the next floor you must open a door. Doing so rolls a d100, and if you roll less than the current floor number, the stairs up turn into stairs down. And that’s it. What’s at the top?
It’s a really beautiful presentation of this tiny system, placed in a very human context. At the start it is easy to pass the door roll. The people you meet are enjoying their time in the tower. You see some cats. But the higher you go, to more frequently you get turned back down. Progress slows, and you start to get a better understanding of how the tower works, the nature of randomness. Going down is just as hard as going up: if you roll more than the current floor, the stairs down are closed off. Not a problem when you are climbing, but it means reaching the bottom again is just as hard as reaching the top. Is there a top? The people start to reveal more of their everyday concerns and worries. Some accept their fate in the tower. Others struggle. I start thinking about my own concerns, the nature of randomness in my life, the ebbs and flows of my progress towards goals that matter to me, my own oscillating complacency with this reality.
The game is direct about its interactive play, too. Each floor is small, allowing you to quickly get to the next door if you want to. The simply graphics leave a lot to the imagination. There is no time pressure or point system pushing you to make any decisions. It is your call to talk to people or not. Talking to people helps you connect this microcosm to their own implied lives, and your own life as the player.
And that’s it. The rest of the experience is up to you. The probability of the tower funnels you to the 50th floor, where the many people that have ended up there have turned it into a party. It seems like as good a place as any to stop playing, accepting your fate. Escaping is practically impossible without cheating. You can play to see how far you can go, stress-testing your own determination and will-power. You can cheat to see what is on the higher floors. Or you can simply enjoy the time you had, and your lingering appreciation of this window into nature.