Seriously Wanting to Fool Around and Play

If asked whether creativity is directed toward oneself or others, I’d almost want to answer, “Both.” If we reframe the question to “What provides creativity to oneself or others?” we might say that art is directed toward oneself (and can also serve as an opportunity for introspection), while design is directed toward others (capturing modern and contemporary popular culture)—though this isn’t true in every case.If we consider another axis, folk art might be creativity directed toward oneself—or toward one’s immediate surroundings and family, where the boundary between self and others becomes blurred—while crafts might represent creativity that is more open to the general public.

On the other hand, when I consider the purpose of “play,” I find myself wondering if it’s something we do for ourselves, instinctively seeking stimulation. It’s the ego. Even after becoming an adult (and feeling we must be altruistic), what if we could also keep in mind the rewards and richness that come from doing something through design, crafts, or for others?—That would be a roundabout form of play, and if we’re self-aware, perhaps even creating for others could be considered “play.” If we define play as stimulation or dopamine, might the reactions we receive from giving that to others also be seen as “play”?

I often say that I want to fool around and play seriously.

“Play” also implies “leeway”—like when there’s “play” in the way materials fit together.

I wonder if the reason for “play” here—whether it’s serious or funny—lies in the inverted rationality of the novelty and fun born from that leeway. Whether it’s a competition title, a narrative, or a workshop tool, better ideas tend to emerge when there’s a certain degree of playfulness involved.“The Wasteful Apartment,” “Electronic Survivors,” “What If All the Outdoor Outlets Suddenly Worked?,” “Reclaimed Wood Auction,” “If We Did This, It Might Turn the World Upside Down”—and then we present them with a completely serious expression.

Actually, I originally wanted to become a chemistry teacher or researcher. But in my senior year of high school, chemistry stopped appealing to me. Around that time, I happened to come across a magazine about housing or something like that at the library, and it reminded me of how much I used to love rearranging my room as a kid.I’d drag my dresser and bed around, and when my mom came home from work and noticed, she’d get all worked up, saying, “You’re going to scratch the floor!!” But I was somehow happy to see my room change after rearranging it, so I’d grin to myself and, undeterred, do it all over again.Since my parents wouldn’t buy me video games and had only given me Windows XP, maybe that was the only thing I had to do—but for me, it was a form of play. As I reminisced about those days, it suddenly occurred to me, “Architecture might be a large-scale version of these fun memories,” and I immediately shifted my focus to architecture.In college, I tackled university assignments alongside design competitions, and before I knew it, ASIBA had become one of those commitments too. I was constantly on the move between multiple places, with architecture and creativity at the core. In high school, I enrolled in a school where I was hit by a gust of wind the very first day of my first year of junior high; I nearly gave up, but I made it to the national tournament. That was all I could think about. It was incredibly tough.I cried a lot. But I couldn’t quit. That “playful” sense of freedom and the sheer “desire to do it”—along with the pursuit of quality and the ability to stay focused on what needed to be done—kept feeding my dopamine.

I’ve lived my life simply chasing what’s fun, what I want to do, and what I love—and that’s always been the central axis of my life. To the point where I’d be at a loss if a stranger asked me, “What are your hobbies?”—in my mind, playing, living, learning, and working exist as equals, or as two sides of the same coin.

I came across this passage:

“Perhaps the reason watching animals play is so enjoyable is that what we see in that moment is natural selection—and, by extension, life itself—condensed down to its very essence.” (From *Living Things Evolve Through Play*)

You really need that sense of ease and joy—enough to make you grin at the changes in your own room after redecorating.