The Art of Dailiness, by Michael Bierut

The esteemed graphic designer shares an essay and drawings from his legendary 100 Day Project, showing what vital roles routine, practice, observation and dedication play in the creative process.

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Suleika Jaouad’s bestseller, The Book of Alchemy: A Creative Practice for an Inspired Life is her celebration of the power of journaling and other daily expressions of creativity. She credits her own habit of journal-keeping to The 100 Day Project, a class assignment originated by Michael Bierut at the Yale School of Art. “The point of the project,” she says, “is to use discipline as a vehicle for creative inspiration.” In her book, she asks 100 writers, artists, and thinkers to share their own techniques for getting and staying inspired, including Michael himself, whose essay is republished here. Illustrating the essay are excerpts from Bierut’s own project in which he created a drawing a day based on a photograph in The New York Times. They are published here for the first time. 

In the wake of 9/11, I began making a drawing every day inspired by an image in The New York Times. Like a lot of people, and as a New Yorker particularly, I felt deeply disoriented. It was a chaotic time, and I wanted to engage with current events, but on my own terms, in a meditative way. I didn’t realise that consciously in the moment. I just thought that drawing was nice, and that it’d be nice to have an excuse to draw every day, and also that doing it daily would take the pressure off. Maybe you screw it up one day, then the next you draw something pleasing – that seemed appealing to me.

I began my daily drawings on January 1, 2002. My rule was simple. I would get that day’s paper and choose a picture – something I thought was funny or interesting or provocative, or something I wanted to look at longer than anything else in the paper that day – and use that as my source material. It might be a politician making a speech or a photograph from a conflict zone. Something that inspired me regularly was a feature The New York Times began running that February called Portraits of Grief, where each day they published a life sketch of a person who died on 9/11, along with a photograph of each – usually a snapshot shared by the family. Some days I found myself in the mood to really luxuriate in the drawing, and I would spend three hours on it. Other days I would say, “I won’t take another breath until I’ve finished.” I gave myself permission for both of those to be equally valid responses. Also equally valid was whether I actually captured a likeness or not. The practice had less to do with the output and more with getting myself in a proper frame of mind for the rest of my day.

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

“The practice had less to do with the output and more with getting myself in a proper frame of mind for the rest of my day.”

Michael Bierut

It was a ritual I continued throughout the entire calendar year. This was before the omnipresence of social media, and it wouldn’t have occurred to me to share these images with anyone – it was just something I was doing privately. However, at the time I was teaching graduate students in the graphic design program at Yale, and program director Sheila de Bretteville somehow learned about this project and suggested I assign something like it to my students. The idea of the class undertaking something together, but picking their own subject matter instead of doing the same thing, appealed to me immediately. The question then was, of what duration?

I looked at my calendar, and saw that year I was scheduled to teach two classes, one in the fall semester and one in the spring, and they happened to be 100 days apart. It was a coincidence, but it felt meaningful, the way a year had felt meaningful with my own project. It was almost as if that round number was telling me exactly what to do. So I wrote up a brief, and at the top, I typed “The 100-Day Project” – capitalising every word to make it feel as if it were official. Then I wrote a simple prompt, very unstructured and open-ended: Starting tomorrow, do one creative act that you can repeat for 100 days.

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

For the next five years, I assigned that brief on the first day of class. As the students meditated on what their project might be, I would go around and talk to them and give feedback on the practicality of their ideas. For example, a student might say they wanted to take a picture at the same street corner near campus every day, which would prompt me to ask them, “Are you going away for the holidays?” They’d answer, “Yeah, to Phoenix, to see my parents.” So I’d tell them to figure out something portable – something that would also work in Phoenix. In time, I came to see that there was a sweet spot between specificity and open-endedness. There needed to be some constraints, but it was also important that they could make a choice, however small. But even when people hemmed themselves in, even when they came to me on day 22 and said they never wanted to do their particular creative act again, I’d say, “Make your resistance the thing. See how that works.”

Mainly I tried to encourage my students to do things they wanted, and I was amazed again and again by what they came up with. One student took a well-known poster from the 1950s and made a visual variation of it every day. There was one young woman whose preacher grandfather always gave the same very long sermon about heaven and hell, and she spent 15 minutes every morning memorising it, and at the end of the 100 days, she delivered that sermon from memory in front of the class. Another put on the song Here Come the Warm Jets by Brian Eno and began designing; when the song ended, the piece was done. One of the most memorable projects was by a student named Ely Kim, who filmed himself dancing to a different song in a different place every day. At the end, he edited all 100 clips into a seven-minute video called Boombox, which jumped between him dancing in the stairwell of the art building, in his apartment, and back home in Las Vegas, where he was from, and dozens of other locations too. It went viral and led to invitations to perform all over the world.

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

“It’s that old saying: the only way out is through.”

Michael Bierut

With something like the 100-day project, there’s no right way to do it, and there’s no wrong way to do it. The reason this project works is the reason anything like this works: you can do it on your own terms, in your own way. It has nothing at all to do with any expertise that I or anyone else would profess to have about it. It’s that old saying: the only way out is through. You somehow have to work your way through the whole thing, and even if you hate 95 percent of the things you did, if you’ve made it to 100 days, congratulations – that’s amazing in and of itself. Of course, not everyone makes it to the end, and that’s okay too. I had students who dropped off quickly, some at two weeks, others a month. Once people got about halfway, they had so much personal investment, and they had internalised the process enough, that there was a good chance they’d make it to the end. But even the ones who dropped out at two weeks would say, “I got so much out of it – even just doing it for 14 days.”

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

I’m always amused when I get credit for coming up with the 100-Day Project, because part of what makes it interesting is that there’s nothing original about it. It’s what we all do every day. We do routine things, and we do things that require acts of imagination that we’re never going to do again, whether it’s naming a goldfish or responding to a stranger tripping over a curb. Toggling between such routine experiences and unique ones are what, in the aggregate, constitute life.

This is your prompt: Write about a time when you began doing something daily, be it a creative endeavour, a new course of study, or a form of exercise. What prompted you to start it? What obstacles got in your way? When you felt resistance or missed a day, what called you back? Now reflect on what you gained from it and how you might apply that knowledge to a new daily creative practice.

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Michael Bierut: Sketchbooks (Copyright © Michael Bierut)

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About the Author

Michael Bierut

Michael Bierut is one of the world’s most respected and beloved graphic designers, who cut his teeth at the offices of Lella and Massimo Vignelli, and as Pentagram partner has worked on countless iconic brands from Slack and Mastercard to Hillary Clinton’s H logo. He is also a successful writer on design and established teacher and lecturer.

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