7 minute read. Content warnings: Artist doubt
chatGPT Summary: Kay reflects on the evolving process of creating their Twine mapping game exploring themes of navigation, seasonal shifts, and game mechanics while contemplating updates to their artist statement to better align with their expanding practice.
This evening, I spent several hours deep in the process of shaping my Twine mapping game for FLEET: Burnaby. I feel fortunate to be revisiting place-based storytelling, having space to reflect on the process and product from granville island, and now within the same container but on different land in Edmond’s Park. I wrote copious notes tonight, always trying to bring it back to my practice tied to ideas of worth, access, and the challenge of traditional formats.
I used ChatGPT as a tool to organize my thoughts, brainstorm mechanics, and push back against my own tendencies toward over-complication. Sometimes, I want to include too many variables—something I’ve recognized in past projects—and I needed to keep my scope in check, especially with a hard deadline of February 23rd. It was useful to externalize my thought process, see the ideas laid out, and interrogate them as I went. Some things stayed, some things were set aside, and some are still lingering at the edges, waiting to see if they fit. I like to use the tool as both a repository, collecting ideas as a go, but also to stress test new ideas against older ones. Even in four months, I can see the maturity in the tool – less likely to praise me for my creativity, and more objective when I ask it to list stored ideas.
Ideas considered and rejected
I spent some time thinking about navigation, going back and forth between the idea of a described map and a MUD/MUSH-like navigation. I think I will stick to a cardinal direction system, much like The Haunted Island, but I managed to keep the total locations on the island to 6 so it wasn’t too hard to orient yourself. In the park, following the paths, there are 18 different intersections. When the snow melts, I will do some walking and see if I can’t combine some of the paths together. I am also thinking about an inventory system where exploring different parts of the park will unlock a map that will allow for fast travel. That’s a pretty common mechanic in games, and those walking in the real won’t pause at each intersection if they know their destination. Balancing both the digital player and the in-person experience is one of the interesting challenges in this project.
I also spent time thinking about the presence of a companion character. Initially, I considered a squirrel or a crow to guide players through the space. I love crows, and they have strong ties to memory (something that has become a core element as I looked for parallels to haunting outside of ghosts and hallowe’en), but I wasn’t sure if using them as a symbol would carry unintended cultural weight. I have decided to add a crow to the game, but it will not be the main focus. Instead, the game will feature the wind. More to come.
A reflection on time and season
This evening, I also found myself reflecting on seasonal presence in the park. It is rare for Burnaby to be covered in snow. Just two days ago, the space was green, bright, and dry, and now the landscape is muted under a blanket of white. Snow is not a common thing, but it does happen—and may happen again. In coming into this residency, I really wanted this game to be seasonless. I wanted the player and the present time to be flexible in game, and I think if it hadn’t snowed, I might not have considered it as a possibility. I probably would have thought about grey, wet weather, and hot, smoky summers, both in recent memory, but it hasn’t snowed in a few years. In the 35 years I have lived on this coast, it has only snowed a dozen or so times.
I decided to list what was still present, in this temporary winter state, and I kept reflecting through sunset and into the night. The park is always shifting, just like the wind, but also like the wind, there are many things that stay the same or are very slow to change. It was in listing the things that were always here that I thought about the crow and the squirrel. I don’t tend to add animals to my games or writing. I’m not really sure why. There are always trees. There are often mountains. My characters may love their pets, but they are never major players. I am flirting with the idea.
A reflection on my artist statement
In building my story and game mechanics, I kept referring back to my artist statement. I realized it has been about seven years since I last updated it. My work has evolved significantly in that span, but I am proud of the work and ideas I have explored while staying committed to this practice. Like many artists, whenever I have read my artist statement, I immediately want to rewrite it. Something is missing. Something is too broad, or too narrow, or no longer as important as it once was. As a young artist, I saw that as a flaw. As a slightly less young artist, I understood it as being hungry to learn and grow. As a older human but ever young artist, I know that an artist statement should change as we learn and discover things. As new paths are made available and old assumptions are discarded or disproven. I do know artists whose statement has never changed – the writing is a perimeter that perfectly suits the area in which they play and discover. I am always building new partitions, climbing fences, and trying out new building materials. I have made small adjustments over the years to suit the work I am currently doing.
Tonight, though, I recognized that this isn’t just about small tweaks—I need a full update. The core values of my practice remain: exploring worth, challenging exhibition standards, valuing process over product, embracing mistakes, and prioritizing access. But my methods, language, and artistic scope have expanded, and my statement should reflect that. This game, this residency, and this conversation are all part of that ongoing evolution. It might be that I use the same words, but put them in a different older after sanding and revarnishing. I might throw out some rotting planks and tighten up my yard. Whatever it ends up looking like, I know a renovation is on the horizon.
For now, I’ll sleep on it. Tomorrow, I’ll return to the story outline with fresh eyes, ready to map more of the unknown. I might hold off on the artist statement refresh until after my open house. Who knows what I’ll learn and build in the next three weeks.
Into the -6 degree night I go – very very lucky to have a warm place at the end of my trip.
Technology note:
I wrote notes to chatGPT about my story ideas and it compiled it into a timeline. I asked it to write me an outline draft for this blog – I rewrote it but not from scratch. It doesn’t sound like me, but it does help me organize my thoughts. I wrote this post on my iPad at FLEET and so I couldn’t get Grammarly to work. I’ll review it when I’m back at my desktop.