The Freedom of Restriction

Many of us have heard the quote attributed to Igor Stravinsky:
“The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees one’s self. And the arbitrariness of the constraint serves only to obtain precision of execution.”

"Freedom may only become freedom when it has a container. Much like electrons within atoms."

In Poetics of Music, Stravinsky argues that the essence of artistic creation is not limitless freedom, but the creative act of composing within boundaries. Pure, unbounded fantasy, he says, cannot be repeated or refined — it lacks a “resisting foundation” to push against. Constraints, whether self-imposed or arising from form, tradition, or the material itself, give shape, purpose, and discipline to the work.

He puts it more sharply:

“My freedom will be so much the greater and more meaningful the more narrowly I limit my field of action and the more I surround myself with obstacles.”
“Whatever diminishes constraint, diminishes strength.”

In other words, Stravinsky is saying that creativity flourishes because of limitation. When you restrict yourself to certain rules or frames, you force yourself into decisions. You sharpen focus. You gain precision. And paradoxically, you become freer to express something meaningful — instead of drowning in infinite possibility.

When we create or write, I’d even say we already do this unconsciously. We build little frictions and constraints for ourselves, almost without noticing. I’m not trying to hand out advice here — just reflecting on a tool that feels underrated. Freedom may only become freedom when it has a container. Much like atoms: the electrons move so quickly they seem invisible, but only because they’re held within a boundary.

My favourite analogy for this is toothpaste. If the toothpaste isn’t in the tube, it’s everywhere — and none of it is going in your mouth, at least not uncontaminated. The container is what lets the thing find its purpose.

Three Short Examples — Benefits of Restrictions for Writers & Filmmakers

Example 1 — “Only One Location” (Filmmakers)
When a filmmaker forces a scene to happen in one location, it immediately becomes sharper: blocking gets more inventive, dialogue tightens, and emotional stakes rise because the characters can’t escape. The limitation becomes pressure — and pressure gives the scene life.

Example 2 — “150 Words Only” (Writers)
If a writer limits a passage to 150 words, the fluff disappears. Suddenly every sentence must earn its place. The writing becomes clearer, cleaner, and more intentional. The constraint creates precision.

Example 3 — “Shoot With One Lens” (Filmmakers)
Choosing one lens — even if arbitrary — forces coherent visual language. You stop switching tools and start making decisions based on storytelling instead of gear. The film becomes stronger because its look is unified.

Bonus: How do we know we’re actually using a restriction?

You can recognize a restriction in two ways — logically and physically.

Logically, it’s simple: you’ve chosen a boundary. A word limit, a location limit, a time limit, a stylistic rule, a format. Something that narrows the field.

But the deeper signal is physical.

When we’re inside a real constraint, there’s often a small, unmistakable feeling in the body — a gentle discomfort, a soft strain, usually around the stomach or solar plexus. It’s not panic. It’s not stress. It’s more like the body saying, “Yes… this is tighter than usual. Good. Stay here.”

This mild friction is a compass.
It tells you that you are actually committing to the box you chose.

And it’s completely normal to want to escape it. Most of us try to avoid that little whisper of tension — but this is exactly the sensation that tells you you’re on the right track. Creative constraints are uncomfortable. They ask for focus. They ask you to choose.

And that’s okay.

It’s okay if it feels a bit hard to limit yourself.
It’s okay if writing feels tight.
It’s okay if creating inside a box feels unfamiliar.

That small discomfort means you’re not drifting — you’re shaping.
It means the work has somewhere to live now.

It means you’re moving.