When failure gives you more
The muscular little photo printer gave me a sad face.
We’d hit our first hurdle in our experiment, a photo walkshop, and it looked like we were going to fail.
Twelve people tried to send it a bank of photos at the same time over wifi and it could not cope.
It tried to rise to the occasion:
‘Whirr….ping….hummmm….’ then silence—and that sad face.
It shut itself down.
The wall space I set up to display the printed-out photos stayed empty.
Twelve faces turned to me expectantly. They’d spent about half an hour outside, taking photos, diligently following my instructions.
What came next was going to be the heart of the walkshop. They were looking forward to it.
They expected to share perspectives, see others’ points of view and uncover the extraordinary in the everyday.
One door shut with the printer’s sad face. Would another one open?
I switched gears.
Everyone could see what was happening. There was no point pretending that I had an plan B. So I talked through the unexpected hiccup out loud. It went something like this:
"It looks like the printer can’t cope. You won’t be able to print out your photos. We can’t have a gallery of prints on the wall. You won’t be able to talk about them all together."
Pause.
“Hey, we can see everyone’s photos in the our What’s App group, right?*’ Twelves head nodded.
"Let’s work in pairs instead. Share your photos, following the questions up on the wall.”
The group switched gears easily and got to work.
As they talked, I noticed that the printer’s failure had given the walkshop a better structure.
It became simpler and quicker without the printing and the gallery.
Without the portable printer, the photo walkshop itself became more portable and accessible than I planned. It could work anywhere that had the ubiquitous What’s App.
The conversations were more intimate in pairs and people could go deeper than they might have with a gallery of photos. They could be a bit more vulnerable in pairs than in a larger group.
Back in my office with the printer, I had time to look up the printer’s manual. There was nothing about sad faces.
I like to think it made it up just for me.
I didn’t ditch it. It’s resting at the back of a dark cupboard under the stairs. I imagine it might have a smile on its screen, as I deliver photo walkshops for any group, anywhere.
And because it didn't let me down. It's 'failure' led to a better outcome.
Try one small experiment this week. If it fails, don’t rush to correct it — see what it gives you.
Thanks for reading this far!
Stay (fl)awesome!