Winging It: The Art of Creating Without Certainty
What the fuck am I doing?
I ask myself this question nearly every day. The world is burning, and everything feels increasingly uncertain and fragile. Making art in such a world can often feel like playing the violin while the Titanic sinks. What is the point? How did I get here? Where am I going? Will I float, or be dragged down with the ship?
These questions spiral until we’re stuck—frozen, trapped in a space where taking action feels impossible. We stop playing. We don’t run for a lifeboat. We drown anyway.
So the real question is—does it matter if the answer is, I don’t know?
As artists, we live in a nebulous world of uncertainty, relying only on our vision and experiences as guides. If we’ve been taught from an early age that failure is statistically inevitable, it makes sense that we would be terrified to try—constantly doubting our readiness for success. Imposter syndrome plagues most artists. Some succumb to it and abandon their craft, while others overcome it and reach the heights of creative success. In my creative journey, I’ve found that the best way to avoid the former is by embracing the art of “winging it.”
I spent years and thousands of dollars searching for a step-by-step guide to avoid the countless pitfalls of a creative career—a way to guarantee my efforts would pay off. I wanted to feel ready. But no matter how many auditions I went to or classes I took, I never did.
Time and time again, I signed up for courses that promised to teach me “everything you need to know” about being an actor or filmmaker. And time and time again, all I really learned was that “self-tapes aren’t going anywhere” and that we live in “unprecedented times.” During this period, I hardly made any real art of my own. I was too scared. I wanted to have all the data before I started plotting my course.
When I did attempt to create—whether in an audition, while painting, or when I was writing—I was so hung up on formulas and “proven” success strategies that my work became a copy of a copy of a copy. Unoriginal, uninspired goop.
At the end of all the credit card debt and hours of boring seminars with casting directors who were never going to reply to my emails, all I learned was that everyone else was just as clueless as I was.
At first, I was furious. How could I have spent so much time and money, only to end up exactly where I started? But then, something shifted. I realized I was free. Free from trying to do things the “right” way. If no one knows the answers and the "rules" only limit us, what happens when we stop trying to follow them? What happens when we start winging it?
What Does It Mean to “Wing It”
Creatively?
Interestingly, the term “winging it” has its roots in acting. It comes from a time in English theater when actors would perform without fully knowing their lines, relying instead on whispered cues from the wings of the stage. That’s what I mean by the “art” of winging it—you don’t want to be so unprepared that you don’t know stage left from right, but there’s a spontaneous beauty in guided improvisation.
One of the most famous lines in film history—Robert De Niro’s “You talking to me?” from Taxi Driver—wasn’t in the script. The original screenplay only said, “Travis talks to himself in the mirror.” De Niro used his instincts and deep understanding of the character to create an iconic Hollywood moment.
So when I woke up one day and realized that no one was ever going to give me the permission I craved—that no one was going to hand me the perfect script for my career—I stopped waiting. I took the lessons I had learned and started winging it.
I knew I had to do things differently this time. I started following my gut. I had been working a streaming job that my agents swore up and down would increase my visibility, but it wasn’t giving me the exposure they promised, and I hated it. It was soul-sucking and relied on me being a version of myself that I didn’t like—so I quit. I also parted ways with that agent, even though I had no one else lined up.
Instead of continuing to cold call reps and casting directors who frankly, didn’t want another email in their inbox, I started reaching out to student filmmakers I knew, asking to be involved in their projects—even if it meant just being a gofer for the day. I had no plan, no strategy—just renewed eagerness to be on set and make something, and a willingness to wing it. To my surprise, people I thought would turn me down for my lack of experience on the crew side welcomed me. Many even took the time to show me the ropes.
I started creating whatever I wanted—making collages out of old magazines, practicing scenes from my favorite movies in my bedroom, and writing poetry about reality TV at three am. I just did what I liked, even if I thought nobody else would. To my surprise, my work started getting more positive responses. When an opportunity came my way, I applied, even if I felt completely underqualified. Suddenly, I had more connections, more confidence, and more fun doing the work I loved.
Learning to Fail
I don’t want to make it seem like everything was smooth sailing. I made plenty of mistakes. Sometimes, I felt like the dumbest person on set. I lost opportunities because I oversold myself for where I was at. I burned bridges because I had gotten too casual with professional relationships after working mostly with friends.
And every time this happened, I got mad at myself. I cried. I felt really fucking stupid.
But the truth is, these were things I was never going to learn from a seminar. I had to experience them firsthand. I had to fuck up. And every time I did, I learned, I adapted, and I kept on going.
Now, I’m much more confident in making connections, joining projects, and trying new things because I’ve discovered the beauty of being a novice.
The Masters of Winging It
And it’s not just me. Some of the most successful artists and filmmakers started with no plan, no connections, and a long history of failures.
Maya Angelou is one of my heroes. She mastered the art of winging it like no other. When she saw something she wanted, she didn’t weigh her skills against it—she trusted in her ability to adapt. She became an actor, journalist, author, activist, filmmaker, singer, chef, and more—all by saying yes before she felt ready.
David Lynch built his entire career on winging it. He started as a painter at PAFA but after envisioning one of his paintings in motion he decided to pursue filmmaking. Improvisation and spontaneity became integral to his creative process.
A perfect example? The pilot episode of Twin Peaks.
While setting up a scene, Lynch overheard a crew member warning set decorator Frank Silva about getting trapped in a room by the furniture they were moving. This moment sparked something in Lynch’s imagination, and he filmed Silva behind Laura Palmer’s bed, even though it wasn’t part of the story.
Later, Silva was accidentally caught in a mirror’s reflection during a climactic scene. Instead of reshooting, Lynch embraced the happy accident and cast Silva as Killer BOB, a quintessential villain in the Twin Peaks universe.
Lynch could have seen these moments as mistakes, as failures. But instead, he trusted in the accidental magic of the universe.
That’s what makes him a bold, original filmmaker.
And that’s what I want to be, too.
Obviously, I’m not at Lynchian levels of success yet, but I’ve made huge strides in my career just by winging it. Last year, I casually mentioned to my friend Brenna that I wanted to learn more about producing. Being the super cool and supportive friend she is, she brought me on as a co-producer for a music video she had in the works with another mutual friend. I was winging it the entire time, but in the process, I discovered I had a knack for leadership in a way I hadn’t expected.
That gave me the confidence to jump into the annual Collaborators Film Challenge, where I worked as a script supervisor—despite never having done it before. I may have been one of the least experienced people on set, but I trusted my ability to adapt, and by the end of the day, I had built a great connection with the producer. Later that month, she hired me as her assistant (another thing I had never done before). While working with her, I produced social media content for the first time, worked on two documentaries, and attended film networking events where I met incredible people I still get to collaborate with today.
That experience gave me the courage to reach out to a friend who I knew needed producers for her short film. Even though she was trepidatious about bringing me on with my lack of experience, I advocated for myself and convinced her I was ready to do it. I ended up being an integral part of the team and making a film I’m super proud of. And now? I’m producing my own film—one that I wrote myself and am casting myself in. I’m flying by the seat of my pants every day, I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I still worry I’ll go down with the sinking ship. But at least I’m doing something. And I know I’ll only get better as I go.
If I’m lucky, I’ll float. If I’m even luckier, I’ll swim to shore.
The only way to find out is to try.
So if you’re waiting for permission, for the perfect roadmap, for the moment when you finally feel ready—stop. It’s never coming.
Instead, pick up your instrument, even as the ship goes down.
Start playing.
Wing it.
By Isabella Ersoz
Works Cited
Jin, Eunsoo. "12 Great Movie Scenes That Were Completely Improvised." The Cinemaholic, 7 Aug. 2019, https://thecinemaholic.com/improvised-movie-scenes/. Accessed 10 Mar. 2025.
Lavery, David. Full of Secrets: Critical Approaches to Twin Peaks. Wayne State University Press, 1995.
McKeever, Niall. "The Psychology of Winging It Like the Best in the World." Niall McKeever, 14 Apr. 2022, https://niallmckeever.com/the-psychology-of-winging-it-like-the-best-in-the-world/. Accessed 10 Mar. 2025.