In 1914, Yeats published ‘Responsibilities’ where the above quote is featured. According to him, it was attributed to an old play, which is still disputed. Whatever the origin, it’s an interesting concept.

Dreams are the potential starting point of something bigger. With them comes the responsibility to bring them to life—and to do so with integrity. Dreams can inspire others to join you. They’re born of imagination—much like ideas. And that brings me to editing.

Often when you’re editing, you have ideas of how to make the sequence or film better. In my case, it’s usually based on a gut feeling that somehow feels right. After the scary moment of sharing your idea with the director, comes the even scarier part: showing how it would work. It’s scary, because you don’t really know if it would actually work—it’s just a gut feeling. But by sharing your thoughts, you have the responsibility to execute those ideas the best way you can. These moments are crucial to the creative process. Even if your idea doesn’t work, it will open new perspectives on the edit that might actually work better.

It could be the starting point of new ideas that are even more exciting.

Creativity takes courage
—Henry Matisse, painter

It’s important to try these ideas—whether they’re yours or the director’s. If you haven’t ‘seen’ them, you can’t draw conclusions. That makes it very hard to move on to the next, and hopefully, better idea.

And remember: sometimes, the opposite of a good idea is another good idea.

Studies on bird migration show that they don’t rely on a single method. To navigate, they read the sun, the stars, the geometry of polarized light and some species even ‘read’ the earth’s magnetic field. These signals aren’t backups for each other; they operate together. They constantly cross-reference. In other words, direction isn’t determined by a single method. It’s an integration. Which brings me to editing…

Its by logic that we prove, but through intuition we discover
—Henri Pointcare, mathematician

In Daniel Kahneman’s book ‘Thinking, Fast and Slow’, he describes two types of thinking. System 1, fast, intuitive, emotional, pattern-seeking and System 2, slow, deliberate, analytical. In editing you switch between them constantly.

Editing isn’t just about proving what works. It’s about discovering it. And sometimes the best move is to trust the instinct, make the cut, and not look back. Work quickly, then ask why it works. It trains System 2 to articulate what System 1 already sensed. In the end, fluency isn’t thinking fast or slow. It’s knowing which mode you’re in and being able to switch without fear.

And maybe that’s the real “lesson.” Not to abandon intuition or worship analysis. But to let them talk. And like the birds, you’ll arrive where you need to be.

According to the excellent book The Culture Map, communication falls on a spectrum between two extremes: high- and low-context. Low-context communication is straightforward and explicit. It doesn’t rely on tone of voice, body language, or shared cultural background to convey meaning. High-context communication, on the other hand, depends heavily on implicit cues—tone, gesture, and shared understanding. It’s been described as the kind of non-verbal communication a couple married for 50 years might have; a single glance is all they need to understand each other.

Communication is not about saying what we think. Communication is about ensuring others hear what we mean.
—Simon Sinek, author

Good edits use both. Some things need to be clearly communicated, but emotion and atmosphere are often best conveyed subtly. You usually need both. When viewers can occasionally “read the air,” the experience becomes not only more engaging, but also more emotionally effective. Great editing isn’t about choosing between clarity and subtlety—it’s about knowing when each serves the story best. Master that instinct, and you don’t just communicate. You connect.

Picture a sailing ship on the open sea, its sails filled with wind, steadily moving forward.
Now hold that thought…

The story goes that architect Jørn Utzon said these words before he lifted the cloth that covered the maquette of his design of the Sydney Opera House. This image was so powerful that everyone in the room could see nothing but wind-filled sails, along with the full depth of subconscious emotions it carried. This masterclass in storytelling got him the assignment.

Another masterclass: James Cameron walked into the office of a Fox executive to talk about his next project. Although he hadn’t put a single word on paper yet, he arrived well-prepared with a striking painting of the Titanic. When asked what his new project was, he pointed at the painting and said: Romeo and Juliet, on that ship.

Art is not what you see, but what you make others see
—Edgar Degas, painter, sculptor

Around 1920, the Russian filmmaker Lev Kuleshov showed, by using two sequential shots placed together, the audience derived a meaning from that combination. The first shot was always a close-up of a man looking, but the second shot changed with every version. If the second shot was a shot of a plate of food, the audience figured the man must be hungry, while if the second shot was a coffin, the man was filled with grief.

This is what editing is all about: painting pictures for others to see. Beyond deriving meaning from shot combinations, the order of shots also shapes perception. If Jørn Utzon had first shown his maquette, and then explained what the design was all about, I’m convinced it wouldn’t have had the same emotional impact as the other way around.

Great storytelling, whether in architecture, filmmaking, or editing, is about shaping perception. By planting the right image first, creators guide their audience’s emotions and interpretations before a single word is spoken. Jørn Utzon didn’t just present a design—he made people see it. James Cameron didn’t pitch a script—he painted a love story on an ill-fated ship.

The order of images, the framing of an idea, and the emotions attached to them—these are some of the most powerful tools at your disposal. Editing is more than just assembling shots; it’s about crafting an experience that stays with the audience long after the final frame.

“Less is more” is a frequently used term in the edit room. Sadly, it’s not practiced nearly enough. Editing this way can make your film more exciting—and less predictable. By making the story less complete and not as focused on continuity, the dialogue with your audience changes. When you stop spoon-feeding them, they’ll engage more actively with your film. They’ll become more attentive and actually lean in for more.

A great story should be an invitation to think. Not a substitute for thinking.
—Derek Thompson, author

Always try to do the most with the least. With every scene, every shot, ask yourself, “How late can I cut into this? How early can I leave?” Do I need to see them get out of the car—or walk fully out of frame?

Cut away the moment the girl looks into the camera—right after she sets the ball down for the penalty. We’re not interested in seeing her score. Use an Impressionistic construction. Your brain pieces together the information in between that.

What your brain pieces together is stronger than what you see on screen.

Always.

I always love encountering problems in edits. It forces you to come up with solutions and become creative. If there hadn’t been a problem, the edit wouldn’t have turned out the way it did.

One time I had to edit something featuring Diplo. Most of the footage was jittery and anxious, while a few shots were clean and very aesthetic. That contrast made it challenging to cut everything together, and matching the look of the other finished films in the campaign proved nearly impossible. Still, I needed an approach that would make all the footage work—one where every camera shake, or sudden adjustment felt tied to the action and added to the film’s believability.

Then I figured it out: I’d cut it like a trailer for a (nonexistent) Diplo reality soap. And that’s when the edit started working. Once I accepted that the original approach had failed and allowed myself to try something different, all shots became usable and exciting.

It’s not the note you play that’s the wrong note—it’s the note you play afterwards that makes it right or wrong
—Miles Davis, legend

Get comfortable with failure. It’s an invitation to rethink your approach and often leads you to creative ideas you’d never have imagined, proving the theory that a high failure rate is associated with innovation. Trying to avoid failure isn’t a useful strategy in editing.

You need to figure out which ideas work, and which don’t. And the only way to do this is by trying them. Each outcome, good or bad, will give you better insight into what works—and why—leading to a better film. Without trying, you can’t draw conclusions, making it more difficult to move on.

You should always embrace the concept at the heart of the job you’re working on. It’s the idea that was sold to the client—the one they expect to see. But this doesn’t mean your role as editor becomes that of an executioner. They could have hired anyone for that. You’re hired because of the creative input you can add to the project. And that’s exactly what you should do.

Give me the freedom of a tight brief
—David Ogilvy

Your opinion about a concept doesn’t matter; your opinion about its interpretation does. Realizing this role is, in a strange way, liberating—and will drive you to do better work. Instead of looking at concepts (or budgets, lack of time, region-specific demands, etc.) as limitations, step up to the plate and embrace them. You’ll find that it’s because of these constraints that you come up with ingenious solutions.

You must first be limited in order to become limitless.