Archive for July, 2011

July 31, 2011

Relaxin’

Stanhope Hotel

July 28, 2011

Permanent State


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I first drew this in 2004. A wee doodle that I thought very little about at the time. Yet over time, the sim­pli­city of the mes­sage seems to have reso­na­ted with a lot of people.

Any fool can be a bur­nout or a cal­ci­fied dino­saur. Rein­ven­tion is much har­der. And to keep doing it, again and again? MUCH, MUCH harder.

But that’s what makes it so worth doing…

I wasn’t feeling it…

July 27, 2011

The Avant Garde


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From Wiki­pe­dia: “The term was ori­gi­nally used to desc­ribe the fore­most part of an army advan­cing into battle (also called the van­guard or lite­rally the advance guard) and now applied to any group, par­ti­cu­larly of artists, that con­si­ders itself inno­va­tive and ahead of the majority.”

I just think it’s kind of funny, a pic­ture of this dull, unre­mar­ka­ble guy get­ting all des­pon­dent because he’s not “cut­ting edge” or whatever.

But I don’t think one choo­ses to be ahead of one’s time. It kinda just hap­pens, with all the other crap, other­wise known as Life.

Which is where the humor in the car­toon lies…

July 26, 2011

Technology

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This car­toon was ori­gi­nally a per­so­nal busi­ness card I desig­ned for Microsoft’s Jeff Sand­quist.

He wan­ted a card that he could hand out to both techies and “civi­lians”, both at busi­ness and social events.

It’s a com­mon theme among most of my peers– we’re totally con­su­med by our careers, yet we still have the other parts of our lives to fit in somehow.

How do we do that? I have no idea. Does anybody?

Paid by the hour

July 25, 2011

Everything Is Marketing

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This has been doing the rounds for the last decade or so: the idea that mar­ke­ting is not just some appen­dage to be bol­ted on exter­nally, but something more cen­tral and baked-in.

But of course, you can take that idea too far.

You can make it a silly idea.

No idea is so good that it can’t be made silly, with just a little appli­ca­tion. Heh.

July 23, 2011

Don’t get old

July 17, 2011

One Small Step

Neil Armstrong descending the ladder on the lu...

[Image via Wikipedia]

[This is a cross-post from my friend, the busi­ness coach and for­mer VC, Jerry Colonna. Ori­gi­nally pos­ted on his blog here.]

I’m pretty sure it was a Philco. I know I was five and half.

It’d been a typi­cally hot sum­mer day where my best friend Mar­cus had spent much of it car­ving our ini­tials in the hot, soft asphalt of East 26th street and floa­ting woo­den Pop­sicle sticks at the gut­ter river rushing out of the open hydrant. July 20, 1969.

My father calls out from the front win­dow of our ground level apart­ment. ”Jerry!” he shouts, “Come inside.” The tone means either I’ve done something wrong or something impor­tant is going on. I hope for the latter.

I come  inside and find my parents, my brothers, and my sis­ter gathe­red around the Philco (or was it a Dumont?). Neil Arms­trong is  just step­ping down the lad­der of lunar lan­ding module.

I thought of that moment years later when, after deci­ding to go into work a little late that day, I watched the Cha­llen­ger first lift off and then explode.

And I thought of it again a few weeks ago as Hugh Mac­Leod tal­ked about going to watch the last Shuttle take off. When I saw his dra­wing, his take on what this all meant, I unders­tood a little more about my own experience.

Watching that one small step on the static-ky, shaky black and white TV, with the tin­foil on the antenna to get a slightly bet­ter recep­tion, I rea­li­zed I had been ins­pi­red in small ways to live a life that would always push against the limits of my own fears.

Hugh’s “Inc­re­di­ble Times” dra­wing impli­citly cha­llen­ges me to see more clearly, to arti­cu­late more dearly, those folks who ins­pire me to see the inc­re­di­ble, the unbe­lie­va­ble. For­tu­na­tely, I can see it in the everyday.

I see it, for exam­ple, in the client who dis­co­vers a tumor that needs to be remo­ved from her liver or the friend who’s tumor is in her breast. I see it in the client who – des­pite the gna­wing, aching fear of never being able to be good enough to please a parent – still goes in every day making, as I am wont to say, “inc­re­men­tal pro­gress that is direc­tio­nally correct.”

We do our­sel­ves a dis­ser­vice when we look only to the extraor­di­nary for affir­ma­tion of the inc­re­di­ble. We set our­sel­ves up, then, to see that our strug­gles with the patho­logy of every day are somehow less then. And, of course, that then rein­for­ces our own gna­wing aching fears that we are never enough.

It helps to see the inc­re­di­ble ins­pi­ra­tion in the man, the artist, whose demons were so fero­cious that his only solace was to drink, smoke, and sleep in a kind of hazy denial of life. When that man wakes (albeit with the shock of a fear­some medi­cal diag­no­sis) and begins the pain­ful pro­cess of rec­lai­ming his body, and through that act rec­laims his souls…well, when that hap­pens, boy howdy, we do live in inc­re­di­ble times.

So Hugh is right: there is work to be done. But I think the work is not get­ting peo­ple to roman­ti­cize our heroes but to see the inc­re­di­ble in the sim­ple act of get­ting along, of gro­wing up, of beco­ming more and more wholly, utterly, ourselves.

When Siddhartha woke up and became the Buddha, the awa­ke­ned one, he didn’t wake to see the triumphant earthly gods and god­des­ses. He awoke to the utterly breath­ta­king beauty of the every­day per­son facing the truth of the pain and fear of life; facing that truth and choo­sing to move ahead, regard­less. That feels like one heck of a small step.

July 16, 2011

Possibility

This is one of my favo­rite dra­wings I did at TED Glo­bal.

A wee sketch, com­plete with the #Dewars­TED has­tag.

“Pos­si­bi­lity”. A riff on the great Char­les Schultz line, “I carry the bur­den of a great poten­tial”.

I didn’t think too much about it at the time. But as the days pro­gres­sed, the car­toon star­ted to haunt me.

The bur­den of a great poten­tial. Anyone with half a brain (or half a soul) will be able to relate.

Kno­wing that it might never hap­pen. And kno­wing that even if you do manage to make a decent go of it, it will never be enough.

That there’s still something else you still haven’t done, that there’s still one more piece of Crea­tion remai­ning, that you haven’t mana­ged to down­load. AND THIS WILL NEVER CHANGE. Wel­come to being alive. Wel­come to the human con­di­tion. That’s what TED is REALLY about, at the end of the day.

Terrif­ying, isn’t it?

[Full disc­lo­sure: I was atten­ding TED on behalf of my client. Dewar’s Whisky, who were a spon­sor of the event.]

[#TED­glo­bal]

Ow. I’ve got a TED-ache.

[The Dewar’s car­toon I did for Maajid’s talk etc.]

[View from my dra­wing tablet: Downs­tairs in the chill-out room.]

[I’m still in Edin­burgh, and like every­body else, still reco­ve­ring from a very intense week at TED Glo­bal. Here are some notes from an inc­re­di­ble event, in no par­ti­cu­lar order:]

1. “An idea is not something you HAVE, an idea is something you DO.”

I atten­ded TED on behalf my client, Dewar’s Scotch. The idea was to create car­toons that gave jus­tice to the Dewar’s idea, “Some things are just worth doing”.

Which ties in with the TED idea, “Ideas worth spreading.”

Which ties in with one of the great the­mes in my work these days, “The Uni­fi­ca­tion of Work and Love”.

I’m currently run­ning with the thought that, an idea is not something you HAVE, an idea is something you DO.

i.e. Ideas are all very well, but without some sort of action to follow, they’re not much use. Ideas don’t exist in a vacuum.

Nobody rea­ding this, inc­lu­ding me, want to spend their whole life, sit­ting on their ass, thin­king big thoughts but actually doing nothing.

2. You’ve heard of live-blogging, yes? Well, I was “live-tooning”. Dra­wing car­toons on the spot, trying to cap­ture all the ideas that were flying at me at 200 mph. Over four days, I drew dozens of them. The car­toon above was one I did for Maa­jid Nawaz. He gave a great talk on how to fight extre­mism on a glo­bal level:

Why do trans­na­tio­nal extre­mist orga­ni­za­tions suc­ceed where democ­ra­tic move­ments have a har­der time taking hold? Maa­jid Nawaz, a for­mer Isla­mist extre­mist, asks for new grass­roots sto­ries and glo­bal social acti­vism to spread democ­racy in the face of natio­na­lism and xenophobia.

One of the points Maa­jid made was how move­ments require four ele­ments in order to be via­ble: Ideas, narra­ti­ves, sym­bols and lea­ders. So I ran with that. Click on the link and watch the video to hear more.

At the event, I gave Maa­jid a hand-drawn copy of the work above, poster-sized. He was a very gra­cious man, I thought.


[Maajid’s TED video…]

3. Then there were the “Con­ver­sa­tion Pieces”.


While tal­king to the polar explo­rer, Ben Saun­ders, I had the idea to make a dra­wing WHILE tal­king to him. A real-time con­ver­sa­tio­nal doodle. as it were. A “Cover­sa­tion Piece”, as it were. Above is a pic­ture of him hol­ding the final result.

It’s a ques­tion that never gets old: Here you are, surroun­ded by all these ama­zing peo­ple and ideas, now how do you use what you do (in my case, my car­toons) in order to inter­face with them? Mea­ning­ful inte­rac­tion with other peo­ple– THAT’S what makes work inte­res­ting, NOT the money.

4. Ow. I’ve got a TED-ache.

A TED-ache is what they call it: When your brain is so stuf­fed with all the ideas and sti­mua­tion and con­ver­sa­tion flying around for four days nons­top, your brain can no lon­ger keep up with it, your brain kinda wants to explode.

I came away with enough mate­rial to fill MONTHS of blog­ging, MONTHS of catoo­ning. Like every­body else at TED, I’m fee­ling pretty  overwhel­med yet supercharged.

It was an ama­zing expe­rience: Hun­dreds of insa­nely bright and crea­tive peo­ple, doing insa­nely inte­res­ting things. Quite a con­trast to the usual mass-elevator-pitch that most con­fe­ren­ces have become.

And now, somehow, I’ve got to do the event jus­tice, both on behalf of myself and Dewars’. Like every­body else who attends, it’s not the event that mat­ters, it’s what you take away and apply to your own life in a mea­ning­ful way that mat­ters. I would be lying if I said I didn’t find it daunting.

I’ve said it before many times before on this blog: We are inc­re­di­ble beings living in inc­re­di­ble times, and as long as there is still one per­son alive on this pla­net who doesn’t believe this, then there’s still work to be done. TED re-affirmed this for me, in spades.

It’s four in the mor­ning and I can’t sleep because of this. Thanks to TED for making this hap­pen, thanks to Dewar’s for being such an awe­some client.

5. This is only the begin­ning. You have my word. Rock on.

[Bonus Link:] The 23 Ama­zing TED­Wo­men Spea­kers Of TED­Glo­bal 2011. Yep. I met some of them. Yep. “Ama­zing” would be about right…

[#TED­glo­bal]

July 13, 2011

This is my message from TED Global: “ALL ART IS SMALL ART”

I’m at Ted Glo­bal, on behalf of, Dewar’s Whisky.

I’m dra­wing tons of car­toons, based on my expe­rien­ces here.

To be honest, there’s so much fan­tas­tic stuff here, coming at me at 200 mph, it’s hard to keep up with it in real time. It’s a good pro­blem to have, I would say…

THEREFORE:

1. You can follow the action is pretty easily. Just follow #TED­glo­bal and #dewars­ted on Twitter.

2. This is my mes­sage from TED Glo­bal: “ALL ART IS SMALL ART”. Big, impor­tant stuff is ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS pre­ce­ded by small moments of genius. Watch all the TED videos if you don’t believe me. All the world’s great human-caused tra­ge­dies (not to men­tion, all fai­led expen­sive mar­ke­ting cam­paigns) were cau­sed when the peo­ple in charge tried to bypass the small stuff and go straight for the big stuff. Five Year Plan, Com­rade? Great Leap For­ward, Comrade?

3. And this is also my mes­sage fro Dewar’s: “ALL ART IS SMALL ART”. All great mar­ke­ting starts that way. And more impor­tantly, stays that way.

Rock and roll…

July 12, 2011

Live-Tooning from TED

Believe.

The First Voice

#dewarsTED #tedglobal

#dewarsted #dewarsted

Hi from #dewarsted #TEDglobal

Greetings from Edinburgh!

[A photo of whisky barrels taken yes­ter­day at the Dewar’s dis­ti­llery in Aberfeldy.]

I recently arri­ved in Edin­burgh for the TED Glo­bal conference.

My client, Dewar’s Scotch Whisky, is spon­so­ring the event, so they got me along to live-draw some car­toons for them.

In my mind, the great task for huma­nity in the 21st Cen­tury is what I call “The Uni­fi­ca­tion of Work and Love”.

In other words, lear­ning how to make work MORE than just something to pay the bills with, but to turn it into something that expres­ses who we truly are.

That’s really what TED is all about, for the spea­kers on the stage, for the peo­ple in the audience, for spon­sors like Dewar’s, and yes, the sub­ject of a great many of my cartoons.

So I’m pretty exci­ted. I hope to be blog­ging more about the event as the week con­ti­nues. Obviously, there’s a lot here worth wri­ting about.

The Uni­fi­ca­tion of Work and Love. The Holy Grail for so many of us. Bring it on!

 

July 7, 2011

Guess where I am?

July 6, 2011

My Micro-Empire

July 4, 2011

In Praise of “Small Art”.

A friend of mine was in Paris last week, where she went and chec­ked out the mas­sive Anish Kapoor sculp­ture, Monu­menta 2011, now on exhi­bit at Le Grand Palais.

This got me thinking…

I like Kapoor’s work. He makes very big art.

I, on the other hand, make very small art i.e. the “car­toons drawn on the back of busi­ness cards”. And the prints aren’t too large, either.

Though I like a lot of “Big Art”- Kapoor, Serra, Gorm­ley, Smith­son etc etc– I’m pretty happy I stuck with “Small Art”.

Small Art can impact another per­son on a mea­ning­ful level, just as power­fully as Big Art. Fif­teen lines from Shelley’s Ozy­man­dias had as much impact on me as fif­teen hun­dred pages of Tolstoy’s War & Peace did, as much as I loved the latter.

And Small Art is A LOT less hassle to make.

And you can make more of it. More often. Without ban­krup­ting your­self or put­ting your life on hold for months on end.

And perhaps more impor­tantly, there’s the “Per­so­nal Sove­reignty” angle. With Small Art, there’s no need to wait for someone else to deem it worthy befo­rehand, no need to wait ner­vously for the rich patron, the movie stu­dio exec, or the illus­trious museum direc­tor to give it the green­light. There’s no need for the poli­tics or the sch­moo­zing or the bureaucracy.

Or the sleaze and corrup­tion. The Big Art world is rife with that, as we all know full well.

With Small Art, you just go ahead and make it, and then it exists, and the rest is in the hands of the gods. Your work is already done, and you can get to bed at a decent hour. And not lose any sleep over it, either.

Hey, it wor­ked for Joseph Cor­nell, Saul Stein­berg and Edward Gorey… three artists who I rate WAY higher than Kapoor or Serra.

And what is true for Art is pro­bably true for your thing, as well. Worry less about how BIG you want your busi­ness to be, ins­tead think about how much LOVE you actually want to give out while your still have time left on this earth. “Mea­ning Sca­les”.

Exactly…

July 3, 2011

He lived in New York

I got an apartment