Archive for the ‘Philosophy & Society’ Category

February 20, 2013

Do people really want to be “Everyone”?

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It always exci­tes me to see someone trying to shake up the art industry, so I was sad to learn about Jen Bekman’s fine art retail site, “20x200” sus­pen­ding ope­ra­tions. Though I didn’t know the peo­ple per­so­nally, I’d been roo­ting for them. It see­med like a neat idea, and I loved the name.

So why did it fail? In retros­pect, it isn’t too hard to see why: High overheads (Since when did you need a fancy office in SoHo, New York to sell art prints online?). Inves­tors vs Foun­der con­flicts. Beau­coup Emplo­yees, Pas Beau­coup sales. Nothing that any of us haven’t seen before…

But here’s another thought:

20x200’s offi­cial tagline was “Art For Ever­yone”. Or to put it through a Mar­xist lens, art for the masses.

“Brin­ging Art To The Mas­ses” is a well-meaning idea, sure, but hardly a new one. The early Soviets tried the same thing, coin­ci­den­tally, around the same time they also dis­co­ve­red that ruth­lessly exter­mi­na­ting peo­ple en masse (no pun inten­ded) was good for business.

John Rus­kin, William Blake, Durer, La Trec, Hogarth, etc etc were trying even before that [Though Ashi­lle Gorky, one of my favo­rite artists, didn’t like the idea so much. He famously called 1930’s Social Rea­lism  “Poor art for poor peo­ple”, but I digress…]

The thing is, like Seth Godin says, does any­body really belong to “The Mas­ses” any­more? We’re all weird, we’re all niche, and thanks to the Inter­net, we’re all get­ting weir­der and nichier by the day.

In other words, “Art For Ever­yone” is a nice enough thought, until you rea­lize that few poten­tial cus­to­mers actually like being put in the “Ever­yone” basket.

So what bas­ket do peo­ple like being put in? A bas­ket with a strong, pas­sio­nate, rela­ti­vely uni­que sense of PURPOSE that defi­nes it. A niche that matters.

And yes, you gues­sed it, what is true for the online art sales mar­ket is also pro­bably true for your industry as well.

It’s either that, or get crushed by Amazon…

[UPDATE:] Jen just sent me a nice email– Ope­ra­tions are sus­pen­ded, not cea­sed. So it seems there’s going to be a second act, they’re going to regroup… Stay tuned. Hurrah! :)

February 15, 2013

Make Every Work Of Art Like It’s Your Last.

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“Live each day as if it were your last,  for one day it will be.” Though Mar­cus Aure­lius’ Third-Century advice sounds terri­fic, it’s pro­bably the har­dest piece of advice in the world to follow.

In Robert Altman’s 1992 movie, “The Pla­yer”, David Kahane, an unsuc­cess­ful screenw­ri­ter is ran­domly mur­de­red. At his fune­ral, his friend Phil reads out the last words he ever wrote:

Black­ness.

A mangy dog barks.

Gar­bage can lids are lif­ted as dere­licts in the street… hunt for food.

Buz­zing, as a cheap alarm clock goes off.

Inte­rior. Flophouse room.

Early mor­ning.

A trac­king shot moves through the grimy room.

Light streams in through holes in yello­wing win­dow shades.

Moths dance in the beams of light.

Track down along the floor.

The fra­yed rug.

Stop on an old shoe. It’s empty.

That’s as far as he got, said Phil…

If David Kahane knew these words were goingto be the last ones he would ever write, do you think he would’ve have cho­sen them? No, of course not, he would’ve writ­ten something else, somethiong far more mea­ning­ful and timeless.

That’s what makes the scene so memo­ra­ble, so tra­gic. Robert Alt­man knew what he was doing.

That scene always stuck with me. It told me, “Make every word you write count, Boy, for one day those words will be your last”.

The fact that I was watching the movie for the first time in a crow­ded cinema in West LA, made it seem even more tragi-comic than usual. A lot of other un-dead David-Kahane-types were in the audience, all laughing ner­vously at the in-joke.

It’s too easy to just laugh at all the in-jokes, isn’t it? It’s too easy to think one is immune, isn’t it?

January 25, 2013

“The New Certainties”: Minimalism, Motivational Speakers & Looking For New Stuff To Believe In etc.

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[The “Hugh­train” car­toon, 2004]

I’ve been seeing a pat­tern emer­ging. Here are some of the main ingredients:

1. That Marfa, Texas, one of the great Mini­ma­list shri­nes in Ame­rica is now a popu­lar hips­ter des­ti­na­tion spot.

2. One of my my favo­rite movies of recent years, Jiro Dreams of Sushi, which I’ve been raving about for months, is a big hit in the docu­men­tary world. It’s also a fil­mic love poem to Mini­ma­lism (Hey, the direc­tor used Phi­lip Glass and Max Rich­ter for the film score, I rest my case).

3. Blogs about sim­ple living and Mini­ma­lism seem to be really trendy these days, mini­ma­list blog­gers like Zen Habits con­que­ring the world.

4. “The Mini­ma­list” is one of the most popu­lar the­mes on Tumblr.

5. The con­ti­nuing rise of Wes­ter­ni­zed Eas­tern thought: Buddhism, medi­ta­tion, Yoga, Zen etc (I’m a big Alan Watts fan, but that’s another story).

6. The other thing I’ve noti­ced is “Per­so­nal Coaches” and “Moti­va­tio­nal Spea­kers” seem to be everywhere. Whether we’re tal­king Anthony Rob­bins or Bren­don Burchard… or the new job title out there, “spea­ke­rauthor” (Peo­ple known mostly for wri­ting books, but make most of their money doing public spea­king: Tom Peters, Mal­colm Glad­well etc.) Then you also need all the more tech­noc­ra­tic, busi­nesss­peak con­sul­tant man­da­rin types out there as well… Like I said, they’re everywhere, it seems to be an inc­rea­singly boo­ming industry.

7. That there seem to be more TED spea­kers tal­king about how won­der­ful Atheism is, than there are TED spea­kers telling peo­ple how won­der­ful Chris­tia­nity or Judaism or Islam is.

8. The gro­wing idea that the Inter­net is now a reli­gion.

9. The gro­wing idea that “Jedi” is now a religion.

10. The gro­wing idea that Apple is a religion.

11. The finan­cial and poli­ti­cal implosion/impasse/dog’s din­ner that is Wes­tern Europe/The Euro/The E.U..

12. U.S. Fis­cal Cliffs.

13. Envi­ron­men­tal and ani­mal rights activists.

14. Bur­ning Man.

15. Kicks­tar­ter.

16. Cha­rity Water.

I could go on.…

What does this tell me?

That we’re loo­king for new stuff to believe in.

That though the world is get­ting more and more com­plex, the old ans­wers (Do what you’re told, buy a lot of stuff, obsess about THESE cele­bri­ties, worship THESE gods/THIS God, watch this trashy Rea­lity TV, watch these crappy movies, read these crappy bes­tse­llers, lis­ten to this crappy music, believe these poli­ti­cians etc.) aren’t wor­king for us as well as they used to.

So we’re sim­plif­ying. We’re rene­wing. We’re clea­ring the decks. We’re doing a bit of spi­ri­tual Spring clea­ning. We’re loo­king for new stuff to believe in. We’re loo­king for NEW CERTAINTIES.

Just like the “Hugh­train” car­toon above implies, we have an infi­nite need for it.

Sure, we like our old cer­tain­ties (Mom’s coo­king, a favo­rite pair of old jeans, small-town folksy ways, old school good man­ners, Ronald Rea­gan, old Jimmy Ste­wart movies at Christ­mas time etc), we are gene­ti­cally pro­gram­med to seek out not only the new, but the NEW CERTAINTIES.

So I guess the next the ques­tion is, what “New Cer­tain­ties” is your work brin­ging to the world?

If you don’t know, maybe best to find out… it’s where the real fun and action is to be found these days.

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January 18, 2013

A Message For The Next Generation:

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[Note to young, crea­tive types, just lea­ving college: I wrote this post just for you.],

It’s a very sad and poig­nant story that’s already been all over the Inter­net

A Bri­tish adver­ti­sing vete­ran, Linds Red­ding, a guy not much older than me, gets ter­mi­nally ill.

Shortly before the poor man dies, he wri­tes a long, heart­brea­king, bri­lliantly savage and honest rant about his thirty years in the adver­ti­sing business:

So was it worth it?

Well of course not. It turns out it was just adver­ti­sing. There was no higher calling. No ulti­mate prize. Just a lot of faded, yello­wing news­print, and old video cas­set­tes in an obso­lete for­mat I can’t even play any more even if I was inte­res­ted. Oh yes, and a lot of fra­med cer­ti­fi­ca­tes and little gold sta­tuet­tes. A shit-load of empty Pro­zac boxes, wine bott­les, a lot of grey hair and a tumor of inde­ter­mi­nate dimensions.

Everything he rai­led against, I saw with my own eyes during my time in the busi­ness. Linds was right on the money. I was more for­tu­nate than he, I mana­ged to get out early; I mana­ged to figure out a way to get paid to do my true calling i.e. cartooning.

But it was tough. I had some pretty bleak, pen­ni­less years there for a while. It was nasty. Most peo­ple would not have gone through it willingly, I sure as hell didn’t.

Luc­kily for me, the Inter­net came along even­tually and chan­ged everything yada, yada, yada. But I know a lot of peo­ple both inside and outside adver­ti­sing, some I con­si­der good friends, who weren’t so for­tu­nate (Linds is an extreme exam­ple). The world chan­ged, and ate them for break­fast. And now they’re old and frankly, it’s pro­bably too late for them.

But it’s not the being old and being “eaten for break­fast” that’s really heart­brea­king. Every­body gets “eaten” soo­ner or later. That’s just life, we all get old, we all get sick, we all die.

I can’t speak for Linds, I didn’t know the guy, I’m sure he was a lovely fellow who, like the rest of us, did the best he could. I’m so sorry for him and his family.

What is heart­brea­king about his story is it reminds me of something that has always haun­ted and terri­fied me since I first ente­red the wor­king world: the idea of get­ting to the ine­vi­ta­ble end of your life, and in spite of all that talent, pas­sion and energy spent wor­king insane hours for deca­des, you don’t have a mea­ning­ful and las­ting body of work to be proud of, money or no money.

And that can easily hap­pen, when, early on in the game, you decide to take the easy money. When you let your path be defi­ned by short cuts, short-term needs and the out­ward assu­ran­ces of social status.

When you do things just because they look good on paper, just because they impress your peers…

This is not a rant against the adver­ti­sing busi­ness; it’s a great choice for some folk, I per­so­nally got a TERRIFIC edu­ca­tion out of it.

No, this is a rant against somethiong MUCH lar­ger, i.e. a rant against not “follo­wing your bliss”, to quote Joseph Camp­bell.

Luc­kily, there’s no law saying that you have to make the afo­re­men­tio­ned short-cut deci­sion. There’s another deci­sion you can make.

The ques­tion is, will you make that deci­sion? Will you actually follow your bliss?

Only you can ans­wer that.

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January 7, 2013

Frivolous Complexity

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Aaaargh. Don’t get me star­ted on com­ple­xity; don’t get me star­ted on “Stuff”.

Every­body wants to be suc­cess­ful. The bad news is, we are trai­ned by society to asso­ciate suc­cess with “Stuff”.

Not just in the mate­rial sense (fancy cars, big hou­ses, trophy wives, expen­sive mis­tres­ses, hot tubs, desig­ner fur­ni­ture, desig­ner clothing, desig­ner kitchens with Ita­lian mar­ble floors, fine wines, art collec­tions etc), but also “Stuff to do”:

Din­ner par­ties, ladies’ luncheons, social clim­bing, net­wor­king, cock­tail par­ties, second homes, com­mu­nity invol­ve­ment, poli­ti­cal acti­vi­sim, PTA, Soc­cer Mom’ing, com­pli­ca­ted love affairs that go nowhere, unsui­ta­ble dai­llan­ces, social intri­gues, obses­sive gos­si­ping, coo­king clas­ses, yoga clas­ses, pot­tery clas­ses, crea­tive wri­ting clas­ses, ten­nis les­sons, tango les­sons, poker games, thea­tre, sympho­nies, art ope­nings, maga­zine launch par­ties, opera, epi­cu­rian delights, horse bree­ding, eth­nic res­tau­rants, wife swap­ping, cult joi­ning, cele­brity worship­ping, name-dropping, online forums, online rants, online dating, Ins­ta­gram­ming, Twit­te­ring, Face­boo­king, blog­ging, cool hun­ting, culture-vulturing, Sum­mers in Tus­cany, Autumns in New York, Win­ters in Colo­rado, wee­kends in San Fran­cisco… a totally full sche­dule, jam-packed with “Stuff”, all day long.

And we don’t just stop there! Because we now need our total, never-ending “Stuff” fix, it’s no lon­ger enough to have our per­so­nal lives cram­med with “Stuff”, we need to cram it into our pro­fes­sio­nal lives, as well:

More pro­duct fea­tu­res, more pro­duct upgra­des, more mar­ke­ting cam­paigns, more adver­ti­sing cam­paigns, more junk mail, more focus groups, more end­less mee­tings that start at 7am for no rea­son, more memos, more mis­sion sta­te­ments, more white papers, more wor­king wee­kends, more brains­tor­ming ses­sions, more blue-sky thin­king, more team-building exer­ci­ses, more Power­Point sli­des, more sharp-dressing emplo­yees with fancy job tit­les, more visually-pleasing per­so­nal assis­tants, more pres­ti­gious office addres­ses, more buzz­words, more catchph­ra­ses, more info­graphics, more inter­na­tio­nal con­fe­rence calls, more office poli­tics, more hys­te­ri­cal emails sent at 2.am.

Stuff, stuff, stuff…

Which is kinda strange, con­si­de­ring the most suc­cess­ful and happy peo­ple I know gene­rally don’t live that way. The most suc­cess­ful and happy peo­ple I know are very good at ruth­lessly edi­ting out “Stuff” from their lives. They tend to live calmly and quietly, like a New England pond on an early mor­ning in August.

Lea­ving only time for the impor­tant “Stuff”…

December 14, 2012

“The Web We Lost” and the Commons

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The big Web story last week was about how Ins­ta­gram just remo­ved its API from Twit­ter. My old friend, Dave Winer (he is also one of the great web pio­neers of the last decade or so) wrote a great post about it. I drew the car­toon above in res­ponse to Dave (“Com­mons” refers to the cul­tu­ral and natu­ral resour­ces acces­si­ble to all mem­bers of a society, in this case, the Inter­net. It’s also where peo­ple gra­zed their sheep in the old days).

Then yes­ter­day, another blog­ging buddy from the old days, Anil Dash wrote this great blog post, “The Web We Lost”, about how much the web has chan­ged in the last 5 – 10 years, along simi­lar lines.

In the early days of the social web, there was a broad expec­ta­tion that regu­lar peo­ple might own their own iden­ti­ties by having their own web­si­tes, ins­tead of being depen­dent on a few big sites to host their online iden­tity. In this vision, you would own your own domain name and have com­plete con­trol over its con­tents, rather than having a handle tac­ked on to the end of a huge company’s site. This was a sen­si­ble reac­tion to the rea­li­za­tion that big sites rise and fall in popu­la­rity, but that regu­lar peo­ple need an iden­tity that per­sists lon­ger than those sites do.

When I think about the era Anil speaks of, I feel like an old hippy tal­king about how great the ‘six­ties were, but he does have a point. The early-blogging see­med a much more fun, edgy, inte­res­ting, giving and inde­pen­dent place back then. And then the big boys came along and took over, suc­king in all OUR con­tent like a big ol’ indus­trial tur­bine. Face­book, Twit­ter, Ins­ta­gram etc.

I’m not saying everything was bet­ter back then, a lot of things we far har­der and slo­wer. But I do miss that indie, “We’re on the verge of something impor­tant and won­der­ful” fee­ling that per­mea­ted the air. It’s not nearly as pal­pa­ble as it once was. I hope we can one day get that fee­ling back.

December 13, 2012

Print is the new Artisanal

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It hap­pe­ned again: More mass layoffs as the illus­trious old maga­zine, News­week dis­con­ti­nues its print edi­tion.

And the blo­gosphere rings out with with the usual “What will become of print” ques­tions, yada, yada, yada.

I know exactly what’s going to hap­pen to print; the same thing that hap­pe­ned to hor­ses once the auto­mo­bile came along.

Auto­mo­bi­les may have ended the horse n’ buggy era, but hey, accor­ding to my friend, Kathy Sie­rra, hor­ses are still a FORTY* billion dollar industry in the Uni­ted States.

I buy most of my books on Kindle. But I buy hard­back edi­tions when the book when it has real tote­mic power for me. Like “Dec­line and Fall of The Roman Empire”. Or “Tri­bes”. Or “Moby Dick”.

Or I buy them when they’re simply not made for Kindle, like the artist, Chris Wool’s beast of a cof­fee table book. Mag­ni­fi­cent!

Or I buy the print ver­sion of The Eco­no­mist when I’m get­ting on an air­plane. Keeps me busy when the cap­tain makes me turn my Kindle off during take off and landing.

As far as mains­tream jour­na­lism and jour­na­lists, well, my blog­ging buddy Mathew Ingram moved over from wri­ting for the Toronto Globe & Mail to wri­ting for the much lea­ner Giga Om. His move is just one exam­ple of what already hap­pe­ning to thou­sands. Or if it isn’t, they’re in trouble.

Print just going to inc­rea­singly be a little “artis­nal” niche; the ones who disa­gree are old and dying off.

I don’t know why this is even a debate any­more. It’s been hap­pe­ning for years.

So I drew a car­toon about it…

[*Not three billion $, as pre­viously stated]

[UPDATE:] Kathy Sie­rra left a great com­ment below:

Only when a thing is made obso­lete can we dis­co­ver if there was some underl­ying value  —  beyond uti­lity  —  that some peo­ple found com­pe­lling enough to keep alive or evolve into something new. The hor­ses bred today for “rec­rea­tion” are dra­ma­ti­cally dif­fe­rent from the workhor­ses of the past, but they are still… horses.

What ELSE is being made obso­lete now that might emerge from the ashes in a new, power­ful form?

November 9, 2012

Please Give To The American Red Cross. #Sandy

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[PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DONATE HERE. THANK YOU.]

As you all know, gapingvoid’s New York con­nec­tions run deep. So of course, we wan­ted to help make a dif­fe­rence in the utterly horrif­ying wake of Hurri­cane Sandy…

We made a video to help out the Ame­ri­can Red Cross, a truly ama­zing orga­ni­za­tion, that YEAH, needs our help. Badly.

Please donate what you can, as soon as you can. And feel free to share/use the video as you see fit, to help out/help spread the word. Thank you.

P.S. The video is a posi­tive mes­sage of Hope, par­tially ins­pi­red by The Smiths/Johnny Marr song, “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out”.

A totally appro­priate thought for “The City That Never Sleeps”, sure, but it’s also applies to the human spi­rit, something that bles­ses New York in abun­dance. As long as New York endu­res, as long as the light shi­nes bright there, I have hope in huma­nity. It’s that simple.

I rea­lize that Sandy hit more than New York City, but the lights going out in our old neigh­borhoods really affec­ted us per­so­nally. (Jason grew up in Long Island and was there for five days, in dark­ness, after it hit; I used to live in Manhat­tan as well) .

For my friends in New York and nearby, this is for you. Godbless.

[PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DONATE HERE. THANK YOU.]

November 7, 2012

The gapingvoid Manifesto, a work in progress

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[One of the pie­ces we did for Techc­runch etc.]

The gaping­void Mani­festo, Draft One.

[This is what we have so far. Jason (our CEO) wrote most of it. We feel we’re on the cusp of something, now we just need to make it more real for other peo­ple. Feed­back wel­come, thanks. Exciting!]

PART ONE:

Busi­ness is lan­guage. Busi­ness is about communication.

Art is is the undis­co­ve­red UX of business.

We live in inc­re­di­ble times.

Every sin­gle per­son on this earth has the capa­city to make a dif­fe­rence… the
abi­lity to lead, and leave their mark.

Every busi­ness is dri­ven by for­ces far more power­ful and pro­found than money.

We help busi­nes­ses dis­co­ver and arti­cu­late their purpose,

We help peo­ple make a difference,

We help lea­ders inspire.

We help busi­nes­ses kick ass.

We create social objects that trans­form orga­ni­za­tions, start con­ver­sa­tions,
and spread ideas at light­ning speed.

We live in inc­re­di­ble times. And as long as there is one per­son on this earth who does not agree, there is still work to be done.

Any Company/Cause/Political Party/Religion that com­mu­ni­ca­tes more clearly and con­ci­sely stands a bet­ter chance at win­ning. Art brid­ges this com­mu­ni­ca­tion gap.

It is per­cei­ved as more genuine, More honest, less varnished.

Well con­cei­ved art gets atten­tion organically

Art allows you to have con­ver­sa­tions that you couldn’t other­wise have.

Art is a lever for action.

Art crea­tes connection.

Art is shorthand to com­mu­ni­cate com­plex issues.

Art crea­tes community.

Art con­nects with a dif­fe­rent part of the brain.

Art is Visual. Visual com­mu­ni­ca­tions are 10x more effec­tive than writ­ten communication.

Give a gift bas­ket and be remem­be­red for a week, give a print and be remem­be­red forever.

PART TWO:

We want to trans­form the world of busi­ness by trans­for­ming the world of office art.

Most peo­ple believe that the act of deco­ra­ting the walls of their office is see­mingly one that is deci­ded by taste: The colors of the art on the wall need not clash with the fur­ni­ture, car­pet or CEO’s aesthe­tic sensibilities.

In rea­lity, act of deco­ra­ting the walls of your office is a cri­ti­cal busi­ness and we believe, a moral deci­sion. It can either set the stage for great­ness and inno­va­tion, or set the stage for per­pe­tua­ting the dreary, gloomy and mono­to­nous world that is your busi­ness. It has nothing to do with aesthe­tics, and everything to do with pur­pose. The pur­pose and beliefs of your business.

If you could steer the course of your busi­ness by simply making a dif­fe­rent deci­sion about what hangs on the walls, why wouldn’t you?

Many busi­ness lea­ders do not rea­lize that envi­ron­ment influen­ces everything at work: Job satis­fac­tion, pro­blem sol­ving, crea­ti­vity, con­tent­ment and effectiveness.

You want posi­tive out­co­mes? Then start with posi­tive work spa­ces. Your office envi­ron­ment is the com­pass that gui­des how peo­ple view what they do and how they live their work life.

If you unders­tand what your beliefs are, what your core values are, and how you want peo­ple to view why you do what you do, then you should shout those beliefs and values from every avai­la­ble space in your office.

Let the walls talk, guide and ground. Let ins­pi­ra­tion hang in the air and have your peo­ple breathe and be surroun­ded by the bright glow of the good­ness that your busi­ness represents.

The idea of deci­ding what wall cove­rings hang on your walls, isn’t about décor.
It is about pur­pose, cul­ture, and values. Inform your cul­ture, moti­vate your teams and send a mes­sage to the world that will have astoun­ding impact every day of the year.

The gapingvoid Value Proposition

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[More thoughts on “Busi­ness Needs More Art”:]

I dood­led the above cartoon/line just now…

Maybe it’s just as sim­ple as that: gaping­void art is a great way for your office vibe to up its game, without having to pay higher rent or hire that expen­sive archi­tect or decorator.

This is work in pro­gress. All feed­back gra­te­fully recei­ved. Feel free to ping me on Twit­ter or whe­re­ver if you want to chat about it etc. Rock on.

[Update: Heh. No soo­ner than I pos­ted this, did the great Kathy Sie­rra leave a comment:

This is not your value pro­po­si­tion. It’s just a fact, a fea­ture, an attribute. Same with “trans­for­ming office art”. That’s the WHAT, but does not ans­wer WHY. There’s the why YOU do it, and of course the WHY your customer/user wants it. Their bene­fit. Their result. Their awesomeness-as-a-result. Tur­ning up the soul… Yes there is cer­tainly something there that’s a hell of a lot more valua­ble than simply saving them on the cost of a pri­cey deco­ra­tor or archi­tect.
WHY do they want those archi­tects and desig­ners in the first place? What are they hoping to gain? Your work is not just a chea­per repla­ce­ment. It’s get­ting to the heart (soul?) of something dee­per and richer… You know this bet­ter than anyone

And of course, Kathy is right. But one has to try these things. Like I said many times before, we’re on a mis­sion to trans­form office art or die trying. “Busi­ness Needs More Art”. Rock on.

[P.S. Thanks, Kathy! Love…]

July 4, 2012

Lest We Forget: gapingvoid’s July 4th Message To Humanity

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[UPDATE: We’re kee­ping this at the top of the home­page for a wee bit, just so peo­ple see it etc.]

[We have a REALLY spe­cial print offer on today’s car­toon. Go see. For this year’s July 4th car­toon I wan­ted it to say something that went a little beyond the usual Rah-Rah Patrio­tic pla­ti­tu­des out there; something to do with the real-world, day-to day life of the start-up ecosys­tem that gaping­void inha­bits. Below is what I said in today’s news­let­ter; make of it what you will:]

Though I love Europe and had a won­der­ful time over in Lon­don at Le Web two weeks ago, I came back home to the USA fee­ling very grateful.

Tal­king to all those won­der­ful young peo­ple, trying to get their Euro­pean start-ups off the ground made me rea­lize, once again, JUST how good we Ame­ri­cans have it, even com­pa­red to our friends across the Atlan­tic.

Three thoughts:

1. I pray we never lose it.

2. I also believe, truly, that if we ever for­get the mes­sage in today’s car­toon, we will indeed lose it fore­ver. We have now been warned.

3. As you get older, you rea­lize that Ame­rica isn’t just about blue jeans, shop­ping malls and ham­bur­gers. It’s about something WAY DEEPER, that if the world loses, huma­nity is in deep trouble.

 Thank you, and God Bless Ame­rica. Seriously.

Hugh Mac­Leod

July 4th, 2012

July 3, 2012

Fail Often

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[Buy the print etc.]“Fail cheap, fail fast, fail often” is damn good advice. Espe­cially for someone who wants to be suc­cess­ful. So it’d make a good something — perhaps a remin­der to hang on your wall… Voila!I also love Esther Dyson’s great line, “Always make new mis­ta­kes” (she’s the well-known futu­rist and ven­ture capi­ta­list). In fact, I liked it so much that in 2008 I went ahead and made a dra­wing and gave it to her. Good times.It’s all about the same stuff: That our abi­lity to suc­ceed and to thrive is in direct pro­por­tion to our abi­lity to make mis­ta­kes and learn from them.It ain’t roc­ket science, but it’s easily for­got­ten by some. Myself inc­lu­ded. Ouch…[Ori­gi­nally sent out ear­lier today in the news­let­ter etc.]

June 29, 2012

gapingvoid is working for the military. No, really! :D

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A US defense con­trac­tor (Mav 6) had their main pro­ject, the Blue Devil 2 airship can­ce­lled by the Air Force, so they wan­ted to make a sta­te­ment about that. They wan­ted to make a sta­te­ment about how the nature of war­fare is chan­ging A LOT FASTER than the defense industry is. The Blue Devil 2 was desig­ned to help fill the gap, but then it was can­ce­lled by the usual sus­pects. Quite a sad story, really, espe­cially for patrio­tic Ame­ri­can tax­pa­yers. So I think the job deser­ved something that went for the jugular.

[Here’s the link to the backstory.]

I am totally thri­lled by this com­mis­sion, frankly. Few things get you clo­ser to the bleeding-edge future than mili­tary tech­no­logy. Thanks to Mav 6 for allo­wing us the oppor­tu­nity. Rock on.

June 7, 2012

“Circumvent, relentlessly.”

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[One of Shrigley’s pie­ces that he did for The Guar­dian etc.]

[More thoughts on  the “Mas­tery” riff:]

Glas­gow artist, David Shri­gley is one of my favo­rite car­too­nists. And I have very few of those.

Unlike a lot of my car­too­nist heroes (Stein­berg, Gorey etc) David can’t draw to save his life, at least, not in the con­ven­tio­nal sense. His for­mal draf­ting skills (the ones he choo­ses to show the world, any­way) are just plain bad. I mean, REALLY bad.

And you know what? It doesn’t mat­ter. Actually, it may even be a good thing.

You see, the whole point of Dave’s work is NOT about the dra­wing. It’s ALL about his ideas.

And his VERY crude dra­wings work bri­lliantly for that. In fact, I’d wager that if his draf­ting skills were more for­mally deve­lo­ped, his car­toons wouldn’t be nearly as sharp, as inte­res­ting or wic­kedly subversive.

His is a great exam­ple of what I like to call “cir­cum­ven­ting one’s limi­ta­tions”. Tur­ning weak­nes­ses into strength. Shri­gley is a mas­ter of that, he really is.

And yes, I think if you’re to achieve mas­tery in your craft, your job or your career, you have to learn how to do what David did: Cir­cum­vent.

You also have to be deter­mi­ned and relent­less. David is all that as well, as this inter­view nicely demons­tra­tes.

Even if you can’t draw to save your life. Even if you didn’t go to the right uni­ver­sity. Even if you’re not that good at making money. Even if you have an ave­rage IQ. Even if you can’t get ven­ture fun­ding. Even if you weren’t born insa­nely talen­ted at something. Even if you have to wait tables or bar­tend for a cou­ple of years.

Cir­cum­vent, relent­lessly.

Exactly.

June 6, 2012

It Takes Empathy

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[Today’s guest post, “It Takes Empathy” is from my good friend, Brian Solis, co-principal at Alti­me­ter Group and author of the book, “The End Of Busi­ness As Usual”.]

If you look at the pic­ture above, you might see a sun­set. Some of you will see a sun­rise. Much like the famous phi­lo­sophi­cal dis­course bet­ween skep­tics and opti­mists, a glass can only be either half empty or half full. I believe nonethe­less
that the above pic­ture is that of a sun­rise. I’m an opti­mist. I also believe that a glass is reflec­tive of its current state. Either you just pou­red into or pou­red out of it.

Other­wise, it’s a glass with water sit­ting at the half-way mark.

This theo­re­ti­cal circle of dis­sen­sion is cons­tant and without the abi­lity to achieve clo­sure or satis­fac­tion. It all comes down to perspective.

That’s why in a time where we’re acti­vely pushed out of our com­fort zones, pers­pec­tive is a power­ful enabler.

For those strug­gling with where to steer the ship of trans­for­ma­tion, this is for you.

What it is you see. What it is you feel. Where it is you want to go and why. These are the things that mat­ter. The gift of pers­pec­tive is matched only by the gift of per­se­ve­rance. As you seek to change or improve “what is” and set out to bring “what could be” to life, you will be met by the cham­pions of medioc­rity who do not wish to align with your vision. Remem­ber, it is pas­sion and per­sis­tence that out­lasts resis­tance. But, it takes cou­rage… It takes cou­rage to endea­vor in a new direc­tion where you’re grea­test allies, pas­sion, hope, vision and opti­mism, are con­se­quen­tial yet intan­gi­ble. Their value howe­ver, is well, in the eye, heart, and mind of the beholder.

Change is inver­ti­ble. But, how change “chan­ges” your rea­lity isn’t as expli­cit or defi­ned as it is affec­ted by evo­lu­tio­nary for­ces of which you play an impor­tant part.

I find that the har­der I work, the more luck I seem to have” –Tho­mas Jefferson

There’s a dif­fe­rence bet­ween mana­ge­ment and lea­dership. There’s a dif­fe­rence bet­ween pio­nee­ring and follo­wing. There’s a dif­fe­rence bet­ween explo­ring pos­si­bi­li­ties and cha­sing them.

This is a time when there are more ques­tions than ans­wers. You are not alone, howe­ver. For without ques­tions, we wan­der through life assu­ming we either already have the ans­wers or we unde­res­ti­mate the value of rethin­king what we know.
Direc­tion, ins­pi­ra­tion, need, aspi­ra­tion… these are indi­vi­dually or collec­ti­vely among the emo­tio­nal dri­vers that become catalysts for change. The minute you say the word “emo­tion” howe­ver, your mis­sion or case sud­denly suf­fers or loses crediblity.

Emo­tions are after all, soft, intan­gi­ble, and in of them­sel­ves, not true sparks for trans­for­ma­tion right? Wrong.

Let me ask you something…

How are you?

I have a point, I promise.

Again, how are you?

To ans­wer, you might say, “fine,” “good” or “well thanks for asking.” The exchange is more of a casual ice-breaker of sorts and not neces­sa­rily a genuine invi­ta­tion to share any form of emo­tio­nal depth. The ques­tion is often rele­ga­ted to a ver­bal handshake, a neces­sary ritual to begin a con­ver­sa­tion. That’s my point. Today, orga­ni­za­tions in large part, take emo­tion for gran­ted. “How was our ser­vice today?”

It’s a super­fi­cial exchange that sets impres­sions for the moment rather than inves­ting in long-term experiences.

Now, what if I asked you, “how are you feeling?”

Add one word and you unlock a vault of emo­tion and valua­ble dia­lo­gue. In a social eco­nomy where paying it for­ward and reci­pro­city serve as the currency of rela­tionships, emo­tio­nal exchan­ges form strong ties. It takes asking, lis­te­ning, and res­pon­ding to ins­till trust and a sense of mea­ning into any enga­ge­ment. What you walk away with howe­ver is pri­ce­less; for you now have felt empathy. And, empathy is the sec­ret ingre­dient to fee­ling the need for transformation…the ins­pi­ra­tion to find a crea­tive or pas­sio­nate spark to design new and sig­ni­fi­cant experiences.

The key for you howe­ver, is to pac­kage what it is you feel and trans­late it into a set of rela­ta­ble and rele­vant objec­ti­ves, prag­ma­tic steps in how to achieve them, and defi­ned metrics that demons­trate pro­gress and per­for­mance. Your ins­pi­ra­tion will at some point ins­pire others around you and they will feel it as a result of your work.

The truth is that the ans­wers you seek lie in enga­ge­ment, lis­te­ning, and the empathy that sur­fa­ces as a result. Lea­dership unfolds in how you trans­late what you learn and feel into appre­cia­tion and unders­tan­ding. The state of sen­ti­ment as expe­rien­ced and expres­sed by those that mat­ter to you directly corre­la­tes to the state of relationships.

Lea­dership begins with a vision for not only where you want to go, but why it’s impor­tant to those you care about.

In a world where we’re taught the impor­tance of moni­to­ring and mea­su­ring sen­ti­ment with the new tools before us, we miss the essen­tial ingre­dient to mea­ning­ful relationships…empathy. Once you lis­ten, not moni­tor, but truly lis­ten to cus­to­mer acti­vity and observe online beha­vior, you can­not help but feel both empathy and har­mony. And natu­rally, the res­ponse it begets is only human.

May 31, 2012

On Mastery.

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[As many peo­ple know, I’ve given a lot of thought to the sub­ject of “Mas­tery” lately. With that in mind, here are the VERY ROUGH notes of the talk I gave recently at the first ever Ignite Miami:]

1. Like every­body else here tonight, I give a lot of thought to “Suc­cess”. What does it take to be suc­cess­ful, pros­prous, happy, have a sense of pur­pose etc? What does THAT actually look like?

2. And by suc­cess­ful, I don’t mean “lucky”. I don’t mean peo­ple born rich or lot­tery win­ners. That kind of suc­cess never comes from within, that kind of suc­cess is too exter­nal and ran­dom to bother worr­ying about.

3. Of course, the media LOVE suc­cess models of the outra­geously for­tu­nate– cele­brity artists, cele­brity busi­ness­men, cele­brity spi­ri­tual lea­ders, not to men­tion the Rea­lity TV, famous-for-being-famous crowd.

4. The thing is, I know TONS of super suc­cess­ful peo­ple, but none of them fit this extreme, celeb-lottery-winner TV model. Some of them are actually pretty boring, to be honest. But they lead happy lives and do VERY well career­wise. THAT is what most suc­cess looks like, if you think about it. The stuff on TV or in the movies just isn’t REAL enough to be that use­ful for us.

5. So I was thin­king about this again, recently, HARD. What model would work for these peo­ple, folk like you and me? A model that didn’t mean you had to sell your soul to Wall Street, Holly­wood or Washing­ton? A suc­cess model that doesn’t rely solely on the unli­ke­lihood of outra­geously good for­tune or plain, dumb luck?

6. Then quite by chance, I saw a great docu­men­tary the other week: “Jiro Dreams of Sushi”, a film about the world’s grea­test sushi mas­ter, and a light­bulb EXPLODED in my head.

7. Our man, Jiro is eighty five years old (EIGHTY FIVE!), doesn’t have a lot of money or own a fleet of trendy res­tau­rants in all the world’s capi­tals, a-la Wolf­gang Puck. He’s just being doing it for 60 years; he just has just a small, plain, dingy, ordi­nary, low-key sushi bar with ten seats in a Tokyo sub­way, the kind you’d pro­bably just walk by without stop­ping if you saw it. Ten seats!  Yet he’s the best in the world at what he does.

8. Jiro works over 350 days a year, ser­ves sushi and sashimi to peo­ple in very small num­bers, and THAT’S IT. Just sushi. No salad, no appe­ti­zers, no deserts. Like I said, JUST SUSHI. And by stic­king to this bare-bones for­mula, he’s become the first sushi chef in the world to win three Miche­lin stars.

9. A tiny little sushi bar in some ran­dom sub­way sta­tion. Yet peo­ple wait in line, peo­ple book a stool at his sushi bar as much as a year in advance, a pri­ces star­ting around $600 a head. Peo­ple have been known to fly all the way from Ame­rica or Europe, just to expe­rience a 30-minute meal. In a sub­way station!

10. I was lucky enough to have a simi­lar expe­rience first-hand when about eight years ago, I star­ted wor­king with the English Savile Row tai­lors. They make the best suits in the world; all hand-made, they go for about $5000 a pop.

11. The tai­lors have a simi­lar shtick as Jiro. They’re gene­rally not that rich, their busi­nes­ses are tiny, yet the great and the good worship at their feet. Cele­bri­ties, cap­tains of industry, peo­ple who are also world-class at what they do, like Jiro’s cus­to­mers, wai­ting as long as a year in advance to get their next suit.

12. Like Jiro, the tai­lors just get up every mor­ning and do their thing, day-in-day-out, humbly, quietly, without a lot of fan­fare, totally dedi­ca­ted to their jobs. I’ve seen it. On the sur­face, it’s quiet, calm and kinda dull.

13. And like Jiro, from my obser­va­tions they seem to have this sense of inner satis­fac­tion my Wall Street tra­der friends (who easily make ten times as much, on  a good day) can only dream of.

14. As a result, Jiro and the Savile Row tai­lors are the peo­ple I really try to emu­late. Because it’s doa­ble. I can do that. I may never be as rich as Steve Jobs or Warren Buf­fet, I may never be lite­rally a rock star like Bono or Jag­ger, but I can be like Jiro and the tai­lors… or at least, more like them.

15. And like them, I live very low-key; I get up every mor­ning and quietly get on with the busi­ness cran­king out my pro­duct, my car­toons. Like I said, quiet, calm and kinda dull.

16. So what’s their sec­ret? THE sec­ret? What is the sec­ret sauce that lets these other­wise quite ordi­nary peo­ple like Jiro and the tai­lors, lead such extraor­di­nary lives?

17. In a word: MASTERY. They’ve MASTERED something. Something inte­res­ting and valua­ble. They are MASTERS of their craft. It may be an old-fashioned word that makes peo­ple uncom­for­ta­ble, but that’s only because it’s something that elu­des most people.

18. Though, having watched these mas­ters care­fully first-hand, I can honestly say MASTERY is more satisf­ying than money (and I’ve seen both, trust me). If you’re up for it, yes, MASTERY MATTERS MORE THAN MONEY, MASTERY MATTERS MORE THAN SUCCESS.

19. And it’s por­ta­ble. It tra­vels with you, whe­re­ver you go. No land­lord, no boss, no reces­sion, no Wall Street analyst, no news­pa­per cri­tic can take it away. It’s something that truly belongs to you, for always.

20. So when a young per­son asks me for career advice these days, I tell her, “Don’t worry about so much about money, fame, suc­cess, wha­te­ver. Worry about Mas­tery– that is something pre­cious you can actually con­trol. And yes, if you’ve achie­ved mas­tery, you’re more likely to be suc­cess­ful and pros­pe­rous, any­way.” Again, MASTERY MATTERS MORE THAN SUCCESS. So go for it. Thank you.

[P.S.: Thanks to Alex and Ana for making this hap­pen for me. I had a great evening!]

March 28, 2012

It Takes Courage

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[Today’s guest post is by Brian Solis, Prin­ci­pal Analyst, Alti­me­ter Group.]

It’s ine­vi­ta­ble that I will get the ques­tion. You’d think by now that I would learn to expect it…that I would pre­pare for it…or have a res­ponse that would be purely second nature. But I don’t. I’ve no stan­dard ans­wer that auto­ma­ti­cally ins­pi­res anyone in the moment to take action. And, to this day, I neither expect the ques­tion nor do I have a rehear­sed or stan­dard riposte com­mit­ted to memory.

So what is “the question?”

The ques­tion faces those who see dis­rup­tion all around them. They believe sur­vi­val requi­res change and they aspire to fight for trans­for­ma­tion. But, at some point in their quest to pur­sue a new course, a direc­tion in which they deeply believe, they will ask reluc­tantly, even des­pe­ra­tely, “How do I con­vince others to see what I see” or “how can I get those in con­trol to recog­nize the impor­tance of what’s hap­pe­ning around us so that we can move for­ward in the right direction?”

While my res­ponse in each moment always attempts to zero-in on the indi­vi­dual cir­cums­tance, the truest, most genuine ans­wer that I can share is that…to bring about change does not take tech­no­logy, it takes cou­rage. And, this is why change is not a com­mo­dity. Change is not easy nor is it for­mu­laic. But I can say this with the utmost con­vic­tion, change.is.inevitable and it is yours to define.

We live in dis­rup­tive times. As such, everything we know trans­cends into everything we once knew. How we com­mu­ni­cate, con­nect, dis­co­ver, learn and share is chan­ging. New and emer­ging tech­no­logy is beco­ming inc­rea­singly relent­less and it is for­cing evo­lu­tion or com­plete trans­for­ma­tion. And, it touches your per­so­nally and pro­fes­sio­nally. In our own way, we each are gra­vi­ta­ting toward dis­so­nance or disa­rray and it can be dis­tress­ful. As stu­dents, parents, role models, emplo­yees, mana­gers, entre­pre­neurs, artists, or some or all of the above, we will at some point collide with dis­rup­tion. And in that moment, we will have a choice to make. We either fall down, choose to embrace change, or we will see the pos­si­bi­li­ties beyond what’s imme­dia­tely appa­rent to pave the way toward a more mea­ning­ful outcome.

But again, it takes cou­rage. It takes cou­rage to see what others don’t or do what others won’t. It takes cou­rage to push for­ward when pushed back.

Cou­rage is the abi­lity to do something that frigh­tens one, yet it is the very thing that all lea­ders share. See, cou­rage takes great strength to stand in the face of pain or ine­vi­ta­ble grief and without it, your vision, no mat­ter how bri­lliant or essen­tial, is merely a mas­ter­piece pain­ted on a nap­kin — a pro­mise that is never fully realized.

We stand today upon a foun­da­tion of uncer­tainty and apprehen­sion. Everything is chan­ging. What is cons­tant howe­ver, is the absence of cla­rity, direc­tion or ans­wers. To tell you that there is an easy path toward trans­for­ma­tion or that there are a series of “top 10 ways” to help you change the pers­pec­tive of lea­dership or those around you is, well, mis­lea­ding or a com­plete falsehood.

Con­trary to popu­lar belief, there are no rules for revolutionaries…just as there are no lea­ders who don’t con­ti­nually strive to earn a posi­tion of lea­dership. It takes cou­rage to be a change agent, to rise up and lead the way when others are filled with fear. It takes cou­rage to walk in a dif­fe­rent direc­tion when others walk along a con­tras­ting path. Most impor­tant, it takes cou­rage to drive per­sis­tence to over­come resistance…to find com­fort outside your com­fort zone when the pro­mise of reward is ambi­guous. For, it is the vision to see where you need to go and the con­vic­tion to shepherd the march toward rele­vance that earns the grea­test rewards of all, lea­dership, sig­ni­fi­cance, and advo­cacy.
This is your time…

“Cou­rage is grace under pressure.” — Ernest Hemingway

Con­nect with me: Twit­ter | Lin­ke­dIn | Face­book | Goo­gle+ |

January 6, 2012

REAL Success

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Media_httpdistilleryi_fghha

December 27, 2011

The Era of Prosperity-on-Autopilot is over

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Hardly a mor­ning goes by these days without me hea­ring some story on NPR Mor­ning Edi­tion about Ame­ri­can eco­no­mic woe. Espe­cially around this Christ­mas time. Peo­ple who’ve been wor­king hard all their lives, sud­denly can’t afford pre­sents for their kids. Those kind of sto­ries. They’re sad as hell, and they seem to be get­ting more and more frequent.

At the same time I keep seeing news sto­ries like this one from the WSJ: About how com­pe­ti­tion in Sili­con Valley for engi­nee­ring talent is so fierce, they’re figh­ting over interns now:

Sili­con Valley’s talent wars are going younger.

Bay Area tech com­pa­nies, already in a fierce fight for full-time hires, are now also batt­ling to woo sum­mer interns. Tech­no­logy giants like Goo­gle Inc. have been expan­ding their summer-intern pro­grams, while sma­ller tech com­pa­nies are ram­ping up theirs in res­ponse — some­ti­mes even luring can­di­da­tes away from college.

And then there was another story from the BBC, about how Bra­zil has now over­ta­ken the UK as the world’s sixth lar­gest economy.

A  lot of the world is in flux, so it seems. And to this car­too­nist, it has a sim­ple enough explanation:

The Great Con­ver­gence is upon us, and our friend, the Inter­net is acce­le­ra­ting the pro­cess. This would be hap­pe­ning with our without “The 1%”  mis­beha­ving them­sel­ves– wha­te­ver the mains­tream media and the Occupy crowd might say.

The good news is, if you have a talent, the world wants it, and it has never been so easy to show your talent to the world.

The bad news is, espe­cially for us fat & lazy Ame­ri­cans, is that the great, century-long era of Prosperity-on-Autopilot  is over.

The world still wants serious talent. And it still wants peo­ple doing the grunt work: pushing mops, dig­ging ditches, wai­ting tables, ans­we­ring pho­nes, flip­ping bur­gers etc..

It’s the peo­ple in the middle that nobody knows what to do with any­more. And the poli­ti­cians who claim that they do, are lying.

It’s pro­bably too late for my gene­ra­tion, that ship has already sai­led. But for the kids out there rea­ding this, who are just star­ting out?

Learn how to work hard, work long hours. Find something you love, and then excel at it. Above all else, learn how to create, learn how to invent. That’s your only hope, really.

Like I said, no more Autopilot.

December 21, 2011

Coveting

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[Sent out today on the news­let­ter. Buy the print here etc.]

The bene­fits of Con­su­mer Capi­ta­lism– the domi­nant ideo­logy of our age– are pretty self evi­dent:
Lots of peo­ple having stuff, lots of things being inven­ted, lots of live­lihoods being attai­ned, plus the grea­test mea­sure of them all– life expec­tancy– being increased.

But there is a cost, mostly psycho­lo­gi­cal. Con­su­mer capi­ta­lism makes us more covetous.

And cove­tous makes us more stres­sed out and less happy.

There’s no ans­wer to it really, other than grea­ter self-awareness…

December 20, 2011

Finding the Holy in everyday activity

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[A car­toon based on the two years I spent living in New York. Buy the print here etc.]

My friend, Euan Sem­ple is pro­bably the guy who con­vin­ced me to switch from PC to Apple, about five years ago.

“Even ope­ning up the card­board box is a reli­gious expe­rience!”, he said.

Heh. A slight exag­ge­ra­tion, certainly.

But then I’m thin­king… Perhaps not?

As some­body who likes to study reli­gion, I’ve always thought that one of the more inte­res­ting ques­tions in the world to pon­der is, “What is Holy?”

Exactly. Holy. What does it actually mean?

And the same with Unholy…

When a mun­dane act (such as the ope­ning of a card­board box) is ele­va­ted (in this case, by great pac­kage design), we expe­rience what the mys­tics call “The Divine”.

This doesn’t have to mean a strong belief in God, either way. They’re called mys­tics for a rea­son: the whole thing is indeed a mys­tery. Call it “God” if you will, call it something else com­ple­tely. The mys­tery remains, either way.

Work, whether busi­ness or craft or just plain hard, sweaty labor, is far more inte­res­ting, fun and mea­ning­ful when one can chan­nel one’s own sense of divi­nity into it, reli­gious or other­wise. This is how we find the Holy in every­day life, reli­gious or otherwise.

This is how we plug into “The Mystery”.

Steve Jobs knew this, ins­tinc­ti­vely. It was gla­ringly obvious.

December 16, 2011

Seriously. Is this what Comcast REALLY thinks of human potential?

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For rea­sons too tedious to men­tion, every time I start Fire­fox I am auto­ma­ti­cally taken to this Com­cast Xfi­nity home­page, the same peo­ple who con­nect my apart­ment to the Internet.

So this is the first thing Com­cast wants to tell me about this mor­ning, when I boo­ted up my com­pu­ter? Some tri­vial thing about some creepy kid­die video? OK…

Really, Com­cast, Of all the ama­zing things in the world you could’ve sha­red with us, you chose this?

Seriously, is that the best you can do? Is that how you really see human potential?

Is that REALLY the sig­nal you want to be giving out about how you see your customers?

I think you can do bet­ter. You just have to decide to. Just sayin’…

[P.S. For peo­ple wor­king in large com­pa­nies (like Com­cast) who won­der why appea­ling to the mains­tream mass mar­ket doesn’t work as well as it used to, my friend Seth Godin has a REALLY GREAT new book on the sub­ject.]

August 24, 2011

The Treasure Factor

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Not too far down the road from my house in Far West Texas, my friend, Glenn Short and his team make, and I kid you not, the best store-bought beef jerky I have ever tas­ted (And I have tas­ted A LOT over the years). The Lights Jerky Com­pany is phe­no­mi­nal, check it out.

After a few years strug­gling to get it off the ground, busi­ness is boo­ming. I met one of his peo­ple last night, drin­king beer over at The Rail­road Blues. He was just EXHAUSTED at the end of the day from bus­ting his ass, filling orders. It was, how you say, the right kind of exhaus­tion to have…

Out here in the Texas desert moun­tains, where it’s ALWAYS been a tough place to make a living, I’ve noti­ced three kinds of business:

1. THE LOST CAUSES. New ones open and close all the time. Well mea­ning peo­ple who don’t really get what they’re doing, don’t really get what their cus­to­mers are after, don’t really get much, in spite of their often valiant and kind-hearted efforts. Reti­red school teachers from Dallas, who never run a busi­ness before, who just moved out here recently because they liked the sce­nery, who SUDDENLY deci­ded to go into the res­tau­rant busi­ness or wha­te­ver. These pla­ces usually close down in less than nine months. They’re not uncommon.

2. THE COMMODITIES. Stuff you’d expect to see out here. Gas sta­tions. Con­ve­nience sto­res. Fast food joints. Nothing too spe­cial, but they pro­vide some nee­ded ser­vice, same as any where else. Nice local peo­ple wor­king there and all, but nothing to write home about.

3. THE TREASURED. These are the rarest birds. Pro­ducts that are not only INSANELY GREAT, but are done with such, ima­gi­na­tion, love, flair , or even just plain ol’ hard work and good man­ners, fai­lure JUST isn’t an option.

And trea­su­red they are. If you live out here long enough, you start to rea­lize soon enough that if you don’t ACTUALLY TREASURE the busi­nes­ses you love, I mean REALLY trea­sure them more than you would in a big city, say, these pla­ces will just close down even­tually, just blow out of town like tum­ble­weeds. Their uni­que magic will be gone, fore­ver, without nothing to take their place.

And peo­ple KNOW that.

Lights Jerky is one of these. So is The Pizza Foun­da­tion, The Marfa Book Com­pany, Harry’s Bar, The Murphy Street Raspa Com­paany, Novak’s Bar­ber Shop, Tacos Del Norte, The French Gro­cer and The Saddle Club, just to name a few.

And yes, these busi­nes­ses are Social Objects. When something hap­pens in one of these pla­ces– some­body loses their job, or some­body gets sick etc– news tra­vels WAY fas­ter around town than with the other pla­ces. Because peo­ple ACTUALLY do care. BECAUSE they are trea­su­red, the social dyna­mic is far more intense than in say,  a natio­nal fast food chain.

And what is true in small-town West Texas is true in any big city. You don’t have to be Ama­zon or Apple or IBM or McDo­nalds to be a social object.  You can be a small jerky com­pany, bookshop or taco stand. As I’ve always said, “Mea­ning sca­les”.

But The Trea­sure Fac­tor HAS to be there, somehow.

Is your busi­ness trea­su­red? Or do peo­ple just give you money? Serious question…

June 18, 2011

Why Presentation Matters

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[“This Moment”. You can buy the print here etc.]

Ear­lier today I was thin­king of cer­tain “thought lea­der” friends of mine, peo­ple that I know per­so­nally. Rocks­tars in their field.

Seth Godin, Guy Kawa­saki, Kathy Sie­rra, Gary Vee, Prof. Brian Cox, Joi Ito, Ben Ham­mers­ley, Doc Searls etc.

Loo­king for a com­mon thread, it sud­denly hit me– besi­des being hugely talen­ted in their field and the afo­re­men­tio­ned rocks­tar­dom, what else do they have in common?

Short ans­wer: Pre­sen­ta­tions. They’re all REALLY REALLY good at stan­ding in front of a crowd and wowing them. Every one of them. I’ve seen them. They knock your socks off. No won­der they get invi­ted to speak at TED, SXSW and other pla­ces. No won­der they’re able to com­mand the big bucks for doing so.

And then, when you look at the great world-changing figu­res in his­tory, you see the same. Mar­tin Luther King, Mal­colm X, Cicero, Wins­ton Churchill, or Shakespeare’s fic­tio­nal Henry V (“We band of brothers, we happy few” etc.)- it’s right there, front and cen­ter. The presentation.

And then if you read your ancient his­tory, what were the most pri­vi­le­ged peo­ple in Rome and Athens taught how to do as part of their clas­si­cal edu­ca­tion? That’s right. The art of Ora­tion. Again, pre­sen­ta­tion. This explains why get­ting on the deba­ting team at Oxford or Har­vard is still con­si­de­red a big deal for anyone in the know.

For any­body who ever aspi­res to lead.

So the ques­tion I’m asking is, if pre­sen­ta­tion is SUCH an obvious part of the magic lea­dership for­mula throughout the ages, and lea­dership is so inte­gral to suc­cess, why isn’t pre­sen­ta­tion bet­ter taught in schools nowa­days? Why aren’t third gra­ders taught how to use Power­point, as stan­dard? Why isn’t pre­sen­ta­tion empha­si­zed as highly as say, gram­mar or his­tory or math or athletics?

The rea­lity is, the ave­rage per­son doesn’t spend one-hundredth the time wor­king on their pre­sen­ta­tion skills, as they do on their hob­bies or watching TV or going to the gym or whatever.

I think that might be a mistake…

[AFTERTHOUGHT: Yes, I know. Pre­sen­ta­tion isn’t everything. Steve Jobs’s legen­dary key­no­tes wouldn’t be nearly so impres­sive if Apple pro­ducts suc­ked etc. But that’s not an excuse, either.]

June 16, 2011

Personal Drama

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[This car­toon went out in today’s news­let­ter, with the follo­wing com­men­tary:PERSONAL DRAMA

Why are some peo­ple such drama queens?

Why do some peo­ple get so obses­sed with the little stuff, the gos­sip, who said what to who, who’s slee­ping with who, who’s no lon­ger slee­ping with who…?

The short ans­wer: Because it gives them something to do.

Life is short. You’d think we would have lear­ned by now, how to make bet­ter use of our VERY limi­ted time here on Earth.

Appa­rently not…

April 23, 2011

postscript on gapingvoid salon #2

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We had a lovely time at our second gaping­void salon the other day. Thanks to Every­body for coming.

Thanks to the Inter­net, you can quite easily talk to thou­sands of peo­ple a day.

But as anyone who has spent far too much time on the Inter­net will know, there’s no subs­ti­tu­tion for face-to-face.

So I sent word out on the news­let­ter, Hey, there’s a party at gaping­void Cen­tral on Fri­day. Down­town Miami, near the Miami Heat Arena. Why don’t y’all come along?

And so peo­ple came along. Some I knew well, some I hadn’t met before. We had wine, we had food, it was good times all round.

And peo­ple just tal­ked and hung out. I gave a little two-minute speech (the photo is peo­ple watching me give it), but mostly is was just abut peo­ple mee­ting up.

Like-minded peo­ple.

All loo­king for the same things as me. Ideas. Pur­pose. Con­ver­sa­tion. That kinda thing.

Thanks to blog­ging, I know a lot of peo­ple. A TON. So why not get them to meet each other? Why not hang out all together?

And so that is what we did. Exactly.

We’ll be having another one soon. I hope y’all can make it this time…

March 31, 2011

You don’t want to change the world…

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Every­body wants to be on the win­ning team.

Some peo­ple don’t care what team they’re on, to paraph­rase Bob Dylan, so long as they’re winning.

I’ve been around those peo­ple all my life. Most were for­got­ten, by me and every­body else.

Some peo­ple don’t mind if they win or lose, as long as they don;t get hurt.

Some peo­ple don’t mind losing, so long as they get to play the game they want to play.

And then there’s the peo­ple who want to win, and win big, but ONLY if they somehow manage to improve the game overall.

Not just raise THEIR game, but raise THE game alto­gether. Even if when they’re losing, they seem to manage it.

Those peo­ple have the most fun. They’re also the most fun to play with.

And they also seem to win the most, over time.

March 29, 2011

Human Mess

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March 24, 2011

does your schtick have a good creation myth? if not, maybe it needs one?

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1. Sili­con Valley was born in 1939, when Mes­sieurs Hew­lett & Pac­kard star­ted their com­pany in a small garage in Paulo Alto.

2. In his book, “Deli­ve­ring Hap­pi­ness”, Zap­pos CEO Tony Hsieh speaks of  in great length about “The Loft”, a place where all his friends used to hang out and party, and how this sense of “mea­ning­ful gathe­ring” went on to inform the core values of his now-famous shoe company.

3. A very dated-looking pho­to­graph from 1978. Ele­ven young, goofy-looking techies. They turn out to be the foun­ding mem­bers of Mic­ro­soft, inc­lu­ding Bill Gates.

4. Michael Dell foun­ding his com­pu­ter empire in his dorm room at the Uni­ver­sity of Texas.

5. Ben & Jerry’s star­ted making ice cream in a con­ver­ted gas sta­tion in Vermont.

6. The busi­ness guru, Tom Peters often wri­tes about how his time as a young man ser­ving in the US Navy hel­ped evolve his now-famous worldview.

7. Rock star phy­si­cists, Brian Cox talks pas­sio­na­tely about the Big Bang Theory.

8. How a des­pon­dent, burned-out, second-rate adver­ti­sing copyw­ri­ter FINALLY got his groove when he star­ted dra­wing car­toons on the back of busi­ness cards.

9. The Beat­les pla­ying those early gigs at The Cavern Club in Liverpool.

10. The famous tech blog­ger, Robert Sco­ble tal­king about his job wor­king in a dis­count camera store, back when he was a kid.

11. How a bunch of young, angry social mis­fits start a small nightc­lub, the Caba­ret Vol­taire, in 1916 Zurich [at the height of World War One] and in the pro­cess invent Dada, one of the 20th Century’s most influen­tial art movements.

12. Abe Lin­coln was born in a log cabin.

So… What do these all have in common?

They’re all Crea­tion Myths. That’s right; just like The Gar­den of Eden.

We humans seem to need them, somehow. They manage to arti­cu­late who we really are, somehow. The help explain our core values, somehow.

And for wha­te­ver rea­son, REALLY suc­cess­ful peo­ple are even more likely to have them, even more likely to need them, somehow.

Does your sch­tick have a good crea­tion myth? If not, maybe it needs one?

Think about it.

March 22, 2011

on living the bliss-centered life…

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After a decade or so since I last devou­red his books, these last few weeks I’ve been hap­pily, glo­riously redis­co­ve­ring the work of Joseph Camp­bell, the famed mythologist.

My story is a com­mon one among Camp­bell fans. A clue­less, socially inept, lost kid with no idea about what to do or where to fit in the world, and sud­denly along comes Joe Camp­bell with three sim­ple, life-changing words:

“Follow Your Bliss”.

Boom! A moment of total cla­rity. A moment of incan­des­cent lucidity.

Of course! FOLLOW YOUR BLISS! What else is there worth doing, besi­des that? How bet­ter to spend one’s life?

At the time, it made total sense. I mean, REALLY!!!!.…

I only first heard of Joseph Camp­bell the day I read his obi­tuary, back in 1987 (A fact that still makes me sad, I’m not quite sure why). I then chec­ked him out at the books­tore, and I found his work, quite frankly, mind-blowing. Transformative!

A flood­gate of pos­si­bi­lity being ope­ned. Whoosh! Like being hit by a spi­ri­tual tidal wave.

But the thing is…

Joseph may have told me to follow my bliss, but he never told me how. He really didn’t have to many conc­rete tips or poin­ters. He just told his rea­ders to just do it.

Much to our cha­grin, it was something we were just going to have to figure out all by ourselves…

I was a bit inti­mi­da­ted by that. I think we all are, when we first encoun­ter Campbell’s work. Do we have what it takes, do we have the guts to take what he said, make the neces­sary sac­ri­fi­ces etc etc and ACTUALLY apply it to our own lives?

I remem­ber that fear well, a quar­ter cen­tury later…

So, now that I’m older, now that it seems I’ve follo­wed my bliss pretty well, and it also seems to have pan­ned out pretty OK for me crea­ti­vely and career­wise, I now have young peo­ple asking me the very same ques­tion that Joseph’s stu­dents once asked him– “How do I do follow my bliss?”

Expe­rience taught me well that there’s is no defi­ni­tive ans­wer. There is no ins­truc­tion manual.

You just decide to do it, and then you go and do it. Or not. Wha­te­ver. It’s your call. It’s your path.

And it takes as long as it takes. Deca­des, maybe. An entire life­time, even. There is no time­line. Nor any gua­ran­tees that you’ll succeed.

Nobody can do it for you. Nobody can go there for you– that mys­te­rious place where the cen­tral energy of your being finds its source. Yes, you may fail in your quest to find it. But that risk is what makes it so damn power­ful and interesting.

And Joseph Camp­bell would’ve told you the exact same thing.

Thin­king about this ear­lier this eve­ning, I drew the above car­toon just for the heck of it. I hope you like it, but I’m fine if you don’t.. Those little squiggly abs­tract dra­wings I do; well, that’s my bliss. Your bliss is something else. Your bliss is your own, not mine or anyone else’s.

Bliss. You have it within you, we already know that. The ques­tion is what you’re going to do about it.

Thank you, Joseph Camp­bell. Thank you all for rea­ding. Godspeed!

October 14, 2010

are you a beacon?

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[“Adven­ture”. Buy the print here etc.]

Are you a beacon?

A bea­con is a navi­ga­tion sig­nal that tells you where you are when you’re lost at sea.

We spend a lot of our careers being lost at sea.… padd­ling away, not quite sure where we are, hoping to God that a big wave won’t come along and swamp our little boat.

And we look for bea­cons to guide us, to give us hope, to tell us where we are, to show us where the stan­dard is, to show us the way for­ward. Bea­cons can be peo­ple, pro­ducts, busi­nes­ses or even ideas.

“Life might suck right now, but one day I’ll land a kick-ass job as Crea­tive Direc­tor for Cris­pin Porter!”

“Life might suck right now, but one day I’ll write as good a novel as Jonathan Franzen!”

“Life might suck right now, but one day our pro­duct will be bet­ter than SAP or Oracle!”

These are beacons…

Obviously, if you or your pro­duct is a bea­con to other peo­ple in your own industry, you have a con­si­de­ra­ble advan­tage going for you. Not to men­tion, a really good rea­son to get up in the morning.

So in my typi­cal way, I’ll ask you, are you bea­con? If not, don’t you think you should be?

To be honest, I wasn’t really thin­king about you when I sat down to write this, sorry. I was actually thin­king about my client, Racks­pace. Are they a bea­con? I know they’re cer­tainly capa­ble of it.

I’m just thin­king out­loud, here…

July 25, 2010

“treat it like an adventure. an adventure worth sharing.”

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[“Break­fast”, which I sent out in the news­let­ter recently. You can buy the print here etc.]

“TREAT IT LIKE AN ADVENTURE. AN ADVENTURE WORTH SHARING.”

1. Now that Evil Plans is at the publisher’s and in pro­duc­tion (Release date: February 17th), the news­let­ter and the art gallery chug­ging along nicely, I’m star­ting to think about my next adventure.

Some peo­ple live paycheck to paycheck. Some peo­ple live pro­ject to pro­ject. I pre­fer living “adven­ture to adventure”.

I rec­kon that if you can’t treat what you’re doing like an adven­ture, it’s not worth doing. You might as well be dead.

What’s my next adven­ture about? Haven’t quite deci­ded yet. Something to do with Cube Gre­na­des and the next book I plan to write. Plus the car­too­ning, of course.

It’ll all fit together somehow…

2. Here’s what I’ve always noti­ced about us humans: We all want the fee­ling of adven­ture. It’s just about the clo­sest you can get to God while you’re still alive.

And often, we fail to heed the call. We’re too busy with IMPORTANT things. Cars to buy, bills to pay, peo­ple to sch­mooze and mee­tings to attend.

It’s not the Ame­ri­can Dream if it kills you for stu­pid rea­sons. Sorry.

3. I wrote this little rant ear­lier today, while in a grumpy mood:

Fuck y’all.

You know who you are.

Your end­less dro­ning on about nothing, the end­less tedium that is your career…

Well, it makes the CEO of your emplo­yer rich, but does little else.

Surroun­ding your­self with the over­pri­ced, plas­tic bau­bles you lear­ned about from TV, like anyone actually cares.

And you’re rai­sing your kids the same way, rai­sing them to be the same fine spe­ci­men of nowhe­res­vi­lle. Lucky them.

You are boring. You are bore­dom. And that’s what you peddle.

Every day. To anyone who is des­pe­rate enough to listen.

An empty life, follo­wed by an equally empty death.

Fuck y’all and good riddance.

My defi­ni­tion of “Medioc­rity” is: A Trium­vi­rate of small minds, sma­ller hearts and even sma­ller deeds. Usually with some lame-ass, entit­le­ment power trip going on. One rarely has to look very hard to find it; it’s everywhere.

To have an adven­ture, is to reject that.

4. The Cube Gre­nade idea is all about making dra­wings about other people’s adventures.

That’s why I star­ted the Cube Gre­nade givea­way com­pe­ti­tion. That’s why I hope you’ll nomi­nate some­body. That’s why I hope you’ll go read some of the nominations.

It’s all about the adven­ture, People.

5. [TO BE CONTINUED…]

December 30, 2009

don’t worry if you don’t know “absolutely everything” before starting out

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“DON’T WORRY IF YOU DON’T KNOW ‘ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING’ BEFORE STARTING OUT.”

That’s pro­bably the last thing you need…

A lot of peo­ple mas­si­vely post­pone their EVIL PLANS, for the sim­ple rea­son that they don’t have an ans­wer for every pos­si­ble contingency.

They don’t know enough about the industry. They don’t know enough peo­ple in the industry– espe­cially the A-Listers. They don’t know enough about where the mar­ket is going to be in five years. They don’t know enough about what could pos­sibly go wrong. They don’t know where EVERY SINGLE LAST POSSIBLE LANDMINE is buried.

So ins­tead of get­ting on with it, they spend the next few years kee­ping their Nowhe­res­vi­lle day job, whilst spen­ding their eve­nings sur­fing the web, scou­ring the trade maga­zi­nes, researching everything like crazy, trying to get a tho­rough, small-time Outsider’s view about what the big-time Insi­ders are currently up to.

And then they often com­pound this by also trying to get a handle on the even big­ger stuff. What will hap­pen to the American/Asian/European/Brazilian/Whatever eco­nomy in the next 2/5/10/25/Whatever years, and how will these BIG things affect their tiny, obs­cure niche.

They want to have ALL the ans­wers, before ever ris­king get­ting their feet wet. Hell, before even get­ting their little toe wet…

Agreed, a wee bit of pru­dence and infor­med cir­cums­pec­tion are lovely vir­tues to have, but over­doing it can be ulti­ma­tely unpro­duc­tive, for a variety of rea­sons. Here are my four favo­rite ones:

i. Being an Outsi­der with too much Insi­der Know­ledge, makes it even more likely that you’ll make the same mis­ta­kes as every­body else.

When Goo­gle– the most suc­cess­ful adver­ti­sing busi­ness in the his­tory of the world– star­ted their com­pany, their foun­ders knew prac­ti­cally nothing about the inside wor­kings of Madi­son Ave­nue. Ser­gey Brin and Larry Page most likely had zero inside know­ledge about famous adver­ti­sing titans like Leo Bur­nett, David Ogilvy, Lee Clo­wes, John Hegarty or Claude Hop­kins. They were just a cou­ple of twenty-something Stan­ford PhD stu­dents, who were far more inte­res­ted in Inter­net search engi­nes than they ever were in Niel­sen Ratings, Proc­tor & Gam­ble or The Clio Awards. Which helps explain why, when the nor­mal, mains­tream, industry-obsessed kids of around the same age were just lan­ding their first East Coast internships or junior exe­cu­tive posi­tions at adver­ti­sing blue-chips like McCann’s, Lin­tas, DDB or Saatchi’s, Ser­gey and Larry were already well on their way to beco­ming billionaires.

When I star­ted my fine-art print busi­ness in late 2008, I didn’t wait for the acc­laim of the big-city gallery scene, or a favo­ra­ble review from the New York Times art cri­tics before I took the plunge. [A] Those elite votes of appro­val were VERY unli­kely to hap­pen any­way, and [B] Even if did hap­pen, it would have taken years and years. I just rec­ko­ned ins­tead that [A] my blog rea­ders already knew and liked my work, [B] a lot of them had dis­po­sa­ble inco­mes and [C] a lot of them had a lot of wall space that nee­ded filling. That was all the incen­tive I nee­ded to get the ball rolling.

So I just put the idea out there on my blog to see if any fish would bite. And they did. A lot of them even liked the idea enough to put up money in advance, before I had spent a sin­gle penny. As a result, the busi­ness has been pro­fi­ta­ble since Day One, without me having to gain an encyc­lo­pe­dic know­ledge of the big New York, Lon­don and Shanghai art galle­ries, the current career tra­jec­to­ries of all the artists they repre­sent, or the recent auc­tion pri­ces at Sotheby’s and Christie’s. Too much of that stuff would’ve just slo­wed me down, big time.

[Other, Far Bet­ter Exam­ples Than My Own:] Before they launched their car com­pa­nies, Henry Ford and Karl Benz didn’t decide to first spend a decade trying to win the appro­val of pro­mi­nent horse bree­ders or rail­way mag­na­tes. Same goes for the Wright Brothers.

I love this story about Bill Gates: Some years ago, when the com­pany he foun­ded, Mic­ro­soft was at the height of its powers, he was giving a lec­ture to some college stu­dents. When the the Ques­tion & Ans­wers came along, a keen under­gra­duate asked the ques­tion, “What advice would you give to a young per­son like me who wants to make a lot of money some day?”

Gates’ ans­wer was as won­der­ful as it was short: “For Good­ness’ sake, don’t do what I did. That money’s already been made by me.”

ii.“Events, Dear Boy, Events.” –Harold Mac­mi­llan, Bri­tish Prime Minis­ter 1957 – 1963, after being asked by a young jour­na­list, what is the most likely sin­gle fac­tor to blow any govern­ment off-course.

If it’s pretty much impos­si­ble for the smar­test peo­ple in Washing­ton, Wall Street and Sili­con Valley to pre­dict what the big, bad world is going to do next, what chance does a guy wan­ting to open a small, highly-specialized, hand-built EVIL PLAN bicycle ope­ra­tion have, from his small sto­re­front in Brooklyn?

Trying to mic­ro­ma­nage the Macro, from the com­fort of your wee bike shop… Seriously, your time is bet­ter spent trying to manage what you CAN con­trol. Like being nice to cus­to­mers, kee­ping your word, sta­ying cheer­ful, posi­tive and focu­sed, com­ple­ting a task chea­per, fas­ter and bet­ter than you had ori­gi­nally pro­mi­sed, wor­king har­der and smar­ter than the next guy, figh­ting hard to keep your ideas fresh i.e. all those good, small moves that Grandma told you about deca­des ago.

To get some very lucid, hard­core pers­pec­tive on this, I recom­mend that you read Nas­sim Taleb’s exce­llent and highly rea­da­ble “Foo­led By Ran­dom­ness” (W. W. Nor­ton & Co., 2001). Nassim’s the­sis is chil­dishly sim­ple: That the big­ger the his­to­ri­cal event, the more ran­dom and unpre­dic­ta­ble the event was to begin with. Nobody saw 9/11, Pearl Har­bor, the assas­si­na­tions of JFK, Lin­coln or Arch­duke Franz Fer­di­nand (and the sub­se­quent out­break of a four-year World War), the Ato­mic Bombs being drop­ped on Japan, the 1923 collapse of the Ger­man Deutch­mark, the Bar­ba­rians sac­king Rome in 410 A.D., The Bubo­nic Pla­gue of the 1300’s, or Hitler’s 1941 inva­sion of the Soviet Union coming down the pike. Ditto with Detroit not seeing the threat of Japa­nese cars coming after 1945, or IBM not seeing the  threat posed in the 1970s by Mic­ro­soft and Apple. Everything just hap­pe­ned when it did, every­body was shoc­ked com­ple­tely, and every­body just had to deal with the MASSIVE AND UNPREDICTABLE con­se­quen­ces after­ward. Not too much fun at the time, but there was no other choice. Nas­sim makes a damn good case.

So if your EVIL PLAN is to open up a two-person inter­net soft­ware com­pany, or a mom n’ pop fancy cheese shop in North Chi­cago, there’s little point in first wai­ting to see if, some­time in the next two deca­des, whether or not India and Pakis­tan decide to launch nuc­lear mis­si­les against each other.

iii. Inte­res­ting des­ti­nies rarely come from just rea­ding the ins­truc­tions manual.

Yes, Louis Pas­teur did say, “For­tune favors the pre­pa­red mind.” On one level, he was right. That being said, the stuff you learn befo­rehand will never be one-tenth as use­ful as the stuff you learn the hard way, on the job. All the for­mer can do is help train you to deal with the rea­lity of the lat­ter. The real truth is always found in the moment, never in the future. Sadly, not every­body is cut out for thri­ving in the pre­sent tense. Life is unfair.

iv. “Some­ti­mes Paranoia’s just having all the facts.” –William S. Burroughs.

I’ve been in a few busi­nes­ses in my time: adver­ti­sing, mar­ke­ting, fine art prints, gree­ting cards, phone sales, ani­ma­tion, maga­zi­nes, wine, cor­po­rate con­sul­ting, English tai­lo­ring, and now, book wri­ting. Take it from me– if I had known ONE HALF about these busi­nes­ses that I know now, I doubt I would’ve bothe­red in the first place. Ins­tead, I would’ve just got­ten an MBA or law degree somewhere and lan­ded a mid-level posi­tion in a bank, law firm, cor­po­ra­tion or wha­te­ver. Maybe joi­ned the local country club while I was at it. Lucky Me.

[About Hugh. Car­toon Archive. Sign up for my “Daily Car­toon” News­let­ter.]

December 27, 2009

“evil plans” are not products. “evil plans” are gifts.

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You were given a gift by The Crea­tor, God, The Uni­verse, Wha­te­ver. Until you have retur­ned the favor, Life will have a cer­tain, fec­kless emp­ti­ness to it.

So soo­ner or later you’re going to have to explain to your friends and family EXACTLY why you deci­ded to quit your sta­ble 401K job and go off on some long-term ACT OF LUNACY i.e. your EVIL PLAN.

I don’t know what exactly you’ll tell them. I do know, howe­ver, that somewhere in the back of your mind will be a fee­ling that you have something you want to give to the world, something that you haven’t given yet, something the world needs but doesn’t quite know it yet.

Yes, you have already lear­ned how to make a living and pay the bills…

But you know that’s not enough.

I’ve had my fair share of crappy jobs, as have we all.

You know what? I never hated a job because of what it took from me– ALL jobs take a lot from you, espe­cially the best ones.

I hated a job because it never allo­wed me to give enough to the world..

That’s all I ever wan­ted: My best self, pla­ying my best game. Being an adver­ti­sing hack never allo­wed that, somehow. But I can now do that as a car­too­nist. I’m damn lucky to have found that out, even if it did take me a pain­fully, emba­rras­singly long time.

I’m not the world’s most talen­ted per­son at what I do. Neither are you. That doesn’t make the gift we have to give less valid.

Giving the gift is an act of love. And Love is the only thing that matters.

That’s why we have an EVIL PLAN. Because it mat­ters. Because Love matters.

What else is there to say…?

[About Hugh. Car­toon Archive. Sign up for my “Daily Car­toon” News­let­ter.]

December 11, 2009

dead people

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November 20, 2009

liberation

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[Backs­tory: About Hugh. E-mail Hugh. Twit­ter. Limi­ted Edi­tion Prints. Car­toon Archive. News­let­ter. Book. Inter­viewEssen­tial Rea­ding:Everything You Always Wan­ted To Know About ‘Cube Gre­na­des’ But Were Afraid To Ask.”]

 

what people say

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[Backs­tory: About Hugh. E-mail Hugh. Twit­ter. Limi­ted Edi­tion Prints. Car­toon Archive. News­let­ter. Book. Inter­viewEssen­tial Rea­ding:Everything You Always Wan­ted To Know About ‘Cube Gre­na­des’ But Were Afraid To Ask.”]

 

November 16, 2009

life isn’t fucked

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[Backs­tory: About Hugh. E-mail Hugh. Twit­ter. Limi­ted Edi­tion Prints. Car­toon Archive. News­let­ter. Book. Inter­viewEssen­tial Rea­ding:Everything You Always Wan­ted To Know About ‘Cube Gre­na­des’ But Were Afraid To Ask.”]

 

November 8, 2009

fat dumb happy

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I drew this car­toon this mor­ning, while thin­king about a con­ver­sa­tion I had a cou­ple of years ago:

I was on the phone to an old friend of mine, a guy in his late for­ties, who was born and bred in Michi­gan, and is living there now. He was telling me about his uncle, who, about four deca­des ago, got his highschool sweetheart preg­nant. So ins­tead of going off to college, he found him­self with a new wife, a child on the way, and an assembly-line job at Gene­ral Motors. But even though this situa­tion clip­ped his wings con­si­de­rably, he still ended up having a nice life in the end, with a home, a big yard, two cars, a steady paycheck, wee­kends fishing or hun­ting deer, and vaca­tions in Hawaii every year or so. “The days where a blue collar guy like my uncle could have a nice life without doing much,” my friend said, “those days are gone. Gone forever.”

And in the back of my mind, I’m thin­king the same is star­ting to hap­pen to white collar guys more and more, as well. But it’s not quite out in the open yet. Society’s not quite ready to have that conversation.

I also heard a sta­tis­tic a cou­ple of weeks ago that there are at least thirty million chil­dren in China currently taking piano les­sons. Thirty. Million.

We live in inte­res­ting times…

[Update: ]“Thou­san­dists”: My long-time Spa­nish blog buddy, Nia left an inte­res­ting com­ment below:

That con­ver­sa­tion about white-collar jobs is four years old in Spain.

This is the short ver­sion: The peo­ple who were in their 20-30s in the 1970s saw that a Uni­ver­sity degree made a big dif­fe­rence in your job and salary. They made their kids (anyone born 1970  –  1985) study, and that young gene­ra­tion belie­ved for a while that we could do the same trick as our parents. Get a degree. The job will follow.

We now have a word for peo­ple of my gene­ra­tion with a hand­ful of degrees: mileu­ris­tas. Thou­san­dists. As in, someone who makes around 1,000 euros a month. There’s so many of us, no one’s willing to pay us more than a (barely) living wage.

[Backs­tory: About Hugh. E-mail Hugh. Twit­ter. Limi­ted Edi­tion Prints. Car­toon Archive. News­let­ter. Book. Inter­viewEssen­tial Rea­ding:Everything You Always Wan­ted To Know About ‘Cube Gre­na­des’ But Were Afraid To Ask.”]

 

July 28, 2009

who says you can’t have it all?

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I often think that the thing that pro­bably cau­ses the most “quiet des­pe­ra­tion” in modern society, is the relent­less pur­suit of “Having it all”.
“Who says you can’t have it all?” were the lyrics of an anno­yingly upbeat beer jin­gle from the mid-1980s.
This cam­paign for Miche­lob Lite tri­tely asked the ques­tion, “Who says you can’t love your work, and leave it too?” as an alle­gory to the ques­tion, “Who says you can’t get great, satisf­ying taste in a beer, that also hap­pens to be kinda light and watery?“
I remem­ber seeing the ad as a kid. Some yup­pie who loo­ked good in a suit, loo­ked good in a cor­po­rate office, but also loo­ked pretty good on the bas­ket­ball court with his bud­dies, and who also loo­ked good wiel­ding an elec­tric gui­tar surroun­ded by an admi­ring group of ladies. Loving his work, and lea­ving it too, as the jin­gle reaches its triumphant cli­max. “Oh YES you caaaaan… have it ALL!” How sti­rring for the soul etc. Tols­toy or Beetho­ven would be proud etc etc.
If you read the article from 1987 that I lin­ked to above, you’ll find the cam­paign wasn’t that suc­cess­ful.
Of course it wasn’t. Why? Because as we all know, life isn’t like that.
How many PhD’s have quit their ste­llar careers in aca­deme, to go play for the NFL? How many NBA stars, after they reti­red from bas­ket­ball, go off to run a divi­sion of IBM?
To be the best in the world at something– or even REALLY good at it– the sac­ri­fi­ces are utterly, utterly enor­mous. “Have it all?” Are you insane?
We ALL know this.
Except Miche­lob Lite back in 1987, it seems. Which is why, twenty-plus years later after dec­la­ring their abi­lity to be all things to all peo­ple, their brand is still strug­gling away, trying hard to be something– ANYTHING– other than unex­cep­tio­nal. I wish them well.
Of course, this “Have It All”, sacrifice-free atti­tude isn’t just the domain of unex­cep­tio­nal beer brands. It’s the domain of unex­cep­tio­nal indi­vi­dual careers, as well. We can only hope that ours is not one of them.

[UPDATE: Just added this blog post to “Evil Plans”.]

[Backs­tory: About Hugh. Twit­ter. News­let­ter. Book. Inter­view One. Inter­view Two. Limi­ted Edi­tion Prints. Pri­vate Com­mis­sions. Cube Gre­na­des.“EVIL PLANS”.]

July 5, 2009

blocked

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Peo­ple get “bloc­ked”.
With their jobs, with their rela­tionships, with their mar­ke­ting, with their own pas­sions and crea­ti­vity…
And yes, with them­sel­ves. I’m as guilty as anyone. So are you.
So then the next ques­tion beco­mes, well, how do you become “unbloc­ked”? How do you get your mojo back?
Wouldn’t it be great if some­body could invent a pro­duct– a book, for exam­ple, or maybe some audio­ta­pes, or a three-day semi­nar, wha­te­ver– and all peo­ple would have to do is pull out their cre­dit card, pay the fee, use the pro­duct once et Volia! Pro­blem sol­ved! Bloc­kage remo­ved!
Yes, that would be great, in theory. But kno­wing what I know from past expe­rience, I’d recom­mend that if you ever meet some­body trying to sell you something like this, run away in the oppo­site direc­tion. That fellow is selling you a bunch of psycho­bab­ble snake oil. Nobody can unblock you, but you.
Ins­tead, read the follo­wing one-word quote. Unlike the snake oil, you can have it free of charge and yes, this actually works, every time:

Love.

So now you know…
[Update: Just added this blog post to “EVIL PLANS”.
[Backs­tory: About Hugh. Twit­ter. News­let­ter. Book. Inter­view One. Inter­view Two. Limi­ted Edi­tion Prints. Pri­vate Com­mis­sions. Cube Gre­na­des.“EVIL PLANS”.]

June 17, 2009

newsletter excerpt

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An excerpt from my latest Crazy Deran­ged Fools News­let­ter, which I sent out ear­lier today:

“Here’s the rea­lity: The Crea­tive Bug will give you everything, and it will take from you, everything. It will cost you your life, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.
But kno­wing this, of course, is what ulti­ma­tely sets you free.”

Feel free to sign up, Thanks!

May 11, 2009

welcome to the hunger

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Wel­come to The Hun­ger.
The Hun­ger to do something crea­tive.
The Hun­ger to do something ama­zing.
The Hun­ger to change the world.
The Hun­ger to make a dif­fe­rence.
The Hun­ger to enjoy one’s work.
The Hun­ger to be able to look back and say, Yeah, cool, I did that.
The Hun­ger to make the most of this utterly brief blip of time Crea­tion has given us.
The Hun­ger to dream the good dreams.
The Hun­ger to have ama­zing peo­ple in our lives.
The Hun­ger to have the synap­ses con­ti­nually fired up on over­drive.
The Hun­ger to expe­rience beauty.
The Hun­ger to tell the truth.
The Hun­ger to be part of something big­ger than your­self.
The Hun­ger to have good sto­ries to tell.
The Hun­ger to stay the course, des­pite of the odds.
The Hun­ger to feel pas­sion.
The Hun­ger to know and express Love.
The Hun­ger to know and express Joy.
The Hun­ger to chan­nel The Divine.
The Hun­ger to actually feel alive.
The Hun­ger will give you everything. And it will take from you, everything. It will cost you your life, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.
Wel­come to The Hun­ger. Its day has arri­ved. It will never go away. You have been told.

April 30, 2009

art, myth and marketing

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My recent inter­view with Late­ral Action got me thin­king about “Myth”:

The way artists mar­ket them­sel­ves is by having a great story, by having a “Myth”. Telling anec­do­tal sto­ries about Warhol, Pollack, Bas­quiat, Van Gogh is both (A) fun and (B) has a mythi­cal dimen­sion… if they didn’t, they wouldn’t have had movies made about them. The art feeds the myth. The myth feeds the art.

We all know how mytho­lo­gies build up around art and artists, that over time informs the artist’s work itself.
Warhol’s weirdly des­truc­tive social scene at The Fac­tory in the 1960s. Pollack’s exces­sive drin­king. Van Gough’s des­cent into mad­ness. Keith Haring’s wild party times in the New York gay scene…
Let’s say you spent a siza­ble chunk of money on a work by an artist you love. Let’s just say you couldn’t really jus­tify it finan­cially, you pro­bably couldn’t afford it, but dam­mit, you just HAD to have it.
Let’s say you’re sho­wing off the work to a friend, which is now proudly han­ging in your office. Let’s say your friend never heard of the artist before.
“What???” your friend says, “You spent HOW MUCH on that? But it’s only some green and blue blotches!“
So you give your friend some back­ground infor­ma­tion. You tell him how famous the guy was back in New York in the 1970s, how “Breakth­rough” his work was at the time, how he was influen­ced by Famous Artists A, B and C, and how he went on to influence Later Famous Artists X, Y and Z. You tell anec­do­tal sto­ries about his tumul­tuous marriage to a famous, Japa­nese nove­list [who’s work is also now making a come­back], and his up-and-down, booze-soaked rela­tionship with Famous Artist K, his brief, heart­brea­king love affair with Famously Tra­gic Socia­lite P, his battle with alcohol and drugs, and the old farm he reti­red to up in Woods­tock, New York.
Hope­fully by the time you are done with your story, though he may not end up being a collec­tor of the artist him­self, he at least will unders­tand more clearly the work’s reso­nance, and why you made the purchase.
And of course, so will you. Because it wasn’t just your friend who nee­ded to hear the story. You nee­ded to hear the story, as well. You nee­ded to be able to tell your­self that story, that story NEEDED TO EXIST, or else you simply would have not bought the pain­ting in the first place. Without the story, without the “Myth”, you could not have jus­ti­fied purcha­sing the work to your­self [let alone your wife].
We don’t just do this for $40K works of art, we use the some mytho­lo­gi­cal tech­ni­ques when we buy com­pu­ters, break­fast cereal, or bars of soap. Our lives are only as mea­ning­ful as the myths we can create for our­sel­ves. And we like to create myths around the objects that fill up our lives. That’s what “Bran­ding” is all about.
The more I think about mar­ke­ting art, the more I think how what I’m lear­ning applies to mar­ke­ting everything else. Because art is not par­ti­cu­larly uti­li­ta­rian, the myth is key.
And unless you can unders­tand the myth that informs wha­te­ver pro­duct you’re trying to sell, the har­der your job will be. The more you can TRULY unders­tand the myth, the big­ger an edge you will have over your com­pe­ti­tion. I am right on this one.

March 20, 2009

what do middle seats on airplanes and the current recession have in common?

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1. One of my pet pee­ves when tra­ve­ling [and I tra­vel quite a bit these days] is when I get assig­ned to the middle seat on an air­plane.
We all know why; we all know middle seats are uncom­for­ta­ble and nasty. We all know that they basi­cally suck.
Sure, the good air­line folk will tell me, they’ve already boo­ked all the win­dow and aisle seats. They’ve only got middle seats left. Sorry etc.
Which always makes me think to myself, “Those middle seats shouldn’t be on the air­plane in the first place”.
Middle seats are, to me, a pro­duct of a dif­fe­rent era. They were inven­ted when the first long dis­tance jet air­li­ners came around, the Boeing 707, the VC-10 etc etc. Before that they just had ais­les and win­dows.
Thirty or forty years ago, air­pla­nes were desig­ned before the air­line industry was dere­gu­la­ted, when air tra­vel was REALLY expen­sive. When peo­ple had far fewer choi­ces.
Jet Blue currently buys long, skinny air­pla­nes to make get­ting rid of the middle seat eco­no­mi­cally via­ble. But they’re a new air­line. Older, lar­ger, more esta­blished air­li­nes are still behol­den to their old, fat air­pla­nes, stuf­fed to the brim with middle seats.
It won’t hap­pen over­night, but there will come a time when offe­ring your air­line cus­to­mers a middle seat will be tan­ta­mount to eco­no­mic sui­cide.
Because peo­ple simply don’t want middle seats. They never did. And they’ll gladly take their busi­ness over to someone who doesn’t have them on offer.
This middle-seat-free day arri­ving will great news for us cus­to­mers, of course. But not if you’re “Middle Seat Guy”.
2. Middle Seat Guy is the guy at the air­line whose job it is to figure out the middle seats– how many of them they can cram onto a plane, and how to sell middle seats as effi­ciently as pos­si­ble [to peo­ple who never wan­ted them to begin with].
Sud­denly, he’s out of a job. Peo­ple aren’t buying midd­les seats any­more, sud­denly the world has no more use for his ser­vi­ces. He’s at home; he’s bit­ter, he feels per­so­nally betra­yed by the air­line who emplo­yed him for twenty years. His life sucks and he’s hit­ting the bottle before noon etc.
Whether we’re tal­king about air­li­nes or any other kind of busi­ness, the fact is, the Inter­net has made it MUCH har­der to sell your cus­to­mers metapho­ri­cal “Middle Seats”. And the punish­ment for trying to get away with it keeps on get­ting more swift and severe.
3. No, we don’t want to give you $7500.00 in order to help you pay off your six-figure stu­dent loans from Law School. We’d much rather down­load something off the inter­net that does the same job for $99.99.
No, we don’t want be inte­rrup­ted by you, so you can show us your well-crafted, multi-million dollar mar­ke­ting mes­sage about how won­der­ful your client’s auto­mo­bi­les are. We’d much rather get the skinny from an online forum.
No, we don’t want to buy your gene­ric, cardboard-tasting, mass-produced coo­kies from the local con­ve­nience store; we’d rather order some online from this Trap­pist Monk Weirdo Lum­ber­jack in Alaska, who makes by-hand-in-tiny-batches THE MOST AMAZING coo­kies ever.
No, we don’t want to buy your $25 bottle of nasty, Cali­fo­nian vine­gar. We’d rather buy this great little $10 Aus­tra­lian red that this cool wine blog­ger tur­ned us on to.
4. The only time I really watch TV is when I’m sta­ying in a hotel room, like I was last wee­kend while visi­ting Aus­tin for SXSW. Usually I just turn on CNN, and lis­ten to the pun­dits blether on. Back­ground noise. Fairly mind­less stuff.
It was quite a dis­con­nect for me to hear the guys on CNN yap­ping end­lessly on about THE RECESSION, in con­trast to all the groovy cats I met at SXSW, who told me how their busi­nes­ses were boo­ming. It was like two alter­nate uni­ver­ses colli­ding. Which one was the real one?
To anyone rea­ding this who has lost their job to the reces­sion recently, first let me say how sorry I am to hear that. I lost my job during the last reces­sion, and I know how rot­ten it can be. I utterly sym­pathize.
That being said, while I’m watching CNN I keep asking myself the same ques­tion. What per­cen­tage of these reces­sion vic­tims were just plain, ran­domly unlucky, and how many were in the busi­ness of selling metapho­ri­cal “Middle Seats” before they got laid off?
I don’t know what’s going to hap­pen in this reces­sion in the long run. I do know, howe­ver, that a lot of Middle Seat Guys, i.e. those who currently make their living via “The Igno­rance Pre­mium”, are going to be sud­denly out of work, with ZERO idea about what to do next. I hope that doesn’t inc­lude you.
[Sign up to gapingvoid’s “Crazy, Deran­ged Fools” Newsletter…]

 

September 25, 2008

the complexity war a.ka. “success is more complex than failure”

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Rud­yard Kipling once desc­ri­bed Triumph and Disas­ter as “Impos­ters, both”. The lon­ger I stay in the wor­king world, the more I start to get what he means.
It’s funny how you can have two guys sit­ting next to each other in an office, both doing the same job. Both using the same com­pu­ters and pho­nes. Both with the same aca­de­mic qua­li­fi­ca­tions. Both with a simi­lar IQ. Both wor­king the same amount of hours. But why does one guy take home five times more sales com­mis­sion than the other guy? What’s going on? Is it luck? Skill? Jus­tice? Injus­tice?
The ques­tion of what sepa­ra­tes suc­cess from fai­lure, is something I’ve always liked to pon­der on. Sud­denly this week, out of nowhere, the follo­wing line hit me:
“Suc­cess is more com­plex than Fai­lure.“
Think about it. Being a fai­lure is a no-brainer. All you have to do is sleep till noon, get out of bed, scratch your balls, have your mor­ning visit to the bath­room, turn on the Star Trek re-runs, help your­self to some break­fast [Lef­to­ver pizza and a bottle of Jack Daniels, Hurrah!], light up your first joint of they day, down­load some porn, and already you’re well on your way. Sure, a few incon­ve­nient varia­bles may enter the pic­ture here and there, to com­pli­cate an other­wise per­fect day of FAIL, e.g. what you’re going have to say to your brother in order to con­vince him to lend you that $300, so you can pay off the telephone bill, that kinda thing. But for the most part, the day-to-day modus ope­randi of your “Ave­rage Total Fai­lure” is quite straight­for­ward.
Being suc­cess­ful, howe­ver, is a whole dif­fe­rent ball game. Break­fast mee­tings at 7.00am. Con­fe­rence calls at mid­night. Visi­ting twelve cities in five days. Fiel­ding ques­tion from a swarm of hos­tile jour­na­lists. Dea­ling suc­cess­fully with an enra­ged, multi-million dollar cus­to­mer who’s screa­ming bloody mur­der over something rather tri­vial in the grand scheme of things. Dea­ling suc­cess­fully with an enra­ged, multi-million dollar inves­tor who’s screa­ming bloody mur­der over something rather tri­vial in the grand scheme of things. Making sure there’s enough money in the account to meet the pay­roll of all your legions of highly-paid, highly-effective, highly-talented emplo­yees. All these hun­dreds of unre­len­ting issues to deal with, all day, every day. You get the pic­ture.
And as always, what’s inva­riably true of peo­ple is also inva­riably true for busi­nes­ses. So when I see a small but insanely-successful busi­ness sud­denly implode over­night [it seems to hap­pen quite a lot in Sili­con Valley], I’m gues­sing chan­ces are it wasn’t ina­bi­lity to manage growth per se that des­tro­yed the busi­ness [a favo­rite rea­son cited by those wri­ting busi­ness obi­tua­ries], but the ina­bi­lity for the busi­ness to manage com­ple­xity. Com­ple­xity inc­rea­ses expo­nen­tially with growth, most small com­pa­nies can cul­tu­rally only handle inc­re­men­tal inc­rea­ses in com­ple­xity. As I’m fond of saying, “Human beings don’t scale”.
Which is why wal­king around the hall­ways of large, suc­cess­ful com­pa­nies can often seem so oppres­sive to some­body new to it. All that cul­tu­ral regi­men­ta­tion is there for one rea­son only: To fight “The Com­ple­xity War”. Sure, it might feel a bit ghastly to the more idea­list and free-spirited among us, but until some­body can come up with a bet­ter way to win this Com­ple­xity War at a Fortune-500 level, I don’t see it ever going away.

August 27, 2008

more thoughts on “the edges”.

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[“Edges 2″. Part of “The Edges” series. Click on image to enlarge…]

OK, so this wee­kend I did another “Live On The Edges” car­toon. I’ve been pla­ying around with the idea A LOT in my head these last few days. More thoughts:
1. I pre­fer “Live On The Edges” more than “Live On The Edge”. Like I said in my last post, there are lots of “edges” out there. “The Edge” just sounds too “rock n’ roll lifestyle” for my taste. “The Edges”, at least to me, con­note more of a fee­ling “Explo­ra­tion” somehow.
2. Whether you pre­fer “The Edge” or “The Edges”, actually, I really don’t care. I really don’t think it mat­ters either way. That being said, the blo­gosphere is chock full of seman­tic micro-managers, so I must be care­ful.
3. I was dri­ving around town this mor­ning, run­ning errands, when sud­denly it occu­rred to me: I have actually reached a fairly high state of what I would call “Cartoon-Enabled Per­so­nal Sove­reignty”. In other words, I simply couldn’t do what I do without the car­toons. I’d have to go get a job somewhere. Ugh. My advice? Per­so­nal Sove­reignty is an edgy busi­ness. Not for ever­yone.
4. Yes, of course, the Inter­net DOES make it FAR easier to be an “Edge­ling”. I’ve been tal­king about that for years now…
5. I read somewhere that the ave­rage Ame­ri­can today has a higher stan­dard of living than Louis XIV, yet we’re all unhappy. Yeah, having read his his­tory, I’m not sure King Louis was that happy, either. But hey, at least he wasn’t a 17th-Century French pea­sant. Count your bles­sings where you find them etc.
6. I’m agnos­tic. I see both “The Edges” and “The Middle” two sides of the same coin. Like the circle’s cen­ter and cir­cum­fe­rence, both need the other.
7. TV shows start out see­ming kinda edgy, then after a while they seem mains­tream and boring. This hap­pens even when the writing’s qua­lity stays high. We get used to stuff. We assi­mi­late new forms of lan­guage, and then we move on. My car­toons are no dif­fe­rent. Ashes-to-Ashes etc.
8. “Living on the Edges” for its own sake is a com­plete waste of time. “Mommy! Mommy! Look at Me! I’m living on the Edges! Can I have a coo­kie?” What’s more inte­res­ting, of course, is the idea of “Cons­tant Rene­wal”, “Cons­tant Re-invention”. Edges are a good place to go out and find it. You either have an appe­tite for it, or you don’t. You either have a talent for it, or you don’t. Life is unfair.
9. I remem­ber when blog­ging was con­si­de­red “edgy”. It was actually not that long ago. Now it seems rather mains­tream. Like Point Num­ber 7, we assi­mi­late media as a new form of lan­guage, and then, again, we move on.
10. You get older and you start noti­cing how there’s a lot of peo­ple out there doing really inte­res­ting, crazy stuff, but then they go home and live these very ordi­nary, middle class, subur­ban lives. Han­ging out with the family, coo­king bar­be­cue in the back lawn, movies and going out for Chi­nese food, pla­ying fris­bee in the park, it’s all good. Ima­gine the trou­ble these folk would get into if they didn’t have that kind of balance in their lives. By most stan­dards, I would say I have a pretty “edgy” career. It’s why I live in West Texas in a quiet, sleepy town. It allows me push the edges inter­nally without get­ting rip­ped apart exter­nally. Living in Manhat­tan would kill me inside twelve months.
11. Peo­ple often ask me, “How do you stay ins­pi­red over the long haul?” My ans­wer: “By wor­king hard”. Bliss through Toil, Baby. It’s all good.
12. “Edges” is not a lifestyle choice. It’s just something you do. It just hap­pens. No, you have no real con­trol over it.
13. All is Vanity.

December 25, 2007

without fear, hollywood has no viable business model: the t.v. writer’s strike

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I’ve been watching the Ame­ri­can TV writer’s strike with great inte­rest.
Back in 1999 – 2000 I spent 5 months in Holly­wood, hel­ping a friend out with his “New Media” dot­com [The lat­ter fai­led mise­rably, of course, but that’s another story]. Having seen the Media lands­cape evolve so dra­ma­ti­cally since then, I have some thoughts on the dis­pute:
1. What struck me most about living in LA was how nobody tal­ked about “Art”. They wan­ted to talk about “The Industry”. Some­body you knew get­ting a job on the set of Spi­der­man 3 or Stuart Little 2 was con­si­de­red hot stuff… even if they were not films you or anyone else you knew would ever want to see your­sel­ves [i.e. even if the movie was kinda lame]. And the equi­va­lent exis­ted in the TV world.
It didn’t take me very long to figure out: Holly­wood is a fac­tory town. In terms of social hie­rarchies, it was no dif­fe­rent that Detroit, only ins­tead of Ford and GM, we had Uni­ver­sal and Dis­ney. And the guys I knew in it, for all their flashy cars and expen­sive gym mem­berships, were nothing more than glo­ri­fied fac­tory wor­kers. Wor­king on an assembly line. Ship­ping wid­gets [in the form of “movies” and “shows”] off to thea­ters and TV sta­tions around the country. And indeed, they had EXACTLY the same kind of indus­trial alie­na­tion from their craft as the fac­tory wor­kers that Marx and Engels wrote about, over a cen­tury before.
2. For all the dif­fe­rent kinds of “crea­tive” peo­ple in the sys­tem, Holly­wood has the most rigid class sys­tem I have ever encoun­te­red. With “The Pla­yers” at the top [Spiel­berg, Lucas, Brad Pitt, Angela Jolie etc], the grunts and the unem­plo­yed “Talent” at the bot­tom, and in bet­ween the middle guys: Wri­ters, law­yers, agents, techies, all enga­ged in a mas­sive cat-fight to get on top, or at least, get on top of their current peer group. It was a very well-mapped-out pyra­mid. Which is what made mee­ting peo­ple such a foggy expe­rience. They knew that if you could figure out where on the pyra­mid you lay [not a hard thing to do in under thirty seconds], they’d feel expo­sed and vul­ne­ra­ble. And the wri­ters I knew, for all the yak­kin’ I heard about “the inte­grity” of their craft, were as every bit as com­pli­cit in pre­ser­ving the pyra­mid scheme as anyone else I met.
In a recent Twit­ter con­ver­sa­tion, Loren Feld­man said to me: “I did 10 years in Holly­wood, it’s a sys­tem based on fear, always has been.” I agree. And I think it will always be thus. Without fear, Holly­wood has no via­ble busi­ness model. Without a large group of young, hungry peo­ple willing to take the pyramid/privilege model seriously, Holly­wood has no busi­ness model. Pri­vi­lege and fear are never far from one another.
3. In the last 20 years, we’ve seen an evo­lu­tion of non-print Media away from “Thea­tri­cal” [Both cinema and TV are forms of thea­ter], towards inte­rac­tive. And the main con­se­quen­ces of that, besi­des media beco­ming a two-way con­ver­sa­tion ins­tead of a one-way con­ver­sa­tion, has made the barriers to entry into crea­ting “Media” a lot lower. And the peo­ple who are fee­ling the pain are the ones who spent the last decade or so trying to figure the pyra­mid scheme in a time when the world was a dif­fe­rent place.
4. In the end, this strike is not about DVD and digi­tal royal­ties. Ulti­ma­tely, this strike is about the mas­sive and trau­ma­tic ero­sion of pri­vi­le­ges affor­ded the middle-ranking fac­tory wor­kers. But of course, there’s not a damn thing they or their bos­ses can do to bring those pri­vi­le­ges back. The lands­cape of media is moving away from large stu­dios, to college dorms, down­town lofts, and subur­ban gara­ges. Like Madi­son Ave­nue, Holly­wood won’t disap­pear. But also like Madi­son Ave­nue, it’ll never com­mand the cul­tu­ral van­guard like it once did.
My conc­lu­sion? The ice cap is mel­ting, and all we’re seeing here is the pen­guins deci­ding to hold a pic­ket line. In news terms, it makes for good thea­ter. But like Holly­wood, that’s all it is.

[UPDATE:] Thanks to Andrew Denny for lea­ving the follo­wing com­ment:
Direc­tor Mike Fig­gis made some simi­lar points (and pre­dic­ted a collapse of the exis­ting Holly­wood model) in a won­der­ful talk on BBC Radio 3 last month entit­led: “Is there too much cul­ture?” [55 minu­tes long]

Just lis­te­ned to it. Awe­some stuff.