BAGGING IT
Tagging behind my father as we made our way from the subway to his office at NBC, I sometimes wondered why, on some days, he carried his Samsonite briefcase and on others, he carried only a grey envelope with an NBC logo. Years later, I realized that he rarely carried much of anything in his briefcase, or in the words of his 1960s office culture, his “attaché” case. His car keys lived in the pocket of his sport jacket, and his wallet lived in his back pocket.
When I started working in my first serious job, I carried my father’s Samsonite briefcase. Made of high-impact black plastic with a chrome frame, the attaché was 1970s chic… at least for middle class businessmen. Lawyers carried leather bags. The rest of us carried Samsonite.
By the late 1970s, I was wearing YSL suits and Pierre Cardin belts, so I bought a belting leather briefcase with a suede interior. Beautiful and expensive, it made me feel like the rising manager that I was learning to be. Working in Columbus, Ohio, I was fashionable. Returning to my New York City home base, I felt silly. Traveling the subways, walking the streets, I needed my hands free. I shopped around, but fashion hadn’t caught yet caught up with function. I kept my leather clamshell.
By the mid-1980s, I was working at home without a permanent office in Manhattan. What I needed was flexibility: a case large enough for a wad of file folders and the occasional loose-leaf binder; a space for keys; for a Walkman; for easily accessible train tickets. What I wanted would have lots of zippers and pockets. What I wanted turned out to be a Tenba photographer’s bag. Made of ballistic nylon, the Tenba briefcase had a shoulder strap-- I could hang my briefcase from my shoulder. I’d walk down Broadway and people would stop me and ask me about my shoulder bag. Some people made fun of me, and called me a woman. Cab drivers would sometimes shout a funny line as they drove by.
Although I was the very first person in the US to use a photography bag as a daily briefcase (okay, maybe the third), it wasn’t long before the entire male population of the US followed my lead. Then, Tumi became the bag of choice: a somewhat elegant combination of zippers and pockets, with at least one large enough for a cellular phone, available either in black nylon or black leather. It didn’t weigh much, and for a while, the bags seemed to be so well made, I bought the same brand’s products for my entire travel luggage collection.
It wasn’t long before I realized that my particular Tumi briefcase was a little too long, a little too wide, a little too cumbersome. The top of the soft bag seemed to crease with weight, causing zipper issues. I replaced mine with a strange looking vertical Tumi briefcase, and again, I caught the attention of witty cab drivers. Still, the solution was perfection, at least for a year: a top-loaded bag that discouraged my carrying too many heavy objects, with enough zippers and pockets to keep a growing collection of portable consumer electronics objects in place.
For a few weeks, I carried a computer bag, with what continues to masquerade as a portable computer inside. I quickly decided that carrying a six-pound portable computer plus a one-pound power supply was beyond my strength or understanding.
As my career moved from media producer to media executive, I adopted the style of the times: a black leather Coach shoulder bag with nickel fixings with a black leather portfolio inside. This matched my black pants, shoes, belt, and shirt. And when the dot.coms crashed, all of this pretentious nonsense ended up in the back of a closet.
A powerful severance package allowed me to be more selective, and more relaxed. My next bag was built from leather and canvas (not just any canvas, but the same type of treated canvas used for Civil War tents). Armed and ready for a meeting with Robert E. Lee, the new Schlessinger Adventurer bag secured my image as a creative professional and an executive… a rugged individual thinker with just enough conformity to be trusted with large sums of invested money.
The look seemed right, and the bag was large enough to carry the 3-pound portable computer that I used to impress investors, but our new company underperformed, and the truth was, I wasn’t going out as much as I was working in the office. So I really didn’t need a whole lot more than a bag to carry car keys, a Palm Treo phone, and a few other small items.
What I needed was (the cab drivers adored this one): a purse.
Again, I found what I wanted in a camera store. As an amateur photographer, I had become a fan of Billingham camera bags: well made in various canvas colors with leather trim. Lightweight. Very British. For a year, my “man purse” was Billingham’s Airport, a 6 inch by 9 inch shoulder bag with a small front flap pocket (for my Treo-- with a fit tight enough to cause the phone to auto-dial); a top open zippered area large enough for a paperback book and a pack of tissues with a small wad of keys on top; a side zippered area for some business cards and a small flashlight; and an open slash back for an airline ticket.
For important papers, I invested in an under-the-arm leather portfolio, hand-made in Washington state by Renaissance Art. (The company thrives on pseudo-Medieval designs, but their Pad Portfolio is understated with a vague taste of the American frontier-- allowing my witty children to poke fun of me as a “cowboy executive.”)
The combination worked for about a year, but the Billingham bag was always a little too small. Or, to put this in the more common female vernacular, I needed a larger purse.
The search wasn’t easy. By now, I really liked the British canvas and leather look, and I wanted something bigger but not too big. I wasted hours on the web, searching the world for the perfection. I found metrosexual messenger bags but they all reminded me of the all-black look I left behind with my dot.com experience. Besides, none seemed to embrace the many-pockets, many-zippers functionality that were now a part of my portable life.
On the web, I found a little company called Fogg. They make camera bags in canvas and leather, with lots of pockets and zippers, but there was only one store in the US that seemed to carry the bags. And the one I wanted-- the Jazz bag (all Fogg bags are musically named)-- didn’t seem to be available to anyone unwilling to trek to an obscure French country town.
So began a multi-month trans-Atlantic email correspondence about a bag. I learned about the inadequacies of the French postal system; the decision to leave the home/factory on the Thames; the slow and loving process of making truly excellent bags by hand; the loving and sometimes amusing relationship between bee (who runs the business and helps with the bags) and Nigel (who makes the bags and helps with the business); the relative merits of multiple pen loops; the difficulty in creating the perfect solution to manage a set of keys; and the moral codes that must be enforced when a tiny factory sends a product for review to a writer whom they’ve never met and have no good reason to believe to be anything more than a bag-napper.
As the correspondence slows, a box from France arrives. The box contains a smart shoulder bag that weighs a pound-and-a-half. The bag is ten inches high and nine wide, not large enough for a manila folder, but small enough to be carried everywhere. It’s four inches deep. There are four pockets, three protected by a top flap that cleverly stays closed with a minimalist “hasp, staple and lock-tab.” One pocket is gusseted, large enough for a Treo, a fistful of keys; and a dainty pack of tissues. Another is zippered to keep the small items (USB storage device; a tiny Leatherman portable tool kit; small Mag-Lite flashlight just in case). A third is big-mouthed, a top-loader that’s large enough for all sorts of daily stuff (see below). Inside the top flap there’s a small leather-mechanical slider that stores and hands-off business cards, and another that hides a passport. On the back of the bag, there’s another large gusseted pocket with a small top flap.
Over the past few months, I’ve found the large top-loading area to be more versatile than I’d anticipated. My daily load is a small 35mm Leica camera with an extra bit of film; a Filofax (a British loose-leaf based organization notebook that’s large enough for meeting notes); a Moleskine sketchbook (the large size just fits); and, on dubious days; a small portable umbrella. On weekends, the daily load is replaced by a full-sized Hasselblad 501CM medium-format camera, complete with a large electronic viewfinder. True to its roots as a photographer’s bag, the Fogg Jazz provides superior padding and protection.
The back flap area is now filled with a set of drawing pencils and, for color, a small set of Conte pastels. Sometimes, these are replaced by a set of 16 Winsor & Newtown watercolors in an enameled metal box.
And when I’m traveling, I’ll toss in a tiny Steiner monocular.
Nigel, bee, and I settled on a single pen loop, so I’m always ready with a pen, and if I happen to carry my video iPod with me, I can do so by either sacrificing the Leica camera for the day, or deciding against the drawing pencils. More often, I attach a tiny Fogg Quaver to the size of the bag (it’s an invisible Velcro attachment).
When I switched to a “larger purse,” I anticipated more funny comments from passers-by. But that’s not what has happened. No catcalls from cab drivers. Instead, I’m getting questions. Where did I get the bag? What’s inside? Is it well made? You know the answers to the first two questions. The answer to the third is an unqualified “yes.” Outside, the canvas and leather combination is extraordinary in its durability and in its ability (so far) to maintain its handsome profile regardless of the weight inside. Inside, everything’s lined with soft-but-strong linen, so nothing gets scratched or abused. The shoulder strap is hearty; the shoulder pad is rugged outside and soft inside, so a fully loaded bag doesn’t cause much strain. There’s a grab handle on top. And, there are three brass rings so it can be worn as a small backpack (yes, I carry a man purse, but no, I’m not ready to carry a mini-backpack with slender little straps).
Where does the bag go? Well, pretty much everywhere. And that means: I always have a camera, and a sketchbook on hand, along with a pen, business cards, a cell phone, keys, and a Filofax filled with notes and ideas and contact information. A good chunk of my professional and creative life in a bag made by British craftspeople in a small French countryside town. A friend calls it my “explorer bag,” which I much prefer to my “man purse.”
Inside the Jazz, there’s a small leather strip with a handwritten inked inscription. It reads: Jazz 8. Imagine: I am one of just 8 people who carry this bag. Somehow, that feels better than being one of perhaps 5 million people who owned the black plastic Samsonite briefcase.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
The Importance of Excellent Tools
Robert Dodge, who teaches art techniques at my community college, sometimes chides students who draw on newsprint paper. Certainly, newsprint paper costs about 75 percent less than other paper but it’s junk, suitable for warm-up exercises only. A good drawing is better when it’s made with proper materials. What’s more, better materials encourage superior work. The legacy of creative professionals past can be felt in the selection of particular musical instruments, cameras, and other tools and materials.
Buy the Best Tools You Can Afford
In the digital world, one software product often dominates a field. Most digital artists use Adobe Photoshop; most writers use Microsoft Word; most videographers use either Adobe Premiere Pro (for Windows) or Apple Final Cut Pro (Mac). The only real choice is Windows vs. Apple, and the computer’s power and storage capacity.
In the analog world, where many creative professionals enjoy a craftsman’s love for tools, there are more choices.
Digital photography is changing rapidly, with one camera replacing another every year or two. In the analog world, photographers cherish vintage and new lenses from Leica, Nikon and Hasselblad. The vintage material costs less and carries a patina, a legacy, a sense of responsibility to the past. The newer lenses are technically superb, better than any that have come before. Several photographer friends now regularly use large format cameras because their 4” x 5” negatives produce excellent results. At the same time, they are learning to combine this older technology with newer digital work, in part because of the image control that digital media provides. A used lens, perhaps two dozen years old, is fine, but only the very latest digital equipment is acceptable.
In nearly every creative domain, there is some version of the push and pull of old versus new. I love painting watercolors from an antique Winsor & Newton metal case. The control that I get from the same company’s very best sable paintbrushes makes me feel as though I’m doing good work; for me, the extra investment (and the obsessive comparisons between competitive brushes) has been part of learning about watercolor tools. When I write longhand, I spend time seeking out just the right paper and the right pen.
The bottom line about tools: Buy the best you can afford. Don’t buy beginners products. Instead, invest in gently-used versions of the best. You are carrying on a legacy of excellent work.
The Value in Legacy
Several years ago, my wife’s father passed away. He was an excellent artist and illustrator. Cleaning his old workspace, we found two tins of watercolor tubes, well-used but viable. I had never attempted watercolors before. When I tried his paint and brushes, he inspired me. I now love watercolor painting, and I thank his memory for the unintended gift.
Legacy matters. Creative people value mentors, teachers, people who elevated the art form. An artist’s tool can be powerful talisman. Often, it’s an old worktable or some equipment from a teacher or a friend or a relative. A viola once played by a master. A beat-up old banjo case. An antique paperweight. A vintage fountain pen. A fifty-year old Leica camera. It’s not unusual to find some antiques in the most modern creative professional’s kit.
Technology has improved so many creative tools, but along the way, we’ve lost craftsmanship. Sometimes, we’re faced with the choice of a newer model with superior features, or an older one that’s beautifully built. This situation is commonplace in photography, and in the choice of musical instruments. Newer isn’t always better. More features don’t always mean an improved product.
Occasionally I’m impressed by the quality of work output from a creative professional working with inferior tools. The artist makes claims about the lack of need for expensive or overpriced tools or materials. And I can’t help but wonder how much better the professional’s fine work would be if better tools or materials were in her hands.
You Have My Permission…
Quality matters. Quality in the work you do. Quality in the way you spend your time. An investment in quality is always a good idea. Sometimes, the investment will do nothing more than make you feel more positive about your work. Sometimes, you’ll buy tools or materials beyond your skill level; that’s okay—most likely, you’ll rise to the occasion.
If you need someone to give you permission to spend the money on a better computer so you can edit digital video faster or more effectively, or superior woodworking tools for greater flexibility or precision, use me. You have my permission to spend the money. And if you need to convince a spouse, partner, parent or a co-worker that you ought to spend the money, feel free to hand a copy of this paragraph to them. (This offer is automatically rescinded if you: (a) need the money for food, clothing, shelter or your children’s education; (b) have already used this paragraph within the past 12 months; or (c) have a habit of buying expensive stuff that you never actually use.
Maintenance and Repair
Even the highest quality tool requires periodic maintenance. You can do some cleaning and polishing on your own, removing dirt and tarnish, but a professional shop can get inside and do the job completely. Every few years—or more frequently, if necessary-- bring your most-used gear to the best repair shop you can find, and spend the money necessary to keep your equipment operating properly. An undetected problem can worsen over time, perhaps causing failure when you need your tool to perform at its best. Lack of proper maintenance may slowly destroy the tool you love. Be sure to select the repair and maintenance shop with the utmost care.
Shopping—and Shopping for Discounts
Nearly every creative profession that involves tools, materials or supplies is now served by a specialty discount retailer. These retailers are accessible via the Web; many also send out catalogs. Some operate one or more retail stores as well. Should you buy from them?
In our frenzy to save money, we Americans have put most local specialty stores out of business. On the drive back from Best Buy, we wonder what happened to the record store on Main Street.
Several moments of reflection. Please indulge me.
The place is Kyoto, Japan. A tiny shop sells handmade Japanese watercolors, brushes and paper. The shop has been in the same location for over 150 years. Local artists congregate on the store’s one small bench. A woman sits on a raised tatami mat in reach of every pan of paint in the store. She speaks only Japanese, but she patiently caters to the many foreign visitors attracted by the shop. Each customer leaves the store with a tightly wrapped package of exquisite paints and handmade brushes. Local artists relaxing on the bench provide customers with encouragement and point to their own work hanging on the store’s weathered wooden walls.
In Washington, there’s a catalog and Web operation that specializes in pastels: www.dakotapastels.com. They stock every brand on the market, plus more types of papers and other pastel supplies than any other company in the world. They’ve answered my every question about choosing pastels, often in considerable detail.
Clearly, I prefer smaller stores staffed by personnel who care about their product line. I also worry about these stores, particularly in an era when every Web site can access any warehouse and computerized inventory list. Will these specialty stores all disappear? (Most are already gone; an endangered species with no law to protect them.)
Even when money is tight, I’ve tended toward smaller stores. I suspect I’ve saved money because I’ve listened to the knowledgeable store personnel’s informed advice, and I’ve bought the right stuff--and not too much of it, either.
Still, the argument is imperfect. Cheap Joe’s Art Stuff (www.cheapjoes.com) is a customer-centric mail order discounter in the art supply field. Prices are low, inventory is wide and deep, the staff is friendly and knowledgeable, they run workshops at their North Carolina headquarters, they run a wonderful charity program for disadvantaged kids, and they have an old-fashioned storekeeper’s sensibility--even a sense of humor. The exception makes the rule, I guess.
Buy the Best Tools You Can Afford
In the digital world, one software product often dominates a field. Most digital artists use Adobe Photoshop; most writers use Microsoft Word; most videographers use either Adobe Premiere Pro (for Windows) or Apple Final Cut Pro (Mac). The only real choice is Windows vs. Apple, and the computer’s power and storage capacity.
In the analog world, where many creative professionals enjoy a craftsman’s love for tools, there are more choices.
Digital photography is changing rapidly, with one camera replacing another every year or two. In the analog world, photographers cherish vintage and new lenses from Leica, Nikon and Hasselblad. The vintage material costs less and carries a patina, a legacy, a sense of responsibility to the past. The newer lenses are technically superb, better than any that have come before. Several photographer friends now regularly use large format cameras because their 4” x 5” negatives produce excellent results. At the same time, they are learning to combine this older technology with newer digital work, in part because of the image control that digital media provides. A used lens, perhaps two dozen years old, is fine, but only the very latest digital equipment is acceptable.
In nearly every creative domain, there is some version of the push and pull of old versus new. I love painting watercolors from an antique Winsor & Newton metal case. The control that I get from the same company’s very best sable paintbrushes makes me feel as though I’m doing good work; for me, the extra investment (and the obsessive comparisons between competitive brushes) has been part of learning about watercolor tools. When I write longhand, I spend time seeking out just the right paper and the right pen.
The bottom line about tools: Buy the best you can afford. Don’t buy beginners products. Instead, invest in gently-used versions of the best. You are carrying on a legacy of excellent work.
The Value in Legacy
Several years ago, my wife’s father passed away. He was an excellent artist and illustrator. Cleaning his old workspace, we found two tins of watercolor tubes, well-used but viable. I had never attempted watercolors before. When I tried his paint and brushes, he inspired me. I now love watercolor painting, and I thank his memory for the unintended gift.
Legacy matters. Creative people value mentors, teachers, people who elevated the art form. An artist’s tool can be powerful talisman. Often, it’s an old worktable or some equipment from a teacher or a friend or a relative. A viola once played by a master. A beat-up old banjo case. An antique paperweight. A vintage fountain pen. A fifty-year old Leica camera. It’s not unusual to find some antiques in the most modern creative professional’s kit.
Technology has improved so many creative tools, but along the way, we’ve lost craftsmanship. Sometimes, we’re faced with the choice of a newer model with superior features, or an older one that’s beautifully built. This situation is commonplace in photography, and in the choice of musical instruments. Newer isn’t always better. More features don’t always mean an improved product.
Occasionally I’m impressed by the quality of work output from a creative professional working with inferior tools. The artist makes claims about the lack of need for expensive or overpriced tools or materials. And I can’t help but wonder how much better the professional’s fine work would be if better tools or materials were in her hands.
You Have My Permission…
Quality matters. Quality in the work you do. Quality in the way you spend your time. An investment in quality is always a good idea. Sometimes, the investment will do nothing more than make you feel more positive about your work. Sometimes, you’ll buy tools or materials beyond your skill level; that’s okay—most likely, you’ll rise to the occasion.
If you need someone to give you permission to spend the money on a better computer so you can edit digital video faster or more effectively, or superior woodworking tools for greater flexibility or precision, use me. You have my permission to spend the money. And if you need to convince a spouse, partner, parent or a co-worker that you ought to spend the money, feel free to hand a copy of this paragraph to them. (This offer is automatically rescinded if you: (a) need the money for food, clothing, shelter or your children’s education; (b) have already used this paragraph within the past 12 months; or (c) have a habit of buying expensive stuff that you never actually use.
Maintenance and Repair
Even the highest quality tool requires periodic maintenance. You can do some cleaning and polishing on your own, removing dirt and tarnish, but a professional shop can get inside and do the job completely. Every few years—or more frequently, if necessary-- bring your most-used gear to the best repair shop you can find, and spend the money necessary to keep your equipment operating properly. An undetected problem can worsen over time, perhaps causing failure when you need your tool to perform at its best. Lack of proper maintenance may slowly destroy the tool you love. Be sure to select the repair and maintenance shop with the utmost care.
Shopping—and Shopping for Discounts
Nearly every creative profession that involves tools, materials or supplies is now served by a specialty discount retailer. These retailers are accessible via the Web; many also send out catalogs. Some operate one or more retail stores as well. Should you buy from them?
In our frenzy to save money, we Americans have put most local specialty stores out of business. On the drive back from Best Buy, we wonder what happened to the record store on Main Street.
Several moments of reflection. Please indulge me.
The place is Kyoto, Japan. A tiny shop sells handmade Japanese watercolors, brushes and paper. The shop has been in the same location for over 150 years. Local artists congregate on the store’s one small bench. A woman sits on a raised tatami mat in reach of every pan of paint in the store. She speaks only Japanese, but she patiently caters to the many foreign visitors attracted by the shop. Each customer leaves the store with a tightly wrapped package of exquisite paints and handmade brushes. Local artists relaxing on the bench provide customers with encouragement and point to their own work hanging on the store’s weathered wooden walls.
In Washington, there’s a catalog and Web operation that specializes in pastels: www.dakotapastels.com. They stock every brand on the market, plus more types of papers and other pastel supplies than any other company in the world. They’ve answered my every question about choosing pastels, often in considerable detail.
Clearly, I prefer smaller stores staffed by personnel who care about their product line. I also worry about these stores, particularly in an era when every Web site can access any warehouse and computerized inventory list. Will these specialty stores all disappear? (Most are already gone; an endangered species with no law to protect them.)
Even when money is tight, I’ve tended toward smaller stores. I suspect I’ve saved money because I’ve listened to the knowledgeable store personnel’s informed advice, and I’ve bought the right stuff--and not too much of it, either.
Still, the argument is imperfect. Cheap Joe’s Art Stuff (www.cheapjoes.com) is a customer-centric mail order discounter in the art supply field. Prices are low, inventory is wide and deep, the staff is friendly and knowledgeable, they run workshops at their North Carolina headquarters, they run a wonderful charity program for disadvantaged kids, and they have an old-fashioned storekeeper’s sensibility--even a sense of humor. The exception makes the rule, I guess.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Leading a Team
The tradition: The Greeks did not build their theaters and temples through pure teamwork; someone was in charge. The Sistine Chapel, the Pyramids, every great architectural endeavor was built by workers who followed a visionary, a manager, one who kept his eye on the entire enterprise and (either directly or indirectly) managed the details. Centuries later this model has not appreciably changed. It remains the job description for the architect, the theater and film director, the orchestra conductor, the animation director, the executive producer in television, the record producer, the Webmaster, the headmaster of an innovative educational institution.
Tim Burton commented: “To be a director, you can’t have any fear. At best, you probably have to have a very healthy balance of not being an egomaniac, but with enough security in yourself to just go for it.”
What makes a creative leader?
1. A thorough understanding of the market, the project, the production process, the available resources, and the capabilities of the available people.
2. A relatively clear vision of the end product.
3. Some reasonable means for planning the steps between concept and completion, and for the required actions.
4. Some degree of either attention to detail or a strong talent for delegation.
5. A quick mind that can size up current progress, and make in-course changes.
6. Good relationships, all around.
Dag Hammarskjold, one of the United Nations’s more creative, inspiring leaders, said of a colleague “He broke fresh ground—because and only because, he had the courage to go ahead without asking whether others were following or even understood. He had no need for the divided responsibility in which others seek to be safe from ridicule, because he had been granted a faith which required no confirmation—a contact with reality, light and intense like the touch of a loved hand: a union in self-surrender without self-destruction where his heart was lucid and his mind was loving.”
The really good parts about leading a team:
1. Leading a successful creative enterprise is an incredible high. It just feels great.
2. In many parts of the creative world, you’ll get paid well for doing the leadership job effectively—and you’ll be asked to do it again and again.
3. Your stature within the business will grow, so your project range will become more varied, more interesting, and ultimately, you will have more control over your career.
4. Other cool people will want to work with you.
The good parts about leading a team:
1. You get to train the next generation of talented people, to have some positive impact on other people’s lives.
2. You get to do the right projects in the right way, which makes everyone on the team feel wonderful.
3. You can handpick the people with whom you work closely.
4. You make most of the big decisions.
5. You gain enormous self-confidence.
The bad parts about leading a team:
1. Everything becomes your problem.
2. If you make a bad choice, you can cause an avalanche.
3. It’s lonely; there aren’t many people (in or out of the business) who understand what you do.
4. If you mess up more than once, it’s tough to find work further down the ladder.
5. You can do everything right, and the audience could still hate the end product.
The really bad parts about leading a team:
1. You have the power to screw up people’s minds and careers, sometimes without realizing that you said or did anything at all.
2. You can become a target for crazy people.
3. You can become a target for lawsuits or other nasty stuff.
4. You might not be anywhere as good as you believe yourself to be. That’s a devastating lesson to learn.
5. You might lose your friends, your family, or your self-respect while on the way to the top, or while trying to remain there. You might find success, but lose your way.
Tim Burton commented: “To be a director, you can’t have any fear. At best, you probably have to have a very healthy balance of not being an egomaniac, but with enough security in yourself to just go for it.”
What makes a creative leader?
1. A thorough understanding of the market, the project, the production process, the available resources, and the capabilities of the available people.
2. A relatively clear vision of the end product.
3. Some reasonable means for planning the steps between concept and completion, and for the required actions.
4. Some degree of either attention to detail or a strong talent for delegation.
5. A quick mind that can size up current progress, and make in-course changes.
6. Good relationships, all around.
Dag Hammarskjold, one of the United Nations’s more creative, inspiring leaders, said of a colleague “He broke fresh ground—because and only because, he had the courage to go ahead without asking whether others were following or even understood. He had no need for the divided responsibility in which others seek to be safe from ridicule, because he had been granted a faith which required no confirmation—a contact with reality, light and intense like the touch of a loved hand: a union in self-surrender without self-destruction where his heart was lucid and his mind was loving.”
The really good parts about leading a team:
1. Leading a successful creative enterprise is an incredible high. It just feels great.
2. In many parts of the creative world, you’ll get paid well for doing the leadership job effectively—and you’ll be asked to do it again and again.
3. Your stature within the business will grow, so your project range will become more varied, more interesting, and ultimately, you will have more control over your career.
4. Other cool people will want to work with you.
The good parts about leading a team:
1. You get to train the next generation of talented people, to have some positive impact on other people’s lives.
2. You get to do the right projects in the right way, which makes everyone on the team feel wonderful.
3. You can handpick the people with whom you work closely.
4. You make most of the big decisions.
5. You gain enormous self-confidence.
The bad parts about leading a team:
1. Everything becomes your problem.
2. If you make a bad choice, you can cause an avalanche.
3. It’s lonely; there aren’t many people (in or out of the business) who understand what you do.
4. If you mess up more than once, it’s tough to find work further down the ladder.
5. You can do everything right, and the audience could still hate the end product.
The really bad parts about leading a team:
1. You have the power to screw up people’s minds and careers, sometimes without realizing that you said or did anything at all.
2. You can become a target for crazy people.
3. You can become a target for lawsuits or other nasty stuff.
4. You might not be anywhere as good as you believe yourself to be. That’s a devastating lesson to learn.
5. You might lose your friends, your family, or your self-respect while on the way to the top, or while trying to remain there. You might find success, but lose your way.
Working as Part of a Team
The tradition: The circus, the commedia dell’arte, and the performances of Shakespeare’s plays at the old Globe Theater date back several hundred years. Teams were led by a director, or the equivalent of a director. Theater carried on the tradition, which informed early motion pictures, radio and then television, advertising agencies and Web development shops with similar ways of working. From the start, some aspects of the process were more team oriented than others. Some tasks were always solo acts and always will be. Others require the entire company on stage.
You’re part of the team, but you are hired with specific responsibility for costumes. You’re the music director, but you also play an important role in shaping the entire creative presentation. You’re the writer on this campaign, but the client is looking to you personally to provide the appropriate attitude. Junior people may not be assigned specific roles. More experienced hands train the young ones. It’s always been that way; it’s how we pass on the tradition.
The really good parts about working as part of a team:
1. If it doesn’t work, it’s nobody’s fault (and everybody’s fault, but that never matters).
2. If it works, you’re a hero, and you get to share the joy with a lot of other like-minded people. (This is team sports for creative people.)
3. On a really fine team, the work is shared, and the result is far greater than any one could have done on their own.
The good parts about working as part of a team:
1. You really are a part of something greater than yourself.
2. You learn a lot about working with other people, and how you fit in.
3. You figure out some interesting things about yourself (“Why am I always the first person to speak up?” or “Why don’t I ever speak up?”).
4. You learn some interesting things about other people (“I never realized she was so critical”; “I never thought of him as a natural leader”).
5. You learn soft and hard lessons from other team members. Team members take the time to nurture one another’s skills and contributions. When it works, this is just wonderful.
The bad parts about working as part of a team:
1. You might end up on a lousy team.
2. You might not fit into the team, regardless of its quality.
3. You might screw things up for the team (on a really good team, everybody covers, so this isn’t much of a problem—unless, of course, you screw up more than once).
4. Regardless of how much you contribute, you will never get the credit. For some people, this is a big issue. For others, it’s a nice break, and for others, it’s a far more comfortable way to work.
The really bad parts about working as part of a team:
None, really. There isn’t much personal risk when you’re part of a team.
You’re part of the team, but you are hired with specific responsibility for costumes. You’re the music director, but you also play an important role in shaping the entire creative presentation. You’re the writer on this campaign, but the client is looking to you personally to provide the appropriate attitude. Junior people may not be assigned specific roles. More experienced hands train the young ones. It’s always been that way; it’s how we pass on the tradition.
The really good parts about working as part of a team:
1. If it doesn’t work, it’s nobody’s fault (and everybody’s fault, but that never matters).
2. If it works, you’re a hero, and you get to share the joy with a lot of other like-minded people. (This is team sports for creative people.)
3. On a really fine team, the work is shared, and the result is far greater than any one could have done on their own.
The good parts about working as part of a team:
1. You really are a part of something greater than yourself.
2. You learn a lot about working with other people, and how you fit in.
3. You figure out some interesting things about yourself (“Why am I always the first person to speak up?” or “Why don’t I ever speak up?”).
4. You learn some interesting things about other people (“I never realized she was so critical”; “I never thought of him as a natural leader”).
5. You learn soft and hard lessons from other team members. Team members take the time to nurture one another’s skills and contributions. When it works, this is just wonderful.
The bad parts about working as part of a team:
1. You might end up on a lousy team.
2. You might not fit into the team, regardless of its quality.
3. You might screw things up for the team (on a really good team, everybody covers, so this isn’t much of a problem—unless, of course, you screw up more than once).
4. Regardless of how much you contribute, you will never get the credit. For some people, this is a big issue. For others, it’s a nice break, and for others, it’s a far more comfortable way to work.
The really bad parts about working as part of a team:
None, really. There isn’t much personal risk when you’re part of a team.
Working with a Partner or Collaborator
The tradition: Mostly, a twentieth century phenomenon, unusual before the days of songwriting (one lyricist, one composer); performance (a duo), advertising (one writer, one designer). Comic acts were often collaborations (e.g., Laurel & Hardy; Abbott & Costello; the Marx Brothers), but these are less common today. Pairings are made for movies, but the performers don’t otherwise work together: Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith in the Men in Black films, for example. Collaboration was perfected for songwriting (Gilbert & Sullivan; Lennon & McCartney); Broadway (Rodgers & Hammerstein, Lerner & Loewe), but creative/business partnerships are common in all media, including television (Klasky-Csupo; Carsey-Werner-Mandabach); and motion pictures (Coen brothers, Farrelly brothers).
Comedy and music groups sometimes become a collaborative unit and work together for a long time. Examples include the Monty Python performers, and many rock bands, from the Beach Boys and the Grateful Dead to Phish and Radiohead.
More often, in today’s world, collaborators come together for specific projects or groups of projects, but also work on their own. Screenwriter Charlie Kaufman and director Spike Jonze collaborated on Being John Malkovich and Adaptation. These were specific, short-term projects in the midst of careers that also involved other types of projects with other creative people. Kaufman also wrote for television and other movies, and Jonze directed music videos and other motion pictures. Jazz musicians have played on one another’s recordings for decades; the practice keeps the musicians sharp and the music fresh.
Collaborators may deeply affect one another’s work, even if they don’t work together directly, as Howard Gardner explains: “In a word, Picasso and Braque invented cubism… For many months, the two men were virtually inseparable. They painted during the day and then, at night, came together and studied each others works. At times, their works were so similar that only an expert can tell them apart…The two men appreciated one another’s company; they jokingly referred to themselves as ‘Orville and Wilbur Wright.’”
The really good parts about working with a partner or collaborator:
The best collaborations turn out far better work than either partner could or would contribute on his or her own. If the work is good, then the team gets the credit, and because the team is small, the credit and gratification can be huge.
The good parts about working with a partner or collaborator:
1. You’re not alone. Somebody is there to encourage, cajole, criticize, stroke and make it happen alongside you.
2. When one of you is down, the other may be up. That allows you to work more productively and to neutralize the inevitable depressing moments that accompany any creative adventure.
3. It’s fun. A lot of fun when it’s going well. Far more fun than working alone.
The bad parts about working with a partner or collaborator:
1. You’re going to share the money. Teams are not often paid as two people, but instead as an expanded version of one.
2. You’re reliant on another person to do the work. Nobody’s perfect. Some people are difficult, unreliable, crazy, out of step, erratic or simply unsuitable partners. Finding a good fit can be challenging.
3. Both parties must be committed to the marriage. If the commitment is out of balance, then problems can pile up quickly—and these problems may directly affect the work.
The really bad parts about working with a partner or collaborator:
1. In today’s world, the partnership or collaboration ought to be defined in a legal agreement. That means roughly that a business negotiation must occur before the creative work can begin. There’s no better way to ruin a beautiful relationship than to start out by discussing what happens when things don’t work out.
2. Few partnerships last forever. When things don’t work out, the hurt can be long-lasting.
Comedy and music groups sometimes become a collaborative unit and work together for a long time. Examples include the Monty Python performers, and many rock bands, from the Beach Boys and the Grateful Dead to Phish and Radiohead.
More often, in today’s world, collaborators come together for specific projects or groups of projects, but also work on their own. Screenwriter Charlie Kaufman and director Spike Jonze collaborated on Being John Malkovich and Adaptation. These were specific, short-term projects in the midst of careers that also involved other types of projects with other creative people. Kaufman also wrote for television and other movies, and Jonze directed music videos and other motion pictures. Jazz musicians have played on one another’s recordings for decades; the practice keeps the musicians sharp and the music fresh.
Collaborators may deeply affect one another’s work, even if they don’t work together directly, as Howard Gardner explains: “In a word, Picasso and Braque invented cubism… For many months, the two men were virtually inseparable. They painted during the day and then, at night, came together and studied each others works. At times, their works were so similar that only an expert can tell them apart…The two men appreciated one another’s company; they jokingly referred to themselves as ‘Orville and Wilbur Wright.’”
The really good parts about working with a partner or collaborator:
The best collaborations turn out far better work than either partner could or would contribute on his or her own. If the work is good, then the team gets the credit, and because the team is small, the credit and gratification can be huge.
The good parts about working with a partner or collaborator:
1. You’re not alone. Somebody is there to encourage, cajole, criticize, stroke and make it happen alongside you.
2. When one of you is down, the other may be up. That allows you to work more productively and to neutralize the inevitable depressing moments that accompany any creative adventure.
3. It’s fun. A lot of fun when it’s going well. Far more fun than working alone.
The bad parts about working with a partner or collaborator:
1. You’re going to share the money. Teams are not often paid as two people, but instead as an expanded version of one.
2. You’re reliant on another person to do the work. Nobody’s perfect. Some people are difficult, unreliable, crazy, out of step, erratic or simply unsuitable partners. Finding a good fit can be challenging.
3. Both parties must be committed to the marriage. If the commitment is out of balance, then problems can pile up quickly—and these problems may directly affect the work.
The really bad parts about working with a partner or collaborator:
1. In today’s world, the partnership or collaboration ought to be defined in a legal agreement. That means roughly that a business negotiation must occur before the creative work can begin. There’s no better way to ruin a beautiful relationship than to start out by discussing what happens when things don’t work out.
2. Few partnerships last forever. When things don’t work out, the hurt can be long-lasting.
Working Alone
The tradition: Authors, illustrators, playwrights and other creative thinkers require time in their own heads, truly creating something from nothing. This tradition is at least a thousand years old, and remains a viable option for those who work outside the traditional business community. This style has also been adopted by an Internet-enabled workforce of writers, researchers, market planners and others who decide to work alone for personal or family pleasure, to eliminate a commute, or because it’s simply easier to work on their own.
The classic Thoreau quote still rings true: “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away.”
The really good parts of working alone:
1. If the creative work is great, you get lots of credit (external gratification).
2. If the creative work is great, you know that you made it happen (internal gratification).
The good parts of working alone:
1. There’s nobody to bother you, or tell you what to door how to do it.
2. You get work done faster because there are fewer distractions.
3. You get work done your way, because your way is best, most efficient or otherwise superior.
4. You set your own working hours. As long as you meet the deadline, your time is your own.
The bad parts about working alone:
1. It can be lonely.
2. Your ideas don’t benefit from cross-fertilization by others.
3. You can become overprotective of your ideas because they are purely your creations.
4. Potential clients and employers may forget about you.
5. You may always be perceived as an individual contributor, not a team player.
The really bad parts about working alone:
1. You’re not creating and nurturing new business relationships. In time, this reality will decrease your workflow and cause you to either accept lesser work or to figure out how to fit back into the normal working world (the more time alone, the more difficult this can become).
2. You can develop really bad habits in terms of working hours, and spend too much time alone in your own head.
3. If your computer crashes at 3 A.M., you’ll have to fix it yourself.
The classic Thoreau quote still rings true: “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away.”
The really good parts of working alone:
1. If the creative work is great, you get lots of credit (external gratification).
2. If the creative work is great, you know that you made it happen (internal gratification).
The good parts of working alone:
1. There’s nobody to bother you, or tell you what to door how to do it.
2. You get work done faster because there are fewer distractions.
3. You get work done your way, because your way is best, most efficient or otherwise superior.
4. You set your own working hours. As long as you meet the deadline, your time is your own.
The bad parts about working alone:
1. It can be lonely.
2. Your ideas don’t benefit from cross-fertilization by others.
3. You can become overprotective of your ideas because they are purely your creations.
4. Potential clients and employers may forget about you.
5. You may always be perceived as an individual contributor, not a team player.
The really bad parts about working alone:
1. You’re not creating and nurturing new business relationships. In time, this reality will decrease your workflow and cause you to either accept lesser work or to figure out how to fit back into the normal working world (the more time alone, the more difficult this can become).
2. You can develop really bad habits in terms of working hours, and spend too much time alone in your own head.
3. If your computer crashes at 3 A.M., you’ll have to fix it yourself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)