Just Doing It

I was a higher education brat.

Left Brain

It’s kind of like being an Army brat, but instead of moving every two years to a new military base, we moved every five years to a new college campus.

My dad was an administrator. He wore a number of hats: Accountant, Registrar, Business Manager, Auditor, Executive Director – all of which meant he was the one in charge of the numbers. Only once did he step away from the academic fold, on a brief foray into Management Consulting.  He lasted all of six months.

Not that he wasn't good at management, and accountability, and efficiency. He was great at that stuff. And when he was in charge, things got done, on time and to the letter.

He knew his business, and he knew other peoples’ businesses just as well. Drop my dad into the middle of a busy McDonald’s for a cup of coffee and fries, and in ten minutes he would have mapped out the work flow in the entire operation, identified the choke points, and fully evaluated the management for efficiency and laziness, identifying ways they could increase their profit by up to twenty percent. That sort of thing was life and breath to him, and he could make it work – when he was in charge.

That’s the problem with being a consultant. Consultants often have the answers, but they seldom have the authority to implement their solutions.

During his experiment in consulting, my dad learned the practical limits of his expertise. “If you want to deliver more widgets in a week, do A, then B, then C. In that order.” His clients, the few that he was able to corral in his six months on the job, would all listen patiently. They would commend him for his insights. They would thank him for his time.

They might get around to doing A, or B, or C. Never all three. Seldom in proper order. When he came back for a follow-up visit, things were usually no better than before. It was always, of course, his fault. “We did what you said,” they would say. “And we just didn’t see the results you promised.”

Dad, the Consultant, the Expert, was flummoxed in short order. As the boss, he never faced such conundrums. He decided what needed to be done, and ordered his employees to do it. Since his clients were in fact his bosses, he couldn't order them to do anything.

I should have learned from my father’s experience, but let’s face it – how often do we actually learn from others’ mistakes? Maybe you do (and if you do, I’m jealous), but I’ve had to do my learning the hard way: up close, personal, and through diligent repetition of my own stupidity.

Over the years, I have often worn the Consultant’s hat. How do we get more attention in the community? How do we boost sales? How do we alter public opinion on this or that policy? Like my dad, I have found that implementation is key to a successful outcome. Like him, I have also discovered that authority to carry out recommended policies is seldom given to the consultant. All too often I have also watched as my clients chose not to implement my recommendations, and wind up with a disappointing outcome.

I used to get discouraged by this. In fact, I used to get very upset. Why ask me (or anybody) for help, if you're not willing to follow through? It makes no sense!

It also doesn't matter. It’s my business to provide answers. It’s my clients’ business to respond in the way they choose. I get that.

For a long time though, that understanding didn't help a bit. Being blamed for bad outcomes didn't make me feel any better, and it didn't help at all to grow my reputation as a consultant.

Put Up or Shut Up

I was whining about this to a friend one day, recounting a long list of grievous affronts to my professional, consultational integrity. It was a bad day. The chat went something like this:

“@#$%!!! Don't they recognize a great opportunity when it’s put right under their noses? Can’t they see how much money they’re wasting?”  (And on and on.)

“Apparently not.”

“But these ideas would work! This plan would solve their problems! Don't they get it?”

“Maybe they do, maybe not. But clearly you don't get it.”

“What the @#$%! is that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is, if your ideas are so @#$%&ing brilliant, why are you wasting them on people who don't recognize their value?”

(Huh?)

He continued: “Put your ideas to work on your own business. Prove their effectiveness.  Then you get the full benefit of your own recommendations, and you won't have to worry one bit about other peoples’ opinions.”

I know. It’s obvious. Except when it isn’t. 

It was time to learn from my own mistakes.

Since then I’ve spent much more of my time consulting for my own business, a place where I find my ideas are much more appreciated, and I only get blamed for things that don’t work after they’ve actually been tried.

Yes, I’m still asked to consult from time to time, and I still give it my best effort. And I’m usually pleased with the outcome. But mostly, I’m too busy doing other things to worry very much about it.

The Virtues of Failing Often

There’s something I’ve noticed about us creative types. We spend a great deal of time coming up with dozens of reasons why our ideas won't work.

I’m not sure where this insecurity comes from, whether it’s the warnings from parents, teachers, preachers and former bosses, reminding us that we have no business stepping beyond established boundaries, or our years of experience watching many of our grand ideas fail to work out as we planned. Or maybe it’s the part of us that keeps trying to be ‘normal’, and accepted by the rest of the world that hinders us from following up on our latest plans.

Whatever it is, it sure keeps us from getting a lot of stuff done.

At any one time in our studio, there will be ten to thirty drawings unfinished, five blogs waiting to be written, a dozen short stories and a novel in progress, and that’s just on my side of the room. Add another twenty paintings and portraits, fifty pieces of jewelry in line to be completed and photographed, web site updates and a half-dozen videos looking for a couple hours each of uninterrupted voice-over and editing, and you’re starting to get a handle on Sue Ellen’s side.

Tiger Swallowtail

It’s not that we have too much on our plate, and certainly not that we’re complaining about being busy. Far from it. What bothers us is the extra inertia it takes to get any one project moving forward.

When I sit down to draw, for example, often as not I can make room for the telephone, mail, orders, and customers stopping in to visit, and still get the work done. What I have a harder time ignoring is the buzzing voice in my head saying, “ You’re drawing this when you should be figuring last month’s sales tax? This picture isn't even funny! It’s weird. And only a few pathologists on the world will ever get the joke, anyway. Besides, I thought you were planning to write a book. What happened to that brilliant idea? What’s wrong with you?”

 Failing ‘early and often’ gets 

the good ideas off the ground, 

and the bad ones out of the way.

All of which may be valid points, except that when I do sit down to write, the guilt monster inside my head starts yammering on about the artwork: “Shouldn't you be working on that medical picture? You say you're an artist, but how many things did you actually draw last year – like, three maybe?”

I see it all the time in other artists, too. They’ll come up with a terrific idea, create an incredible new something, then drop it and move on to the next thing that catches their interest. When asked why they never developed the idea, there are a thousand reasons why it just wouldn't have worked.

“No one would pay money for that.” (And yet somehow you sold the first one.)

“They would cost too much to make.” (Which is why you figure out a way to make a lot of them, so that the cost per item is manageable – and find a way to fund the process while you're doing it.)

“It was just a fluke.” (You have a long history of such flukes.)

“I talked to some guy about it, but he wanted to keep 90% of the money.” (Which is a decent percentage if some else takes your idea to the market. It's basically free money, and you don't want to manage all the production, sales and distribution stuff, anyway.)

“It probably wouldn't work, anyway.”

As much as it pains me to see other creative folks let what seem to be good opportunities slip away, I try to use these situations to remind myself not to let my good ideas go to waste. We struggle with every one of these objections too, and the best answer we’ve come up with is this: “Let’s just do it and see.”

That’s the trouble with creating. You can never know whether or not an idea will work, because it hasn't ever been done before. And unless you try, that situation will never change.

We like seeing our new ideas and new products succeed, so much so that it’s worth the many failures we encounter along the way. Failing ‘early and often’ gets the good ideas off the ground, and the bad ones out of the way before they can weigh us down with second thoughts about the wisdom of trying.

It’s still not easy telling the nay-saying monsters to keep their peace, but the fact that we are here every day investing our time in creating new pictures, new stories, new fashions, and new programs means that our chances for continued success are always improving. Throw in a thick streak of stubbornness, and it’s a good bet we will still be in business, failing a lot and succeeding enough, for a long time to come.

(There. That blog’s finished. Now, off to the drawing board…)

Creativity

A trained scientist, stage performer, corporate marketer, amateur historian, gardener, fry cook and qualified diaper-changer, I have chosen to spend the last 25 years making my living as a ballpoint artist, rendering graphic puns in a style reminiscent of Arcimboldo.

The latter part of this unusual pedigree should grant me some authority on the subject of art, and what it takes to create new and unusual things, yet I find that my philosophy of creativity differs greatly from that of many friends who were trained in the fine art world, and even some of my scientific colleagues.

Recently I was asked to participate in in a panel discussion on ‘artistic inspiration’ and ‘the creative process’, where my mundane views on the subject were largely dismissed by the other panelists as an oversimplification of a profoundly complex and obscure phenomenon.

Our disagreement stemmed from a belief that creativity is something that you do, not something that happens spontaneously. My feeling was (and is) that what we call creativity is nothing more (or less) than an intentional association of ideas. The product of these associations is what we call Art. Or Music. Or Literature. Or a new brand of toothbrush.

The fact that I have been chased out of a variety of fields probably allows me to make more frequent and uncommon connections than the average person. Add an endless curiosity, a tendency toward mischievous attention-seeking, and a basic inborn stubbornness, and you wind up with someone who spends hours arranging words and pictures in his head, and doesn’t mind working overtime to get his silly ideas down on paper.

While my background may be unusual, my creative process is probably no different from anyone else’s. I imagine that most people are busy doing more practical things than making jokes with a ballpoint pen. I also imagine them doing all sorts of creative things, every day, to make themselves and their families happier. They do these creative things by rearranging their thoughts, and then acting on those unique mental connections, minute by minute, day after day.

I can appreciate that those who are unaccustomed to identifying with their internal creative machinery might feel that the product of an artist's mental labor is some form of magic – or worse, some kind of proprietary skill that is unavailable to ‘regular’ people. Why shouldn't they? Our everyday discussions of the subject of creativity are steeped in mystery and exclusivity.

As I frequently tell my friends and customers, I am creative mostly because I am unencumbered by the distractions of regular employment. Creativity and freedom are essential bedfellows. Experience counts, too – I am just as fond of saying (quite truthfully) that any six year old could do what I do, after twenty years of practice.

This practical view of creativity is finally gaining some ground in the scientific community, and may be starting to take hold in business as well. Creativity is work, pure and simple. Fun work, to be sure, but it doesn't happen if you don't make it happen. Those who take time and energy to develop the skill of thinking new thoughts and making new connections will be able to solve problems more easily, generate new products and processes, and market them more effectively. It’s all about the ideas one chooses to consider, and an individual’s comfort and experience in associating them in new, unusual ways.

My critics tell me that when I talk this way I am overlooking the wonder of art, ignoring an essential gift of inspiration – that special something that is mysteriously imparted to creative people by the ancient Muses. They could be right about that. After 25 years of indulging in this process, I’m still very much aMused.

And I’m working hard to stay that way.

2011 IdeaFestival: Nothing At All

What did I get out of the IdeaFestival?

Permission to think? To create? To hang out with a bunch of people who are a whole lot smarter than I am, and don’t bother to act like it? IF was all of that, and lots of other things. It is hard to articulate what this mind-elevating event meant to me, what graduate-level information I learned there, and what difference it will make to me over the years. As promised in the title of the event, it really wasn’t about things at all:

http://www.ideafestival.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=10812:ideafestival-about-nothing-at-all&catid=39:if-blog

What I did take away from the program was something I already had: Permission to fail. “To increase your rate of success, double your rate of failure” was a mantra that came up again and again. Think of it. Try it. Try it again. If you’re passionate about an idea, keep at it. “The better the idea,” we were told, “The harder it is to shove down people’s throats.” Now, happily, I have permission to fail even more.

One group of ‘things’ that I noticed at this year’s IF were the books. Stacks of them. As it turned out, most of the speakers were simply presenting what they had already written in their books. For these people, the path from idea to recognition usually involved a process of organization that led to a published story. Their books became the vehicle for publicizing their ideas, and for opening up new venues to spread their world-changing messages.

I draw pictures, and from time to time I even write stories. But this year’s IF challenged me to see if I really have anything to say to a larger audience – and if I do, to find a way to present that message in a publishable form. It’s an idea worth thinking about, anyway.

Don