1. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you i could write
It wasn’t some grand scheme, some planned flip of the switch. I haven’t been carefully crafting a “got ya!” moment. I tried to tell you about it but I kept getting caught off. It wasn’t your fault, I didn’t make a big deal of it. It was something I knew intuitively, so it never needed to be said out loud.
I’ve been writing since I was a kid. I was less secretive about it back then but it was still just as sacred to me. I remember sitting in the back of the family van, tuning out my parents and siblings so I could make stories out of the things I’d seen and felt. It’s what keeps me quiet, and sane. A peaceful coping mechanism and my favorite friend. A blessing to all involved. Truly. If I didn’t write think about much more I would talk! (what a nightmare that would be!)
When I write, no one needs to listen to me because I’m listening to myself. My writings are the deepest conversations I have. Sometimes they’re me + me talking but sometimes it’s me + the idea I have of you, talking together. Sometimes I talk with the things you say or do. Never fully based in reality, I use my mind and exercise my imagination when I write. It’s usually not very serious.
So how’d I get to be an art director?
Well, When I was in school, I was enthralled with art classes. I knew I wasn’t “naturally” gifted in art, like I was with writing. I knew that I had to learn how to tap into my inner artist if I wanted to make art. I knew I had to learn to be good at art if I wanted to be an artist. And boy, did I want to be an artist. So badly, I studied it. For years.
I wasn’t just learning by doing, I was also learning my lessons by observing other artists in my classes and in the books. I excelled quickly because of that dual learning. And because I was addicted to the harsh critiques. The feedback hurt like hell. Made me cry. The subjective nature of art really fucked with my brain. But nothing helped me learn faster than hearing someone else’s reaction to my work. We’d spend weeks carefully curating the most gorgeous bandaid to cover our wounds, then the art teacher would come around and rip it off and throw salt on the wound in less than 2 seconds. It was so inspiring the way they reacted so viscerally and so quickly. They gave you honest feedback from the gut. I didn’t mind running to the bathroom and sobbing to my hands after every review. It’s what made me so strong.
Plus, the most interesting people were in art classes and sadness didn’t bother any of us. Neither did darkness. I liked that. I liked that you could show up to art class with the darkest rendition of your inner demons and all Ms Jane Ayres would say was “next time, leave more white space so the viewer can really feel the blood spilling out of the dagger sticking out of the middle of your brain that’s laying naked on the floor, no skull.” I felt so comfortable, I got to be so much more open and full of substance when I was in art class surrounded by artists.
For most of my life, no one asked me to choose between writing and art. I could do both, interchanging as I pleased. I didn’t have to go out of my way to write, the opportunties were all around me. Sometimes it was assigned writing for a specific course or subject, sometimes it was scribbled in journals or carved out of a keyboard. I was satisified with my balance of art and writing, until I got asked to choose.
I thought it was strange the way the advertising industry split us up into “copywriters” and “art directors.” I had heard artists explain their own ideas and seen writers hold opinions on visuals, I didn’t understand why we had to pick one lane. I’m not sure how much of a concious decision it was for me to pick art over copy. I suppose I treated it the same way I always had... art is something I learn, writing is something I know. Afterall, it was portfolio school asking the question.
And so I took the path less known by me. Going towards what I didn’t know so I could get stronger through the uncomfortability of it. Writing always walked me home, art would teach me to get there without the street lamps.
I took a chance on myself with art direction because I wanted to see how far I could get with it. To see how much of the craft could be taught. What all would I learn? Could I become a master of art?
It sounds courageous but really it was selfish. I’ve always found the language of arts to be so fascinating and so fun! But I know that I bore easily and failure keeps me interested in matters. It keeps me curious, in learning mode. The more I get it wrong, the better I get. And I like getting better. I also like being around people that are better than me. Because learning through observation can save you time and tears.
I gave a lot of time and tears to being an art director. It was fascinating, fun, boring, uncomfortable, disorienting and miserable. The good news is I get to keep everything I learned. All that I have become is me and not the companies I worked for :)