Two nudes.

      The other day this headline caught my attention: “Topless Woman Found. Details Sketchy.” It was in the New York Times (7/20) and, no, it wasn’t about a stripper – it was about a painting, “Odalisque in Red Pants” by Henri Matisse. Evidently, FBI agents in Miami arrested two people and accused them of trying to sell the portrait said to be worth $3 million. As the story goes, the theft was first discovered in 2002, when the Contemporary Art Museum of Caracas was contacted by a Miami gallery owner saying that someone had offered to sell it to him. They inspected the painting on the wall and discovered that it was indeed a fake, and a lousy one, to boot. Someone had removed the original from its frame and put the fake in its place, leaving it to be exhibited as if it were the genuine article. And no one noticed. For at least two years, no one noticed!

         Sadly, I found it analogous to our industry, where the quality of our work has been slipping, where we’ve put forth less original work, and yet hardly anyone seems to have noticed.

         In an interview with Contagious, John Hegarty said he, too, believed that quality has fallen off in the past three or four years, but his claim didn’t make much of a stir. It should have made a stink. We go about our business, tolerating way too many distractions, accepting the fact that we have less time and too few creatives, maintain more excuses for mediocrity than ever before, and we seem to forget what really great looks like.

         Yes, I see more technology, more integration, clever new media but I see less art. I wonder if I’m just being nostalgic, but I don’t think so. When I was grinding through the ranks, I was inspired more by clarity than by wit, more by something true than something weird. As a copywriter, I admired people like Riney and French and Delaney, people whose artfulness transcended their sell. Likewise, I’m more moved these days by imagination than innovation. And there’s way too much emphasis on the later.

         In a wonderful little essay in the New York Times Book review (7/29), Roger Rosenblatt wrote, “The difference between invention and imagination is the difference between Mr. Ed and Swift’s Houyhnhnms. One is a talking horse (of course): the other bears the burdens of civilization.” We’re spending too much time thinking about how we can make use of Pinterest, and less time making something that approaches importance.

While advertising can’t possibly achieve as much as art, there can be enough art to have a modestly similar effect. Trying is everything. Honda’s “Hate Something” and “Cog” did that. Janet Champ’s Nike copy moved me almost as much as an orphan in a Dickens novel. “Think different” did no less than ennoble creativity.

         If we hire the right talent, art directors and designers who need to imbue their work with art and copywriters who need to raise their work with poetry, people who want to make a difference while making commerce, those people will go beyond the deliverables. If creative directors give them permission to create big and think well of the world and push the virtues that they’ve always believed in, they will surprise us. While pursuing business objectives, they will surprise us. They will surprise themselves. Time and time again, advertising has surprised us by squeaking in higher motives and values. “We Try Harder,” “Live Richly,” the red and white Economist ads, that’s what they did for us. 

         I never expected that all work could become great, or even that all our day-to-day blocking and tackling shouldn’t be necessary, but I always had hope to create something more than advertising. I never gave up hope for that. I would study every award book, looking to burn with amazement and desire and envy. Do people still do that? Every week?

         Look, the ceiling is moveable and it only remains high if we keep pushing against it, otherwise it slowly settles. We have to keep an eye on our standards. Don’t compare your work to other work in that medium; compare it to something that once blew you away. Do that, and keep on doing that, and it becomes increasingly harder to live without the masterpiece.

If you expect less from people, you may not be less disappointed.

That book by Sherry Turkle still has me thinking.

So, when technology goes unchecked, what are the long-term effects? After never seeming to find time to reflect and turn off the devices that keep us constantly distracted, while we’re always afraid that we might miss something, how does that change us? How is it effecting my strengths and my shortcomings? How does it affect relationships?

For one thing, according to Turkle, we lessen our expectations of each other. We expect less from our managers, less from our friends, less from each other. Okay, we won’t expect less from our politicians – we can’t expect less from our politicians – but what about the rest of us?

If I regularly write things on other people’s walls, it will no doubt look like I have lots of friends, and it’s not inconceivable that I might conclude I am popular and well-liked. But how demanding are those friendships? When I apologize, is it okay to apologize to Facebook? Will I get used to someone checking his or her phone while I’m talking? Will I get used to people always being somewhere else? When will the sound of someone laughing become a rare and precious moment relative to someone writing that they’re laughing? When will the appearance of authenticity be enough authenticity? When will superficiality trump our warts-and-all complexity? Since we can always write, edit and sculpt our messages, even manipulate our Instagram photos, when will “performance” (Turkle’s word) feel like life?

 “The ties we form through the Internet are not, in the end, the ties that bind. But they are the ties that preoccupy,” writes Turkle.

I think about this as it pertains to brands: Will brands that don’t strike the right balance of medium and message, who put too much emphasis on social and the "conversation," who never produce that piece of artful film (or whatever) that speaks to people’s dreams and therefore establishes the context for an important conversation, who never meet their consumer on the street or never put a real voice on the other end of the customer service line, will we expect less of those brands?

Forget about brands – will our humanity be compromised? She writes, “Are we ready to see ourselves in the mirror of the machine and to see love as our performances of love?”

How should I reach you?

Lately, I have been trying to be more conscious of what to use when – when to use the phone, when to text, when to email – and this has made me more aware of how others use their technologies with me. I’ve been thinking about the effect that our choices have on the other end. The effectiveness of our communication depends on choosing the right medium, right?

I mean, when is something not something to discuss over a device? When is it better to let someone know by text that you’re thinking of him or her instead of by phone? At work, when is a question not straightforward enough for email? When’s it time to video conference? When is a headline more compelling on a billboard than a banner ad?

I recently read Alone Together by Sherry Turkle, which talks about how we continually strive with our machines to be never alone, but, at the same time, always in control. See, if we are always with people, we are never alone, but if we are face-to-face with people we are not always in control – that’s where our devices come in. The question is: When does real intimacy outweigh our need to be in control?

Certain conversations will no doubt create a tension with our desire for control. We may want to share something important or need to be really heard or need to believe that we are worth paying attention to, and someone’s desire to control and limit the conversation will make meaningful reciprocity difficult.

A friend of mine used to work for a guy who only ever texted. Once, she got herself so worked up, she showed me his latest barrage. The guy used only incomplete sentences. He barked. His texts were indeed annoying, like nips at her leg from a dog she’d like to punt into the next yard. Clearly, he didn’t want to give any thought to how someone could get jazzed about something; he just wanted people to obey. From the looks of it, he was less of a manager and more of a jerk.

At some point, we need to sense the risk in seeing others as objects that can always be accessed, understand the risk in assuming we can always find usefulness and comfort and amusement when it’s convenient.

Not too long ago, our agency was approached to pitch an account, where we would be briefed over the phone and then scheduled to present three weeks later. At first, it sounded like a piece of cake. Then, it sounded wrong. There would be no meet and greet, no chemistry check, no opportunity to see if agency and client were compatible. It was an invitation to a first date with a possible marriage proposal by dessert. So we passed. And then something almost miraculous happened. Three weeks later, the prospective client rang, admitted that the pitch process was being swayed by procurement, realized it would not give them what they really needed (a partner), and they asked if we would participate with a chemistry meeting and some ice-breaking conference calls. Naturally, we pitched the account. And we won the pitch, largely, I believe, because we wanted to work for and spend time – over email, text messages and in person ­– with considerate people. We had reason to believe we’d have the necessary back and forth that leads to good work.

Whether with friends, fellow employees or consumers, we should think about what we want the desired effect to be, choose the right connection, and maintain a faith that people can surprise you. Because people do sometimes surprise you. Even clients :-)

The Spider and the Dragonfly and the Praying Mantis

  A Spider was obsessed with trapping a particularly large Dragonfly. His prey was impossible to snag and not just because a dragonfly is one of the fastest insects in the world. It is also so pointy it could pierce the Spider’s aerial web like a sewing needle through chunky yarn.

       To make matters worse, the Dragonfly would sometimes steal small insect fare while on its way through the web, which infuriated the Spider.

       The Spider tried everything to stop him. He tried spinning different silks. It spun sticky silk and fluffy silk and every kind of variation that its glands could muster. It built them horizontally and vertically. It tried funnel designs, dome designs and tubular designs. Nothing worked.

       One day, out of energy and out of gumption, the Spider sat on the edge of its web, his spirit as depleted as his stickiness. On a nearby tree, a green leaf caught his attention. The leaf appeared to undulate. Straining his eyes, the Spider could see there was a green Praying Mantis camouflaged on the green leaf. “Maybe I should ask her for some advice,” he thought, “after all, who better than a Praying Mantis to ask for spiritual guidance.”

       “Why don’t you try to meditate,” suggested the Praying Mantis.

       “Easy for you to say,” replied the Spider. “You look cool in your prayer-like stance, but what’ll I look like with my big head and short legs crossed into a Yoga position.”

        “Hey Spider,” said the Praying Mantis, “You need to get away a bit, get some distance and spend some time reflecting and analyzing and dreaming.”

       The idea of getting away seemed potentially refreshing, so the Spider walked to another tree, climbed high enough for a grand view, a view that would be conducive to a fresh perspective, and he relaxed. He let his mind wander and think about nothing in particular.

       Then the Spider spotted a dragonfly – not the dragonfly that he had obsessed over, just an ordinary dragonfly. Then it spotted another dragonfly. Then it spotted them posing for each other, and the pose they struck was some sort of ritual, a mating posture. The Spider saw the male and female dragonfly contort themselves into a wheel position, and it thought it kind of kinky when the dragonflies flew together, docked in tandem, the male towing the female in blissful flight. The Spider had an idea.

       The Spider trucked back to his web and wove a weave that looked exactly like a dragonfly in a mating position. And no sooner had this silky decoy been woven, when a dragonfly came into view. The Dragonfly aligned itself perfectly with the decoy and landed right on top of it in hopes of consummation, which is to say it had alighted on the sticky web and could not move to save its life. The Spider had caught the Dragonfly.

Moral: When it comes to reflecting and analyzing and dreaming, it is good to get away from the web.

You're gonna love this post!

I’ve never been crazy about The Shins and now…I don’t know, there’s something about Mercer’s songwriting that seems forced, like he’s trying too hard. Dylan would never settle for a line like, “And away they did run.” “Did run?” Seriously? It’s like bad poetry from a junior high schooler who was just happy he found a rhythm and rhyme to go with “done,” a difficult word to find a rhyme for. But what really bugs me is the first line of “Simple Song:” “This is just a simple song.” I hate that. I first heard it while watching the band on SNL. I was in bed. And after that, I squirmed and grumbled and couldn’t fall asleep.

Look, if it’s just to tell me what’s coming up in a self-confessing way, then it’s laziness. For god sakes, get on with it and tell me something new.

If it’s meant to be post-modern, I’m tired of that. Of course I’m really not sure what is meant by “post-modern” anymore but if it’s that self-conscious cynical view that makes fun of the medium it’s in while trying to make a point, then, yes, I’m tired of that, too. Cynicism can turn into cliché just like everything else.

I hear this sort of thing all the time in presentations. Before I see the work, I hear, “We wanted to do something funny, sooo…..” and, “This is just a simple spot…” and my personal favorite, "I showed this next spot to my girlfriend and she thought it was hysterical..." Let me be the judge of that, thank you. 

To sell good work, we are constantly professing the power of impact, wanting the consumer to discover a surprising conclusion. We’re right about that. So we should apply that principle and have the confidence to allow clients to feel the work. Before we tell them what to think.

 Enough said. 

Experience this!

There have always been people who get easily distracted, brief-brained people who'd chomp away on popcorn during a Bergman film, people who'd talk during a revelatory homily, but with social media, we now have to contend with the arms of those people entering our view of the stage or screen every two seconds to snap a photo with stupid little smart phones. I suppose those are the same people who go to Europe and see a different city each day. It's enough to say you were there; it's a Foursquare world after all.

But what the hell. I should lighten up, right. So, with my new iPhone 4S, I snapped this little gem the other night of Patti Smith at the Bowery Ballroom. As you can see, she is really into it, offering up her heart and soul during the poetic rant of Rock ‘N Roll Nigger. I think in that one song she says what Lady Gaga could only dream of communicating about everyone’s potential to express themselves. It was sooo amazing!

Trash

The above title is the name of a New York Dolls song, which I thought I might be able to reference in something about the Sydney Opera House, but, when I thought about it, had nothing whatsoever to do with the Sydney Opera House and what I had recently learned about it. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to use it one day for something else, if for no other reason than the fact that I love the song and I love the band.

Anyway, I learned that the original design for the opera house was the result of an international competition. As the story goes, there were three judges going through entries and they had narrowed it down to a few finalists. Then came Eero Saarinen, the famous architect who has now been immortalized in crossword puzzles for his odd four-lettered first name. Arriving late to Sydney, he saw the final entries and wasn’t crazy about any of them. So he started going through the trash. And there, among the rejected entries – and mind you, there were some 200 hundred entries – he landed on a little something by a Swede named Jorn Utzon which he thought was outstanding.

Several years later, the American architect, Louis Kahn, wrote that, “Light didn’t know how beautiful it was until it was reflected off this building.”

I’m thinking of getting a little photo of the Sydney Opera House for my office. It would be a reminder to think twice before killing an idea.