Updates from Kurt RSS

  • Kurt 4:39 pm on September 22, 2011 Permalink  

    The client in the room. 

    Our agency just completed a bunch of TV spots for one of our newest clients, World Vision. They’re the humanitarian organization that promotes child sponsorship, battles social injustice and provides disaster relief in some of the world’s poorest countries. It’s beautiful, heart-wrenching, harrowing and inspiring stuff indeed.

    From the get-go, we’ve been working with a bunch of nice folks at World Vision who are committed to putting something persuasive and fresh out there. They’ve been dormant on TV for a number of years and were interested in redefining and revitalizing the category. Oh, and they hope to sign up a slew of new child sponsors.

    Our main client contact, Steve Quant, expressed an interest in not only attending the shoots, but being involved in post production, as well. And involved he was. In the best way imaginable. A film editor in a past life, Steve sat in the edit suite with our team for days. And not only did he have many tweaks and suggestions (most really good, by the way), he also demonstrated a real respect for the editors and the entire creative process. He spent 13 solid hours with me in color correction. Why? He simply wanted to see how it all worked. And in the process he offered a new set of eyes that helped us make the images look terrific.

    The result? Better commercials. And a client who’s as much an owner of the final product as the agency. An enthusiastic protector of our original creative concepts and someone who knows the source material inside and out. Someone who dug into the details, not to control them, but to understand how all those little details added up to something really special.

    Have a look for yourself at the World Vision spots. If you see something that catches your eye or melts your heart, that was the agency’s idea. Or the client’s. Or both.

     

  • Kurt 5:41 pm on February 15, 2011 Permalink  

    Whose idea is it anyway? 

    There’s a notion that has floated around every agency at which I’ve ever worked. That “great ideas can come from anywhere and anyone.” And often times they do.

    But once in a while, a great idea—the great idea—will come from you. Or you and your partner. Period. And that idea is fully formed. Ready to go. Locked and loaded.

    Here comes the hard part.

    Everyone wants to be associated with a great idea. They want to be a part of it and they want it to be a part of them. Sometimes, they take that too far. They just can’t let a great, solid idea alone. They feel the need to change it. To adjust it. To leave a fingerprint upon it. To be fair, given the chance, I think most people would do this.

    It’s your job as a creative to protect and nurture the idea you came up with. Listen to others’ suggestions. Hear them out. But if you don’t hear anything that actually improves your idea, leave it the way it is. Some people will never understand that they can’t make your idea better, and will start to poke holes in it simply so they can plug those holes. This is like saying I could improve a chair you just built by knocking off one of its legs and gluing on a different leg that I made. The chair still does what it’s supposed to do. It keeps your ass off the ground and rests your tired back after a long day. But it doesn’t look quite the same. It’s a little off. It wobbles slightly. It’s not as pure as it once was. It has a weird leg that draws attention to itself for no good reason.

    Now for the creative process golden rule stuff. It’s also your job to recognize a great idea when it’s presented to you. It might be an ad by another creative at your agency, an idea from account services or a presentation pulled together by your CFO, or, gasp, something your client has come up with. Heck, it could even be the new tile someone picked out for the office foyer. If the idea or suggestion feels right the way it is, resist the urge to change it just because you can. Every time you do this, every time you leave something that’s inherently correct as is, you put a little good will in the bank. If you respect other people’s ideas, they’ll return the favor.

     

  • Kurt 8:05 pm on December 1, 2010 Permalink  

    I was just trying something. 

    I have a bit of news for you:

    

People aren’t going to love everything you do.

 Whether it’s a joke you tell, the shoes you decided to wear this morning or the typeface you choose to set a headline. But if more people at least like it than hate it, you’re on the right track.

    

I’ve learned from working around a lot of very talented people over the years that their creative success rate goes way up the more they get things out there. During the idea generating process they’re constantly trying new material. And they are willing to bomb now and again; comfortable that while part of that process most failures are fleeting and soon forgotten. 

If the chance of truly failing with an idea is low especially if you generate a lot of ideas, why be afraid to push as hard as you can and walk right up to the edge? That’s where the best ideas live. I just finished reading the book “Mistakes Were Made (But Not By Me)” and the authors, Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson offer up some liberating thinking. The idea is this: Mistakes and failures are, first and foremost, a way to learn. Acknowledge the screw-up, adjust your thinking based on what you’ve learned, and then—here’s the interesting part—move on. Because mistakes and failures are fleeting. Once you fess up and harvest all the learning from a mistake, the mistake itself is gone. Done. Over.



    When asked about failing to find a suitable filament for his new electric light bulb after trying thousands of materials, Thomas Edison said, “I have not failed. I have just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”



    Like almost everybody, given the choice I’d rather not bomb. But I know that I need to try a whole bunch of stuff to get to the good ideas. Usually the good ideas will stick around while the bad ones become vapor. And when something I’m attempting doesn’t quite work out I simply remind myself I’m just trying something.

     

  • Kurt 6:19 pm on November 15, 2010 Permalink  

    The Unexpected. 

    I’ve sat through a lot of creative presentations over the years. Good ones and bad ones. I’ve been on my game and occasionally, horribly off. (It didn’t help that the CEO of the large steakhouse chain was opening and reading his mail, freshly delivered by his put-upon secretary as I was presenting creative.)

    Over the years, one common response from clients that I have heard after showing the work is, “Oh. That’s not what I expected.” What happens after that separates the great clients from the, um, interesting ones.

    A great client loves the fact that the agency has brought in something fresh and shiny. An unusual execution based on an unassailable strategy. It might even be a little uncomfortable. It has an edge. It has a point of view. Left to his or her own devices, it’s clearly not the execution our client would’ve done themselves.

    The “interesting” client usually says the same thing as the enlightened client, only with a completely different inflection. You can feel the fear and anxiety as they consider the execution. Clearly, if you were to ask them, the agency did not hear or deliver what they wanted. They asked for candy and you walked in with flowers.

    I think the best clients I have ever been around always expect the unexpected from their agency. They realize that’s where the magic happens. They know a new idea doesn’t have the safety net a tried and true (and done before) idea has, and they’re okay with that. They know that if the strategy is sound and all the potential landmines have been mapped out and mitigated, they’re probably going to be just fine. Heck, this could even be the idea that breaks new ground or starts a trend. They might even hear complete strangers talking about their campaign at a ballgame or cocktail party one day.

    And wouldn’t that be unexpected.

     

  • Kurt 9:56 pm on November 12, 2010 Permalink  

    Teaching. Learning. What’s the Difference? 

    After a long vacation from teaching, I reluctantly agreed to saddle up and teach a class at SVC along with my friend and copywriter, Mike Hayward. Teaching is a lot of work. Not just carving out the time for class, but for preparing each week. I even had to look up “syllabus” to make sure I was spelling it correctly. And then there’s dreaming up real assignments for fake clients. Writing strategies. Hoping that you’ll actually have something interesting to say.

    But once the classes get going, the hassle magically disappears. Oh sure, I’d rather not stand after class at the 3rd and Pike bus stop at 10:00 p.m. waiting for my stale cigarette-scented lift home, but often what takes place in class makes it worth it.

    In class this past Monday, our seventh, something amazing happened. I saw a group of 10 writers and art directors “get it.” All at once. It was as if they all had the day marked on their calendars to become critical thinkers. As student after student presented their homework and in-class assignments, every, and I mean every critique by the class was absolutely spot on. It was amazing. The prior week’s, “I like that. It’s funny” became, “I see your strategy, did you try…” By the time it was our turn, Mike and I were pretty much simply agreeing with our students.

    I’m more excited than ever to see what the next class will bring. Not only because I’m thoroughly enjoying witnessing my students’ ah-ha moments, but because of the unexpected adrenaline shot to my jaded, creative heart muscle.

    Teaching reminds me how much I’ve learned by simply working around creative, smart people. I love to talk about what we’re doing at the agency. And when I do it three hours straight, once a week, it’s called teaching.

    I could still do without stinky Metro Route 54, however.

     

    • Larry Asher 7:08 am on November 13, 2010 Permalink

      SVC is grateful to you and Mike for turning on all those lightbulbs. Can we call you a cab?

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