advertising, Uncategorized

The soft, silence of Tokyo.

“Living right in the heart of Tokyo itself is quite like living in the mountains – in the midst of so many people, one hardly sees anyone.” 

Yūko Tsushima

Imagine you are in a city of close to 15 million people. You are walking down a large street. It is a lot like 5th Avenue in New York. For a couple of seconds, you are happily staring at one of the beautiful window displays. You turn around and your child is gone. The worst feeling in the world. This had just happened to a woman as we were driving down the same street. Our driver stopped the van suddenly and jumped out. Not speaking Japanese, we didn’t realise this unfortunate event had been announced on speakers that I think you find on most Tokyo streets. Thousands of people stopped what they were doing and looked for the child. Our driver happened to see the kid with many others and the child was re-united with a very relieved mother.

It is the best example I can give of this feeling of consideration and kindness that permeates through the busy, quiet streets of Tokyo.

That’s the other thing, it is by far the quietest city I have ever visited. It is a silence that is magnified by the vast amount of people you see. It is a silence that lets you think. It is a silence that lets you see.  It is a silence that feels like millions of people are showing you kindness at the same time. It is a kindness that makes every street seem exquisitely empty.

You realise a lot about yourself when you are out of your comfort zone. You notice that your pre-conceived ideas are often bullshit or very shallow. You have this cartoon idea of a place. And then, you get there and you break out of auto-pilot and really notice the small details.

Here is a little example of thoughtfulness I remember. I was offered chewing gum with a Post-it. The Post-it was to put the gum in before I threw it away. Not exactly a Godzilla film in scale but it is an act that sums Tokyo up for me. A billion, tiny, beautiful acts.

My colleague Christie Cooper also told me about a shop assistant walking a couple of city blocks to give her something she had left on a table. Strange little details. Huge amounts of consideration and caring.

Tokyo also made me think of craft. In the West, we often think of craft as something well made. Something beautiful and quite often, expensive. We often associate craft with objects. Tokyo showed me there was another type of craft. The craft of how to live. It is not a nice to have. It is craft based on caring about others. A selflessness. It is kindness and consideration in all your actions. The craft of how you make another person feel.  We would call it something sterile like user experience or some other jargon. In Tokyo, it is simply the right way to treat others. Yet, somehow, it is far, far deeper than that. Like I said, a billion, tiny, beautiful acts.

img_2887

Now, I am sure Tokyo is not perfect. No city is. But, it was for me. It got me out of my comfort zone and showed me new things. It broke my routine. And, perhaps more importantly, let me feel new things. I will always remember the feeling of being in the middle of a city that creates an impossible silence. I will also never forget a child being found on a busy street because a city stopped and cared. 

What a crazy idea. People thinking about others more than themselves.  

Tokyo showed me the ultimate form of craft is kindness.

Merry Xmas everybody.

 

 

 

Standard
advertising, Uncategorized

I don’t care if you read this.

DSCF1053

“Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.” William Bruce Cameron

I couldn’t buy a camera for about twenty years.

I was a photographer when I was younger. I had done everything from being a photo-journalist in the townships of South Africa as apartheid ended, fashion shoots and portraiture for magazines as well as having to do awful weddings including being mistakenly hired for a right wing wedding and being paid in biltong (A dried meat delicacy). As you can see, it was a pretty mixed bag. But, I had made a living.

Over the years, it was always a scramble to make ends meet. And then, one day, the ends didn’t meet. So, I had to find something else to do. I had to put photography away. It is a strange thing when you make money from being creative. You become professional don’t you. You forget about joy and what it was that made you love your craft in the first place. I had this strange block that taking photographs as a hobby or for fun was a step backwards. Doing something for a living had baked in the idea of measurement and money. I had lost the ability to take a photograph for no reason.

Cut to fifteen years later. I started writing this blog. Just for fun. I enjoyed it. I liked people sending me messages and their stories. I just enjoyed the process. And then, I noticed a change within myself. As it became more successful I started to worry about likes. I started to think about how many blogs were publishing what I was writing. I started to worry about measurement and what other people thought. I started to lose the ability to write for myself.

If creativity and vanity are strange bedfellows, advertising is definitely the bed.

At this point, you may be saying go and see a therapist. An excellent suggestion. However, before I book a standing appointment I will try an make the inkling of a point.

Our business counts creativity. It measures it. I understand why it happens and the purpose of doing it, however, think about the insanity of trying to measure creativity and creatives. To use an idea from an old Saturday Night Live Skit, it’s a bit like saying you are the World Champion at Meditation. You are missing the point.

Compare that kind of mad measuring tape to the joy and honesty of seeing a young teams book and finding the most insane, unexpected idea. An idea they did because it made them laugh or they thought was beautiful.

In my own life, and the advertising business, I have seen what happens when measurement becomes more important than what is being measured. It makes you professional. It makes you efficient. It gives you a clear goal. However, I think it also makes you think about the wrong things. It makes you think of the picture frame rather than the picture. It makes you think of the outcome not the process. This is a very brittle mindset that seldom gives you anything new.

I can’t quantify or prove the following but I believe it to be true. For real creativity to exist there has to be a space for joy. There has to be a space for randomness and the unproven. There has to be a gap for chance and the unknown. There has to be a place for something intuitively just feeling good.

When it comes to real creativity, the messy and inconvenient truth is it often all begins with doing something for no reason.

So, I tried out my theory. After twenty years I got over myself and bought a camera. The picture above is the first picture I took as I was unwrapping the camera. It is of my dog Scooby. It isn’t great but it made me fucking laugh.

And then, I wrote this blog. And for the first time in a while I really didn’t give a shit if anybody read it. I felt like I was being creative again, rather than being involved in some strange vanity project or inane popularity contest.

I guess that is the problem with trying to mix numbers and creativity. For me, it is an unending lesson I keep trying to learn.

How do you measure the value of freedom?

How do you measure the value of doing something for no reason?

 

 

 

 

 

Standard
Uncategorized

11 seconds with Madiba

20131208-121457.jpg

I met Nelson Mandela twice. Each time it was fleeting but those 11 seconds have stayed with me. The second time was about 4 seconds long and we were completely alone. I was working at an agency called TBWA Gavin Reddy in Houghton in Johannesburg. Houghton was the suburb where Mandela lived.

I was walking to work early one morning because my Beetle had broken down for the third time that month. I was walking down a road and not really looking up. I sensed somebody in front of me. About 10 metres away stood Nelson Mandela. His bodyguards were a little way back. He was going for a walk. I was going for a walk. We were walking. We were alone on an empty street. Fuck. What do I do?

You get this stupid shit eating grin on your face when you meet famous people don’t you? And Mandela is much more than that. My grin must have been especially shit eating that day. You just don’t know what to do. I couldn’t speak. I put out my hand, he shook it. I said good morning in that voice you have before coffee. You know raspy and high pitched. Ridiculous. He had that massive smile. He could see this was weird and saw the humour. He said good morning and looked into my eyes when he spoke. And then he was gone. And I was standing there alone on a beautiful Tuesday morning. It had all happened in about 4 seconds.

But I had met him before.

In 1990 I was a photographer in Durban. At the time I was 20 years old and politically naive. I was asked to take some pictures of Nelson Mandela at the book launch of Fatima Meer at the University of Natal. I was near the stage. We used film in those days, so I was loading my camera with my back to the entrance.

Suddenly, there was a sound that I hadn’t heard before or haven’t heard since.

It was a mixture of roaring and intake of breath. It is the sound you make when language cannot help you. It was very human. It was the crowd. Up until that moment I don’t think I really understood what Nelson Mandela meant to people. As he walked in people collapsed. They were rolling on the floor. People were ululating. Women and men were crying. Collective, pure, raw emotion. In a single second a normal university auditorium had been turned into the most powerful gospel revival you have ever seen.

In that instant, I realised that I knew nothing about the country I lived in.

I had to get pictures of him speaking, which I did. But I wanted to try and get a picture of him. It became this burning need as I listened to him speak. A portrait as opposed to something for a PR release. I didn’t want to just take a photograph I wanted to make some sort of connection. I thought the only chance would be on the way to his car afterwards. He finished his speech and I followed him through the crowd until we were both outside. I was completely inexperienced. I didn’t know what to do. I was beginning to panic. As he got into his car I remembered him giving an ANC salute (raised fist) when he walked into the auditorium.

For a brief moment everything fell into place. He was sitting in the backseat and looked at me through the window. I lifted my arm and did probably the worst, uncool ANC salute in history. I didn’t understand its significance or its meaning. I was out of my depth. He looked at me and my fist. He understood everything. I was a dumb, shy, white kid who really needed a picture and was trying to connect but didn’t know how.

He didn’t look at the camera, he looked at me. And when I say me, straight into my eyes. This single second felt like an hour. He started to laugh and raised his arm. He gave me the picture. He waited until I shot it and then told the driver to go. 7 seconds. 7 seconds, that tell you everything about his greatness.

His incredible strength and power never got in the way of his humour and his ability to make time for everybody. His humanity was on the outside. For most of us it is on the inside.

I handed the pictures over and I don’t know where they are today. Strangely, I don’t feel sad about the loss. The memory for me is so strong and personal it has become more valuable than the photograph. And trust me coming from a photographer that is saying something. There is just this lingering memory of potential. Of what we all could be if we were a little kinder to each other.

In 7 seconds he made me feel like it was going to be OK. He gave me some of his humaness. He could have looked away and told the driver to go but he didn’t. He understood my situation and accepted me as I was. There was no judgement or irritation. He solved it with humour and time.

He had the greatest gift of all. In that moment, he showed me what true greatness is. To simply be human. And he did it with the world on his shoulders.

It was only eleven seconds but I am grateful for each one. I will never meet a man like Nelson Mandela again.

Standard
advertising, Uncategorized

It’s the cracks that let the light in.

20131109-141017.jpg

I shot this photograph 20 years ago on Rockey Street in Johannesburg. It’s an important photograph for me because
it represents my philosophy on creativity.

Creativity is a very strange process. It involves having a vision that you completely believe in and would defend to the hilt. It also involves having the ability to throw your vision away because during the process you saw something better. I think the expression is strong beliefs lightly held.

The photograph is 90% the way I planned it. As I was shooting the photograph I could see out of the corner of my eye a woman standing in the background. She was a maid that worked in one of the homes in the suburb. She was amused by the fashion shoot.
She thought the model was funny. I could have cropped her out but I didn’t. This was 1994 the year of the first democratic election in
South Africa. The photograph says so much about the country at the time. Old versus new, identity, change, South Africa meeting the world. It’s a photograph that hangs in my house and each year I like it a bit more.

If I had photographed this the way I had planned it would have just been a nice picture. Nothing more. Instead, I captured a small moment in South Africa’s history. What that day taught me was the power of being aware in the creative process. It taught me there is no such thing as a mistake.

Creativity is not a thing, it’s a way. That means creativity is not an answer, it is a process. Many don’t like the uncertainty of that statement. They try and mitigate against it. The reality is if you want to do something truly great you have to believe with your heart you are right. And accept there might be a much better way than your idea. And you have to try and do this at the same time. Tricky.

Never believe you have everything figured out. Never call something a mistake. Always look for the cracks. They let the light in.

Standard