I spent a couple of hours Saturday afternoon enjoying Thief, Michael Mann’s 1981 directorial debut starring James Caan as a robbery artist with a vicious (and compelling) case of emotional disconnect. 

Why didn’t anybody tell me about this before?

It’s a damn fine – damn fine – piece of work. The missing link (to me before Saturday) that helps explain why Heat and Collateral are so good.

I went digging around online for more info and found this New York Times article about Caan’s promo work for the movie. That guy gets it. Some highlights (not including the quote that gives this post its title):

• He won’t direct again, Mr. Caan says, because ”everybody wants to do ‘Rocky Nine’ and ‘Airport 96’ and ‘Jaws Seven’ and you look and you listen, and what little idealism you have left slowly dwindles.”
• “Anybody that can tell you how he’ll feel tomorrow is full of baloney.”
• ”I want to be the best actor in the world, but that’s not what happiness is. Happiness is my kid, and my friends, and being able to laugh as much as possible.”

I tend to take my cues from iconoclasts, and I’ve always had a passing admiration for James Caan. Now I’ve got a better sense of why.

I often walk my dog on back roads. Along the way I’ve encountered several old traffic signs, familiar because of their format but unique in that they don’t say what I’m trained to expect. It got me thinking about the possibility of taking something people see every day and leveraging that attention to create new ideas.

This particular thing didn’t take root and I subsequently forgot it completely. I look at it now with fresh eyes and remain intrigued. 

Much of the business of communication is focused on creating new attention. That’s as it should be in many cases, but there’s room for innovation with attention that already exists. Tweaking perspective has a unique kind of appeal.

If someone is already looking — is already there — why not see if you can use that language to say something new?

More to the point: something better?

It’s also one of the smartest.

The menu changes seasonally. Every time they update, they ensure that there’s at least one vegan option on the menu. And it’s not an afterthought — it’s always a legitimate dish, as thought out and well-prepared as the rest of the menu items.

I’d bet that only a small percentage of their customers notice it’s there. Woodberry Kitchen is not at all a vegetarian/vegan restaurant, and this isn’t by any means something that they have to do. But they do it. And by doing it, they show that they understand their customers and give a damn about making them happy. They show that they pay attention to detail. They show just how much thought goes into their decision-making.

There’s a lesson in that. Take a minute to think about whatever you’re doing and ask yourself: is there an opportunity here to make one small tweak that will mean a lot to the handful of folks who notice? 

If there is, make it happen. 

(photo credit)

I’ve started presenting some of it over at my Outtakes & Inspiration site, but that’s best suited to images. I’m seeking something in addition, something with a little more weight.

With that (and new beginnings) in mind, I present Six Easy Pieces - the Slant Six Creative Mailing List. A semi-frequent dispatch, sent not more than four times and not less than one time per month. Filled with inspiration, recommendations, oddities, links, thoughts, and ideas. Six items at a time. The only guarantee is that every effort will be made to never waste the time you spend reading it.

I think of it as a virtual circle of friends. A happy hour discussion via email. 

Get on board by filling out the form below or clicking here to use the off-site signup. Once I get to 10-15 subscribers I’ll send out the first mailing. From there we’ll have some fun and see where it goes.

Thanks as always, and here’s to an enjoyable, productive 2010.

(image via)

In tandem with the music I’ve noticed that many of his album covers feature standout work. Nothing too high concept or innovative, just great illustrations or photographs paired with brilliant typography. If you’ve got those two things going for you it’s usually best to leave well enough alone.

I gathered a few of my favorites to share. Dig.

Which puts it in league with the best, a group that includes near its head The Twilight Zone. As it happens, the two shows have something in common beyond brilliant creative execution.

First aired on May 6, 1960, “A Stop At Willoughby” is one of Twilight Zone’s better moments. In it, a harried advertising executive named Gart Williams (played by James Daly) bends then finally breaks under the pressures of Madison Avenue in persuasion’s golden age. The similarities to Mad Men are plain on the surface, but they run much deeper than that. 

Gart Williams is a virtual mirror image of Don Draper. He’s got the job (although Williams doesn’t work in the creative department), the train commute to the suburbs, the well-appointed home and, most importantly, a deep sense of longing.

When he cracks up during a particularly rough meeting, Williams returns home to a strong drink and a wife offering nothing in the way of sympathy. She berates him for potentially ruining his career — and her comfort. In response he offers the following:

I would prefer, though never asked before, a job, any job at all where I could be myself. Where I wouldn’t have to climb on a stage and go through a masquerade every morning at nine o’clock. And mouth all the dialogue and play the executive and make believe I’m the bright young man who’s on his way up ‘cause I’m not that person, Janey. You’ve tried to make me that person but that isn’t me. That isn’t me at all.

There are echoes of Don Draper in that monologue, but Williams is Draper without the cool. Without confidence, control, and style. His yearning is directionless. One could argue the same thing about Draper, but where Mad Men’s protagonist seeks to move forward no matter the cost, Williams’ march is relentlessly, finally, backward.

I’ll save the ending for fear of spoilers. Suffice to say he doesn’t start his own agency.

“A Stop at Willoughby” resonates for many of the same reasons as Mad Men. It’s a portrait of a time in American history when the popular narrative was contentment and success, but the reality was often more complicated. People had things but they didn’t necessarily have things that mattered. Worse, they didn’t really know what exactly would matter. If success and comfort isn’t it, then what?

That particular idea is as relevant now as it has ever been. 

“A Stop at Willoughby” is available in three parts on YouTube. Get it while you can.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

What follows is a sampling from the 50s. The “Land of Pleasant Living” tagline we all know and love is there, but I’m particularly intrigued by the less-remembered ideas. “Wet, Cold, and Delicious” is bizarre…but fascinating. The “Talk about beer…is talk about National Bohemian” idea is both smart and well-executed, and there’s little to say about this other than “awesome”.

More to come in a future installment. Enjoy.

Created with flickrSLiDR.

Or, Why I Posted 

Remember when blogs were new? I was so stoked in early 2004 when I signed up for Blogger and realized I suddenly had a platform — with no editors to hold me back. It was a rush. Frustration quickly followed, however, as I learned just how hard it was to get anyone to notice or care. It was tough to come to grips with that.

I decided to figure out how to make it work. In large part that meant trial and error, but it also meant seeking the knowledge of others. I discovered people who had found success and who were publicly sharing their wisdom. It was intoxicating. Their strategies and tips were rooted in effective, real-world communication but were fine-tuned to take advantage of a unique and emerging medium. Reading their work helped me understand just how much potential the whole thing had.

Little did I know that I was witnessing the birth of a full-fledged bullshit industry.

Suddenly a blog became a must-have item. And with the “everyone needs a blog” mentality came an even more sinister “everyone needs to be told what to do with their blog” mentality. Marketing people moved in and told us that this is how should be done. Mediocre writing about how to have a supposedly remarkable (but in reality middle-of-the-road) blog proliferated.

The same thing is happening now with “social media” — Twitter, Facebook, et al (the offspring of blogs). Throw a stone and you’re likely to hit someone writing nonsense about “getting the most” out of social media. They’ve got what they call strategy, and they want you to know about it.

For the most part, all of their advice boils down to: do what everyone else is doing.

Does that sound smart? Not to me.

So what’s the alternative? It’s long, it’s difficult, it’s potentially embarrassing, and it’s ultimately far more rewarding than a clichéd headline and top-seven list could ever be: develop your voice. Cultivate a perspective and grow your knowledge. Take a stand and get into a debate about it. Build a community. Fall flat on your face a few times. Learn to say “fuck it” and actually mean it.

Most importantly, stop thinking of blogs and/or social media as different or special. They’re not. They are media. Tools for communication. They have their own quirks, of course, but they are not by themselves anything more or less than what you turn them into.

For every social media celebrity (a dubious distinction, by the way) there are a thousand blog authors and Twitter users who followed all the advice, did all the “right” things, and are nevertheless irrelevant because nobody gives a damn about who they are or what they’re saying.

If you want to avoid that fate it’s got to be you doing it, not someone else’s tired advice.

photo credit

Naturally, then, I was excited when they announced a contest where folks could submit their own stories to make an object significant. I took an old idea of mine that had been floating through my head and I dusted it off to give meaning to the BBQ sauce jar you see here. I didn’t win, and I don’t particularly dig the story that did, but such is the nature of something like this.

I still like the story, and it seemed a shame to have it go to waste. So here it is. This is exactly as I submitted it, and I’d love feedback. Hit me up in the comments — a response and a good conversation are guaranteed.

***

We entered through the back door, into the kitchen, like before except now the door was green where it had been brown. That was the first thing.

We passed through the dining room. I noticed an empty hook on the rack where his mug – the one with the words “Boulder is Beautiful” and a silhouette of mountains – had always hung. The others looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years.

We moved on into the living room, where the old corduroy chair was nowhere to be seen. The coffee table with the mark on the right side from when I hit it with his golf club had been sanded down and painted over. The stack of TV Guides was gone, too.

It felt odd to not have been consulted. This was a place of important moments, and the changes had altered its character.

We went upstairs to what had been my sister’s bedroom, then across the hall to mine. Hers was now storage, mine a guest room that had been arranged in an appropriately comfortable but conservative fashion. I got the sense it had never been used.

We arrived at the end of the hallway and the master bedroom, which was clean and stripped of mystery. What it said now about the people who slept there was not at all what I knew to be the truth, but I didn’t know if that was because things had changed or if I had just been wrong.

The others moved on but I stayed. I crossed the room to his dresser and looked into his mirror, wondering if the glass had any memory and if maybe a part of him was looking back. I wondered if he saw things the way I saw them or if he was too close to notice or if – and this was probably it – he had long ago lost interest.

I put my hand on the dresser. I ran my fingers along its cracks and chips. I tried to pinpoint the genesis of each one when suddenly I remembered the jar.

I opened the top drawer and reached to the back. My heart jumped when I held it, for the first time since the day I gave it to him.

“It looks like a shaving brush,” he said. “Now, what kind of a man shaves with Bar-B-Q Sauce?”

I didn’t know what a shaving brush was, but the warmth of his smile told me he was only kidding and I felt like the gift had done its part.

“Someday,” he said, “I won’t be able to use this anymore.”

To this day I’m not sure what he meant. But as I heard the others make their way back down the hall I tucked the jar into my coat pocket and resolved to find out.

***

Currently the advertising director at DC Shoes and formerly a member of the Girl Skateboards Art Dump, Larson is one of the most talented designers I’ve ever been around. He’s also a hell of a musician and an accomplished fine artist. And a good person on top of it. One of those guys where you just shake your head and smile.

The project we did together goes back about three years to when he created an image (seen above) for one of my graphic novels. His work elevated the project to where it exceeded my original expectations, and I owe a huge chunk of the book’s success to him. 

I mention all this today for a couple of reasons. First, he’s having an opening of new paintings and prints this Saturday out in Solana Beach, CA. If you’re anywhere near there, go!

Second, Tony is this week’s Crownfarmer featured artist, meaning you can do yourself a favor and pick up his latest creation. You know I will.

And on a more general level what I’m saying is: count your blessings when you get a chance to work with amazing folks. And don’t forget to spread the love now and then.