Earlier this week we saw the final episode of “Ellen’s
Design Challenge,” the new HGTV show in which six talented furniture designers
compete in a series of design and construction elimination contests. I am not
endorsing the show, which in its first season had its moments but could use
some refining; however, it was interesting and fun to see the designers and
carpenters work together and create some extremely impressive pieces.
As someone working in a creative field, however, I do feel
compelled to comment on the ending of the show. If you didn’t see it, in the
final episode the judges had narrowed the field to two designers, and chose the
winner. However, a week later—prior to the show being aired, and thanks to an “anonymous
tip”—it was discovered that the winner’s final entry looked similar to a piece
designed by someone else not on the show. With a terse statement that the
winner had “not met the requirements” of the challenge, the network
disqualified him and awarded the $100,000 prize to the runner-up.
I don’t know if the winner had ever seen this other piece. I
do know, however, that creative people take cues from a lot of sources, and I
find that very defensible. Picasso himself once suggested that “good artists borrow,
great artists steal.” I’m not remotely suggesting that the winner stole someone
else’s ideas; rather, that this is a complex topic and one that deserves more
consideration than it seems to have received. I assume this is why the network
has been so interestingly close-mouthed about what occurred, while viewers
everywhere have been taking the show to task for the decision and for their treatment
of the original winner.
Anyway, in their deliberations the judges spoke at length
about the differences between the designers—he, a seasoned pro with a very
particular style and a very niche market for it; she, a somewhat younger
designer whose work was considered more eclectic. They
talked approvingly about her willingness to push herself in many directions.
They talked admiringly about his proficiency and strong sense of himself and
his work.
And then one of the judges characterized the seasoned
designer as someone prone to “retreating to what’s comfortable.”
There is a video of this conversation online, but the potentially
most interesting comment was edited out. Which is this: another judge said, in
defense of the seasoned designer, something to the effect of, “There’s nothing
wrong with knowing whom you are, knowing your strengths, and going with them.”
We are living in a world where expectations of knowledge
workers, and marketers are no exception, are changing. Certain proficiencies
are foregone conclusions; certain proclivities are valued over others. As a
more “seasoned” type, I watch this with some amusement and some sadness.
Is going to what one knows, trusts and has found success
with really “retreating?” What does this mean? Consultants, for example, are
hired for expertise, which is developed over time. Most of us have a set of
core beliefs, processes and practices upon which we rely. That is the value
that we bring to our clients.
[On the other hand, there are a bunch of “truisms” in
marketing that are exhausted and no longer useful. Deferring time and again to
certain media (does every single thing one does require a print piece in the
age of the Web?), phrases (“with the click of a mouse” being my favorite), or
characteristics of populations of any kind signals a lack of real-world
context.]
One of my most esteemed colleagues recently opted out of the
job market, saying that he wasn’t comfortable in the social media world, didn’t
really believe in it, and felt that nobody would take him seriously as a
marketer without that skill set. He knows who he is, knows what he can do, and
even knows its value. But he no longer has confidence that others will value it
equally. This is worse than retreat. It is defeat.
Everyone, and certainly every worker in a creative field, assembles
a toolbox of references. Some are consciously developed, and some are derived
from observation consciously and unconsciously. In any case, the toolbox represents
the assets that allow us to engage, discover, diagnose, and contribute our ideas.
Creative people understand, of course, that tools must be
carefully maintained. They need to be adjusted, burnished, polished and
sharpened. And, they need to be complemented and enhanced with new tools and
references that make practice all the more rewarding, and the results of the
work richer and more relevant over time.
If the designer in question had no original ideas, no unique
vision, no contribution of a particular sensibility and expertise, then I would
agree with the characterization of “retreat.” But, win or lose, everyone agreed
that he had all of those things. And I would argue that it is precisely the
existence of his references that make his work so special.
It’s not a question of retreat. It’s one of having built a
strong foundation on which to grow.
