A Merry Spoiler Alert of Windsor

Postings for graphic design jobs always include the line: must be able to work simultaneously on multiple projects with tight deadlines.

It's a ludicrous request, in my opinion. I say it's ludicrous because I'm pretty sure this is something every job requires. And isn't it really juggling some manager's time-management ineptitude? A good manager knows how to structure time to stay focused on a task; how that task relates to larger strategy; how that strategy supports the mission. And a good manager has the ability to just say "no."

But what do I know of managing business?

Therefore it's comes naturally while pushing out all things The Servant of Two Masters quotes, I must also prep for the 2011-12 season's last show: Shakespeare's The Merry Wives of Windsor. 

I'm actually a bit excited about this prep, since it involves reworking the main show art before we begin the publicity and marketing push for Merry Wives.

The original art had been created by my predecessor several months earlier. It's challenging creating art so far in advance of the production. Sometimes even the director doesn't have a clear vision to guide your design. The framework and setting aren't fully developed. It's entirely possible you set Romeo and Juliet at some future star date on Malacandra, instead of under the sea long before civilization takes root.

Original The Merry Wives of Windsor show art

In the case of Merry Wives, the team originally thought the show would be set sometime in the late 1930s. As Merry Wives begins rehearsal, we've learned from the set designer and director that Merry Wives will be set in the mid 1910s—a much earlier time frame. It's a time of different fashion, a time when British women wore hats.

(Wait. Don't they always wear hats?)

Luckily, by now the director and set designer have synthesized their ideas into coherent design. As I flip through a PDF of Merry Wives' set design plans, I find a mock-up of a scrim. This large, slightly sheer fabric hangs on stage, in front of the set and in this case, will be painted with a scene of Windsor Castle and period advertisements. 

Scrim design

It's the perfect launch point to design new art.

My main goal with show art, beyond making something beautiful and/or interesting to look at, is to provide a familiar point of reference for the audience. I want them to see the street banner, an advert (non-rhotic pronunciation, of course) or the theatre poster and watch the show feeling as if they've been given the "right" impression.

As such, I take the first design cue from the title on the scrim. I rework the logotype with STC's institutional Gotham (Condensed) font. I also pull a new palette from the predominant colors on the scrim, figuring these colors will further the familiarity goal.

Title rework and new palette

Next, thinking of what will catch the eye most from the street, I mock up a yellow starburst background, also from the scrim. Cuing the portrait of King George, I also put Falstaff, Mistress Ford and Mistress Page into cameos. Finally, at the suggestion of the Marketing and Communications Director, I bring in Windsor Castle, grounding the image and providing the setting context.

Draft idea for new Merry Wives art

Now we need new photographs! Luckily, this close to the production, the roles have been cast and we arrange a photo shoot with the actors. Unbelievably, the Marketing team entrusts me to photograph the actors, instead of hiring a professional photographer. (This has nothing to do with budget consideration, nothing whatsoever.) So, here we go . . .

Veanne Cox vogues as Mistress Page

Caralyn Kozlowski as Mistress Ford

David Schramm as Falstaff

All three actors are amazing in the shoot. We use simple hints of costumes, since they won't be fully visible in the final artwork—plus the "real" costumes are still being constructed in the costume shop.

As these photos and the art goes around for final approvals, word comes back to me that Veanne is not fond of her photograph.

Worse, the director does not like one bit our Falstaff. I hear the director thinks the antlers give away the ending. Spoiler alert from a 400-year-old Shakespeare play: Falstaff ends up wearing "horns." Shakespeare loves a cuckold.

I'm disappointed to hear that people involved don't like the final result. Though, I'm proud of what we pulled together in a short amount of time. I feel like it's true to the play and the production, achieving the goal. This is true especially when I see the lights come up on that scrim for the first time and enjoy my first Shakespearean production with STC.

Oh, and without much [more] ado, here's the final art:

Redo of The Merry Wives of Windsor show art

And how it looked around town.

Theatre poster at Sidney Harman Hall

Street Banners

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A Natural Progression

I start work at Shakespeare Theatre Company in April 2012, a month before The Servant of Two Masters opens. Little do I know at the time how prescient this show is, given its story line.

Always in motley—always—looking to make a living, I agree to work for the marketing department of a regional theatre troupe. What could go wrong? Any graphic design job boils down to how well you stand on your head for your next meal, right? I'm fairly adept with graphic design and working for in-house marketing departments. And I'm overly dramatic really into theatre. Enthusiastic, I dive into my new position.

I inherit show art long developed for the season, already in progress. While I'll be tasked with creating show art for upcoming seasons, for now, I can ease into the new job working with some fun, well-photographed work designed by my predecessor.

Exhibit A

Exhibit A: Orange, black and white motley on the characterization of Truffaldino, the star character in Carlo Goldoni's The Servant of Two Masters. The photograph is hand-standing over a platter of food, along with a logotype as a playful arrangement of the the title.

Moving forward

I discover soon enough the routine change-over from show art to quotes art, where well-worded, sometimes cherry-picked quotations are culled from critics' reviews in the local press. The goal is to drive ticket sales based on the love the critics have for the show. Because you know, you always take a reviewer's words to heart when deciding your next evening's entertainment.

Exhibit B

Exhibit B: Production photo overlaid with quotes and title. 

The new artwork demonstrates my desire to remain true to the current branding. I tighten up the billing and logotype for the show. I continue the same font and main orange color. And I push the topsy turvy design from the logotype to a new conclusion.

I take the multicolor motley from Truffaldino's costume and lay in color bars behind each of the necessary text elements, giving them a bit of transparency to provide for more visual depth and interest.

Taking advantage of the strong, random diagonals of the title, I continue those diagonals throughout the composition. This allows me to lay in bright white text over the photograph with a coherent design scheme, while punching up the fun factor. Initially, I use the colors from the costume: red, rust yellow, green and blue. Knowing this artwork will be printed on newsprint, I opt for a trick to pop the colors even more, translating the red, rust yellow and blue to pure magenta, yellow and cyan, respectively. (My painting professors roll their eyes—no sophisticated palette here.)

Half-page ad for MetroWeekly

The result is playful and readable. By pushing the design cues from the previous art and the production photo from the show, I provide a suitable, familiar—yet new solution in a new voice: mine.

When it rains

Life’s all about setting goals, right? We’re born, we graduate from pre-kindergarten, do our 5th Grade banquet, get into AP Calculus by the time we’re seniors in high school and go to college. All milestones set as points to reach and then when reached, celebrated as markers of success.

One assumes part of the American dream is finding success after school, out in the real world. Unfortunately, as my friend Kate and I often commiserate: the real world sucks and reality bites. You spend all this time and effort rising to the top only to beg, plead and sell your soul to the devil for your first real job where . . . you make coffee and make sure conference rooms are reserved.

Wait, I needed to stress about a senior art thesis and independent studies in feminist thought and masculinity to make burnt bean juice? Seriously?

But ya know, that’s how it works. We all start somewhere, paying our dues and learning the “biz” from the bottom up. Eventually, we’re promoted, given more responsibility and attain a livable wage, where paydays aren’t the goal. Rather, it's delaying gratification and paying off the credit cards from your previous life wrestling against the very real desire to buy Apple’s new iThingy.

10 years after college, I’m back in Washington, DC. I’m looking for a “real” job again. At this point, it’s a familiar space: résumé’s polished, portfolio’s shiny and lauded in superlatives from the four corners of the globe.

From past experience I know that finding a job in this town is all about who you know. I’ve networked with previous bosses and professors, asking for references and leads, reaching out to strangers with elevator pitches on my skills and career goals. I’m working with recruiters, because well, networks are their jobs.

This brings me to yesterday. I had two interviews, one for a direct-hire job and other for a temporary position.

The direct-hire job looked promising. The job description matches my skill set and experience, though the title—Mid- to Senior-Level Graphic Designer—is below the last two positions I’ve held (Creative Manager and Art Director).

I can rock this job. It’s all work I’m used to doing, I’ve excelled at it, proven my worth and been promoted into new positions of greater responsibility because of it. And there’s the crux: I’m nervous about taking a job like this because of the reverse mobility it shows. It’s that goal thing. I want to move forward, not backward. I want to be appreciated for the things I bring to the table, not under-utilized and taken advantage of.

I decide to give this opportunity the benefit of the doubt. After all, sometimes you need to take a step backward to move forward, right? And this company draws on both of my degrees. (I hold a double BA in art and political science.) This company specializes in communications strategy for federal agencies and programs. It’s a great “in” to a lot of the work that goes on in the DC area; it's work that I don’t necessarily have experience doing. It’d look pretty good on my résumé for a future position.

Except that I can foresee having to explain to someone why I went from being an art director back to being just a graphic designer. I’m sure it’s justifiable and understandable given the economy and the need to work. Only, the economy in DC is a bubble. It hasn’t suffered the way that the economy suffered in the rest of the country. The job market is great here.

Case in point: last time I job-hunted in 2008, I looked for 8 ½ months, applying to maybe 5 decent positions. Granted, I lived in Colorado, a much smaller “comms” market. This time around, I’ve applied for 15 great positions in the last 4 weeks. DC is a bigger market for marketing professionals. There’s just more going on here.

So I’m back to wondering: is it worth stepping backward and taking the gamble that I’ll be able to move up with this new company, doing great work, getting exposure to a new set of variables to use as marketable skills? (Federal contracts and the processes for dealing with them as a vendor are a big deal.) Or should I hold out for something better?

Here’s the deal as far as I’m concerned: I’ve got 8 years of design experience under my belt. During the last 4, I’ve demonstrated leadership ability in crafting an organization’s visual brand and in getting their deliverables produced. These are skills necessary for creative management.

Then there’s the clincher. One of the guys interviewing me asked if I would mind and could handle taking a new job where I wouldn’t use all of my skills.

The very simple answer is "no."

When I interviewed candidates for my assistant designer at Rocky Mountain Institute, I had another art director apply for the job. Again, it’s a tight market in Colorado. Design jobs are hot commodities and sometimes you settle for less to go where you want to go. This person came to me with all the qualifications. The deal-breaker came in attitude. How could we get along well when this person is used to having control? Sometimes there’s a necessary chain of command. And maybe that makes me a jerk, but I want to know that my authority to call the shots is followed when it matters. I expect my junior to do what I ask without question sometimes. I wouldn’t expect someone I consider a peer to do the same. As a peer, you’re expected to push back and question, offer alternatives and constructive critique.

So yeah, I wouldn’t hire me into this position. Why would they?

All this said the interview itself went well. I got along really well with the art director giving the interview. It’s clear we’d be fast friends, making some great work together. I’m sure of it. Unfortunately, working well with one person isn’t selling me on the job. I just can’t wrap my mind around the pro-v-con list in order to feel comfortable saying yes.

Luckily, when it rains, it pours. After weeks of sitting around waiting on applications to get some attention, I scored two interviews in one day. And if the first one ain’t gonna work, at least you have the option of the second.

The second place needs help. Its website is excruciatingly boring. That probably has a lot to do with it being a corporate training company. Can’t say that corporate training is all that exciting. Necessary? Yes, of course. Exciting? Only if you like sitting in pale gray rooms, lit with fluorescents listening to someone drone on about how to make better websites. (Maybe someone should take their own courses, because yes, they offer courses in website programming and management.)

And it’s a temp job. It’s an 8-week assignment. But it’s graphic design and I’m all too happy to earn some rent money doing what I love, rather than having to wait tables. (I really enjoy, waiting tables, by the way. But we haven’t arrived at a point where that option needs to be considered.)

I showed up with little expectation. It turns out, sometimes that’s the best way to approach a given situation. When you expect little, anything you get is a welcome surprise.

The art director with this organization turned out to be very entertaining. We hit it off immediately. I can definitely see working with this guy and having a great time doing it. We bonded a bit on our experiences working with linear, left-brained senior leadership. As creatives, this can often be our greatest challenge: convincing non-creative people of the best design solution to a given problem.

I feel pretty great about this second opportunity. It’ll allow me to work in my field, possibly add another piece or two to my portfolio, continue to build my personal network and give my recruiter a great reference to continue promoting me a great candidate for the perfect full-time position.

Then I hit rush hour coming home. I may have to rethink this one. 2 hours to go 20 miles is not my idea of a good time. It’s just 8 weeks, though, right?

I'm all, this is interesting

When I started college in So Cal, the first several questions to pour out of a new acquaintance would go as follows: "Where are you from? Do you say 'soda' or 'pop'?" and somehow that'd follow with, "You're from Oklahoma, aren't you? You have a bit of a twang, but not quite Southern."

I'm still a little baffled by the idea that I'd have anything close to a twang or a drawl. I always thought I spoke English with the most bland, ordinary American accent a person can have. After all, my parents were raised near Los Angeles, CA, and Columbus, OH. You'd think any accents from either place would yield a progeny of nondescript pronunciations. And while I content there's not much of an LA accent, the peeps in central Ohio most definitely have a bit of a twang. Not only did I think myself a bland speaker, but my peers in high school even accused me of having a bit of a British English accent. Heaven forbid anyone actually enunciate his words correctly. But apparently, a kid from Colorado is indistinguishable from a kid from Oklahoma to the SoCalies.

Fast forward 4 years and I'm in DC. The new acquaintance questions changed a bit, "Where are you from? What's your major? (Or, What do you do?)" and a new twist, "You're from California, aren't you?"

My answer, "Well, sorta. I've been going to college in San Diego. Why do you ask? What's the give-away?"

"Well, every other phrase out of your mouth is, 'I'm all,' 'he's all,' or 'she's all,' and you say 'dude' . . . a lot."

I gotta say, I picked up the "dude" against my will. Much the same as the jinx I brought upon myself insisting that yellow is the dumbest color for a vehicle, other than a taxi—those of you in the know will know I currently drive a yellow Ford Escape, sans fare meter. But the "I'm all" quotative? (Which is really more "Ah'm all") I had no idea. It's actually a souvenir from my formative years in SoCal that I hold dearly. Though now, I use any "all" less and have added a steady supply of weird, New York/Chicago sounding "a" vowels to my speech, as well as healthy doses of "Shame" and "Lord" to just about every indicative.

This observation is really relevant to nothing, save one of those meanderings through Wikipedia, studying Mid-Atlantic accents in comparison with other American accents, which led me to http://www.pbs.org/speak/seatosea/americanvarieties/californian/, and one of those passages that gives my heart a little jump of warmth.

"One of the innovative developments in white English of Californians is the use of the discourse marker “I’m like,” or “she’s like” to introduce quoted speech, as in “I’m like, ‘where have you been?’” This quotative is particularly useful because it does not require the quote to be of actual speech (as “she said” would, for instance). A shrug, a sigh, or any of a number of other expressive sounds as well as speech can follow it. Lately in California, “I’m all” or “she’s all” has also become a contender for this function. We know that the quotative “be all” is not common in the speech of young New Yorkers, for example, while “be like” is. This allows us to infer that “be all” might be a newer development and that it may also be native to, or at least most advanced in, California."

And, if you're a total geek like me when it comes to linguistics and self-awareness, you might find this incredibly interesting as well. If not, well then chalk it up to my never-ending random sense of the world and a need to express some of myself without actually complaining about anything. 'Cause I'm all, mission accomplished.

A Personal Musical

Growing up, I loved a few things: my parents, pizza, music and drawing. I'm pretty sure I loved the dog too, but ya know, that's really debatable. I think you easily forget the things you love (or to continue loving them) when they're stupid enough to run off and get hit by a car. I thank God every day my parents are smart enough not to play in traffic.

And in the light of all that's going on with me right now . . . or ever . . . I'm drawn to those things I still love. In case you're wondering, in two days, it'll be four months since I lost my job. (I really should blog more often, huh?) It's one of those economy heading south, clientèle changing, company refocusing, we can't afford to have a full-time designer anymore things. Lemme tell you, picking a career field looked at as easily expendable, not a good idea. Then again, doing something you love for work everyday? Priceless.

Wow, I really digressed in that last paragraph, didn't I?

OK, so back to the things that I love and the WHOLE point for writing right now: the music. Today at the gym, sitting in the hot tub after my workout, I listened to Switchfoot. I thought about how I've had all this time on my hands and the most I've done is have my camera out a few times and took my sketchbook to Denver for the weekend. Seriously, I could've put together an entire art show by now and what have I done? I sit in front of the TV and the computer, being pissed off at the world for taking its sweet time in making any decision surrounding finding me a paycheck.

Now I'm pissed off at myself for having no personal motivation; I'm pissed off at the world for not paying me to be me ('cause I'm a total whore like that); and I'm actually thinking I should come home and paint. Or at least get those Barbies out of the basement, chop their hair off, spray paint them and then mount them like the bad little emblems of societal sexual repression they are. Hee hee, angry political art with heavy emphasis in sexuality is fun.

And it's that damn Switchfoot guy singing to me, goading me on, "What happens next? I dare you to move." Seriously, are you kidding me? Here I am, not only pissed off at the lack of movement, but now I'm getting a full on musical number choreographing my next steps: daring ME to move. Not waiting on the world, but motivating myself.

What the heck, dudes?

What. The. Heck.

Once upon a time, this love of music and a strong pull of fatalistic personal soundtracking laid on with Jars of Clay's "Worlds Apart":

To love you - take my world apart
To need you - I am on my knees
To love you - take my world apart
To need you - broken on my knees

Just in case you're wondering, don't pray this prayer for wisdom. It's a crazy trip. Yeah, that one decided to challenge my own sexuality to the point I chose to go to Point Loma Naz for college. Talk about wisdom, be a gay guy, grown up evangelical Christian and go to a Christian college while you're figuring yourself out and then come out. It's loads o' . . . having your world taken apart.

Of course, it did lead me to DC where we have an entire set of novels . . . or at least novellas . . . OK FINE, a collection of trite, short stories leading to the mover, FFH's "Lord Move or Move Me." Yeah, that one's about taking action and moving too.

Lord move in a way, that I've never seen before
Cause there's a mountain in the way and a lock on the door
I'm drifting away, waves are crashing on the shore
So Lord move (move), or move me.

Yeah kid, move your wisdom-seeking, faggoty ass across the continent where you're gonna have the time of your life and get pummeled by everything the secular world can throw at you and then, well, I want you to move back home.

I'm feeling very Jewish at this point. 'Cause it's all about cynical passive-aggressive anger at God for giving you exactly what you asked for. There's a praise and a story about Job in here somewhere. Feel free to point it out to me.

Well here I am now. Almost four years later, I'm still at home with my mom. Which is fine—remember, I love her 'cause she doesn't play in traffic. And she taught me to drive. (Side note of wisdom for ya: if you don't want to be a run-over victim, become a participant in the American oil addiction.) I'm still unemployed. And that's OK too. At least I'm not floudering around after a move across the country. I'm older and wiser for all that experience. I know that even angels fall and just because I'm crawlin', it doesn't mean I've stopped. I'm not a dead man lying on the carpet; I'm still aiming for the stars, ready to launch into orbit . . . like a satellite. Or maybe a bit like a Scandanavian diva:

At any rate, here I am. At least I'm talking about it. Now I've got to do something. So if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna leave the iTunes party shuffle on full force and head to the basement for some Barbies.