Staying Creative, As The Only Creative
What's the best environment for getting creative work done? For such an important question, it's maddeningly difficult to answer objectively. A more succinct version, from a pragmatic point of view might instead be this: under what circumstances have creative professionals gotten the most work done?
That one's a little easier to address - though still tricky - and in conversation with working designers the answer is most often: "When I was in studio, back in school."
Funny to think that, for all its cobbled-together insanity, the academic studio still represents the most productive space in many of our working histories. When most of us imagine an idealized creative work environment, what we come up with often resembles the bullpen of our school days: a large-ish room full of feverishly working colleagues, chaos, and creativity. Sketches and models and reference materials spread across every tabletop and wall, up to (and sometimes including) the ceiling.
Few of us did the best work of our careers in these spaces, but we did put in incredibly long, impassioned hours there, and joyfully so: something about that environment seems to bring out an energy that we might spend the rest of our careers trying to re-attain. The thrill of learning and exploring certainly has something to do with it, but the element most responsible is almost certainly each other's mere presence: creatives do their best work around other creatives.
While not surprising, it's easy to forget what a relative anomaly this kind of environment is. Literature students meet to discuss books, and aspiring doctors gather together for study group, but the establishment of a term- or year-long shared space where the majority of work is pursued in grand company is largely peculiar to the creative disciplines. The arrangement has some very specific advantages, whether in academic or professional pursuit: in a shared studio, we can easily trade meaningful critique, compete and collaborate, push each other to explore more, and communicate in our own patois of terms and references. Even when two adjacent colleagues don't share a single project or class, we still rely heavily on each other for inspiration, perspective and the occasional reality check.
Despite these benefits, the studio environment is the exception and not the rule once out in the working world. Even assuming that a recent graduate will be working on a team, rather than trying their luck as a solo freelancer, small consultancies outnumber large ones by a great margin. Anecdotal evidence from colleagues across the US and Europe suggests that for every mega-studio there are dozens of two, three and four person shops, often sharing plenty of non-design duties as well.
Even more common, perhaps, is the sole designer brought into a corporate setting to work on a multi-disciplinary team, a solution with much to recommend it from a business perspective. One outgrowth of the recent vogue for design thinking is to further spread creative professionals out, at the expense of the traditional studio and the benefit of cross-pollination. Where a design-oriented company might once have pooled creative staff, clustering them by shared discipline, now they're more likely to be placed physically nearer the directors, engineers, marketers and managers with whom they share a project or product line. This integrates the creative process more tightly into the overall project, goes the theory, fostering better communication and allowing disciplines to learn from each other.
"But that's not a studio, really, that's an office," replied Jamian Cobbett, a Design Lead at Nike, when I discussed this trend with him last week. Throughout his career (which includes time at Kodak, Ziba, and Electrolux as well), Cobbett has worked in both offices and studio environments, and sees an immediate distinction between them.
Speaking from personal experience, the difference between the two is obvious the moment the door opens. A studio is continuous; an office is fragmented. A studio is plastered with current work on public view; an office plays it close to the vest. A studio changes appearance from hour to hour; an office maintains its composure. For creative professionals shifting from the former to the latter, the culture shock can be overwhelming.
For the inexperienced designer fresh from that academic studio, the need to appear serious in an office environment can paralyze. The bravado we've been building for four years, the penchant for bold exploration and iteration, turns out to depend heavily on the participation of our studio-mates. Whether as competitors or cheerleaders, fellow creatives play a crucial role in making us feel like we're doing something right. In the absence of this constant support, much of what made us innovative and thoughtful becomes suddenly fragile, replaced by a sense that it's a frivolous pursuit compared with the "real work" going on all around.
Alternately, there's a real danger of starting a slow slide into mediocrity: few others in the office have a really valid yardstick for measuring the quality of our output, and in the absence of solid critique, there's no external incentive to push our work beyond simply adequate.
This is not to say the lone designer in the room is under attack. Far from it: whether seen as frivolous stylist or infallible savior, the sole creative tends to carry some cachet simply by having skills nobody else has. Some of us draw, or operate exotic pieces of software that make fascinating images, animations and models. Our presentations use more images than bullet points. We carry sketchbooks and expensive pens. We wear cool shoes. The other disciplines in the room look at all this and see an outsider: interesting and useful, perhaps, but foreign.
Fortunately we need not inhabit that role forever. Products, buildings, websites and print all require more than just creative skills, and acknowledging that goes a long way toward gaining sympathy to our needs. The field is full of other professionals with some interest in the creative process; identifying who they are and discussing the project with them in an informal way can reap big long-term rewards, both in personal education and in having an outlet for discussing creative decisions.
In a larger corporation, building a creative peer group can also mean taking the initiative to look beyond our immediate office-mates; just because the designers have been dispersed to different departments doesn't mean they can't converse. The trick with this strategy is convincing unfamiliar employees that there's real benefit to spending even more time with co-workers than they already do; a tough sell, depending on the corporate culture. Establishing a regular internal group or meet-up can be a good place to start, especially if the blessing of management can be secured: presented as an innovation-fostering initiative, it's sometimes possible to hold creative fat-chewing sessions on company time. Maybe with catering.
Having a creative support network outside of work is worthwhile too, though this can be fraught with difficulties, especially if much of the work is confidential. While a discussion about current work might be easy coffee-break banter within a studio, the same chat could constitute a contract violation, if it's with a school buddy who works for the competition. As with creative skill building, the online community can be a great resource. Posting current work may be forbidden, but much of the benefit of a creative community is in the non-technical camaraderie of blowing off steam, trading tips, and celebrating successes. Specific prohibitions vary with the situation, so a combination of enthusiasm and discretion is advised.
On a more personal level, there's satisfaction to be had in establishing a creative beachhead within an office setting. One of the advantages to being the useful outsider is that we're expected to behave differently, and this brings greater license in fighting Lone Designer ennui. Pretty much any piece of advice for mixing things up as a freelancer applies here: fine-tuning the look and layout of a workspace; working remotely one day a week; co-working with like-minded colleagues.
Of course, the most effective and lasting way of getting the benefits of a studio environment is to convince management that it's worth setting one up. While the new graduate probably hasn't got the clout to make such a case, a designer with a few years of experience might. Like most things in business, it's an argument best made from the perspective of profit: companies make more money when they innovate, and creative professionals innovate best when they work together.
This article was originally written by Carl Alviani.