Idan (pseudonym. In fact he asked me not to publish this post at all, so as a compromise, I changed the name and identifying information deleted. Hope you’re not angry, y. … er … Idan), a creative persona, well known in the industry (the advertising of course. What else? Coal?)
Somewhere towards the end of the fourth cup, he finally stop feed me with boring lines about hard work (“you carve the stone and carve some more, at the end you will get the diamond”) and natural talent (“what can you do, either you have it, or you learn to fake an orgasm”), and after a long pause, began to speak for real:
But why should I tell you how do I do it? And you admit that you are going to publish it somewhere …
Just for sharing, I say. Look around, man. The days of secrets are over. Those Who keeps to themselfs – became extinct. The world moves to open source. Communities of people with similar interest, share with each other what they know, and so become much better in whatever they do (well, I was also drinking something in the meantime)
Idan dismisses me with despair. Looks like he is about to scram. I refill his glass as an act of last try. It works.
Ah, What the fuck, whatever. Anyway it’s not that much of a secret. Everybody knows it. I do a reshuffle.
I’m afraid I’m going to ask you for a demonstration
Ok, take Tarantino for example. One of the most famous scenes in cinema history, when John and Samuel (he has, Idan, his thing with calling actors by their first name. Like they know each other in person) going to perform an act of extreme violence, and having a conversation of the most trivial stuff, like the names of dishes and Foot Massage. Do you understand? Combine the meanest mother fuckers, with text about foot massage, and what do you got? exactly. An Oscar.
And what does that got to do with advertising?
Who said anything about advertising?
You’re an advertiser, aren’t you?
At daytime. It’s night now. I create. Ponder. Deliberate.
In the direction of what? You’re going to surprise us with a book? A film? A play?
Air. All air. A creation that comes alive on a paper or a screen is bourgeois. Unfortunate result of consumers obsession. Man’s poor attempt to make a comment about himself and his stupid life, and scribble something that will live after his death. A printed creation is a gravestone.
Suppose. And how it helps the creator?
Really, how does that help? It fixes you with the whole Matrix. Relax, you do not write your tombstone now. You’re just mumbling something against the wind. Suddenly it’s not that stressful. Even moving … I’m willing to bet my paycheck (which is rather nice) that Mozart did not write the Requiem as a eulogy for himself (as Milos claimed), but hummed it to himself to relieve boredom. That is the only way to create something so perfect. Same thing with Michelangelo, A. A. Milne and Sharapova
The tennis player? What did she create?