Time for a little heave of self-indulgence and jabbering on about what’s on my mind.
Well, I’m reading again, for the first time since earlier this year. My day job keeps me fantastically busy most of the time. Daxter is shaping up faster than I can even imagine and we’re looking good for the spring release we’ve been planning. Things will be very crunchy for me until then. Crunch usually beats the thoughts out of my head but I’m getting better every day at dealing with that.
So, as I said, I’ve been reading again. The inimitable 800 CEO READ keeps sending me free books which I’ve been greedily devouring.
The first of these is Rules of the Red Rubber Ball : Find and Sustain Your Life’s Work.
It’s a small, hardcover, beautifully put together book of inspiration, passion and encouragement to follow your dreams and never stop chasing them. The book is full of pages that fold out, words that stream across and all over the page, and all sorts of other interesting effects and styles of type that make every page unique and exciting. Every page is as visually invigorating as the words printed on them. This would be a fantastic book to send to a high school or college graduate.
The next is Then We Set His Hair on Fire: Insights and Accidents from a Hall of Fame Career in Advertising.
This is a fantastic book written by the former chairman of BBDO North America, reputedly one of the largest and most famous advertising agencies in the world, servicing clients such as GE, Pepsi, FedEx and Pizza Hut. Straight away he defines the difference between an idea and an insight, which I found particularly interesting. I’ll excerpt his brief explanation, since he’s written copy his entire life and can sum it up better than I can:
This is a book about insights in business–how we get them, how we recognize them, how we keep them coming.
Insights as opposed to ideas. There’s a difference. Ideas, valuable as though they may be, are a dime-a-dozen in business. That’s certainly the case at ad agencies where ideas (not all of them good, mind you) are the currency of the realm and even the mailroom people spit out ideas as if they were candy from a PEZ dispenser.
Insight is much rarer–and therefore more precious. In the advertising business, a good idea can inspire a great commercial. But a good insight can fuel a thousand ideas, a thousand commercials. More than anything else, an insight states a truth that alters how you see the world.
And he goes on to explain, as he says, how you get insights, how to recognize them, and how to keep them coming. He regales us with tales of meeting with Jack Welch, then-CEO of General Electric, and the frantic rush to win their advertising account with their famous “We bring good things to life” slogan, to his direct involvement in Ronald Reagan’s 1984 reelection campaign, to how he nearly botched a multi-million dollar account with Pizza Hut.
The author tells the kind of stories that people gather together in groups to talk about, and then extracts important lessons from them. It’s so engaging that I breezed through over 150 pages seemingly in an instant. Even if you’re not terribly interested in advertising, the stories he tells are fun and interesting as a simple memoir. The high-profile nature of his work makes it even more interesting as you flip through and think “I remember that ad! So that’s how it happened? Unbelievable!”
Fantastic read so far, can’t wait to finish it. Couldn’t recommend it more. Moving onto other books!
Today I started listening to an audio book called Good to Great. This book is the result of a five-year-long study of a sample group of companies that started out as merely good companies and then skyrocketed into fifteen-plus years of sustained success. His explanation of the research process is absolutely staggering.
The author and a research team of over 20 people spent years of painstaking research finding out what it was about these companies that made them so great and collecting reams of data on these companies, their biggest competitors, and other companies in a similar category at a similar time, and attempts to derive a series of common principles between these great companies that we can learn from. There’s much more to it than that, but frankly, I can’t fit all that into my head at once. :)
I’ve barely scratched the surface of the book, but the first observation he made was that all the chief executives of all the companies that made this mysterious transition from a good company to a great one were modest, unassuming, even moderately self-effacing people. That’s not to say that they didn’t burn with passion, but they’re quite the opposite of the maverick, self-aggrandizing egocentric warrior CEOs brought in to effect change that make headlines.
In fact, the author’s research indicates that CEOs like that can often be a death knell for a company, which I found fairly amusing.
My point in bringing this up is that it’s starting to give a little credence to something I’ve long suspected but never been able to prove: Modest but driven people win.
I’ve thought about this a lot. This is a bit of a continuation of my thoughts in my Smart People are Dumb, Failure is Awesome post.
You can come into a company or a country as a ruler and violently coerce people to follow you, through physical violence or sheer force of will. Anyone with the right amount of moxy can pull it off, and many do. Were I a thornier sort, I’m sure I could pull off the same maneuver somewhere or another, and more quickly achieve the success I strive for.
But the problem I have with that is that it seems to take so much moment-to-moment effort to shove people around to achieve the results that you want, that you can’t let your guard down for a moment lest you be betrayed. Witness the fall of infamous rulers of all sorts throughout history. They put themselves in a position where they can’t trust anyone around them. What kind of life is that?
I’ve come to feel that the real trick is to act in such a way that you inspire trust and confidence and self-esteem in those around you, and they follow you out of respect and allegiance rather than through fear. Create a system, a machine, that can run itself by harnessing the power and passion of the best that exists inside people.
It seems like that’d be almost more work than pointing a gun at someone and demanding what you want. And, initially, it sure is. But think of the future. Think of sustainability. In the long term, wouldn’t you want to be able to lie back and relax and let the machine run itself because you’ve been good to it and respect it? Rather than because you’re pointing a gun at it?
I’ve always believed that it’s an entirely achievable goal. But I’ll be damned if I know where to start doing it. :) The only core belief I have in that vein is that the key to being a good person is to make other people feel better about themselves. As I see it, the more I learn and live, the closer I’ll come to figuring out how to achieve something like that.
But back to the book… seeing the author discover that scientifically, without a single deviation, all the managers of all these fantastic companies have this in common is tremendously encouraging to me. It shows that I may really be on the right track in thinking of these things. Like driving blind in one direction so long you think you’re lost, but then you see a sign on the side of the road showing you that your destination is just a few miles further down the road.
Good stuff.
I look at game artists’ portfolios on a regular basis. These websites are usually designed so poorly that I close my browser out of disgust. They’re even bad enough to turn away potential employers, regardless of the quality of the artwork. Tragic!
Most artists make mistakes like these, but fortunately, they’re very simple to understand and correct. I’ve come up with a quick and easy way to help artists think about how to improve their chances of employment by building a better website.
The core truth here is this:
Usability is just as important as content.
A portfolio website should be a simple, effective, uncluttered experience from start to finish that leaves a lasting impression on the visitor. An incredible number of websites fail to do this. And it’s always for silly, completely avoidable reasons.
Your website should be focused on one purpose, be easy to use, and offer a clear line of action. Here are three simple questions to ask yourself:
1) What’s my website’s focus?
Your website exists to get you a job. Its only purpose is to showcase your art and present your contact information for potential employers. You should make your art and contact information so fantastically easy to see that someone find it accidentally. If someone wants to talk to you about a job, don’t be hard to find.
Include your name and contact information at the top of every page of your site.
For example, any visitor should understand clearly that you are an environment artist and you intend to get a job as an environment artist. Anything else is confusing. Silly MS Paint drawings, photos from trips you’ve taken or a blog about your daily life have nothing to do with that, and should be removed. These things are not added value. A portfolio is not a personality test! That’s what an interview is for.
The second common mistake is making a website that’s difficult to navigate. So ask yourself this:
2) Is my website easy to use?
You might be thinking “but I’m an artist, not a web designer!” This is a poor but common excuse for making a bad website. On the other side of the coin, many artists that are web designers make their website so flamboyantly artsy that it’s practically impossible to use.
The first thing a visitor should see on your website is your art. First impressions are formed in an instant. Attention spans can be shut off in an instant. Your top priority should be to make that first instant be compelling enough to keep the viewer looking and to give them what they’re looking for. Don’t tease… satisfy.
After all, did I go to your website to look at a splash page, or art? The faster I can see your content, the better.
Forget splash pages and news pages or any other starting page that isn’t putting art directly in my face.
Your portfolio’s highest purpose is to show off your art quickly, easily, and with the minimum of hassle. A good portfolio should be so easy to navigate that someone could view your work accidentally.
Anything that doesn’t support that basic goal breaks your focus and should be removed or relocated. Make another website for your personal stuff if you have to, but keep your portfolio clean and relevant. More isn’t better.
If it doesn’t help show your art faster or sell you as an artist, it shouldn’t be there.
Here’s a quick list of aggravating features that are common in portfolio websites:
No image branding - Every image on the entire website should have your name, email address and website URL on it. People save images off of portfolios and forget where they got them. If one of your pieces of art finds its way to a studio, how will they find you? Make each image stand on its own, removed from context.
Vague thumbnails - A thumbnail exists to offer a relevant preview of a larger image. Yet I see thumbnails of random parts of a model that give me no indication of what I’m about to see. If I’m looking for medieval characters, how does a grainy thumbnail of the bottom of his foot help me find it?
Multiple layers - It’s as if bad portfolios follow a common navigation pattern:
Splash page -> News page -> Portfolio page -> 3D Art -> Characters -> Man with Axe thumbnail -> Man with Axe enlarged.
Do you expect me not to hate clicking through seven pages just to see your art? Flatten your site. Put the art in my face and show me the quickest, simplest possible way of navigating. One page full of art is better than any of the multiple layers shown above.
Multiple popups - A splash page shouldn’t even exist, much less stay open when you click on it to enter the website. Neither should a thumbnail opening an image in a new window that I have to manually close. I’ve been to websites that open as many as FIVE WINDOWS. That’s inconvenient, wasteful, and downright hostile toward the visitor. Be a courteous host.
Poor navigation - Every page should offer buttons to go to the next image, to the previous image, and to return to the main page. They don’t pop up new windows unless it’s for an enlarged image, which should be extremely easy to close to return to the thumbnails. It’s convenient, it’s considerate, and it’s easy to implement. It also encourages them to keep looking forward at more art instead of accidentally closing your site altogether. Keep guiding them along a path.
Small images - Small images convey nothing. Keep it large enough to be easily seen and understood. Also keep in mind that the average screen resolution is usually around 1024×768, so make it reasonable from that standpoint. Also, remove as much dead space as possible. Nothing irritates me more than loading an enormous image that you only used ten percent of.
Bad lighting - Why would I hire you if your work is so badly lit for me that I can’t even see it?
Obscure web plugins - Don’t make someone download a plugin to view your website. This will ruffle some feathers but I find Flash websites to be obnoxious and unnecessary, and most aren’t worth the time to navigate. There are a lot of people that don’t even have Flash. Do you want to risk losing a great job opportunity over that? Just keep it as simple as possible, but no simpler.
Hiring managers look through dozens of portfolios every day. All the portfolios they see blend together. It’s just a job. You are either on the “Portfolios To Review” list, or you’re not. A poorly designed website makes this poor hiring manager’s job a little more annoying. Accordingly, he is less likely to invest the time into looking at your entire portfolio. And he certainly won’t read your blog. Is he hiring a Metallica fan or a level designer?
Imagine that your target visitor is a tired, indifferent hiring manager whose only desire is to find the shortest path possible to looking at your art. Nothing else matters. So design your website for him. Give him what he wants. Remove what he doesn’t care about. The clearer your message, the better.
For example: “I am Phineas Fogbottom, environment artist. This is my art. Email me at mastapimp420@yahoo.com”
That’s all he needs to know. Keep it simple.
3) Do I provide a clear line of action?
This is also important. Sadly, good art doesn’t sell itself. It’s one thing to present art, and it’s quite another to funnel them toward offering you a job. First you serve up the art, and then you show them that they should offer you a job, and here’s how to contact you. The easier this is, the better.
Here are two huge mistakes people often make along these lines:
No stated desired position - The desired position usually isn’t obvious. Most artists feel the need to put all their 2D art, 3D art, animation, illustration, paintings and even poetry on their website. That makes it impossible to divine what kind of position you’re looking for! Be specific. Companies do not set out to hire generalists, they hire specialists. (Whether or not they ultimately USE them as specialists is another matter entirely.)
If they’re hiring a character artist, seeing you say “I do everything!” isn’t going to make them think of you for the job. It’s easy: Be the guy they’re looking for by being specific. If they’re looking for a character artist, the more ways you can match the pattern they’re looking for, the better. A good place to start is by saying “Hey, I’m a character artist.” :)
No contact information - If I like your work, how am I supposed to contact you? Keep it visible at all times and don’t make them hunt for it. If you’re concerned about spambots farming your favorite email address to add to spam lists, make a new email address solely for job solicitations and just deal with the spam.
That’s all there is to it, really. It’s simple enough if you think about it, but that’s the problem: Most people don’t. If you start thinking about it, you’re already ahead of the game!
I had an interesting realization at work yesterday, one that applies to a lot of things.
At Ready At Dawn we’re all kept very, very busy and we’re all given a flattering amount of responsibility. We’re constructing an all-new game with a new team with a new engine on a new platform from the ground up. It’s extremely intense, challenging, and fun.
There’s a running joke about having enough time to do something. When someone comes to me asking me to do something for them, they ask me if I have enough time to do it. And that’s the joke. Technically, none of us have “time” to do anything because of the enormous implications of what we’re accomplishing. But if I always accepted tasks on the basis of what I did and didn’t have time for, nothing but the bare minimum would get done, and I’d have a hard time being proud of what I’ve done.
My glowing little insight was this:
It’s not a matter of having time, it’s making time. Making time to do something you know is right is what separates the good from the great.
Anytime something new comes to me, instead of stressing, I simply keep that in mind, and do it. Everything feels so much better now, and I can’t get the smile off my face.