By Saphire Favell
Where has time gone?
A little over 3 months to go.
Where has time gone?
D&AD has been put to bed and now Cannes has poked its head out. A big toothless grin. ‘Tic Tok’ – it whispers.
These past few weeks have been a bit overwhelming. Or underwhelming. I’m not sure. Whilst it’s great to be in the thick of things.. it starts to take its toll. Irregular sleep. Irrational moods. Insecure thoughts.
Have I made the right decision? To be here? Will I make it out alive? On Monday morning at Town Hall, I felt the all too familiar lump in my chest, rising up through throat, to be spurted out as a painful gasp. Breathe Saph. It’s only advertising.
I wonder, too often, if I’m cut out for the job. All this thinking. After all I grew up in the belief that I was going to be some kind of artist, an illustrator. Choose my own hours. Go blind in one eye. Succumb to lime green crocs. I imagined having my own studio, drawings in magazines, canvases on walls, stories told. Which is why when Pete said on Monday that ‘if any of us think we’re artists we’re in the wrong f*&#ing job’ that my insides hurt.
Uh oh. Bollocks.
So what now appears to be the usual weekly Monday morning internal breakdown I try my best to filter through the muck of thoughts over bitter, budget, filter coffee. #studentlyf
And I can’t help but thinking that Pete is wrong.
Great advertising is art. I need to keep reminding myself of that. I need to keep drilling into my splodgy brain what Marc has said several times – ’make work that you want to steal and put on your wall’.
True. I’m not about to hang the Trivago advert over my bed am I? But one of Paul Belford’s Type Museum Prints…! Sure, why not. White gloves please.
Of course it’s not just about making ads so beautiful you want to make sweet love to them. And not my early faux pas of making everything pink. Cringe. The idea is, and always will be, the defining point as to whether a piece of work is great or shit. Or even worse ‘nice’ or ‘ok’.
So maybe I can get the best of both worlds? Some great ideas, a slither of ferocious artwork and a huge glug of sizzling hot copy. And maybe we’ll eventually work out the recipe to some sick work.
Hopefully then, one day, I’ll crash a random house party and see one of my ads on their wall. Rips on the side from sticky fingers. And I’ll be able to point at it and say… Scuse me, that’s mine.
The copy scores 87.9 in the Flesch Reading Ease test