All Talk

One of my biggest concerns, where it comes to writing a book, is being all talk. It actually seems easy to fall into writing beautifully about a topic all the while growing distant from the very practice you are writing about. This is perhaps particularly true of books about creativity.

The most powerful writing comes from the trenches. The most credible position to speak from is from being in the action. This is at odds with my career trajectory, where I see myself transitioning from being “just” an illustrator to more of an expert on the subject. This notional career trajectory stems from my awareness that the creative industry, particularly design and illustration, is youth-oriented. It favours the new and the young. Old guys become irrelevant. This is not limited to our industry — it’s a syndrome of our entire culture. We place far more value on the high energy and potential of youth than the slow moving experience of the aged. We dump troves of wisdom in homes while we do what we can to slow the inevitable onslaught of aging and becoming irrelevant ourselves.

But I digress. On a far more positive note, I believe that, for the most part, this progression from new and fresh to old and wise is just fine. It’s the way it is, and I would rather gracefully follow this path with intention than to fight it. Rather than injecting my career with botox, I’d like to showcase the wrinkles as badges of honour. I’ve observed that this is the path for many shining stars in the creative world: they first become known for their art and their work; then they become known for sharing their wisdom. My goal has been, almost from the beginning of my career, to move up this invisible ladder.

For designers, this path is laid out more clearly. You start as a junior designer, then move into various art director and senior designer type roles, until you are the creative director. For those who want to increase in responsibility and move from being all hands-on to facilitating and directing teams, this can be a highly satisfying progression.

For illustrators, this path is not so clear: because we are largely solo workers, freelancing from home, there is no hierarchical structure, no corporate ladder to climb — and there are no teams to lead! I’ve always seen speaking, writing and teaching as the path for illustrators.

For me, the progression started quite a long time ago, albeit rather quietly. While I’ve taught a little bit in person at local colleges, my true teaching platform was born just over five years when I taught my first class on Skillshare. This was my first experience of “sharing down” my skills to a larger audience and, through interactions and engagements with students on the platform, really getting a sense that I was good at this.

Fast forward to today, I have taught tens of thousands of students through my classes, and I hear from at least a handful of them every day through their projects on Skillshare and posts on Instagram. While I am not an A-list celebrity by any standard, I have gained some reach and, through sharing my insights on illustration, built a community of amazing, creative people.

Along with this increased focus on teaching has been an inversion in my income: around three-quarters of my income now comes through Skillshare alone. Not only am I finding more satisfaction in the act of teaching and through interactions with my students, I am being financially rewarded for it. So naturally I feel pushed more into teaching and teaching-adjacent initiatives like publishing videos on YouTube, and, here, case in point, writing books. Or writing a book (I won’t get too far ahead of myself!).

So here is the dilemma: as I naturally drift into this wisdom sharing role, by intention or by accident, I inevitably drift away from a doing role. The more I focus on showing others how to do what I do, the more I focus on talking about things, the less I am able (and quite frankly, the less I want) to actually do the things. Suddenly the very thing that makes me powerful, those raw, fresh insights you can only get from being in the trenches, seems distant and abstract.

My goal has never been to totally stop making. I never want to give up doing what I do. I never intended on losing the joy of illustrating, on feeling like it was boring. But if I’m honest, this is actually what is happening. I don’t wake up each morning excited to illustrate. All I want to do is write. It is like a giant wave coming over me, and all I want to do is ride it, or let it inundate me.

There is a lot of good in this. When you feel passionate about something, if you are disciplined, you can channel the passion into productive outcomes. It is this very same inner pull that led me first to quit my tech job and go to art school in 2006. It is the same inner pull that led me to my first design job across the country. It is the same inner pull that led me to quit that job, and eventually leave design altogether to become a full time illustrator. Now that pull is leading me to write, and I accept.

But I can never forget the very thing that made me want to write in the first place. I can never forget what I am writing about, and for whom I am writing: illustration, illustrators. I care about illustration, not just as an abstract concept. I don’t care about talking to people, teaching, writing. I care about saying to others who are in the same dark tunnel,“Come this way, I’ve found a way through”. I might be moving from foot soldier to general, but I’m still in the same war. The fight is the same, but somehow, for some reason, I’ve decided to be responsible for more than just myself. I care about the outcome for the whole troop.

There is a lot unpacking here today, and my writing time this morning is just about up. What I really came here to write about was this notion of being all talk, no rock. It can’t be so. I have to keep doing. Not only to avoid being a useless b.s. guru, but to continue to experience the hard work and pain of birthing art so that I can truly experience the joy on the other side. No good thing comes without great effort. All the things that make us happy in life come through hard work. Just because I feel pulled more toward writing, it does not mean I should let myself forget about what I am writing about, and why.

I can be a writer and a teacher, and I can be a maker. I can even be an old guy and make work that people love and relate to. In fact, there’s no better way to stay engaged and young at heart than to keep making. I won’t resist growing old; I won’t hide my wrinkles or my slowly-greying hair. I won’t awkwardly try to outstay my welcome on the main stage of creativity. But I also won’t give up doing what I love. It’s not about being young and relevant — it’s about making something meaninful.