I've actually welcomed all the manual labor on the new house because it gives me something to do. I have't had any work in a month and have no prospects. Trying to panhandle some work the week before Christmas is futile, so at least I have something to take my mind off my slim job prospects and grim future.
Most of the time.
I usually have NPR on in the background and occasionally they do a story about the moribund job market.
Wednesday they had a cheerful woman on, a supposed job expert. She helpfully explained that there are still five unemployed people for every job opening. Employers are so swamped with job applications that they can't possibly read through them all. So they've employed some filters, the first one being age. Anyone over 40 is automatically given the boot. It isn't even remotely legal, but who's gonna know? "Can't teach an old dog new tricks", right? The second is employment status. As ridiculous as it sounds, most employers won't consider people who are currently unemployed. The thinking is that everyone who is unemployed is unemployed for a reason, obviously of their own fault. No one wants to inherit someone else's ex-problem employee.
So that's two strikes against me.
And here's the third...
The advertising industry has gone through a paradigm shift. Since the advent of the internet people have been announcing the "Death of Print". It always seemed on overblown declaration, even as the scales were increasingly tipping towards the online world. But the advent of smart phones and e-readers and streaming video and more have finally given cyberspace critical mass. People want apps and Facebook pages, Twitter feeds and online communities. A lot of what I do was still adaptable to the web, but as more and more people live their lives on a 4 inch iPhone screen, less is more. The work I do is now considered extraneous.
People say "Take classes, switch gears" and I've done that. But advertising is now a left-brain world of writing computer code, not the right-brain world I was trained in. You can't re-wire your mind with a few evening classes.
I've been haunted the last few days by a meeting I had back in the mid 90's. I was a hot shot young art director at a trendy boutique agency. I always received calls from people wanting to show their portfolios. Mostly it was kids right out of school looking to try and get a foot in the door. I always agreed to see people because I remembered how frustrating it was when I was first starting out just trying to get someone to look at my work.
One morning the receptionist buzzed and told me I had a visitor. It was someone I didn't know wanting to show their book and I had said "sure" and told him to drop by. I was expecting to see a kid out in the lobby and was surprised to see a guy in his mid-40's. I ushered him to my office and he sat and placed his thick portfolio on my desk. He explained that he'd recently been let go from McCann-Erickson, a global agency with LA offices, after over 20 years. I opened his book and saw...
Marker comps.
Back before the Mac and Photoshop, that's how we used to show our ideas and sell our wares. Hand drawn comps fleshed out with colored markers. It was how I had been trained, and I considered myself pretty good. But this guy was a master. I was mesmerized as I leafed through page after page of stunningly beautiful marker comps. His drawing was sublime and his work with the markers looked like watercolors and oil paintings. He had achieved looks with markers I didn't know were possible. It was all framable art as far as I was concerned, except for the fact they were hawking Scope mouthwash and Tide detergent. Hell, I'd probably still hang it up, it was that good.
But McCann, like every other agency, had switched to computers in the early 90's. Comps were now assembled from photos in Photoshop. His services were no longer needed. I had no idea what to tell him. His work was outstanding, but that era had passed. The experience left me more than a little shaken. Could that possibly happen to me? Nah... I knew the computer, I was safe.
He left my office looking sad and dejected and more than a little scared.
Like I feel now.
It would appear my era has passed too.
I always wondered what became of him. If for no other reason than to get a clue as to what I should do now. Because I am completely lost.
OK, enough with the pity party. It's cold and rainy and I'm feeling down, but there are walls to paint.
At least that expensive art school training isn't going to waste.
