Hurl Words Into This Darkness

In an interview with Chuck Phillips, Creative Director of Cocoon Branding, Phillips mentioned to me that there isn't an abundance of full-time copywriters employed in Winnipeg. Since that is, tentatively, my initial occupational aspiration, that provides a problem. How severe of a problem remains to be seen, but I don't consider my endearment to the written word ephemeral in any sense, and as such it is certainly an issue worth considering.



But then, I suppose this issue is simply an extension of a much greater tragedy. The death of self-realization as employment. There are still artists, still writers, still musicians, still philosophers, but they all market their passions to induce income. They must, necessarily, but is this not the saddest of all subtle surrenders? To live off art is one thing, to profit from it another altogether. Unfortunately, now, the former necessitates the latter. I am no writer, but I will campaign to be until my gasping death rattle places the final period on my story, because there is nothing like it. Only in writing does the impossible exist so easily, so completely. You take up the pen, your eyes fall on the paper, and all imagination greets your gaze.

I took on quite the tangential tirade there, I'll now discard digression. I initially conceived of the idea of working in advertising as the initial jaunt of a journey that ends with me living a an independent artist. This vision is admittedly fantastical, but this is life. Humble beginnings as a copywriter would educate me in many mediums, as well as fund independent projects. However, in that grass, green as that of the Hooker sending Christmas Cards from Minneapolis (see bottom), lay hidden a virile and venomous viper; the possibility that virtuosos of vernacular are no longer in demand. However, a man named Illogic once said, "If a picture's worth a thousand words I'll paint a thousand pictures. To symbolise the decibel levels bred of a thousand whispers."

Don 'The Don' Draper said his job was to trim communication down to its most basic elements. That is, of course. sensible, that way the largest possible amount of people receive the message. But isn't it a little sad? Would you rather strut a straight sidewalk or wander through winding woods? Do we no longer entertain riddles, clever complexities in a turn of phrase, a stumping statement you must ponder for days? But then, I guess that's the trick in the case of copywriting. To be clever, complex, and concise all at once. I tend to be long-winded in literature, I get carried away. I was stunned by the strength of the staccato start, "Everything in Barcelona hurts." Utter beauty, Mr. Hughes, truly. Words are immensely powerful, but people know this, so why are copywriters not widely employed full-time in Winnipeg?

Hopefully this trend changes in the near future, or us CreCommers can be the catalysts of this change. I'm not quite ready to leave this little town. Where else can you sit outside at the heart of the continent with a beer in your hand and be completely secluded?

2 comments:

Chadd Cawson said...

Don't ever say you are not a writer dear friend, cause I fine Scibe you are. This blog had me hanging on your every word, like a chimp to vine. Certain phrases like "Until my gasping death rattle places the final period on my story." gave me chills.
A pleasure to read and to be reminded of such quotes by Mr. Hughes and Illogic that moved me.

Dylan H. said...

Your final question poses a fine argument.

It also wins the argument - nowhere.

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