When someone hires me to create an illustration for them, they need the artwork produced, of course. Obviously.
I provide a service, much like an auto mechanic. You pays me you money, I fixa you car.
Like an auto mechanic, they hire me because sure, they could probably learn to tune up their car themselves, but they’ve got other things they’re interested in getting done. Searching Google for proper spark plug gapping is not high on the list of interests.
So I create the illustration for them because I already know and care about stuff like vector vs raster, or the best weight of Arches watercolor paper for a heavy background wash. I’ve also had years of training in solving difficult problems such as Is this too Muppety? and How much mauve is too much? (answer key: 1. Never 2. Any)
That’s the mechanical part.
The other, always more intense part is the idea. Clients often look to me to come up with the right image to represent their product or piece of writing.
Sometimes they’ll ask me in the first phone call, “What do you think?”
The truth is… sometimes I haven’t a clue. Nope. No clue. Empty noggin. The only thoughts buzzing around my prefrontal lobes are of chocolate or Van Halen.
Some ideas take time. Others arrive even before the client stops explaining their thing. It’s always freaky when that happens.
For me, they usually require an outside stimulus. Sitting in full lotus produces nothing but epiphanies about drinking tea, but going to a baseball game produces monster concepts, seemingly out of thin air.
Yeah, it’s weird.
If you’re a writer, you probably get that. Weirdo.
A long time ago I stopped worrying about coming up with an idea before a deadline. I know that if I don’t force anything, it will happen. Sometimes it’s minutes before a phone call, but the concepts arrive. Just like that guy who always manages to breeze through the jetway just before the flight attendant closes the door. No sweat.
Wanna know one of my idea-generating secrets? Don’t tell anyone, ok? Here you go:
I think of the trippiest, weirdest, most oddball solution ever. Even if it’s kind of impossible or stupid.
Then I let it go and make a sandwich or something.
Eventually, the crazy dream concept morphs into something that will make sense to other humans.
That’s about it.
No drugs, no hypnosis, no lotus. Sandwich. Baseball. Vacuum.
I’m sure there’s something else going on in my brain that I can’t name, and I guess that’s why people hire me to do it.
With practice, they could figure it out how to do it, too. Or, they could focus on their own genius thing, like tuning up that illustrator dude’s car.
