There’s something about a good question that can really help you grow. I’ve got this friend, Alex, who from time to time will venture a few cities across Ontario to join me for a caffeine fix in my coffee-rich city of Hamilton. Well, he came by the other day and we caught up over some delectable bevies at The Cannon. He then began to ask a series of questions about my work; how I approach prospects, how I build my network, what my process around certain aspects of creative work looks like, etc. One question really stuck with me and it’s about something I’ve been thinking a lot about over the past few years.

The question revolved around the method of one-concept pitching, that is, presenting only one concept to my clients rather than a slew of options. This can be, as you may know, a bit of a divisive subject. Design legend Paul Rand notoriously presented only one concept, the folklore of whom represents a stubbornness reminiscent of my 5-year-old daughter refusing to clean up after making a mess of my home office.

For a time, I did this one concept thing, and it’s not that I’m against it now, but I suppose my approach has evolved into something a little in between that and providing options. I consider it more of a narrative. I’ve found that the most successful presentations of my work are delivered through the vessel of a story, involving my clients throughout the process, then retelling the story of the final product, when it’s time to present it. This, I’ve found, affords the final product and the client the respect each deserves. See, to provide options is to fundamentally lack faith in what you’re presenting, allowing someone who isn’t a professional in our field to determine what they like. (Those who’ve worked with me for any period of time know that the term “I like” is not allowed in my studio walls when determining our work’s efficacy; what matters is whether or not it works, preferences aside).

This is the stance that Mr. Rand would hold to, but I’ve found magic in this: presenting the one concept as the denouement of the story, explaining the multiple directions ventured in before identifying the most effective route to take. I’ve tested this method over the past decade and it has proven to respect my clients’ perspectives as well as the integrity of my work. I’ll pause here for a moment to reiterate: these are directions explored not options to pick from. With most creative people, even those who present options, there tends to be one direction they believe most in; why not call it for what it is and direct the story to that end?

Partners vs. Clients
Agencies love to tout their different approach to clients; that they, in fact, see them as partners rather than clients (I know because I’ve done it). Of course, this claim is now as ubiquitous as the blue sky above us and now claims permanent residence in Agency Vernacular Hall of Fame, along with data-driven, let’s make magic, innovative, not your average agency and other such “differentiators”. I jest, but the heart behind it is legit. The best work we do is when we trust each other as partners. Partners you’re honest with, partners you can laugh with, partners you can wrestle with in front of a whiteboard, partners you can do shots of tequilla with at a random swanky restaurant found while galavanting the streets of Montréal.

And perhaps this is the most controversial bit: I’ve found partnerships like this, time after time, served to produce surprising—dare I say better— results. Let’s be real, not everything I present in the first round is the right answer, no matter how confident I am. This is why the process is a converstaion. My client’s (partner’s) perspective is not just valid, but is one of the most valuable assets to my creative process, one that challenges my work and pushes me to do better constantly. My expertise + their input = a much better end product. This doesn’t mean I take orders; this means I listen. Tell me what hurts and how it feels, and I’ll perscribe something and treat the ailment.

As I said, a good question can really help you grow. We don’t always have the right answers and I suppose that's the point. If we dive into our craft thinking we have the final iteration of what we’re about to create already fully formed in our minds, we leave little room for happy accidents in creative solitude or serendipitous moments of creative collaboration. Truly ground-breaking work requires questions. Questions pose a challenge, challenge feeds curiosity, curiosity breeds inspiration. I’ll let this remind me to dig a little deeper next time and open myself up to be questioned.