How to Fix the Problem of Style

Whenever you hear artists talking about "breaking into the biz," the topic of style will undoubtably come up.  We guarantee that at least one person will ask the question "Do I need a style?" or "How do I find my style?"

We can answer that very simply right off the bat:  "Yes, if you want a job," and "Lots of art.  Lots and lots of art."

The first part is pretty reasonable: art directors/gallery curators/talent scouts/literary agents/etc. need you to have a style.  You might wince at this truth, but believe us, it's true.  As a hiring manager, the art director is going to look for someone that is safe, reliable, and they believe they can trust.  For an art director hiring you as a freelance artist, they are literally gambling their career on you.  If you mess up a book cover that delays production, besides you getting fired, the art director's job could be on the line as well.  So it's safe to say that yes, you do need a style as the person hiring you is looking for something reliable, and a style is your reliable method of expressing yourself.

The second part can be depressing or comforting all at the same time.  It can be a major bummer, as there is unfortunately no shortcut to finding a style besides making tons and tons of art.  It's comforting in the way that it is something that will come, and you can only speed up by working really really hard.

Simple as that.

So we've all agreed that you do need a style.  Well, what if you have multiple styles?  What if you like to work in metal sculpture, but you also do spoken word?  Or what if you love to paint detailed landscapes in watercolor but also love huge abstract oils?  What if you're a modern dancer and a short story writer?  How can your fellow artists ask that you choose between your true loves?

Or how about the fact that you like changing your style up from month to month.  Maybe you like photorealism, then you like loose brush pen work.  Maybe switching from well-composed photos in black and white to wild experimentations with exposure and light.  How can you ever hope to just stick to one single thing?

Well, if you know us at all, you'll know that we're big on experimentation, and not big on binary thinking.  The secret to fixing the issue of choosing a style and sticking with it is knowing that you don't have to.  

Yes, you heard us right, you don't have to stick to a certain style.  Please keep reading before you run off and send your art director your new experiment in style, however.  

So while you don't have to stick with a single style all your life, or even all month, it is important that you develop a body of work that has a consistent style.  You want to show curators or art directors or whomever might be asking for your work that you can consistently (key word here) produce the same style of work.  

What you can do, however, is create side projects.  If you find multiple, very different styles that you're constantly switching between, we recommend making an entirely different artist persona.  While Monkey (ie Rick Kitagawa) is known for dark, creepy, scary paintings, his other artist persona creates wildly light-hearted, funny paintings.  By separating the two styles into two distinct artists, Monkey has allowed himself the freedom to constantly work in both styles, but also maintains the commercial appeal of having a consistent style that people can count on him for.  

If you don't want to go as far as to create a whole new alias, you can always just create little sub-portfolios.  You show the art director for the game company your game asset portfolio, and you show your giant abstract pieces to your interior decorator collectors, and you show your giant paintings of purple elephants to your group of collectors who are into that sort of thing.  The main thing is that you don't want the video game art director to think that you're only going to give them purple elephants - you want that person to think you're going to give them awesome game assets.  

So, while it is the harsh reality that if you want to make money, you will need a consistent style at some point, think of it like a project identity, less of like a ball and chain that will hamper your creativity.  

Life Doesn't Have a Montage Or a Magic Pill

We're going to make a bit of an assumption here that we all agree on something: life isn't the movies. No huge protests over that? Okay, good.

So life is not the movies, and we probably wouldn't want it that way. Why? Well, we'd be exhausted all the time if life was that exciting - you know, with all the infiltration of ex-CIA spy rings, escaping from zombies and chainsaw-wielding cannibals, and going to weddings four times a week where something dramatic and shocking happens every single time.

However, there is a type of movie (and television show) that you probably either love or hate (we love 'em): The Underdog genre. You know the story - some total underdog has a dream and manages to gain some sort of trait/advantage/knowledge from their tragic past/current situation and then is able to beat out the seemingly impossible odds to reach their dream. Slumdog Millionaire, One Piece, Paul Potts and Susan Boyle (and now Jonathan Antoine) are all such great entertainment because they tell the story of someone who society says should not succeed but fight for their dream and in the end, come out on top. It makes you feel all inspired and warm and fuzzy inside.

The thing about movies though, is that all the hardship, the long hours, the grueling work - it's all abridged. We usually get to see the training ala-Rocky in the classic montage scene or in the occasional flashback. It's all nicely packages to make you feel good. But when you're done watching, how long does that inspiration last?

More often than not, real life quickly takes over, and you find your canvas untouched, rehearsal seems like such a long bus-ride away, the little cursor blinks over and over again on your blank "Untitled document." We turn to distractions, chores, anything else to keep us from having to sit down and do the work.

We get it: doing the work is hard. Showing up everyday, even if you're tired, is hard. Pushing through the painful/ugly/tedious/annoying stage isn't fun. Playing a concert in a bar with two people watching you is tough. Not selling anything, again, at your gallery show while people snatch up other artists' work is difficult. This is the reason why films have montages. No one wants to watch someone slowly get better over long periods of time. We want to see some action!

But life doesn't have montages. To get better, we have to put in the practice. A lot of people also fall into what we call "The Trap of Beginner's Luck." Chances are, at some point in your life you'll probably find something that comes easy to you. Maybe it's bowling, or painting, or surfing, or singing, or making sculptures out of mashed potatoes. People will tell you that you're really good at it, and that'll make you feel good and want to pursue it more. However, if you do decide to pursue it more and more, you'll find that you're no longer around people who are novices. Suddenly you're around people who practice at their craft, and practice often. Then you realize that you are going to actually have to work at this, and then you get discouraged since you thought that this was going to be easy.

Even if you have decided that "Yes, the hard work is worth it" (and we sincerely hope that you have found something worth working hard for), the challenge to keep up that momentum is still there. Feeling like you're not doing enough? Frustrated that you haven't "made it" (whatever that means) yet? Well, you can't magically make stuff happen over night, and you have so many hours in a day, so there really is only one thing to do: Get over it.

Not to be jerks, but really, that's all you can do. You have to just keep working hard and keep on keeping on. Just keep on practicing, keep on hustling, and keep on chasing your dream, and you will (we promise) slowly get closer and closer.

For a practical solution, keep a journal, or samples of your old work. Seriously. It may sound stupid and a waste of time and space, but make a habit of revisiting your old work at least once a year, and you'll be surprised at the results. We look at stuff we did in our freshman classes (holy crap, that's five year ago!) and the difference to what we do now is amazing. Because we are living our own lives, the changes are imperceptible - we gradually learn more techniques and get more experience under our belt; we put in our 10,000 hours. However, when you compare old work with new work (especially after five years), you'll see how much you've improved.

So while we can't promise a magic pill that'll suddenly find you success, all we can tell you is to keep on fighting the good fight, and before you know it, you'll be leaps and bounds closer to your dream than you would have ever imagined.

Why Innate Talent is Overrated

When you think of "talent," what do you think of? Perhaps some sports great, like Michael Jordan or Muhammad Ali, or perhaps some sort of big thinker, like Einstein or Da Vinci. What about someone more contemporary - a technological innovator like Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg? Maybe some of your heroes in your field, people who do things that you wish you could do, or could do things you do faster or better. But when it comes down to it, we often think of talent as some inherent factor that these fortunate people were born with. It is comforting to think of talent as something that is some ethereal, almost magical thing that is mysterious and wonderful and is something that we are either born with or without.

Bull poo-poo, we say. "But Monkey + Seal," you might ask, "what about that one gal who did XYZ and she is just so amazingly talented at XYZ and we have very similar backgrounds, and she's just so much better than I am." What you're really trying to ask is "why are they successful and I'm not?"

We try to think of talent as inherent, or something we're born with, because that way it explains the deciding factor, that one single thing that sets the successful apart from us. It is comforting to think of talent this way because if we don't, then suddenly our own flaws are exposed and we are now short of one less excuse of why we aren't where they are.

It is not easy to fess up and take ownership of the fact that there are people who are much more successful (whatever that means to you). But it happens. While admitting that talent is not some inherent ability you have to admit that maybe they worked harder/smarter/longer than you, and that's the painful part. But the great part about that is this: if talent is not some inherent ability that means that YOU are just as talented as they are.

If talent is something else, something not ingrained in us at birth, that means that everyone can get access to that something else and we can all be successful. So what you're probably wondering by now is that if talent is not some inherent trait, then what is it?

Enter Dr. Anders Ericsson. A professor at Florida State University, in the 90's, Dr. Ericsson studies students at the Berlin Academy of Music. He found that all the elite students had practiced, on average, for around 10,000 hours. The good students had practiced for about 8,000 hours, and the average students had practices for around 4000 hours. Thus, the 10,000 hour rule was born.

In nearly every discipline, people who are really outstanding have put in that 10,000 hours. So what does that mean for you? For one, if you want to start something, you might as well get cracking now. Secondly, if you're already on your way, all you need to do is keep doing what you want to do. If you want to be an amazing painter, you gotta keep painting. If you want to be a writer, keep on writing.

To make 10,000 hours a bit more tangible, Monkey did the math, and if you devote 40 hours a week to it (all of these assume you're not taking weeks off and are going at it 52 weeks out of the year), it'll take you about 4 years and 10 months. If you spend 30 hours a week, it'll take you 6 years and 5 months. If you spend 20 hours a week, it'll take you a little over 9 years and 7 months. These numbers are all assuming that you're working constant weeks as well, and doesn't really take into account things like school (we probably worked on art around 55 hours a week for three years), but you get the picture.

The fastest way to your goal is practice. Plain and simple. And if you've already hit that 10,000 mark? Keep on going, since there are always others out there with more hours. And if you're at the very top? Keep on going, since there are always people right behind you working their little butts off to get where you are. Besides, if you're doing what you love, you'll be having too much fun to watch the clock. Go get 'em.