Why giving credit where it’s due earns you more than good karma.
It’s time to ditch the cult of the creative genius and recognise the team behind our work.
When I was at university, I worked on a dance music show called BPM as an editor. It was the first time that anything I had worked on was broadcast on public television and I duly recorded the show to VHS. Never mind that I already had the master tape. That tape, complete with noisy interference caused by the underpowered transmitters of the community television broadcaster, represented the completion of the project. When I played the tape to my parents, I fast forwarded it to the end and pointed to my name in the credits. It felt good to be recognised.
“There’s a story behind every story. And another story behind that.”
Crediting people in the film and television industry has a long established history, even if it didn’t start out that way. In film’s early history, many roles were considered perfunctory. Film directors were not celebrated as creative leaders, as they are now, and many technical roles were not credited at all. As the film industry matured, credits became a form of currency. While credits couldn’t be traded, they needed to be recognised by someone other than the accredited person. It was one thing to be known to have been involved with a production, but the credit was proof of your involvement.
The computer game industry now follows a similar attribution model to films. Given the analogous nature of games, it’s easy to see why. Both films and games are large projects comprising of hundreds of specialists all working towards a common goal. As with films, those who provide the support services to those on the “front line” are also recognised and credited. Roles such as accountants, assistants, caterers, runners, sales people, booking managers (seriously — the Grand Theft Auto credits run for 36 minutes) all provide critical support to a project, even if you can’t see what they’ve done when you play the game.
Generally, giving or receiving credit for a role in films or computer games is merely a question of “Did you or didn’t you do it?” Why then, is crediting people for what they do applied so inconsistently elsewhere?
In the visual arts, collaboration is commonly viewed as something that only occurs between artists. Those who help facilitate the work are merely referred to as “technical crew” — even though their work will actually deliver and influence the final look and feel of a work. In my experience, it is rare for visual artists to publicly acknowledge the people who facilitated the execution of their vision — beyond maybe a simple email or thank you.
“For whatever reason, attributing others who helped you achieve your art is somehow seen as eroding the myth of the creative genius.”
Advertising is another industry where the myth of the creative genius is continually propagated. Creative directors, like artists, are often the visionary force behind an ad campaign and are supported by many people such as copywriters, account managers, producers and juniors. In Ad agencies there is a well defined hierarchy of credits. Sitting at the top is the agency itself, followed by the creative director and then the rest of the team. While it’s commendable that the core creative team is often recognised, the supporting cast of collaborators are usually not. This is somewhat understandable since who would want to sit through the credits on every ad they watched? The reality is that one of the only opportunities for agencies to publicly attribute the work of their staff and contractors are at industry awards. However, by the time they are ready to accept entries, all but the core creative team who worked on the project have been forgotten.
Fashion photography is an industry which appears to consistently credit those involved. Even in glossy magazine spreads where space is a premium, you will often find the names of the model, art director, stylist, make up artist, photographer, assistant and retoucher. Sometimes there are more credits, sometimes less, but what impresses me is that the credits that are there carry through to the final product — the fashion magazine itself. For those that are credited, the printed object represents the final output of their work, even if the tools of their trade are far removed from actually producing that magazine.
“Publicly acknowledging someone for what they do is a powerful gesture.”
There’s a story behind every story. And another story behind that. Only, it’s not a tunnel, rather, it’s a heterarchy of mostly independent teams working in and around each other to produce a creative outcome.
It’s increasingly common for people to declare their gratitude for any number of things online. But how often does this recognition extend beyond the impermanent fodder of social media? Publicly acknowledging someone for what they do is a powerful gesture. In his book on the psychology of persuasion, Robert Cialdini describes what happens when a person does something for another: we immediately recognise a debt and feel compelled to repay it. If you’ve ever been handed a flower or a smiley sticker as a “gift” from a Hare Krishna and then lightened your pockets of some coins, you’ll understand — or at least have experienced — the power of reciprocation. The lesson here is that if you want to be recognised for the work that you do, then you need to recognise the contribution of others. Especially your own collaborators.
“A person’s history of collaboration says more about them than their creative output alone.”
There’s also another psychological principle at play when we credit others — social proof. Working for cheap because the outcome will make a great folio piece, or will improve how other clients perceive them, is social proof in action. Unfortunately, this approach is unsustainable, however, there is a much more straightforward way to demonstrate social proof in your work. Crediting people for what they do makes your own network more visible to others. You become more accessible in the eyes of potential future collaborators because you celebrate the collective contribution made by everyone on the project. Also, creatives are more likely to discover new clients who are relevant to their own work through their collaborators, rather than jumping into completely new networks. Most of the creatives I interviewed during my research found their new clients through their existing collaborators. They also view their clients as collaborators, just as much as their creative colleagues. This probably isn’t very surprising to most people. But then again, why isn’t there a simple way to discover AND recognise the team behind every project?
When I think about my early film production and exhibition experiences, I remember the validation I felt when seeing my name alongside the finished product. It felt good to acknowledge the people I collaborated with. I would work with many of those people again in the years that followed, but without a record other than the product itself. Eventually the memory of the collaboration would diminish and the false mantra of you’re only as good as your last job would emerge. But it’s not only about the last job. A person’s history of collaboration says more about them than their creative output alone. As my collaborators and I prepare to launch Kllective, we remember the people we’ve worked with and the projects we’ve worked on that have brought us to this point — and look forward to acknowledging them all.
