Lee Clow Quote

"For 40 years, I've believed that our business and what we do is to create things," said Mr. Clow. "To have ideas, to tell brand stories in an artful way. But somehow every other media artist ... whether they be photographers or filmmakers, directors, people that create TV shows, people who create music, people who perform music ... all of those creative art forms have managed to figure out how to get paid for the value of what they create. Get paid, get residuals, allowed to own what creative idea they have delivered to the world. If it's a bad idea, it will pay very little. But if it's a great idea, it can pay for years and years and years."

"Unfortunately, in our business, we get paid like we're doing our clients' laundry. We haven't figured out that the ideas that we create can become a very powerful asset to the brands we work for. Many of the ideas -- whether they be slogans or advertising forms and styles or a voice that we create for brands -- could be listed on the balance sheet of our clients as an asset with millions and millions of dollars in value."

"Somehow we've managed to commoditize what we do so that whatever agency gets hired for the lowest price they can negotiate with the purchasing agent gets paid the same as the -- I'd like to say -- better agencies. There are more talented and less talented companies in our business, but somehow that has no role in the compensation formula."

"We're supposed to be a creative business, but I think we have been probably the least creative industry in the history of the world in terms of figuring out how to get paid."

All My Days

Well I have been searching all of my days
All of my days
Many a road, you know
Ive been walking on
All of my days
And Ive been trying to find
Whats been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night

Well I have been quietly standing in the shade
All of my days
Watch the sky breaking on the promise that we made
All of this rain
And Ive been trying to find
Whats been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night

Well many a night I found myself with no friends standing near
All of my days
I cried aloud
I shook my hands
What am I doing here
All of these days
For I look around me
And my eyes confound me
And its just too bright
As the days keep turning into night

Now I see clearly
Its you Im looking for
All of my days
Soon Ill smile
I know Ill feel this loneliness no more
All of my days
For I look around me
And it seems He found me
And its coming into sight
As the days keep turning into night
As the days keep turning into night
And even breathing feels all right
Yes, even breathing feels all right
Now even breathing feels all right
Its even breathing
Feels all right

"If" (a powerful poem)

If—
BY RUDYARD KIPLING

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!