Crossover Careers

Leonard Townsend wrote to VM+SD that I “forgot to mention the man responsible for bringing these soothing cows to Chicago… That man is artist Peter Max.”

Not true!

Peter Max was the principal artist for CowParade New York 2000. It was Peter Hanig, a Chicago shoe retailer, who brought the cows to Chicago, and Peter Max, the artist, who painted five cows, one a day, on NBC's “Today Show,” for the summer Cow Parade in New York.

Peter Hanig, Peter Max, Peter Glen. We live in confusing times.

Let's marvel at how now the cow parade is old news, how many more cows appeared in New York, many moose in downtown Toronto, pigs in Cincinnati, somebody's doing grapefruit (dull), and so on… how quickly bright things tarnish.

Creative people always have to deal with art v. marketing. Only self-sufficient artists dwelling alone can pursue their art without counting the consequences. Those of us “creatives” who need to work to eat must fit our dream into our work. Our first and best creative act must be to balance the dream and the reality while maintaining and nourishing the soul.

We all admire crossover careers. Think Richard Branson and his crossover company, Virgin. He is the chameleon chair of a company that peddles music, airlines, cola, wedding stores, hot-air balloons, autobiographies, retail and an astonishing 140 other “Virgin” products.

Sometimes, a fine artist crosses over into commercial success. Right now, you can find the saccharine Victorian fantasy paintings of Thomas Kincade in galleries, poster shops, furniture stores… and now, even in his own stores, selling art and artifacts in malls. Crossover, synchronicity, line extension, brand dilution, saturation. The question is: Can he change with the times? Can he maintain the integrity of fine art and greeting-card familiarity? Crossover caution!

The granddad of it all was Pierre Cardin, who put his name on everything from restaurants and wine to couture or cheap luggage. He burned first, and very brightly, then declined from too much exposure and perhaps discovered that the world doesn't want designer wine.

But it is really rare — and an inspiring example to any creative person — that a fine artist crosses over into commercial success and maintains the integrity of both.

Peter Max does both.

I met Peter Max on Jan. 22, 1971, in a ballroom in Acapulco. I was rehearsing for a Van Heusen sales meeting show. So was Max, and his rehearsal was next. He sat in the back and, when I had finished, he introduced himself to me and handed me a drawing of myself running through a field of stars. It is inscribed: “Watching Peter Glen being Himself.” I could not have been more thrilled — to this day, it is one of my greatest treasures.

Peter Max gave his talk to the VH sales force, spellbinding them completely. Afterwards, sitting on a rock on the beach in flowing white garments, he was approached by men who conversed with him on art and commerce, peace and love. He was designing product for these men to sell and teaching them to meditate. It was a great lesson for us all.

Later, we met in a limo. While we talked, Peter Max's limo drove all over New York, a kind of traveling office that prowled the streets while different people got in and out for appointments.

His New York townhouse had five floors of people working to multiply Peter Max. I witnessed a mile-wide client/project wall chart with the names of America's biggest consumer products companies. It was a big juggling act, and Peter Max rode the calendar and licensed everything to everyone. Peace and love and money, Honey.

He was the icon of the moment. There wasn't a kid's bedroom or a family den anywhere that didn't have Peter Max on the wall, or a coffee mug or a towel or sheets or a shirt or shower curtains, cereal boxes, posters, album covers, all urging love and peace. Peter Max was everywhere.

Until he wasn't. His wild career skyrocketed, ran its course, deflated, and almost disappeared.

But he didn't disappear. He changed gears and began to sell fine art. Even while Peter Max was “gone,” he percolated.

How many designers encapsulate their time, one time only, and then disappear when the era is over? Halston? Mary Quant?

How many influential designers have reinvented themselves for second and third careers?

Barbara Hulanicki, of Biba, resurfaced as a South Beach hotel designer.

Sir Terence Conran, after inventing the home furnishings revolution and then laying low for several years, came back to stun New York with a new shop — Conran's Under the Bridge — a new restaurant, and a revived reputation.

But Peter Max was an artist who made himself into a brand. He put his look on everything and everyone. He faded, but reappeared several years later as a fine artist. Now he appears once more, the artist as emblem of Cows on Parade 2000.

Peter Max remains unique in his ability to shed one skin and show us another. As Oscar Wilde decided: “My greatest work of art is my life” — and that is the evolving work of art that Peter Max has made of his life, and shared with millions. Reinventing yourself and your product is the secret of staying alive in marketing.