Falling In Style. By @SergeantPluck

By Tom Flynn



Falling In Style.


One of our many Joe’s whacked up a reflection slide on Friday that was absolutely gorgeous. It was of a series of paper aeroplanes swooshing across some white space. Without explanation, it was beautiful, I found it quite moving if I’m honest. In the way you might find anything with an elegant simplicity to be, it was just nice to watch. It made me breathe out audibly and it made me smile. I don’t really think there’s much else you could possibly ask for in response to your creativity.

He explained that it was about something Marc had said right at the very beginning of the course;


We are always in one of three states, we’re either flying, gliding or falling.


Marc laboured this metaphor for all it was worth, as he is want to do, but we’ll forgive him that, he’s dramatic by nature, but it’s still a powerful point of reference. If you’re not flying you’re fucked. And Joe’s point was that we should be asking ourselves at the end of every week if we’re still flying. 

I’d honestly completely forgotten the analogy, and I was really glad to be reminded of it. I was tired before the half term break, but I was determined not to lose momentum during our time off so I kept scamping and doing all that extracurricular shit, yet still this first week back I didn’t feel bueno. I felt I should be working harder, using my time better, producing better work. There was this niggling sense of unease and I was trying so desperately to combat it but couldn’t figure out how.

Both Marc and Steve Henry lauded us for our work on the NPD brief. Marc even went so far as to say we were the best intake he’d ever had. I’ve been vocal in the past about my distain for praise but this particular praise made me feel like a cunt. Not because I didn’t believe it, because I do, fuck me that room I’m in every day is fucking magical, our intake is honestly incredible, and I’m grateful to the point of tears to be counted amongst their number, but I felt that praise didn’t extend to me, I wasn’t anywhere near as good as everyone else, and it hurt. It wasn’t until Joe’s slide that I realised that I’d been gliding this week, and that it was the source of my discontent.

I hadn’t been doing the things I know make me happier and more creative; exercising, cooking, leaving the studio, not getting frustrated when I can’t crack something. I’d settled in a nice little rhythm of going in fucking about and working in a way that wasn’t optimal for me. If that’s not gliding what the fuck is? So that changes from tomorrow, gliding is falling for the moderately competent, and I’d rather fall flat on my face and die that be moderately anything.

The presentations on Friday and Joe’s work that led to my little self-indulgent epiphany made me realise something.  If Marc fucked off and left all of us to work on our own I reckon we’d still smash it.

There’s this theory we used to talk about in MMA back in the day (sorry about the violence reference again, I wonder if we can construct a drinking game around my inability to write a scab without bringing up how hard I am?) called the Eskimo theory. It states that if you visited a group of isolated Eskimos and thought them the basics of fighting, if you left and came back in ten years, assuming they’d trained diligently they be at a professional level, even without anyone there to guide them. I reckon we’re in that kind of  place now, we’re a group of eager Eskimos. Iron sharpens Iron and all that and I think there’s some high quality ore floating around SCA.  I reckon not taking advantage of that is nothing short of gliding, and so this scab is going to double as proposal, to Marc if he reads it in time and the man that inspired me to work harder this week.


Joe Bee, will you work with me?

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