Written by Michael Kiser and illustrated by Kyle Fletcher
As creative firms continue expanding their offerings to the point of ultimate integration, creative professionals find themselves in crisis — am I a generalist or a master of craft? The answer is that to be successful, or personally fulfilled, you might have to be both.
Steven Jay Gould’s “The Hedgehog, the Fox and the Magister’s Pox,” recounts an ancient parable system in which the adaptable, strategy-minded fox is compared to the consistent, faithful hedgehog. Both tend to survive the onslaught of hunting dogs time and time again, but their approach to the problem attracts debate. 
Gould initially sets up this metaphor as a conventional way to outline the debate between science and religion. He goes on, however, to reveal these as more than a one-to-one mapping whereby religion is faithful and consistent while science is adaptable and strategic — in reality, he says, these are modes of behavior that we all adopt when the situation suits us. In instances of prior success we tend to be stubborn (or faithful), and where we’ve nearly failed we tend to remain sharp, seeking new and inventive solutions progressively through trial and error. There is no clear winner in Gould’s interpretation. There is no reason for a winner. 
Creative professionals and artists are caught in a debate similar to the science vs religion debate, not in terms of importance or hype, but as it relates to the hedgehog and fox. Are we specialists with an unfailing and highly skilled approach like the hedgehog? Or are we adaptable and strategic in the moment whereby we deal with singular instances of a problem hoping to develop a larger understanding of the world from smaller engagements?
Arguably, traditional design practice could be pinned down as the former, the specialists, the academics, the professionals. People who see design this way tend to use the same tools they did years ago, but with unsurpassed skill. They have a process by which they break down every problem, using the same go-to strategy, like the hedgehog curling up into an impenetrable ball, spikes out. Creatives with this mindset contribute to their fields in terms of craft, leaving audiences in awe of their devotion and dense work ethic. The problem, however, is that the hedgehog is limited to this single honed strategy. It’s heavily invested in the iron-ball strategy, evolutionarily speaking — it can’t run, climb, jump, etc. When it fails, it’s tragic, or worse, cliche.
The fox, on the other hand, has a host of skills at its disposal. It can leap over obstacles, climb trees, burrow under brush, etc. It’s also damn fast. These are the qualities we associate with more contemporary designers and artists, adapting their skills for print, web, motion and video — painting, photography, sculpture and others. These designers tend to thrive at innovation firms where the front-end of a possibility is being explored rather than the end-product. And similar-minded artists suffer in obscurity for their lack of defined marketability, but tend to create works of-the-moment rather than substantially contributing to an oeuvre. While these creatives tend to be highly adaptable, they are not necessarily required to be deeply skilled in any particular area. Their work tends to influential in terms of its exploration and progression. When this type of work fails, it’s not tragic or epic, it’s just… silent. It never sees the light of day.
Before you think of these two types of designers as a hierarchy of deep skill vs adaptability, remember that Gould would not hold up one approach over another, because no one embodies just one approach. It’s the situational component that pushes us in one direction over another, and that could chance from day to day for a designer, artist or writer.
The process of invention often starts in the same place. A repetitive, almost religious act of devotion puts us in the mindset of creation. Some people meditate. Some get a cup of coffee at 4 in the morning. A guy I know whittles for an hour every day before writing. These are our artistic ticks, our instincts developed in relatively evolutionary timeframes. And from here we start looking for the improvisation of creation. We leap to another page, we gesso a fresh canvas, we hit Command-N. Faithfulness spills over into passion. Two ways of knowing understood as pathways towards one another. 
If you’re still thinking of these two approaches as competing forces, allow me to make one last point about developmental timeframes. To develop adaptable skills requires a breadth of exposure. This can happen very quickly with little effort. This is what makes it possible for many people to talk-the-talk. You can become creatively adaptable early, which is why undergraduate programs are geared this way. Over time this adaptability develops into true renaissance. You cover ground early and build little by little over time until a variety of skills are nearly equal in their development.
The heads-down work required to develop a deep skill demands devotion. You can’t pick up a deep skill simply though egalitarian exposure. You’ll have to sacrifice some attractive opportunities, work hard over some mundane shit, and eventually you might become a master at something that very few people in the world will care about as much as you. There is virtue in this. But it’s lonely.
In the end, you should be both of these things. The adaptability you work on early in your life gives play to the masterful skills you’ve developed in a specific skill later on. This is what makes you relevant and progressive as a creative instead of a production artist. It’s what makes you capable of walking the talk you’ll be embarrassed by when you get older. And hopefully, it’s what makes it unnecessary to ever piss yourself as a last ditch effort to make your failure taste bitter in the mouths of your enemies.
