Dear Readers, 

It’s time for something completely different.  Among the many talented artists we have at Little Airplane is a brilliant photographer named Carrie Leonard.  She usually photographs skunks and birds for “The Wonder Pets!” and “3rd & Bird!” but this week I have asked Carrie to replicate a game she created for one of our Friday staff meetings.  The game is called “Face To Face” and it involves guessing which two faces Carrie has combined to make an entirely new face.

Sound weird?  Just you wait.

Here’s how the game works.  If you saw this image:

 You might guess, perhaps, “Josh Selig and Ming-Ming Duckling.”  If you did, you would be right.  But they do get harder.

Below is a sequence of numbered images.  Each one combines two well-known faces from the preschool TV industry.  I have also included some simple clues in verse to help you along. 

Try to guess which two faces make up each photo and leave your guesses in the comments box below.  Those who guess correctly will receive a shout-out in next week’s blog!

Enjoy! 

#1
They wield the power in the house
That was built by Mickey Mouse.

#2
From online to your TV station
They’re the cutting edge of animation.

#3
They have a garden down in Philly
Where sprouts all grow up willy-nilly.

#4
You could say it is their destiny
To wave the wand of Sesame.

#5
They arrived just in the nick of time
To make their UK air sublime.

 Okay, readers!  Please leave your guesses below!

-Josh

I think there are many reasons we postpone doing the personal creative work that we all know we should do. Lack of time.  Lack of energy.  Other commitments.

But I believe the deeper reason we delay our own work is something else: Fear. Not fear of success or fear of failure. I think it is something far more personal. More like fear of being revealed. Fear of being known.

"Untitled" by Laura Jane Murphy

Most of our days are spent hiding behind our job titles, our e-mails and our collective unspoken agreement not to say anything that is too honest or too emotional. This makes our days flow more or less effortlessly. Even our time with friends is spent in bars and restaurants where we have trouble hearing our own conversations. 

But personal creative work demands something more of us. If it is honest - and all good creative work is - then it will show the world something of who we really are. It will leave a mark. Our mark. And everyone can see that mark. This can be uncomfortable and even terrifying.

The creative process is so emotionally loaded for many of us that even our most modest attempts leave us paralyzed. We sit at the keyboard, at the canvas or holding the guitar and we feel mute.  We write a word then we judge that word. “What will my colleagues say about this word?” So the second word becomes shy and withdraws. And then we wait a moment. And then we check e-mail and our phone. And this rescues us from the awful tension of trying to write our words. And so our words remain inside us, waiting.

"Kat" by Sarah Wickliffe

But it need not be that way. I think the importance we place to our personal work makes it harder to simply be in the moment and enjoy the process of making something. I remember as a kid getting completely lost in the building of a sandcastle for hours at a time. I could not have cared less what anybody thought of my castle or the fact that it wouldn’t last past high tide. I just liked making it. On my best days I can still sometimes feel that way.

I don’t think it’s easy for any of us to overcome our creative demons but I can share with you some things that have helped me. They don’t always work but sometimes they do:

Carve out some very personal time and space in your day. Go somewhere that you feel comfortable. (Elvis liked his bathroom.) And in that private space let your mind go, be completely free of any judgments about your ideas, your lyrics or your doodles. Just play with your thoughts and the medium. This part should feel as private and safe as taking a bubble bath. Trust whatever comes up. The results are yours and you need not share them with anyone. 

"Hans my Hedgehog" by Stephanie Cleaver

Then, later, look at what you did. Allow your mind and your craft to participate in the work. Decide what you like, what you don’t, and whether it’s worth shaping further. If so, then shape it. If not, then nothing is lost. Try again tomorrow. And the next day. Enjoy the process. You have an infinite number of opportunities to go fishing inside yourself for a new idea or tapestry or noodle dish.

And if you decide to share your work with others, do so without apologies or excuses. Sharing work is a sacred thing. If some people sit in the back row and smirk, let them. The back row is where the most fearful take refuge. Anyone who has ever made an honest mark knows better than to make another person feel self-conscious about their creative work. Only the cruel and the frightened become critics. 

"Mosaic Night" by Jennifer Oxley

Every day I struggle with what to make and how to make it. I wrestle with myself and I dance with myself and I beat myself up. I make lots and lots of things. Most of them are not worth mentioning. They are unformed, partially realized or just plain bad. But every now and then I surprise myself and make something that I feel is worth sharing and then I say, “I made something, look.” 

And when the line I draw or the show I make or the song I sing reaches someone else: A friend, a child, or a reader, then I feel good. I feel connected. I feel known. I honestly believe that our collective creative work binds us poor humans together as much as air or water or love. 

So I encourage you all to make your own personal work. Do it privately, do it publicly, put it in a museum or let the tide wash it away. But do it. Nothing in this world will make you feel better, more courageous or more complete.

"Contained" by Cassandra Berger

As always, I welcome your comments, reactions and personal stories.

-Josh

This week I invited my old friend Carla De Jong to be a guest blogger. If you don’t know Carla, I hope you will get to meet her soon. Carla is a very special person. 

She’s creative, she’s intelligent, and she’s strong. But, more importantly, Carla is generous. She has given so much to so many of us over the years, myself included.

Carla cares deeply about quality children’s television and, in her new position at Australia’s ABC, she is now able to commission and develop great children’s shows. I believe the ABC is very lucky to have her.

Please welcome Carla to Planet Preschool. As you will see, she writes the way she lives, with grace and with courage.

"Bewitching Hour" by Samantha Everton

When Josh asked me if I would write a guest blog for Planet Preschool, I was extremely humbled….and mildly terrified - a feeling I have felt many times in my life and in my career. However one that I have come to respect, as I‘ve learned that with fear comes choice.  You can be brave…hold your nose, jump in feet first….or back away, sit down and finish eating your ice cream.

Last Saturday while I was busy eating my ice cream and being too afraid to start this blog, I visited a photographic exhibition near my house in Sydney called ‘Vintage Dolls‘. The artwork was both terrifying and thrilling at the same time, but it was the piece above that resonated with me the most.

When I look at this image I see a little girl with her toes still touching the ground, eyes closed, trying to let go of her fear so her imagination can allow her to join her friend in full flight.

I’ve come to love the feeling of being afraid, it makes me do things I would not normally do - take on jobs I’m not entirely sure I’m capable of, pitch shows I’m not entirely sure anyone will understand and make phone calls I am entirely sure nobody will take. The curious thing is - almost every time I’ve taken that leap - something quite extraordinary has happened.

It fact, it was fear that initially led me to meeting Josh in the first place. The fear that after two years in television, I was still not making the kinds of shows that first inspired me to hang up my fairy wings, say goodbye to the children’s birthday party circuit and do something more to bring joy to the lives of the preschool aged children I had come to know and love.

So I did what any rational person would do when facing this sort of fear. I Googled.

What I was looking for was some sort of course, somewhere local, something that would teach me the tools needed to make great preschool television. What I found was a company called Little Airplane, a man called Josh Selig and a course that was perfect. The only problem was it ran one night a week for five weeks a mere 24-hour plane ride away in New York City. An impossible situation.

A few weeks later at Kidscreen Summit I was in a queue for the cloak room, my mind still buzzing from the previous session in which a most intriguing speaker opened by telling us that inspiration can come from anywhere - then held up a croissant. A croissant that if you looked closely enough, resembled a smiley face. A croissant he had found staring out at him from the pastry basket on his way into the ballroom.

As I stood there analysing how this brilliant creator’s mind worked, I was shocked by the realisation of just how close our two minds were……literally. He was standing directly ahead of me in the cue.

Once again - I felt the fear. I felt it rise right up into my throat. Should I introduce myself? What on earth would I say? What am I thinking? Who am I to disturb him? He’s probably busy creating the next pastry-based preschool hit right here while queuing for his coat! I should really just leave the poor man alone.

But I didn’t. I took a deep breath, tapped him on the shoulder and said ‘Hi Josh, I’m Carla.’

To some this may seem like a small victory but for me, overcoming small fears is just as important as overcoming the big ones. 

Had I let fear get the better of me that day, I would never have been invited the following week to observe the Little Airplane team at work, in their beautiful studios. An experience I will never forget. I also would never have found myself standing on the pavement outside, freezing to death as Josh explained to me what how special it was to have one of my shows nominated as a Finalist in the Prix Jeunesse Awards and how I should do everything I could to be there for the showcase in Munich. This conversation ultimately led to the best week of my life, and my decision to move to the UK on a moment’s notice in the hope that I might end up making shows as brilliant as the ones I’d experienced in the Little Airplane studios that day. 

Had I not made that terrifying move to the UK, I would not have had the good fortune of working for BBC Children’s and I almost certainly would not have found the courage to leap back to Oz last year and take up what I consider to be the best job in Australia, commissioning and developing new Australian children content for the ABC.

When I look back down the road I’ve travelled, I’m surprised how often it is the small fears that I’ve overcome which have allowed me to take small steps, that have eventually built the road which has made the big things - that seemed altogether impossible at the start of the journey - entirely possible at the end.

I wanted to leave you with a fridge magnet I discovered while spring cleaning my Mother’s house this weekend. It’s been on the fridge longer than I can remember but this is the first time I’ve really noticed it- I think the Queen may have been on to something.

In Florida, many of the locals enjoy a culinary tradition called, “All You Can Eat.”  This typically involves paying a flat fee of about $4.99 and then gorging yourself on an endless array of options, from roast turkey to tacos, and then visiting the “dessert bar” where you can pour hot fudge over anything that you can reach before eating it.

The food is bad but it’s cheap and there is a lot of it.

If you were inside the Palais last week at MIPTV, you know exactly what I’m talking about. There were booths from every corner of the globe selling everything from reality to wrestling, teens to toons, preschool to porn. Most of it looked awful and each day I left feeling nauseous. Maybe this doesn’t matter.  Maybe if one looks closely, one can find a diamond in the rough inside the Palais.  After all, if you eat the best truffle of your life at a buffet in Florida, isn’t it still the best truffle of your life? 

I don’t think so.  I suspect that by the time that truffle crosses your lips, there’s a good chance that your taste buds have already been knocked senseless by the fish sticks that came before it.  So your truffle is bound to taste fishy.

But I learned a lot at MIPTV, much of it food-related.

On our last night in Cannes, Heather and I wandered through the streets of the old town.  We followed our instincts up a hill to the lovely fortress-like church that watches over Cannes like a conscience, ensuring that its visitors don’t start believing too much in the importance of their projects, their yachts or their personal ambitions.

We got hungry so we wandered into a small, unassuming restaurant on a deserted street above Cannes and, during that three-hour meal, I had a long and delicious epiphany.

Now, I am not a foodie. I do not know wine and I do not care what restaurant opened in New York last week. But I swear I tasted God in the meal I ate last night at Le Salon des Independants. But it was far more than just the food.

Our experience at this small restaurant contained everything that MIPTV lacked. It was a genuine, personal connection between proprietor and customer. Let me repeat: It was a genuine, personal connection between proprietor and customer.  And, though there were only two options for each course, the dishes that arrived steaming at our table were flawless.

At Le Salon des Independants (the name says it all), our warm host, Didier, and his chef, Sylvie, with their goat cheese dumplings, scallops in a pastry shell, beef in red wine sauce and chocolate ganache with raspberry coulis, taught us that content is not, in fact, king.   It’s quality.  In television as in food, quality is king.

This, I realized, must be our goal at Little Airplane:  Not to be impressed by bigness, but to provide the highest quality product in a friendly and personal atmosphere.  If MIPTV is McDonald’s, then I want Little Airplane to be Le Salon des Independants.  And, like the owner, Didier, I want to serve you myself and shake your hand when you go. 

On our last day in Cannes everyone asked us, “So, how was your first market?”  Well, I have very mixed feelings.  As humble creators and producers of educational preschool shows, I feel like I have seen the dark side of the force.  The mind-numbing pace of the days, the meetings on yachts, the unapologetic pursuit of sales, sales, sales left me feeling empty and concerned about the soul of my industry.  After all, I still actually believe that the only good reason to be in the preschool TV business is to help kids.

But, on the bright side, we grew up a lot at MIP. We saw first hand how the fruits of our labor at Little Airplane are packaged into units and sold like widgets across the globe. It was truly fascinating and I won’t pretend to be unhappy that we made a few deals of our own in Cannes. “Will you be back?” Yes, I think so. Mostly for the people. We saw so many old friends at MIP. Adina’s dinner was an amazing experience for us. It felt like the genuine, warm center of the children’s TV industry. And Adina was the most generous and welcoming hostess imaginable.

Over the course of our four days, we met people we hope to work with, people we hope to learn from and people we hope will become our friends.  I was reminded time and time again that, despite all the schlock, we are very fortunate to work in an industry that attracts so many creative and inspiring people who genuinely want to make great shows for kids.  And I was reminded of the global reach of all children’s programs and our shared responsibility to make sure these do not just become giant commercials for toys.

But I suppose the real reason I will be back in Cannes in October is that I want to see and taste what Didier and Sylvie are cooking for dinner. 

I hope you will join me.

As always, I invite your comments and reactions.

Josh

My good friends Joanne and Quentin have a wonderful daughter named Chloe who is three.  I was at a party at their home recently and Chloe came out of her bedroom wearing a red tutu and Mardi Gras beads.  When her entrance did not pack the punch she had hoped for, and we adults continued our senseless chatting, Chloe stood in the middle of the living room and, without a hint of self-consciousness, shouted,  “Look at me!  Look at me!  Look at me!”

As an independent producer heading to MIPTV, I know exactly how she feels.

I have never been much for groups.  Though I think I have a lot to say, I prefer to say it to one person at a time.  My second choice is to write it down.  My third choice is go home and nap.  These approaches have served me well up until now, and I have been able to pitch my preschool shows quietly to one or two thoughtful people at a time, ideally over tea, and, fortunately, a few of them have been kind enough to say yes.  I call this approach, “This One Is Just For You,” and I believe it is the sanest way to do business.

But now I am headed to Cannes to see how the big boys do it.  I am traveling with my trusted colleague, Heather Tilert, to support two of our Little Airplane projects: 3rd & Bird!, which we make for the BBC, and a brand new preschool show called Tobi! which we make for ourselves and have pre-sold to Treehouse TV and Nick Australia.

Since BBCWW is taking care of 3rd & Bird! I am not worried about that one.  After all, these are the people who just sold In The Night Garden to CCTV, so I have no doubt they can help our little Muffin Lovebird fly around the world.

Tobi! on the other hand, is being sold by us.  No sales team.  No booth. Just two perky Americans wearing Obama buttons and pretending to know what terrestrial rights are.

So, for the next few days, Heather and I will be meeting personally with broadcasters from Croatia to Finland to explain why Tobi! is unlike anything we have ever made at Little Airplane. Rather than create a show that simply entertains or educates, we have done our best to make a show that tackles head on such serious issues of homelessness, poverty and discrimination. And, I believe, we have done so in an endearing and preschool appropriate manner. We wanted to share this ourselves, so we’re headed to Cannes.

Am I just a little concerned that our non-toyetic, hand-drawn, “love” project with no vehicles and an “interesting” length of four minutes may have a hard time finding a home in an environment crowded with CGI animals, aliens and dinosaurs who ride on planes, trains and automobiles?Well, yes, I am.But I’m not overly concerned. I love our new show. I think Tobi and his little sidekick Laloo are among the cutest characters ever designed by our brilliant Creative Director, Jennifer Oxley. And I believe that our traditional hand-drawn animation and cool jazz tracks will resonate with kids and parents alike. So our new show may be modest, but it’s the show that we wanted to make. It came from our hearts.

So, I am ready for Cannes. And even though I may not be wearing Chloe’s tutu and Mardi Gras beads, I am going to follow her bold example. In my own quiet way, I will spend the next week standing in the middle of the Palais with my show bibles shouting, “Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!”

But in case you miss me there, I will also be reachable at joshselig@littleairplane.com.

PS:  As we got off the plane in Cannes we encountered a dashing, impish Canadian who was hawking children’s programs from inside of his jacket.  He mumbled something about a yacht and CANCON and then disappeared into the fog. We were utterly charmed by this man of mystery and we were able to get a snapshot of him with my iPhone.  Does anybody know this strange and yet somehow irresistible gentleman?