Mamiya 645, Kodak Gold 200

I notice a lot of things. Too many things, to be exact.

I notice when my house is one degree warmer than usual. I notice signs. I notice small specs of dust in photographs. I notice irony. Like someone creating a website evoking an obscure 1970s rock magazine to promote his “cutting edge” social media skills.

I notice trends. I notice textures. I notice invisible hints of ingredients buried under more obvious ones.

I notice the focal length of lenses while watching movies. I notice the prose of ordinary existence. I notice pretension. I notice colors.

I notice light. I notice shapes. I notice the blink-or-you’ll-miss-it jokes hidden in plain sight. I notice significant meaning in small human exchanges.

I notice puns. I notice connections. I notice when my partner is 10% quieter than usual as punishment for leaving the dishes in the sink only later to learn she was deep in thought about buying Taylor Swift tickets.

Like I said, I notice too much.

But mostly, I notice how I notice the outside world. I’m able to tune in to what I think and how I feel at any moment.

It’s a quality that allows me to connect with others. To help them think and feel just the same.

David McRaney wrote about the keyhole bias. The things you pay attention to create your moment to moment perception of reality.

Welcome to my reality.

Me, Martin Scorsese (Killers of the Flower Moon, 2023)

Press
“Ted Lasso Has a Hilarious Twitter Account”

“Diane Sawyer Breaks Lengthy Twitter Silence to Reply to Ted Lasso Date Offer.”

“‘Ted Lasso’ Winks at Jason Sudeikis Hosting ‘SNL’ This Week in Hilarious Tweet”
“Ted Lasso Toasts the New England Patriots, Target and More in Twitter Challenge”

Pharrell Williams, Taraji P. Henson (Hidden Figures)

Yashica Electro 35, Cinestill 50D

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Press
“Martin Scorsese has created a Letterboxd account on top of new film Killers of the Flower Moon“
“Martin Scorsese Joins Letterboxd — and Has Curated a Massive List of Double-Feature Pairings with His Own Films”
“Martin Scorsese Joins Letterboxd, Shares List of ‘Companion Films’ to His Entire Filmography“
“Get ready for Martin Scorsese to see your film reviews on Letterboxd“

I wanted to make a website.

An absolute expression of who I am.

The natural choice was to create a website for my professional work to help with my career.

I work in marketing. Entertainment marketing. I get paid to convince people to watch things.

Sometimes, when I’m lucky, things I love.

But I also have my beloved photography - a hobby I picked up ten years ago. The best material evidence for how I see the world.

And then there’s my writing. My original love. An even more embarrassing endeavor.

I considered creating two separate websites:

1) professional
2) personal

But the more I thought about it, there is no difference. This is my work, and it’s my play. One doesn’t start when the other ends.

I approach all of it the same way. All of it is me.

Tom Hanks, Meryl Streep (The Post, 2018)

Press

“Deadpool’s Secret Weapon: A Viral Social Media Campaign”

“The 20 Best Moments From Deadpool’s Brilliant Marketing Campaign”
“10 Best Deadpool Marketing Stunts”

Canon AE1, Kodak Gold 200

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Church on a Nice Day

The sky is endless;
Cerulean blue.
The lawn smells like sweet grass
And rotted mildew.
Nearby drifts
The whistle of a sparrow,
The steeple bell tolls
With Gregorian sorrow.
Wind rustles through leaves
Of overgrown brush
Chaotically flickering
With a quiet hush.
A church watches over
An old cemetery;
Muted beige stones
Wrapped in ivy and berry,
Randomly scattered,
Bricks orderly formed;
A cross like the one
Your grandmother wore.
Baroque stained windows
With colors gone soft,
Are black from daylight
Like a sign that’s turned off.
The breeze blows with coolness
But the sun is still warm.
A bee with no stinger
Flies with no swarm.
Medieval style thatches
Are surrounding the bend,
With pink rose petals
And green thorny stems.
Aged tombstones gather
In uneven rows,
In patches of weed
Where sunflower grows.
Be-speckled in sunlight
And draped by trees,
Fragments of shadows
Are dancing like leaves.
The tombs are erased
But some marks remain,
An oval-shaped border
Drawn like a frame.
A human design
Etched with human care,
A reminder that something,
At one point, was there.
The rest; grey slabs
With lichen and lyme
Eternally eroded
By the waves of time.
From the soil grow trees
With infinite limbs,
Donning saggy pined beards
And ancient wisdom.
Branches with pockets
Where local birds perch,
The trees are now taller
Than the neighboring church.
To your right, nestled in moss
With the weight of lead,
There’s an unmarked tomb;
A child’s bed.
Fully ensconced
By the arms of an oak,
The branches hover over
Like an ancestor’s cloak.
With the cooing of a dove
And squalls of a gull flying,
The birds sound somewhere
Between singing and crying.

Yashica Electro 35, Kodak Gold 200

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Martin Scorsese (Killers of the Flower Moon, 2023)

Michael Fassbender (Alien: Covenant)

Mamiya 645, Portra 400

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Margo Robbie, Nicole Kidman, Charlize Theron (Bombshell)

Canon AE1, Kodak Gold 200

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Press

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“Believe: Ted Lasso And The AFC Richmond Players Are Coming To FIFA 23”
“How Ted Lasso ended up in ‘FIFA 23’ — and then racked up over 1 million wins”
“Ted Lasso and FIFA Mash-Up Scores Brand Experience and Activation Grand Prix at Cannes”

Janelle Monae (Hidden Figures, 2017)

Canon AE1, Cinestill 800T

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Pharrell Williams (Hidden Figures, 2017)

Awards

2023 Cannes Lion Grand Prix
2023 Cannes Lion Gold
2022 Cannes Lion Gold
2022 Cannes Lion Gold
2023 Cannes Lion Silver 3x
2022 Cannes Lion Bronze 2x
2016 Gold Clio Key Art Award
2017 Gold Clio Key Art Award
2015 Gold Clio Key Art Award
2017 Gold Clio Key Art Award
2021 Gold Clio Key Art Award
2016 Silver Clio Key Art Award
2023 Webby Award 5x
2022 Webby Award 3x
2022 Webby Award - Social Media
2023 The One Show Gold Pencil 7x
1995 Line Leader of the Week

Nikon 28ti, Kodak Gold 200

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Kate Winslet (The Mountain Between Us, 2016)

Press

“Why The New Teaser For The Martian Is Also An Under Armour Ad”

The best kind of advertising is the kind no one can see.

You can’t see it, but you can feel it all around you. Some might call this “marketing.”

Marketing shouldn’t try to sell anything. It implies the product needs the help. Have you ever seen an ad for a guitar?

The best kind of marketing is silent in its execution yet deafening in impact.

i.e. invisible noise

Press
“Diane Sawyer Breaks Lengthy Twitter Silence to Reply to Ted Lasso Date Offer.”

Yashica Electro 35, Kodak Gold 200

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Jason Segel (Shrinking, 2023)

Press

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“New Pics From ‘Logan’ Show A Violent New Take On X-Men’s Wolverine”

“How Sleek Trailers, Hugh Jackman, and Deadpool Rumors Helped Drive Fox’s ‘Logan’ Marketing Campaign”

Donald Glover, Mackenzie Davis (The Martian, 2015)

Press

“Yes, You Can Buy Those Ted Lasso Nike Jerseys”
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“Nike is going to be AFC Richmond's jersey supplier in the new season of 'Ted Lasso'”

Mamiya 645, Kodak Gold 200

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Now & Then

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon as Nick and Laila sat inside their bungalow home.

A massive window framed the couch where they sat, showcasing an ancient tree with infinite twisting limbs dripping with rain.

The window itself was lit with striations of droplets, lightly dancing their way down the dewy glass, like sentient organisms mindlessly commuting.

The record player in the corner of the living room crooned with old jazz; trumpets softly wailing like an elegy for a wasted day.

“It’s crazy to think,” Nick said, holding his book, “that animals have different senses than humans. They say that bees see an entirely different spectrum of light than we do. Isn’t that wild? Apparently they can see ultraviolet markings on flowers. Also the petals produce electromagnetic fields that bees can sense too. Isn’t that crazy to think about? There’s an entire reality around us that we’ll never experience.”

Empty plates sat on top of the mahogany coffee table with scattered crumbs and greasy residue of breakfast sausages. Dirty forks rested neatly to the side; the final touch to the cluttered tableau of hard-covered art books, coffee-stained mugs, and a custom ceramic ashtray with half-burnt joints.

Laila sat unmoved in her seat, staring at her phone. “Is that the book about shrooms?” She asked.

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s also about more than that,” Nick said.

Incense burned a beautiful dance of smoky calligraphy, hypnotically drifting with angular tendrils into oblivion. The room soaked quietly in an aroma of wet Hinoki leaves and sandalwood.

“Want to watch a movie?” Laila asked.

“Sure, what do you want to watch?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know, something nostalgic maybe?”

“Like what?” Nick asked.

Laila paused to think. “How about Now and Then?”

Nick laughed. “The 90s kids’ movie?”

Laila tensed up with a defensive shrug.

“I don’t know. It used to be my favorite movie. It’s so fun and nostalgic,” Laila said.

“I’m kind of in the mood for something different,” Nick said.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, something more stimulating.”

Laila scoffed. “Oh god, I’m not letting you pick the movie again,” she said, “I almost broke up with you after the last one we watched, remember?”

“Ok I’m sorry, but Chungking Express is a masterpiece. Sometimes it’s good to shake your snow globe once in a while.” Nick said.

“Sorry, I’ve already tuned out,” Laila said.

The record player needle carved its way through the melancholy wax with a dusty sparkle. They sat quietly in their living room surrounded by color-coded bookshelves and musky record sleeves. The warm, yellow flicker of the candle was the only sign of life in the muted, grey room.

“Babe?” Laila asked, in a playfully trepid tone.

“Yeah, babe?” Nick said.

“Do you think Franscita is ok?” Laila asked, fluttering her dark eyes.

“I’m sure she’s fine, they’re made for the outdoors,” Nick said.

Tucked away under the shelter of rain-pelted leaves, a hummingbird's nest resided just outside their living room window. The nest was tiny; an itchy woolen patchwork of pine needles, twigs, dirt, and cotton fuzz, all molded into a perfect concave the size of a grandmother's thimble.

“But babe, what about her little eggitos?” Laila playfully asked.

“Don’t worry, she’s keeping them warm,” Nick said.

“Do you think we should put a tarp or something over the tree?”

Nick laughed. “It’s ok babe. I wouldn’t worry.”

The record player abruptly stopped as the vintage machine mechanically returned to its silent resting position. But the room was far from quiet.

The gentle music of an ordinary day buzzed all around them. A cacophony of invisible noises synchronized together like an orchestra tuning their instruments. There was the staccato rapping of rain drops against the house; the water cycle of the dishwasher swishing in the far-off kitchen; the tenor bass of a distant airplane soaring above; the incessant tumbling drum of the dryer lulling them into a late-afternoon slumber; and the occasional splash of a passing car outside, reminding them of the cozy warmth inside.

“Did you talk to your mom today?” Nick asked.

“Yeah we talked for a while,” Laila said, “I feel so bad, I just wish she lived closer. She’s just working so much right now.”

“Try not worry, babe. I’m sure she’s doing fine,” Nick said. His demeanor then turned more serious. “Did your Dad call?”

“No. Not that I expected him too.” Laila chuckled with a smile that quickly subsided into a blank gaze.

Nick softly reached for her hand.

“You know what? Let’s watch Now and Then.” Nick said with a renewed energy.

“Are you sure, babe?”

“Of course. It’s your birthday, after all.”

The brackish grey dimmed to an even darker dusk as Laila and Nick sat watching the movie. The nurturing crackle of the fire and nostalgic Nineties needle-drops gently guided Nick into a lucid sleep.

“You see Sam? There are no perfect families...”

Nick was suddenly jerked awake by the sound of dialogue from the film.

Two girls were sitting in a treehouse with an indigo night sky behind them; their faces painted with the artificial blue of movie moonlight.

“It’s normal for things to be shitty,” the girl continued.

“It might be normal, but it still hurts, the other said. All those parents died, Teeny. My dad chose to leave.”

The two girls embraced for a strong hug. The wetness of their cheeks pressed together as swelling string instruments crescendoed.

Laila was perched on the edge of the couch staring at the TV; her face transmuted by the flickering blues and reds emanating from the LED screen. Tears were blooming in her soulful brown eyes, but, as Nick noticed, the bottom half of her face was comfortably nested in a relaxed smile. The kind of warm tranquility that wraps around your body when seeing an old friend.

A sudden wave of realization stirred through Nick’s soul. He sat up straight and turned his attention to the movie once again.

Nick finished the last hour of the film with Laila curled by his side, forgetting the commuters commuting in the muted distance. Holding Laila closer than ever before.

Mamiya 645, Cinestill 800T

Press

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Mamiya 645, Portra 400

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“‘War For The Planet Of The Apes’ Teaser Brings Heston Back”

Yashica Electro 35, Cinestill 50D

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Press

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“Deadpool Marketing Helped Create Blockbuster”

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“The Most Absurd Deadpool Marketing, From Tinder to Obscene Emojis”

“10 Best Deadpool Marketing Stunts”

“How The Viral Deadpool Marketing Campaign Has Left The Movie Hidden”

“Inside Deadpool’s Over-The-Top Marketing Strategy”

“3 Marketing Moves That Made Deadpool A $132 Million Smash”

Mamiya 645, Cinestill 800T

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Press

“New Independence Day: Resurgence Video Remembers The War Of 1996”

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“Fox Partners With Jane Goodall Institute On Chimpanzee Sanctuary Ahead of ‘War For The Planet Of The Apes’ Release”

Matt Damon, Jeff Daniels, Chiwetel Ejiofor
(The Martian, 2015)

Yashica 35 Electro, Cinestill 50D

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I’ve always struggled with the idea of creating a “portfolio.” I even struggle here to call it “my work.”

There’s the obvious reason first: the things I’ve worked on at times have been the result of someone else’s idea. An idea so strong that it turned into a campaign, with which I simply helpled in the best way I could.

More often, however, projects emerge from the hive-mind of the collective consciousness referred to as a team.

Ideas are vaporous. Matter without form that chemically blends with other vapors until there is only one campaign.

I’ve been fortunate to have a stretch of incredible bosses in my career. Brilliant savants with singular talent. Forces of nature with historic implications in the medium known as entertainment marketing (they might be reading this).

I’ve had bosses who taught me about social media. What a “CPM” is. How to package and ship boxes of Twilight merch to Twi-hard fan sites. How to move forward in a position you know nothing about by simply pitching one idea after the next.

Bosses who tought me that the most important ingredients to success, beyond everything else, are hard work and kindness. Bosses with the analytical capacity to teach me how to memorize the domestic box office totals for every film since 2006.

Bosses who taught me boundless creativity, and how to divorce myself from the work. Who taught me how to create news. How to boil entire campaigns down to a single word.

Bosses who unironically recommend I read You Are Not So Smart.

And more recently, bosses who taught me the important lesson of brilliant management. The power of picking up the phone to call. How to stay energized intellectually, and how to keep others energized with you. Bosses who lead by seeking to understand before casting a net of irreversable judgement.

But even more than bosses, I’ve had co-workers.

Friends who have mentioned my name to their bosses for an open position. Friends who have taught me extreme transparency to a hilarious extent. How simply shooting the shit about nothing can lead to profound somethings.

Creative directors who taught me unrelenting perfectionism. And, when in doubt, always ask the agency for options.

Creative directors who showed me there’s a way to articulate feedback in a kind and clear manor. Canadian writing duos who helped me to “believe.”

Lastly, I recognize now that I will be nothing without my future partners too. Those who will show me an entire new universe of possiblities. Realms of creativity I can’t even imagine now. People who share my excitement for the unknown, and who have even more courage than me to explore it.

Canon AE1, Cinestill 800T

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in eighth grade i created rap songs using garageband under the pseudonym dime collector

i’m telling you this because you’ve already scrolled this far down and i trust you now.

Press

“Neil deGrasse Tyson Guides You To The Red Planet In Latest Viral Clip For The Martian“

Mamiya 645, Kodak Gold 200

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Papa Jim

I took my dad fishing once in the final days of Fall. We woke up early, before the sun was up, and the air was wet with frost.

The morning lake was still and a fog drifted across the surface. In New Hampshire, the autumn leaves glow during the day and sulk during the night. When we reached our boat, the surrounding forest was stuck in an uncertain place in between.

My family had a small Boston Whaler docked in a slip on Newfound Lake. The boat was old and had a coat of rust. The paint on the hull was eroded.

We walked down the knoll from our cottage and I carried the cooler filled with tackle bait and beer. My dad carried the poles.

“Thanks for getting up so early, I know you hate that,” my dad said. We approached the dock.

“Where do you want the cooler?” I asked. We arrived at the boat and I helped my dad on board.

“Hand me the ropes, will you?” he asked.

My dad wore a black fleece with a baseball cap and khaki shorts. He wasn’t a big man. He was shy of six feet with a broad frame.

“Can you hand me the ropes?” He asked again.

I untied the knots on the dock and threw him the ropes. After I dropped the cooler onto the back of the boat we took off.

Heading towards the middle of the lake, the small boat sliced through the black water. My dad stood tall with his eyes frozen forward and he wore his cap like any great captain would.

“This feels about right,” my dad said to himself as he turned off the engine. We were stopped in the middle of the lake surrounded by the breath of autumn.

“You ready?” he asked, playfully.

“All right, Dad,” I said, annoyed.

The boat gently rocked and my dad shifted to grab the fishing rods.

“Let’s fix up these poles.”

My dad taught me how to fish when I was little. We spent a few years of my childhood staying at the lake during summer. Other years, I went to overnight camp, where I sailed and competed in archery.

“He’s a smart man, your dad,” people would say. I would say, “thanks.”

The sun began to peak through the autumn mist signaling daybreak.

“Where did Mom pack the sandwiches?” my dad asked.

“They’re in the cooler,” I said.

The shore around us was lined with a circular haze and the water became choppier in the sun. We ate our sandwiches in quiet.

“Well, let’s start fishing!” he said.

After fixing our sea salt bait we cast out our lines. We talked for hours about sports and tv, and before long, it was noon.

“Hand me a beer, will you?” my dad asked. I hesitated.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” I handed him a bottle.

“Forget tomorrow, how ‘bout this day, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice out,” I said.

The low hum of motorboats vibrated in the distance.

“Are you nervous at all?” I asked.

“You know, you grew up on this lake,” he said.

“I know.”

The metal hull squeaked in the soft current of the water.

“How’s school going?” he asked.

“School’s fine,” I replied.

“You meeting any girls?”

“Yeah.”

“You dating anyone?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you gay?” he asked, teasingly.

“I just don’t want to date anyone right now,” I said.

“You know, I was dating Mom in college. Can you grab me another beer?”

I reached for the cooler.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

“Isn’t that weird to think about? I was your age.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to find a girl who’s smart, that’s what’s most important. Smart and funny. That’s why Mom is so great.”

“Well Mom’s taken, Dad.”

My dad laughed as he finished his beer and he reached for the cooler.

“Dad.”

“What?”

“The treatment?”

“What, I can’t have another sandwich?” He said. I gave him a sandwich.

“And how about a beer while you’re at it?” he said.

“We should probably head in soon.”

“Oh come on. Stop it!”

“It’s just that Mom told me–“

“What?” he interrupted, “can’t a dad have a beer with his son?”

“Yeah, Dad. You can.”

The fishing lines remained in the water and a cool breeze blew towards the auburn-leafed shore.

“You still playing basketball?” he asked.

“Not as often as I used to.”

“Remember when we used to play in the driveway? When you were a kid?”

“Yeah, that was fun.”

My dad leaned in with a smirk.

“I used to kick your ass!” he whispered.

“Yeah, okay, Dad. You wish,” I laughed.

“And guess what?” he continued, “I can still kick your ass!”

The damp air became colder as we sat on the Boston Whaler and I put on another layer.

“You know what I was just thinking?” My dad asked.

“What?” I said.

“I can’t believe we still haven’t caught any fucking fish!”

We laughed loudly as our fishing lines remained still in the water. When the laughter died, we were left in silence. My dad looked at me and smiled.

“You’re a good son.”

I looked down at the boat.

“Thanks, Dad.”

We headed back into shore and the sun was on its afternoon descent. We had been floating for most of the day. The autumn leaves cascaded onto the water and the wind bit our faces.

When we arrived back at the dock, there was an older man there to receive us. He grabbed the ropes to guide us in. I helped my dad out of the boat.

“Hello, Rick,” my dad said to the man as he stood on the dock.

“Hey, Jim! How are you feeling?” Rick asked.

“I feel great, Rick. I feel great. How’s the family? All good, I hope?”

“Yes, yes, Jim. all good.”

“That’s great, Rick.” My dad gave a pat to Rick’s shoulder and gave him some money. Rick thanked him and tied off our ropes.

We were walking up the green knoll, back to our house, when my dad grabbed my arm.

“If you remember one thing I tell you, remember this,” he said carefully. “Every man has dignity. Every man.”

“Yeah, I know, Dad.”

“Everyone has a family to care for. Like Rick. He has a family. Never take away a man’s dignity. Never take his pride.”

Before we reached our cottage at the top of the grass-covered knoll, my dad lost his footing on the gravel path and fell to one knee.

“Shit!” He yelled.

“Are you okay, Dad?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, “I’m fine.”

I helped him back to his feet as his hands shook and we found a nearby bench. We sat down to rest and my dad turned to me.

“Oh boy,” he said out of breath, shaking his head.

I looked at my dad and then I looked at the trees and the grass and the leaves around us.

“Never grow old, Nicky. It’s not fun,” he said.

My dad stared off into the distance.

“You’ll be fine, Dad.”

The sun had set and a purple sky stretched across the sulking lake. The sound of ripples lapping against pebbled shores whispered in the distance. I looked at my dad.

He looked at me and smiled, tears forming from the sharpness of the wind.

The wind eventually died but the tears remained as the rusty boat rapped against the wooden dock. The shadows of dusk rolled in but the back of the boad was still visible. Through the corrosion and rust, I could still read the name.

I wanted to make a website.

I approach all of it the same way. All of it is me.

Church on a Nice Day

Awards

Now & Then

Papa Jim

mattcreem@gmail.com

Marketing

Writing

Photography

Marketing

Writing

Photography