The Rejection Bin
or, Minesweeper as a career option
It's the nature of working in a commercial industry (rather than something loftier, something less beholden to The Market, something closer to, dare we mention it, Art) that one is subject to the vagaries and whims of clients, focus groups and the like, all of whom enable someone like myself to exist in a financial sense, yet at the same time are not without their own inherent frustrations. The resulting no-man's-land between work that appeals to the client and work which only appeals to me is the minefield in which we are here blindly clicking our mice. Sometimes it goes well and the acid house man gets to put his shades on. Sometimes, well. What follows is a collection of limbs and mementos gathered from the smoking foxholes.
It should hopefully go without saying that my including a design here does NOT equate to either a) my feeling that the poster used was crap, or b) the client was a fuckwit of the highest order for not choosing my favoured design (indeed many of these are actually not my favoured design) or even c) the film would have been a stellar smash hit if only someone had listened to me, however true this may be.
