Marketing is the business
of imagination.

The Studio Source helps you build an extraordinary business by focusing on approach—how you show your work, how you connect with your customers, and how you can make great marketing without selling your creative soul.

photo.

Stacey Cornelius
I'm a writer, jargon translator, idea junkie & creative entrepreneur with a Fine Art degree. I have years of professional experience in retail, theatre, fine craft and information technology.  Read More

Collaboration and the ease of reach

January 26, 2012

Painting, music, and video: A Story in Three Parts
Silk painter Lee Zimmerman and improvisational cellist Kathy McTavish create a beautiful collaboration for the performance of the musical The Secret Garden. The event takes place at the Duluth Playhouse in Minnesota in early 2010.

The video came my way just yesterday.

It’s also a brilliant promotional piece for Zimmerman, McTavish and the theatre where they performed. It’s traveled to faraway places as well as through time to reach new people.

Presentation inspiration in a stop-motion Moleskine

May 16, 2011

Moleskine Bags in Hyper Stop Motion from Moleskine ®.

The magic of a small, blank book
The word “Moleskine” puts a smile on many a creative face. Those magical notebooks just beg to be filled with ideas, both big and small.

Some people have hefty collections of well-loved, dog-eared, bathtub-dampened Moleskines, while others savour theirs, carefully adding only the most private thoughts and favourite projects to their pristine pages.

Marketing hypocrisy and the summer of discontent

September 29, 2010

It was one of those too-early hot, humid days that turns the world into an aquarium. A day that dampens everything. Clothes sticking, air thick and stale.

“I’m supposed to be enjoying myself,” she thinks, slowing to a walk, then stopping without fully realizing it. Running was always her refuge, her tonic, particularly when she was blocked.

But not today. Not yesterday, or the day before.

This block was a big one.

Nothing felt right. Ideas came, then vanished; frail, frightened things that skittered away at the slightest inclination to catch them. Work had become work, her studio a prison worse than the last day job. She was avoiding deadlines, letting people down. She didn’t want to get out of bed anymore.

“Is this depression? What’s happening to me?”

Then the voice comes. Not the kind that warns of invasions from outer space and sends you running for the tinfoil, but the other voice. The quiet one. The voice you ignore at your peril.

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