Name: Mark Krawczuk
Age: Late 30sHometown: Northern Delaware
Current town: Brooklyn, NY
Job description: Event producer
Bio: Founded WeMakeCoolSh.it with Matt McGregor-Mento, a creative consultancy; recently collaborated with artists to install a WiFi Intranet on the L train for L Train Notwork; created the Noodle Truck, which led to the Lost Horizon Night Market with Kevin Balktick
Upcoming projects: The next Night Market (early February); a slew of secret projects (“I don't want to tell too many people, because I don't want it to die underneath the weight of curiosity.")
Select links: "All Aboard New York City's Geek Train" (Wired.com); "Brooklyn Group Launches Intranet on L Train During Morning Rush Hour" (NY Daily News); "L Train Notwork Behind the Scenes" (vimeo); "A Culinary Treat for Maker Faire Attendees: A Secret Noodle Truck" (YouTube); "All The World's A Stage, Even the Back of a Truck" (NY Times); krawczukindustries.com
I’ll record [the interview] and I’ll send you a copy. We’ll see who wins.
Documentation within documentation. All right, sounds good.
Last night, I had this idea for an experiment. I wanted to set up a tent on my roof. I borrowed a pop-up tent and I built sides around it. I only invited a few people who I knew aren’t afraid of hanging out in the cold. And it was a success; I set up the tent, it was super windy, I had walls, and it was warm inside. But it was a total fail in that it never stopped flapping in the wind. So I think I’m going to get a different tent to do it.
Then Robyn Hasty came over. She was one of the people who was going to hang out in the tent if it actually stood up (but instead, it turned into people coming over to my house to eat chili) and I was making fun of her for not documenting her work.
What did she say?
She said it’s so hard for her to do work and document it, and that people should be able to just see the value her work. I was like, “I love your work and I don’t know anything at all about it.” I was making fun of her for not doing something and realized that I could do the thing for her that I was complaining about her not doing. I needed to put my money where my mouth was and just help her. I’m going to try.
My business partner Matt got somebody to shoot us doing the subway thing. We did it for a week, but by the end of the first night, we had a video promoting it. We got some great press based on that video and some other things that he did.
Even though I’ve hated documentation for years, it really made me understand the power of good documentation and how important it is to control the story. I don’t ever intend to be the best shooter or the best editor, but I think if you understand how other people work and are able to direct them, then things work out better. Also, it made me come to realize that the problem I have with documentation is [that] it takes people out of the scenario.
When I started, I documented a weekend where I did a lot of stuff.
The way I found that it worked best was if I would go for specific shots and I would say, “I’m looking for these specific things.” I allowed myself to be in the situation and not go for my camera immediately. Rather, I would say, “I want to get a shot of this person doing this.” I was in the situation until I was like, “Okay, I’m going stop and I’m going to put myself in a different situation: documentarian.” Then I got to go back.
So it made me think maybe at the next Night Market, one of the things I may do is set up a photo-op place. Something like: "The best three photo-ops are going to be here, here and here. If you go and take those three photos, you can put your camera away." Because I hate going to concerts and seeing all these people holding up their recording devices so they can watch it later, instead of actually being [present].
I don't ever like to take photos, and so, if I had a reminder to take photos, I think that would be great. It’s an idea that I'm just playing with right now. Now that I'm telling to you, it's recording on two devices. I do that with a lot of ideas: I'll workshop them out; I'll talk to people about them; and sometimes I'll work through an idea all the way out and then I'll just not do it, because I've kind of done the best part: the working it out.
And then other times, I will bring it to life, because I've workshopped it out, it seems good enough, and then there's something pushing: "Yes, this has to be done!"
When would you not share your ideas?
It all depends on what your ideas are. If you have something that's exclusive and it's only ever going to be done by one person, that's great to not share.
But with sharing, you can get out of your head every now and again when you bring other people in, you know, a collaborative process. They can help you refine it way better than you with just your experience.
Look at the Night Market. I didn't come up with the idea of trucks. I didn't come up with the idea of having food in the trucks, but I still do the noodle shop.
If anybody else did the noodle shop, it would be different because they wouldn't have my sensibilities and the way I do things. [If] you're talking about big collaborative art projects, they're clearly giving the idea away.
I come up with a lot of ideas. Sometimes I might not get the chance to do them. It’s way more interesting to be working on something that's a movement rather than owning an object.
I find that I work better at collaborative situations; I don't like to compete.
I’m also choosy about whom I share with. It’s not like I won’t tell. If it’s beneficial, I’m happy to share. But if there is something I want to have a lot of control over, I would not tell you everything.
I have been lucky to work in lots of collaborative environments and if people didn’t share with me, I wouldn’t be able to do nearly as much. It’s an idea of the commons. The richer that is, the richer we are. Don’t forget, there is a business model for open source. If you get known in the community of open source people as the expert in a thing, you wind up finding people – like grants or organizations – that’ll be like, “Hey, you’re really good at this! We want you to come in and help us with our presentation.” That’s sort of the business model for WeMakeCoolSh.it. We are happy to tell people how to do things. We’re seen as the group that can handle this world and speak marketese; we have created a consulting niche. It’s not all altruistic and can actually be profitable.
Another story: we were working on something for a party, and somebody had to use a drill gun. He never had used one before and we were at a party. We needed to do something really quick. I could have just done it, but instead, I decided to turn to someone who was helping us but who wasn't that skilled and say: “I’m going to teach you how to use this drill gun.” He was like, “Wow! That's really great! I really appreciate you doing it!” And then I made it very clear to him that, “The reason why I taught you to use this drill gun is I’m going to make you use it an awful lot now.” And he laughed at that. He now helps me a lot with my projects, because he knows I’ll teach him stuff. I help him on his stuff, too. He knows that I appreciate his help, and he also understands that one of the reasons why he’s learning stuff is the more helpful he is to me.
How has the Night Market evolved over the years?
The Night Market started because I went out to this big thing in the desert. I thought something was a sushi shop and it turned out to be something different. It was one of those ideas that I felt compelled to do. So I did it. My problem is, I feel like a lot of people save up. They don't feel like they can do stuff in New York: “Oh, I have to go out and do it in the desert. I have to go to another town or city to do it.” And I think you can be weird in New York City. [The Noodle Truck] was sort of my throw down to be like: “Let’s keep New York City weird, not export weird.”
I started doing the Noodle Truck just outside of the parties, and it was sort of this secret thing. I realized how easy it and [that] more people should do trucks. I started doing the market - not so much because I wanted to do the market, but to promote the idea that anybody can do trucks.
I want people to decide that they’re going to do trucks other places. Rubulad was doing trucks by themselves on New Year's Eve, and Kevin and I had nothing at all to do with that. I think that's great! That's exactly what I want to have happen. Somebody else, this woman by the name of Annie Arthur, set up a Temple Truck and drove that through New York.
I just think it’s hard to find space in New York City, and trucks are, right now, an easy way to get space. Once people realize that they have space to do stuff, then it encourages them to experiment and try new things. And if people are willing to experiment, it keeps New York City weird.
As an event producer in New York, can you talk about your experience with the bureaucracy?
I think you can come up with things that stay well within the law and are still enjoyable and fun. I just think you have to work a little bit harder and you have to be a little bit more creative. I think you get to be the most dangerous when you are the most safe. When you think about what all the ramifications are, you start figuring out how to solve those problems; you can actually do some really interesting and wild stuff because you've already kind of taken care of all of the danger. Then you can start making it happen - as long as you're not harming anybody, generally just accepting other people, you can get away with whatever you want.
What were some of the mistakes you made early on in producing events? What did you learn?
I think most of my mistakes were not listening to other people and over-planning. But then again, I come from the school of everything-is-super-planned.
I learned a lot from Chris Hackett. One of the things that I learned was that the people who "can't" tend to make rules. Come up with guidelines, be one of the people who is participating, but don't just become the bureaucracy. I think at some point bureaucracy has a point, but that's not where I see the fun.
Tell me about your recent project on the subway, L Train Notwork.
The train project is a project I did with my business partner, Matt McGregor-Mento. We have a company called WeMakeCoolSh.it, and we brand ourselves as a creative consultancy. Which means we're trying to merge our professional experience with our creative experience. We’ve worked for large ad agencies, where we've done lots of sort of interactive art, interpersonal art, or creating objects. We just did some stuff for Sony Ericsson for a big advertising agency. Then we’ve done some other projects.
Matt came up with an idea of, “Hey, I want to put the Internet on the subway.” After collaborating with a couple other folks, [we realized that] putting the Internet on the subway might now be the best thing. But what if we created a small Intranet? That solved a tech problem of: “How do we make sure we have Internet all the way through a subway ride? We actually figured out how to do it, but it wasn’t 100 percent reliable and you can get the Internet in other places.
What we created was something that allowed people to connect on the train. Matt wanted to have chat room. We also decided to work with local artists to provide contact.
We did it is because we like the idea that you can intersect the creative stuff that we do with commerce. It was sort of our little gift; a little experiment and a calling card project to be like - look, this is the sort of thing we can do.
I was quoted recently as saying: “We want to make brands patrons instead of patronizing.” I kind of like toying with the idea that there is a difference between selling out and cashing in, and helping people figure that out.
As we speak brand and as we speak art, we had a chance to talk with a hundred artists and creative people, and we eventually got five or six individual creative projects funded, which we felt pretty great about.
Can you elaborate on the concept of selling out versus cashing in?
Chris Hackett was the one who brought that up to me. We develop all these skills and have these communities. People want to maintain an integrity so they don’t want to slap big logos on what they’re doing. Purely just letting someone slap their logo on your work, there’s probably an element of selling out to that.
I think where cashing in comes in is when you take your skills and you create new work that you take to new audiences, that lets you maintain your integrity.
With Xperia, we went to people said, “Hey, they’re interested in you for your creative thing. They want to capture your creative process. You can do whatever you. They’d like you to use their equipment in a good way. They want to get your reaction about how you work with it.”
I felt like that was cashing in because I didn’t ask anyone to create work that they wouldn’t have created anyhow. In fact, it was great because they wouldn’t have otherwise had the access to do it.
For example, there was this panoramic photographer. We were like, “We want you to do something fun with cell phones. He’s like, “Cool, what I want to do is put them into an array of seven phones in a circle, and then network them together and have that capture 360 video.” It’s not just 360 in a vertical, it’s also 360 horizontally so you can actually tilt and pan and have a complete view of something. Because he had access to that much technology, we helped him figure out how to do the 3D printing and the thing to hold all the cell phones. Then we got a network engineer to help him build that and flew him to this guy in Mojave that we knew. For his demo, he had this professional bike rider ride through the beautiful Mojave Desert to show what he was doing.
That was cashing in: he got to do something he had never done before. I think what would be selling out is if we just had him do panoramic photography, or take some of the work he’s already done and be like, “Oh, I used a Sony Ericsson phone!” That’s bad for a brand and that’s bad for him.
Fair enough. As a liaison between an artist and a brand, what are some misconceptions you’ve encountered from the brand’s perspective?
The brand is used to paying for things and getting them directly. One of the things that we have to do is talk to the brand and be like, “Actually, no, here’s what you will be getting from this person; here is where they are not comfortable.” I think brands are really open to that sort of thing. I think the harder ones to convince are the artists, and getting them to be like: “Okay, I’m willing to change my conception of working for a brand.” For that, I have to get [the artist] to to trust me to represent them like they want to be represented. I’m going to make sure the brand understands what you want.
What have you learned from managing creative people?
People say managing creative people is like herding cats.
Herding cats.
Herding cats. “If you wanted to herd things, you should have gotten sheep,” is my first rebuttal.
The other thing is, “Why did you hire cats in the beginning?” You have cats around because they kill mice.
So I find with creative people, if they’re cats, what you do is you say, “There’s a barn over there full of mice. Bring them back dead.” You don’t tell a cat how to kill a mouse. A cat just knows how to do it. What you have to do is give them direction and guidelines. I find the same thing with creative people. "Here’s the problem. I’m looking for you to come up with the solution." And then creative people will respond.
You have to inspire them. You have to provide challenges. They do it in creative ways.
You’re not herding cats at that point. You’re letting cats be cats, doing what they do best.
If you need a group of people to be sheep, then you should get somebody else besides creative people. There are a lot of sheep out there that are intelligent, and really want to be part of a herd.
Conversely, why should an artist collaborate with a brand?
Some people wouldn’t. It’s not the right thing for everybody. I think Jason Eppink is a great [example] for that. He does a lot of stuff where his stuff has a lot to do with digital freedom and brand agnosticism. Jason’s work comments directly on consumerism and how technology works with society. He’s not somebody who I think would readily work with a brand. I think there could be situations where it could happen, but I think it would be very difficult to find the right paring.
What do you think it would take to convince someone like that to work with a brand?
I think you just have to find somebody whose work isn’t at odds with a brand's principles. I would ask around. I wouldn’t take everything to everybody. That’s part of the curatorial process. You think about who you’re going to present stuff to. You’re going to try not to present people with opportunities that they don’t want. I would only go to Jason with something that I think would reach his values.
The other nice thing is that Jason has also introduced me to a ton of people who do want to work on that sort of stuff, people who are looking for exposure, who want to take their career to a different spot. They’re interested in having their work be associated with something.
Jason is a legitimate artist, although he hates the “artist” word. His motivation is very much a certain way, so is his commentary.
Other people are just doing stuff, who are like, “You want to give me a bunch of equipment to just make stuff? Awesome!” But they don't have a message; that's contradictory to the brand.
Like when you see all sorts of people who do stuff with the Red Bull. You know, they're promoting sugary, caffeinated beverages. You know, not necessarily a social critic’s forum.
Tell me about your childhood and where you grew up.
I grew up in the suburbs of Northern Delaware and I was always sort of the King of the Nerds. I remember one of my fondest childhood memories was the first time my good friend Christian and I got hold of a video camera, and just running around, doing stuff. Uh, I remember inviting my friends to a, there was a fountain in a shopping center, and like, when we would go and wanna hang out, we'd be like wandering there and, uh, yeah, it was, you know, probably pretty typical suburban nerd growing up.
Do you have siblings?
I have an older sister and a younger brother.
What do your parents think about what you do?
They’re not surprised by anything.
Really.
I mean, I think they were surprised a little bit but now they're just like, “Did the cops show up? Oh, that's good. Did you have fun? Were there a lot of people?”
For instance: my sister called me a couple times in a row. She just wanted to talk, but I thought something might have been up. So I picked up the phone and she was like, “Hey, what's going on?” And I'm like, “Oh, I'm standing on the roof of my building, setting up a tent, and it's about to blow over. What's going on?” She's like, “You sound busy. I'll call you back.” So my family spent the night conjecturing why I was setting up a tent - not wondering: “Why do you do such a thing?” But: “What is he planning? So they're no longer shocked by anything that I do, but they're more just interested.
What brought you to New York?
I was living in Atlanta, Georgia. I was working for a company and a lot of people thought I was from New York City. I decided I was going to move here when my job offered me a job here, because I [thought:] “If I seem like a New Yorker, maybe I should be among my kind.”
Where would you want to live if you didn't live in New York?
On a private circus train or on a tour bus or some sort of nomadic village. I kind of feel like New York is like that. It's all the world coming to us rather than us going there. I could be happy with that. There's the old saying of: "You can either go out and see the world, or you can sit in one place and have the entire world come past you," and if you live here, a lot of things are going to come past you - not everything but there's a lot.
Tell me about your eating habits.
I eat too fast. While I was growing up, usually the first person served was done by the time the third person was served. I come from a family of fast eaters.
One of the best meals I ever had was like walking and eating a sandwich that I had eat between classes in college. By the time I got to the next class, the sandwich would be gone.
I was vegetarian for years and serve mostly vegetarian in my house, but I started eating meat because I found that my menu was terrible; I especially don’t eat veg-meat.
I'll make ginormous portions just because I feel like if you're gonna cook, you should just do it. You've got to have people come over and eat.
When I go to the grocery store, I might go with a little list.
I'm coming upon my 40s and 50s, and I'm really interested in devising a new American diet during that part of my life.
There are so many food appliances and all sorts of different cultural influences that nobody knows what to eat, or how to make it, or what to have in your kitchen. So I want to come up with a whole list of, you know, "These are the seven appliances you should have in your house." I want to start learning more about the ayurvedic diet, which talks about how everybody has different needs of food; there are different classes of food. Some people are one class and some people are two classes, some people are three classes. There's not one diet.
So many people try to learn to how to cook by following recipes and I don't think you can do it. I think cooking and eating are such holistic things and, as far as I know, there's no holistic guide to eating and cooking. There are dictionaries about like how to cook everything, but if you don't have good basics, then I don't think you'll ever be able to eat healthy.
When I'm 40 or 50, that'll be the territory I'll want to be in rather than the middle of a welding shop building, giant swings, jet-powered engine powered merry-go-rounds. Which I was never really got good at building anyhow.
What’s your idea of happiness?
That moment when you’re in the middle of a conversation and everybody is fat and drunk, and the conversation is humming and simmering and people are laughing and ideas are connecting. I think that’s my template for happiness. I compare other happy moments to that.
What’s difficult?
I’ve been dealing with a lot with difficult things. I’m trying to give you an honest answer, not like, “Oh, I was about to be interviewed. I want to sound smart!” What’s difficult? Realizing that you’re not good at everything. Realizing that you’ve got to get help from other people, that everybody’s got a different thing that they do and sometimes you’ve got to get them to help you with the thing they do because you can’t do it.
Not taking it personally when somebody’s mean or rude. I think realizing that you’re not the only one having a good day or the only one having a bad day.
How strong are your political views?
I don’t really talk politics. Hackett [said,] “The more you talk about politics, the more you get on people’s black lists.” I’d say my political views are open-minded.
What about your religious views?
They’re kind of like my political views. I grew up Catholic and at one point, I had to decide whether to keep my Catholicism or throw it away and I'm a recycler. So I would say a lot of my world view has been colored by that. I think there are a lot of really good things that come to mind from that upbringing, and probably a bunch of stuff to throw away.
What skills do you wish you had?
There are some people who are just always funny and happy. If I could talk like Ryan O’Connor, I would be very happy for a little while.
What would you say you’re good at?
Seeing things from other people’s perspectives. Taking the chaos and finding the unifying things.
Is it harder to start or finish something?
I'd say the middle is the hardest part. How do you keep things going and how do you stay interested? Only because I know the middle is before the start, maybe starting things.
What's romantic?
When someone knows you well enough that they can do something so small in nuance that it touches you.
And tragic?
When the same thing happens, but instead of touches you, it hurts you.
Are you a planner or a spontaneous non-planner?
Oh, I'm a total planner. I mean, I have spontaneous moments and spontaneous ways of doing things, but I never stop thinking.
What's your greatest fear?
I really really appreciate my freedom of choice. Political happenings and things that seem to be taking away that choice really, frighten me - not just for me, but for the world.
What's overrated?
Being important.
And underrated?
I find that being nice in New York City is a premium service, and when you can actually be legitimately kind to people, it's amazing the things that you get. I've taken on a new philosophy of not pushing when I'm on the subway. I ask politely and I wait for people to move out of my way. I think being slow can show a lot more feeling of self worth than being a person that's pushy.
What's a moment that you would change if you could?
Going from 1999 to 2000, I decided to go to sleep instead of going out on New Year's Eve, because I was working in technology and I didn't want to deal with all the technology problems. I went to bed and when I woke up in the morning, I read the paper to see what was going on. I think I would have been happier if I went out.
Another thing I would have changed is I would have quit being vegetarian like years ago. I had no idea that being a vegetarian was making me so sad.
If you could have more and less of something, what would it be?
More time to be inventive, and less time doing maintenance.
Is there anything that you'd like to add?
There's an idea of play that gets lost as you get older. I'm hoping people play with my ideas, and I'm hoping I get a chance to play, as well.
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