Many years ago, when I was a budding 3D artist, I had the privilege of working with a prestigious architectural firm. They had designed Heathrow’s Terminal 5, and would go on to work on projects like the Etihad Arena, St Pancras International, and the UAE Pavilion at Expo 2020.

The firm had produced drawings for a university natural sciences campus, and were at the point where they needed sign-off from the client. This is where the 3D artist comes in: translating arcane technical drawings into a simple virtual walkthrough.

Keen to impress, I worked late most nights as the deadline approached, covering every angle I could. The layout of chairs and tables in the cafeteria, the desk configuration, the finishes on the range of surfaces. It was a thing of some impressive complexity, with as much realism as I was capable of producing.

A week or so out from the presentation, I had the chance to show the rendered video to my contact at the firm. I was excited. This was probably the 1000th such visualisation he’d seen.

The video ended. He offered a well assembled compliment-sandwich:

• “I like what you’ve done. You’ve reproduced the drawings well, and the animation does a good job of exploring the campus. Thumbs up.”

• “All of the detail; the wood finishes, the chrome, the paint, the furniture colours, the ornamentation; has to go.”

• “The only thing that matters is how the light moves. How it enters through the windows and bounces around the space. I can see some of that. Well done.”

It was difficult to hide my disappointment. Days of work would have to be stripped back to bare bones. Why?

Wasn’t the point of this exercise that the client get the most accurate idea of what the finished space would look like?

No, he explained, it wasn’t. The architect designs the building. Nothing more, nothing less. Unnecessary detail was a distraction from the art: making use of space and light.

There was intentional divergence between expectations and execution. The client wanted to see realism. They weren’t going to get it.

A week later I delivered the final animation to him, which had been transformed.

Absent all unnecessary visual clutter, the intention was much clearer. The purpose behind the placement of windows, skylights, glass panels, and the walls themselves, all made sense. Like a solved puzzle, mapped with beams of light. Instead of accuracy, they were offered precision.

It sailed through approval. No comments, no concerns, no changes.

It was a powerful lesson in translating concepts between mediums, formats or people, and it has stuck with me ever since.

• Be precise about the value. Understand that your audience may not always recognise it as clearly as you do.

• Focus. Be ruthless in eliminating anything outside of that purpose.

This applies pretty much everywhere. From how you present products to how you build them. Pitch decks, devleopment roadmaps, investor updates…

When challenged, our natural response is often to go broader. To expand until we find what hits the mark. More examples in an argument, more products in a portfolio, more detail in a proposition. This approach rarely addresses the reason for the challenge.

You will always feel the urge to make something a bit prettier, add more detail, or extend your offering. It rarely helps.

Photo from Fausto García-Menéndez - @faustogarmen

Many years ago, when I was a budding 3D artist, I had the privilege of working with a prestigious architectural firm. They had designed Heathrow’s Terminal 5, and would go on to work on projects like the Etihad Arena, St Pancras International, and the UAE Pavilion at Expo 2020.

The firm had produced drawings for a university natural sciences campus, and were at the point where they needed sign-off from the client. This is where the 3D artist comes in: translating arcane technical drawings into a simple virtual walkthrough.

Keen to impress, I worked late most nights as the deadline approached, covering every angle I could. The layout of chairs and tables in the cafeteria, the desk configuration, the finishes on the range of surfaces. It was a thing of some impressive complexity, with as much realism as I was capable of producing.

A week or so out from the presentation, I had the chance to show the rendered video to my contact at the firm. I was excited. This was probably the 1000th such visualisation he’d seen.

The video ended. He offered a well assembled compliment-sandwich:

• “I like what you’ve done. You’ve reproduced the drawings well, and the animation does a good job of exploring the campus. Thumbs up.”

• “All of the detail; the wood finishes, the chrome, the paint, the furniture colours, the ornamentation; has to go.”

• “The only thing that matters is how the light moves. How it enters through the windows and bounces around the space. I can see some of that. Well done.”

It was difficult to hide my disappointment. Days of work would have to be stripped back to bare bones. Why?

Wasn’t the point of this exercise that the client get the most accurate idea of what the finished space would look like?

No, he explained, it wasn’t. The architect designs the building. Nothing more, nothing less. Unnecessary detail was a distraction from the art: making use of space and light.

There was intentional divergence between expectations and execution. The client wanted to see realism. They weren’t going to get it.

A week later I delivered the final animation to him, which had been transformed.

Absent all unnecessary visual clutter, the intention was much clearer. The purpose behind the placement of windows, skylights, glass panels, and the walls themselves, all made sense. Like a solved puzzle, mapped with beams of light. Instead of accuracy, they were offered precision.

It sailed through approval. No comments, no concerns, no changes.

It was a powerful lesson in translating concepts between mediums, formats or people, and it has stuck with me ever since.

• Be precise about the value. Understand that your audience may not always recognise it as clearly as you do.

• Focus. Be ruthless in eliminating anything outside of that purpose.

This applies pretty much everywhere. From how you present products to how you build them. Pitch decks, devleopment roadmaps, investor updates…

When challenged, our natural response is often to go broader. To expand until we find what hits the mark. More examples in an argument, more products in a portfolio, more detail in a proposition. This approach rarely addresses the reason for the challenge.

You will always feel the urge to make something a bit prettier, add more detail, or extend your offering. It rarely helps.

Photo from Fausto García-Menéndez - @faustogarmen