A few days ago, I stepped out of my hotel room at 8.30 and made my way over to Barcelona’s Design Hub, the home of the OFFF event. This is a ridiculously early time to go to OFFF. It’s Spain after all. But today was special. I was taking part in a growing OFFF tradition. Houdini day.

Hats off to SideFX, who make Houdini, and especially Chris Hebert for having the vision to start this event. A few years ago there were three of us speaking. On this day there were more than 10. So we started early. There was still some mist in the air on a day that, of course, would become hot, sunny and joyous. That’s just how OFFF works.

As I headed towards the venue, I saw something I’d never seen before. A group of about a hundred were queuing up next to a side entrance to the enormous brutalist ship that is the Design Hub. Over these years it’s become a bit of a sticking point that getting to the Houdini talks is tricky. It’s the top floor of a big building and crowd control is taken very seriously. In past years, long queues have formed. But I’ve never seen people waiting like this. Like the diehard fans outside a music venue, hours before the show starts.

Eventually I went in. A small group was allowed into the seats. Looking out the window I could see that just as many were still waiting outside. I gave my talk. It went down well. Some lovely people came and said hi afterwards. The talks continued. The queue got longer and longer.

But what has stayed with me. Or perhaps what I’ve been slowly realising for a few years now, is how much my role as a designer/artist has changed. The people watching my talk, and those waiting outside, are as important to me as my clients. I want to inspire/discuss/moan with them, as much as I want to make great work. For a while I thought this made me less of an artist. But now I realise, that’s the real artistry.

Take a look at our business right now. There’s never been more talent crushing digital media. They’re coming from every corner of the planet (I know, I met them). And they’re hungry to learn. That’s why they stand outside on a chilly grey morning. Some of those clouds aren’t made of water vapour. There’s a nimbus of well-funded technologists casting a shadow over this whole scene. They see our world as an easy win. Build software tools that can replace digital artists and you’ll be rich. I have no idea why they expect this to be an attractive proposition within the creative space. It’s sold as somehow democratising filmmaking. Take one look at the people behind this tech and you know straight away democracy is not in their interests.

I use AI in a lot of my work. But not how these guys are selling it. I don’t know what value they think they’re bringing. What I do know is I feel my role as a digital creative is taking a new shape. For me, being original isn’t necessarily about coming up with cool new looks or visual languages - as much as I love those things - it’s about changing the whole way we tell stories and communicate with each other. Being an artist can go beyond making something and putting it out there. It can be making something interactive. Making something that other people then use to make their own art. Sharing knowledge, teaching. Even making a tool, for me, is a form of artistry, as long as it's helping empower our community. One artist I hold in high regard, Simon Holmedal, builds the most intricate Houdini setups for massive clients and then shares them with other artists, not so they can copy him, but so they can learn and become great artists too. I can’t think of a more generous example of artistic expression. That’s what being a rockstar means in our world.

But we can all be rockstars In this community. I call it an ecosystem. We all depend on each other, protect each other and support each other. No one gets left behind. Sure I want to make stuff. But I want to be there for my fellow artists, experts and newbies, just as much. We got this.