MARC D’AVIGNON. BLOG.

Mr. Christopher Berry, champion artist and prize-winning hen breeder has joined forces with the Hon. Marc d’Avignon, gadfly and murderous pencil-handed super-robot with a heart of gold, to promote their various creative skills in the most modern of fashions: print! Yes, see their declaration of creativity on posters pasted to gas lamps, telegraph poles and the poor metropolis-wide. Hire them forthwith to add vim and vigor to your communications and you’ll undoubtably say “Messrs. Berry and d’Avignon were employed by us in a limited capacity for a short period of time and we are not legally responsible for any of their actions.” They are currently engaged by wise and handsome firms, so get in line to experience the non-stop glitter/kitten explosion. Christopher Berry’s work to come.

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September 18th, 2012       No Comments

Once and awhile you get to work on something that changes things.  Maybe you find it bubbling just under the surface, already there.  Maybe you set it into motion, fresh and new.  Maybe you just get lucky.  But whatever the reason, the work touches people- makes them think, or even rethink commonly held assumptions.  So here’s to a team of amazing people – Andrew, Rob, Jeff, Tiffany, Omid, Liz, Bekah, Tim, Andy, Andrew, Todd, Kate, Jesse, Andy, Yvette, Becky, Lindsey, the cogs, the content managers, the production department, the media department, all the attractive people at CP+B I don’t have room to list here, Guy, Amir, No6, Smuggler, Pretty Bird, Method and of course the wonderful, brave people of Bolthouse Farms.  Everybody came together as a team to create something rare.  And it’s not just the New York Times, Salon.com, Huffpo, or even the Kolner Stadt-Anzeiger that have taken notice and become part of a much needed debate about what and how we eat, but real people - high school kids, mommy bloggers and snackers across the world – are now questioning what it means to eat ‘em like junk food.  Check out the effort at babycarrots.com, be part of the conversation on twitter, download the app and check out the spots after the jump.

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October 1st, 2010       No Comments

As you no doubt subscribe to Yankees magazine you have seen this ad.  Thanks to Jimm Lasser, Brian Murphy, Tyler Wisnand and Ryan Johnson.  The August ad will put them in 1st and the September ad will win them the division.

July 6th, 2009       No Comments

Oxnard, CA is the home of an early 1980s hardcore punk movement charmingly titled “Nardcore.”  We learned this from the crew on this Haddon Sundblom-inspired shoot which took place in the ‘Nard.  We all agreed that anyone who listened to Nardcore was probably cooler than us.  Gary Land is a swell photographer.  Thanks to Chris Thurman,  James “Machinelander” Moslander and Marni Beardsley.  Please note the amazing copy.  More…

June 11th, 2009       No Comments

Rosa knocked lightly on 213.

“Housekeeping.”

There was no response, so she knocked louder.

“Housekeeping.”

Nothing.  She inserted her keycard and let it snap back on the retractable cord.   Dropping a wedge, she slid it under the door and walked inside.

The room smelled sour.  Cigarette butts floated in the sink and beer cans littered every flat surface.  Sickness spilled out of the toilet bowl and onto the floor.   A pile of dirty towels was a testament to a quickly abandoned cleanup.

Rosa sighed.  It was beautiful yesterday.

She rounded the corner and saw a small man with a big stomach asleep, naked on top of the sheets.  His mouth wheezed and gasped as the muscles in his chest struggled against a gelatinous prison, which spilled over his hips and drowned his penis.  He was an unfortunate man.

Backing out, she knocked over a stack of 11” x 17” foamcore boards featuring a leering woman promoting the usage of Herbal Essences Hydrolicious “Dangerously Straight” Shampoo.

The man stirred, lifted his swollen eyelids and spoke:

“Fuck off.”

Rosa closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to Mictlantecuhtli, the Aztec god of death.  And he appeared before her, mighty and terrible.

Rotting flesh and exposed organs hung loosely off his blackened bones and the feathers on his owl head were clotted with dried blood.  He opened his mouth and let out a silent scream that sucked the light from the room.

Without a sound, the god stepped towards the bed and plunged a clawed hand deep into the sleeping man’s chest.  The fat man’s eyes went wide in shock, but he was too terrified to make a sound.  Mictlantecuhtli lifted the heart and swallowed the bloody thing whole.

Licking his lips, he spoke a word and summoned fire.  Unleashed, it devoured the body on the bed until all that remained of the small man with the big stomach was a pile of ash.  Content, Mictlantecuhtli willed the fire and himself out of existence.

The room was quiet.  Rosa opened her eyes and looked at the bed.  She went to her cart and returned with a Dustbuster.  Turning on the television, she switched it to Univision.  “El Gordo Y La Flaca” was on.

June 10th, 2009       No Comments

This wouldn’t have happened without the talent and dedication of some spectacular people.  Thank you Mom and Dad, Ross, Lee, James, Matt, Todd, Kylie, Hal, Sheena, Ryan, Thomas, Julia, Amber, Andrea, the Studio, Joint, everyone at W+K, Tina, Andrew, Thibault, Neysa, Michael, everyone at Psyop, Flying Fish, Tom, the folks at Mollie’s, Stimmung and Lime.

January 29th, 2009       No Comments

Come.  Gather ’round and warm yourselves by the fire.  I will tell a tale of a magic land far to the south, beyond the sight of most men.  A strange place, found only by those who need to find it.  Maybe you thought it a boastful traveler’s tale or a bard’s fancy.  Oh, but there is such a place.

A place of sharp mountains that bite at the sky, crystalline waters that sustain a verdant, green heart and lungs that draw deep breath from the fires within the earth.  It is the whispered solution to life itself, the setting for every dream of beauty and the place where we hoped all our questions would find answers true and good.

My companions- two mighty director-kings, two art director wizards, a wise elvish producer and a stout account dwarf undertook our quest to find the perfect shoot location.

High and low we journeyed, battling all manner of doubt-beasts, ROI dragons, and client-induced miasmas.  Some of us began to doubt the wisdom of journey.  However, on a high mouatain pass, we encountered a small half-man emerging from a dwarrow gate.  Although his stature was diminutive, his eyes sparkled with a timelessness – as if he had seen the birthing of the world.

I asked the creature “Is this the place mystics speak of when they seek beautiful vistas, deep green forests and untouched streams?  A place both young and old, touched by the crazed hands of the gods?  A place that exists half in our world, half in the realm of the gods?  Good sir, tell us: is this truly the most beautiful place on earth?”

He smiled, lifted an open hand towards this sign and then we knew all was right:

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November 2nd, 2008       1 Comment

Over at the bar is a paunchy creative director, his lank hair spilling out of a Red Sox hat. He looms drunkenly over the tiny blond account girl, who wide-eyed and tipsy herself is excited to be sitting at the table with the creatives. She giggles at the CD’s frank talk of sex and is more than a little excited to be the center of this famous man’s attention. They will both ignore the ring on the man’s left hand and stumble up to room 806. The man’s thick, dull fingers will struggle with the eye hook clasp of her Victoria’s Secret push-up bra. She will reach back and undo it herself and really, we only have ourselves to blame.

June 15th, 2008       No Comments

Can you guys do me a favor? You can? That’s great. OK um, can you stop? Just stop. I mean, I understand: I take great pictures, often of naked girls. And I’m flattered that you have my book sitting there on your shelf. It’s probably even locked up because- hey, people are dicks. And that’s pretty funny because you probably expensed my book to the client. But let’s just stop. Stop using my photos on your “mood boards” or whatever they’re called. Stop bringing me up in meetings to prove how cool you are. Stop thinking my “look” will work for your insurance company, wine cooler or cell phone plan. Because it won’t. And more importantly I won’t. Maybe those clowns, Bronques or The Cobrasnake will do it. Really, any asshat with a Polaroid will do. Cool? I appreciate it. Let me get back to what I do best: getting girls naked and having sex with them. And you get back to doing what you do best: ripping off old issues of Colors magazine.

June 10th, 2008       1 Comment