Listening to Beth Gibbons and Hearing Myself

Last night I had the chance to see Beth Gibbons in concert. You might know her as the voice of Portishead, the band whose Dummy album quietly but fiercely carried me through some tough times in the ’90s. Last night, standing in the presence of her solo performance, I was reminded again why her artistry moves me so deeply: it’s not just the voice or the songs. It’s her approach. Consistent. Unapologetic. Pure. And always true to her own sound and sense of purpose.

I left the concert moved, but also motivated. Inspired to reconnect with something I let slip away.

When I started my career, I was lucky enough to land my very first design job working for a self-taught designer named Arnie Goodwin—a creative maverick if ever there was one. Arnie never filled out a timesheet. He believed clients should pay what the work is worth—not what it cost, but what it meant. And his work meant something. It was thoughtful. Artistic. Purposeful. Beautiful. He was successful, yes, but more than that—he was artistically grounded. He believed in what he was doing. Believed that being a designer was essential in life. He poured his whole self into it. And if you worked for him, you had to be just as committed, without question.

“I left the concert moved. But also motivated. Inspired to reconnect with something I let slip away.”

Somewhere, like so many of us in this industry, I drifted from that. I got exceptionally good at managing hours, estimates, and workflows. I led teams, balanced budgets, and grew accounts. Made sure we were profitable. I’m proud of that work. It taught me discipline, clarity, and how to protect the creative process without burning through time or trust.

But if I’m being honest, timesheets no longer align with why I do what I do. They don’t reflect how I think. I think in terms of value, not time. Of outcomes, not hours. And, of course, I know how long things take—probably better than most after years of doing this at the highest levels. But that’s not how I want to measure the work. Not anymore.

CACCICO is in a kind of rebirth right now. And this time around, I want it to reflect that same clarity of purpose that Beth Gibbons brought to the stage last night. The same clarity Arnie had in his studio all those years ago. I want the work to be rooted in meaning. In beauty. In value—not just in dollars, but in the impact it creates for people, for purpose-driven organizations, for the clients who come to us not just for deliverables, but for insight, for care, for excellence.

“I think in terms of value, not time. Of outcomes, not hours.”

This doesn’t mean we give the work away. Value pricing isn’t about charity. It’s about recognizing what the work is worth to the people receiving it and to the mission it supports. It’s about knowing what it takes to do the work well and respecting relationships enough not to reduce them to line items and hourly rates.

It’s the standard I’m setting for our work at CACCICO: carefully crafted, strategically led, and designed to make a difference.