Fashion ads without the formula

Softly spoken, thoughtful and unostentatious, Mark Reddy is anything but your typical ad man. A fine artist, sculptor, landscape gardener and – latterly – woodsman, he claims to be more at home in the countryside than behind the wheel of a Porsche. Now the creative director of leading advertising agency BMP DDB, however, he has been involved in some of the top campaigns of recent years, and has just made a striking new series of ads for Harvey Nichols. But all his experience was not enough to prepare him for the job from hell he only now feels comfortable publicly talking about: creating the visual identity for the Millennium Dome.

Reddy was the artist chosen by the New Millennium Experience Company to design the millennium symbol – a bronzed, warrior-type figure reminiscent of primitive art. He worked with NMEC for two years on plans for a giant, 60ft sculpture of this symbol intended for erection within the dome, and on hundreds of sketches for a host of other visual communications devices to bring "the Millennium Experience to life" – none of which ever saw the light of day.

"It was the best job and the worst job," he now says. "As an artist, it could have been a defining point in one's career – to design a symbol for the millennium. But it was anything but that simple. It was the worst time of my life. I never want to come so close to having a nervous breakdown again."

Reddy was approached by the designer Martin Lambie-Nairn to participate in a tender for the Millennium design contract. At the time he was on sabbatical from adland, living in Norfolk and working as an artist. "The whole purpose of having the figure was because the meridian line runs through the dome site. The idea was for a giant sculpture to bestride this with one foot in the past, one foot in the future, gazing east to the sunrise of the new millennium," he explains. "For years I'd been exploring links between imagery used in different cultures. From the earliest rock paintings there is a common language, in terms of the simplified approach to drawing human figures. I was trying to appropriate a universal style."

Creative thinking, however, was not high on NMEC's agenda. "It all turned out to be the ultimate compromise," Reddy now says of the symbol he created. "It failed, not least because it never had the other design elements of the visual language intended for the dome to support it."

The trouble was, no one wanted to take responsibility for decision-making, and every suggestion had to survive countless tiers of management and extensive market research. Stephen Bayley, who briefly held the design director's brief, left soon after Reddy joined.

"He felt that his position was compromised, as there was no space for vision," Reddy laments. "All advertising people groan about the 'bad client' who lacks the vision and the confidence to be different, and fails to understand how creative people work. NMEC's approach typified just that.

"I suppose I was naive not to expect the Millennium Experience to carry the political weight it did," Reddy admits. "But as an artist you are used to people coming to you because they have seen your work and like it and want to use it. The process is usually uplifting."

He was also unprepared for the lambasting of the millennium symbol in the press. "I was even doorstepped by the Daily Mail," he grimaces. "I think they were after my wife – they somehow thought the figure was modelled on her. Luckily, she wasn't in. It's not an experience I'd choose to repeat."

Reddy parted company with NMEC in December 1999. Charitably, he blames an administrative oversight for his lack of an invitation to the grand opening night. But by that time he didn't much care. He felt his art work towards the millennium symbol was tainted. Drained by theexperience, Reddy bought a wood in Kent and has spent almost every weekend since tending it and sculpting, camping in the wood with his wife and two sons.

"I do everything Ray Mears does – I whittle endless wooden spoons and build rudimentary shelters – but not as well," he laughs. "It started out as a place to go that was clean and wholesome. It has since got me back into sculpting." And advertising, too; a little over a year ago he took over the top creative role at BMP. Far from putting him off advertising, Reddy's dealings with NMEC – surely one of the worst clients ever to deal with – reinvigorated him, it seems.

"I felt after that I felt I could handle anything," he now says. "Besides, lack of confidence and creativity has become a general state of British management – it's why most companies are unable to be visionary." Which explains his excitement about working with Harvey Nichols. His latest work is a series of print ads featuring the victims of fashion obsessives who would rather be out shopping, including a boy waiting to be picked up from school and a priest in an empty church. Visuals are grainy and the overall look unashamedly anti-fashion. His previous ads for the retailer featured stylishly shot models sporting livid bruises and purple scratch marks – apparently suffered during a Harvey Nichols sale.

"Harvey Nichols has a real desire to be interesting, whereas most other retail advertising is extremely dull," Reddy says. "Many ads – especially those in fashion magazines – are totally formulaic. This is because Britain has become a nation of processors. Most people are more concerned about their career path and keeping things moving without being noticed. Few advertisers have the courage or the confidence to take any risks. But what else can you expect from a nation whose only mass-market car is pure nostalgia: the Rover, with its walnut facias and leather seats?"