November Digital Cover Story - David McKissic

David McKissic: A City Becomes What It Builds

David McKissic is one of those rare creative leaders who can talk brand strategy, spiritual formation, and hip-hop production in the same breath, and make all three sound like they belong together. Raised in South Bend and shaped by a mix of Spielbergian imagination and Midwest grit, he has built a career that bridges art, faith, and business.

As the founder of Cerebro Creative House, McKissic leads with a belief that creatives are the architects of culture. His work with brands like Disney, Sony, YouTube, and TikTok proves that world-class storytelling can thrive in Indiana soil. Before launching his own agency, he served as creative director at College Park Church, where he learned how to translate big ideas into systems and language corporate leaders could trust.

Now, his focus is on empowering local creatives to understand the business behind their art and showing Indianapolis that creativity is not just a vibe, it is an economic engine. McKissic’s vision is simple but radical: turn the Midwest’s humility into creative confidence and make Indy a national hub for imagination.

PS. If his name rings a bell but you cannot quite place it, you probably saw his post a couple of weeks ago when he lit up Indy’s LinkedIn feed with

Per usual, we’ve edited the transcript for clarity and brevity.

Big thank you to Milktooth for hosting our photoshoot.

Polina Osherov: You have said that creatives are the architects of culture. What does that mean to you?

David McKissic: I think of culture as why we do what we do. Creatives come in and give language to that. We find different mediums to communicate it, amplify it, and record it so it can be passed on. Whether that is through art, storytelling, design, or movement, creatives shape how people experience a moment in time.

In practice, that means asking questions like: What are we saying? How are we showing up? How do we make people feel it, not just see it? The creative process, at least for my team, starts with what I call the four L’s: listen, learn, linger, and lock in. We take time to understand the problem, hang around it long enough to see its patterns, then lock in to build something that communicates clearly.

PO: How do you see that idea showing up in Indianapolis?

DM: Indy is still figuring out who it is, and that is exciting. The question becomes: what do we want to be known for, and how do we communicate that consistently? Creatives are the ones sitting in that tension, asking and shaping.

PO: You mentioned that pattern recognition helps you problem-solve. Can you give me an example?

DM: My company was asked to creative-direct a national swim meet called Swim Strong. Usually, swim meets are quiet and sterile. You show up, swim, and leave. They wanted it to feel different.

We asked, “What do you want people to feel?” The answer was energy and excitement. So we turned it into a full-scale production with lights, lasers, haze, a DJ from the Colts, walk-out music, even a Jumbotron. Parents and athletes said they had never seen anything like it. That atmosphere made swimming feel like a major-league sport.

It is the same creative pattern I use in other projects. For a new development called NOVA, inspired by Major Taylor, we asked, “What is the story that connects people here?” We built an identity around guidance and brilliance, something that felt like looking up. The idea was to make people feel like they belonged, not just that they lived there.

Creativity is pattern-spotting. Whether it is a swim meet or a real-estate project, the process is the same: understand the story, design the feeling, then amplify it.

PO: You grew up in South Bend and were influenced by Spielberg, hip-hop, and entrepreneurship. How did those experiences shape your creative philosophy?

DM: Where there is a lack of resources, innovation thrives. I did not have much, but I had imagination. I would turn my closet into a fake recording studio with broken electronics. I made my own fashion magazines out of notebook paper and staplers. I would recruit friends to draw designs and tell them exactly where to put things. I was creative-directing in sixth grade without knowing it.

Because I was dyslexic, traditional learning did not work for me. So I learned by asking questions and making things. That became my way of thinking: curiosity first, execution second.

Later, when I could not afford design school, I learned online. What I call YouTube cum laude. (laughs) That hunger to figure things out still drives me.

PO: What did working inside a megachurch teach you about creativity and leadership?

DM: It taught me to know my audience. Not just to please them, but to challenge them the right amount. I came from a completely different cultural background than most people there: hip-hop, Black culture, urban storytelling. So I had to learn how to communicate across that gap.

Church work also toughened me up. Creatives can be emotional. We care deeply. But when you are serving ten thousand people every week, you learn that feelings cannot always drive decisions. You have to ask the right questions early and not take feedback personally.

And the biggest thing? Discipline. The best creatives have a practice. They create when they feel inspired and when they do not. Working there forced me to build those reps. I learned to produce on deadline and still make it excellent.

PO: You have said you love solving big problems. What keeps you in Indiana when you could take your work anywhere?

DM: When I look at Indiana, I see a place that is not a blank canvas, but a canvas that is not finished yet. That makes it exciting. That makes it fun. Indy feels young to me. We get caught up in conversations about why Indy is not where we think it should be, but we are only now stepping into the beginnings of our creative renaissance.

When you compare us to cities, we tend to look at Chicago, Nashville, sometimes Cincinnati, or even further out, New York and Los Angeles, these are cities that are rich in time. They are older. Some had decades longer to develop their identity, their art, their culture. In many instances that evolution was organic. 

We’re different. Indy was created on purpose. It was chosen to be the capital, then built outward from that decision. Most other major cities did not start like that. And because of that, we have a unique opportunity to design our culture with intention instead of inheriting it by accident. We can actually architect who we want to be because we are still early in the story.

Indy also acts as a megaphone for the rest of the state. I am connected to people in Evansville, South Bend, Fort Wayne, Kokomo. When things happen here, they feel it there. If Indy grows, those places grow. If Indy builds a strong creative identity, those cities start to believe they can too. That ripple effect is why I stay. That is why I want to work on the big problems here.

PO: So why do you think Indy‘s citizens struggle to believe in its potential?

DM: We have an identity issue. We benchmark too much. Every conversation starts with, “Well, Chicago is doing this” or “Nashville is doing that.” That is like asking your neighbor how to fix your house before even diagnosing your own problem.

We have to stop chasing validation and start asking better questions: What do we want? What makes Indy Indy? Until we define that, we will always be playing catch-up.

PO: You talk a lot about bridging the gap between creatives and “the suits.” What does that bridge look like in action?

DM: Respect and fluency. Both sides need to value what the other brings. “The suits" sometimes underestimate creative labor. They will ask for a full rebrand in two weeks without understanding the depth of the process. And creatives often dismiss the strategic or financial knowhow it takes to run a business.

The best companies like Apple, Google, and Nike succeed because creatives and strategists respect each other. Every industry here should have a creative director, not just for marketing but to help shape culture internally: how employees connect, how experiences feel.

I toured Google’s Manhattan office recently, and everything from the cafeteria design to the micro-store in the lobby was creative direction. Someone thought intentionally about how people feel at work. That is what I mean by architecting culture.

PO: Why don’t we have more of that kind of collaboration here?

DM: A mix of misunderstanding and measurement. Many organizations here still measure people by degrees, not outcomes. I do not have a college degree, and that can be a hurdle. But I have learned to speak both languages, the creative and the corporate. I can talk about profit margins, KPIs, and strategy while still thinking visually.

We also need grace on both sides. When a client says, “Give it a little razzle,” instead of rolling my eyes, I ask what they really mean. Usually it is “Something is missing, but I do not know what.” My job is to translate that instinct into excellence.

PO: If someone handed you five million dollars to invest in Indy’s creative ecosystem tomorrow, what would you do?

DM: If I had five million dollars, I would not start with physical infrastructure. That would be the easy move, but it would trick us into thinking we had already arrived. A building can make you feel finished before the real innovation even starts.

I would take the first million and carve out six months. During those six months, I would gather roughly twenty-five of the strongest creatives in the region. Not fifty, not a hundred. A tight group. People will say that is gatekeeping or ask why they were not invited, and we can work through that tension later. The point is to bring together the people who are already shaping culture and give them the resources and space to think deeply about our actual problems.

From there, we would study every obvious creative industry: fashion, music, film, design, all of that. Then we would turn toward the industries that run this state: Eli Lilly, Allison Transmission, IU Health, Lucas Oil, Cummins. We would ask them: What are your problems? What slows you down? Where are the friction points? And we would look for creative solutions.

Out of that research and collaboration, we’d create a product, or maybe two or three. It could be a physical product, a software system, a service model, whatever makes sense. But I want something real, something we can prototype, test, and turn into a startup that puts money directly into the pockets of creatives. Because if you can create one profitable product powered by creativity, you can prove the value of the entire creative economy.

The second million would go toward taking that product to market. Building it, refining it, proving it works.

The third million would allow us to scale that work. We would partner with companies across the state and say, “Here is the value we bring. Here is how we help you grow.” And we would make it easy for them to plug into creative talent in a structured, repeatable way.

Only after that would I spend on a physical creative hub. At that point, the hub would not be symbolic. It would be functional. It would be a factory, not a museum. A place that is loud and messy and alive because the work is already happening and the demand is already there.

And the rest would go to telling the truth about Indiana. We are an export state. We export goods, talent, leadership, logistics, information. We are a port city that is not on water. We move things. That is part of our identity. So why would we not export creativity too? I would build a strategic campaign that positions Indiana not just as the crossroads of America, but as the creative crossroads of America.

PO: That is a compelling vision. Love the idea of exporting creative IP rather than the creatives themselves. (laughs)

DM: Yeah. I really believe we are sitting on something powerful here. Something about Indiana just hits different.

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This story was made possible thanks to the generous support of our friends at Life in Indy.