I'll be honest - I get bored sometimes at work. Don't get me wrong... I'm BUSY. And pretty much all the time. But with a lot of unstimulated fodder like ad mat localization, website data entry, photo resizing... It's overwhelmingly sad how much of this designer's job doesn't really involve design at all. So, recently, I decided to take the matter into my own hands and basically design the crap out of a poster project that really no one was even paying attention to. I did it for me. To remember that I'm capable of more than the daily grind of task-mastering that gets handed to me every day. To remember that I was once good at making stuff. To de-numbify my brain.
What proved to be the jumping point for this project was just a matter of being completely taken by the work of studio People Too.
Their paper cuts are GORGEOUS. And while it wasn't exactly in the cards
to hire a studio out of Russia to illustrate a no-budget project that
no one actually cared about (for a free event, no less), I
decided the effort to learn how they were making these things would be
well-worth it in the end. And now that I've done it, I want to do it
again. I want them to hire me. I want to move to Russia. (Ok, maybe not
that last part.)
Your paperclip legs and hairless paper cranium are sexy to me, big-lipped, torso lady.
The creepy, waltzing, headless hula zombie stage...
A little glue dandruff...
My giant fingertip will crush your tiny stamen, itty bitty hibiscus!
Homemade lightbox - pretty proud of that, but this was also about the time I began cursing my hipster professor for how little photography knowledge I came out of college with. (Ask me any question about ZeFrank, though - I can tell you LOTS about that guy.)
Lots of natural light on the balcony of Chrysler Hall! Ha ha... Don't mind me...
I CANNOT BE CONTAINED TO MY OFFICE!!!
Final result? Super happy fun times! Would I change some stuff if I were to do it again? Yes. Definitely. But, the process was ridiculously fun, and the end result pretty freaking adorable if I do say so.
For my next poster... I'm thinking clay. OR PUPPETS!
Whenever in a department store, he liked to find the biggest pair of XXXXL granny panties he could find and yell, "Are these the ones?!" to us across the entire store. I suspect it was payback for making him go shopping in the first place.
He once rolled up the label from a mustard jar and stuck it in his nose, embarrassing me so much, I ran out of the room crying. (Despite the fact it happened in our kitchen. And only our family was watching.)
He was always kind enough to take the fish off the line for me, but refused to let me be the kind of girl who wouldn't bait a hook. He had tackle boxes full of the sparkliest, most intoxicatingly rubber smelling, tassle-y, tentacle-y lures, but rarely did I ever see him fish with anything other than a worm.
He was always the one who clipped my toenails. A detail I remember, as I had the most excruciatingly ticklish feet, and he was the only one who could A.) hold me down and B.) frighten me into submission. I got to sit on his lap, though... I liked that part.
He taught me how to make a peanut butter and bacon sandwich on toast. I try not to think about what it did to his heart, because it's still one of the best things I've ever eaten.
He built us a treehouse. He mowed over every watermelon & pumpkin seed we ever planted. He never really blamed us for killing the saplings in the front yard by ramming our sleds into them after a run down the hill. He made us pick up sticks in the backyard... WITH A VENGEANCE. He buried our dead hamsters by the side of the house.
He took great pride in my ability to "run like the wind." Usually he just said it so I would run and fetch stuff for him, but sometimes, I think he was just impressed and liked to see me do it.
He never went to church, except for weddings, or special services, or someone's First Communion. He communed with nature - that was his church. Or that's what he said. I always thought God liked that about him. I know I liked that about him.
He could make anyone laugh. I spent so much time being embarrassed by him talking to strangers that I nearly missed how good he was at it. There wasn't a waitress alive who wouldn't flirt with him or a baby on the planet he couldn't make stop crying.
He drank a lot of Michelob. I asked him once if it was because it almost spelled my name, and he said, "Of course." He left one in the refrigerator the last time he was at our house. Even though we've moved since then, it came along with us. Someday, I expect, someone will drink it by accident. And when they spit it out and ask, "HOW OLD IS THIS BEER?!" I'll probably laugh. Because he would've found that hilarious, too.
There's no end to the things I remember, just an end to this post. Happy Father's Day, all. And Dad? Miss you every freakin' day. I'm going to pull the label off a mustard jar in your name.
This really should be two separate posts, as it's two completely separate thoughts, but since only like three people read this thing anyway (hi, three people!!!), I'm jamming it together.
Part I: Client Edits
My job is a bit of a cluster right now. It's a long story that barely warrants repeating - if you know me in real life, you've probably heard it anyway. But along the bruised and shrapnel-ed path of the last few months, I've been asked multiple times over why I don't take another job elsewhere. And believe me, I should. Not because there's no light at the end of this mess - there's definitely a glimmer starting to show. But, honestly, it would be a smarter move to leave. There are better opportunities for me out there - jobs where I could actually havehealth insurance (I've been contracted for the last four years - there's no visible end to that in sight), or get paid like the private sector does (yay, city government...), or work collaboratively with other creative-types, or work for a company I always said I wanted to work for...
But THAT... is not what this is about.
This is actually about why I STAY.
This isn't by any means the only reason - it's just something I was reminded of recently. And it's a hell of a thing. In my current position, I am the only one of my kind. I'm the only designer - I'm the only creative, really. And at the moment, I don't even have a boss. There is literally not a soul telling me when my stuff sucks. Which is actually kind of a HORRIFYING thing - I'm never going to get any better. And what if it really DOES suck?! But, in the exact opposite way, it's fairly awesome to be able to do something once and have everyone think it's great.
Enter freelance. I do a bit of outside work for one of the tenants of our theater, and was recently schooled in the fine art of client edits - something I'd nearly forgot existed in the real world. I spent an entire day on a project for them, only to have them turn around and change pretty much everything about it. I may be exaggerating the point a bit, since it's been so long since anyone handed me such brutal changes, but this is pretty much how that went down:
It wasn't so much the number of changes they had, but moreover how they stripped out everything I thought was interesting about the original piece. It was commissioned to advertise their event in an art gallery, so I thought the bright, vintage-y comic book approach was pretty nifty - and apparently so, as they actually told me the original was "too hip/cool" for what they were going for. I could only laugh. I'd clearly missed the mark for them, and that was on me, but what a way to go down. I never take edits personally (though I'm often distressed by the amount of additional time they take), but I had forgotten how much they do make you question your own aesthetic. I couldn't even tell you anymore if the initial design was good - everything about it had to be stripped clean, so how could it have been?
THAT is the thing that would happen all. the. time. were I to go work for an agency. That exhausting, "make the client happy," soul-sucking thing.
It's not the only reason to stay, but it is (FOR SURE) a reason.
Part II: WTF?
I'll readily admit to being sort of a pretentious radio listener. If I can't listen to my iPod or Pandora station in the car, I leave it on satellite radio (when it's free), NPR or the comedy station. But today, all those sources failed me in one way or another and I turned the dial to a country station.
And all I could think was, "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED SINCE I STOPPED LISTENING TO THE RADIO?!!!!"
I've listened to this a second time, and it didn't horrify me quite as much, but I'll tell you, when you're not prepared for it, all you can ask is, "Why is this viciously cruel person trying to pass his murderous rage off as parody?!"
"I yam what I yam, and that's all what I yam." - Popeye
I spend a lot of time being me. Which is weird, because I don't always totally love me, so you'd think I'd be someone else some of the time. I pick up mannerisms belonging to others - if they set them down, and they look shiny, I'll pick 'em up and try 'em on for a bit - but I've yet to commit to full-on personality theft. Mostly because I never remember the props and fake mustaches and phony accents that come along with being someone else.
But I realized there's a person I'd very much LIKE to be - and until today, I didn't realize her name was Rebekka. (Mind you, this is a real person, not a, "I've decided to name this personality Rebekka. She loves cats and pistachio ice cream," scenario.) Rebekka Seale writes a blog called Dear Friend, which I happened on today. And I realized, as many activities I might have in common with this girl, SHE is the person I sometimes wish I were. The sweet, sourdough-baking, wool-hat-knitting, brown-paper-and-twine-sandwich-wrapping, dreamy-watercolor-illustrating poet-type, who writes romantic things like, "Here's wishing you all sweetness in the world this month: Blazing fires on frigid nights, and shimmery snow if your winter has been anything but. May your hands be kept warm by steaming cocoa, may you be intoxicated by the perfume of flowers, and may you lavish love on all those dear to you."
I swear, if I ever said anything like that to anyone they would look at me like I had three heads and probably ask if I were drunk. Which, yes, I would probably have to be to even attempt it. And even then it would probably come out more like, "Here's wishing you cheese sandwich! ... Er... flugelhorn..."
I posted this mostly as a kudos to Rebekka Seale, whose blog made me take a break from the silliness and sarcasm and sloppy awkwardness that pervades most of my waking hours, and made me dream of a person I'll never be, but would very much like to be. A person whose blog looks like a really glamorous Pinterest board.
It's January. And it's what I'm doing. Seems like I've spent every night for the past... uhhh... (what year is this again?) ... let's say, past few nights, curled under a blanket on the couch, laptop in hand, catching up on pretty much every TV show I can stomach. Throw in a few movies from Tim The Pirate King's collection, and it's safe to say I've become a genuine sofa tuber.
It's not great.
It's not that there are a ton of other things I should be doing, just a ton of other things I could be doing. That I'm not.
Yaaaay, laziness.
So, while I summon the energy to lift my head three inches off the arm of this couch to scowl and shake my fist at winter, I give you Brief and Terrible Reviews of Ten Things I've Recently Watched.
1. Community
Vast and wide is my love for Joel McHale. His Han Solo-esque, kind-of-a-jerkwad sex appeal aside, however, Community is quite possibly the greatest show on television. You should probably watch it immediately before it goes the way of Arrested Development and I weep openly.
2. Parks and Recreation
I'm mostly happy this show came along right as The Office was starting to suck. Totally funny. Totally watchable. Not always an Amy Poehler fan, but she's pretty much adorable. (Plus Adam Scott! *Please see "Party Down" below...)
3. "Being Elmo"
Watched this because it got great reviews, and it didn't disappoint. While Elmo happens to be the one Muppet that makes me want to poke babies in the eye with a stick, Kevin Clash is so infectiously humble and sweet that even I started to get on board with the Elmo thing. It's hard not to root for someone who achieved their childhood dreams in a perfect, totally cheeseball way.
4. American Horror Story
Spoiler Alert: Sylar from Heroes is a gay ghost.
5. "Cars 2"
AKA, "The Pixar Film That Never Should Have Been Made." I kind of hated the first one - and it took me THREE TRIES to finally sit through the second one. As it was, I gave up halfway through and starting writing this blog post. Sooooo... There's that.
6. "The Future"
It had all the right components - it was an indie flick about 30-somethings, written, directed and starred in by the quirky, pseudo-mysterious Miranda July. Basically a recipe for success as far as I'm concerned - but the fact was, it depressed the hell out of me. I can't even tell you if it's a good movie, because I've already committed suicide. I might've liked it. We'll never know. Because I'm dead now. And spoiler alert: SO IS THE CAT. 7. Bob's Burgers
I think it helps that I'm a big fan of Eugene Mirman (and really any comedian with a ridiculous vocal inflection), but the character development on this show is ridiculously good. Give it at least three episodes before you decide how you feel about it. I miss this show already. It's time for a new season.
8. "50/50"
A fine, mostly unmemorable movie. The fact is, Joseph Gordon-Levitt is always going to be good. And Seth Rogen is always going to be sort of ok. And, together? They were nice. A glowing, unremarkable review if ever there was one.
9. Party Down
Two seasons and it was cancelled. And it was the GREATEST UNEXAGGERATED CRIME KNOWN TO HUMANITY. I just watched this whole series again, and remembered, with great sadness, that there would be no more episodes. Adam Scott, however, is now on Parks and Recreation, so I take some solace in that... But, truly... Truly... This was a great piece of television. Watch it now. In remembrance of me. (Or them. Or something. Maybe a caterer you met once.)
10. Dog: stealing and eating two pieces of fried chicken, throwing them up, and eating them again
Yeah. It was this dog. My dog. And it was, quite possibly, the most horrifying thing I've ever seen.
This was the sentiment expressed to us by a clearly over-it police officer following the Grand Illumination Parade in downtown Norfolk last night, as we were steering our float back to our building. While it echoed much of what I was already musing over, in actuality he was commanding us to turn off the music we still had blaring through the speakers. "Turn that off... It's not a parade anymore."
I have a love/hate relationship with this parade - I adore the work, and the opportunity to get out from behind my desk. I love the problem solving aspects of creating giant pieces and getting them to do what you want them to. And that great feeling when it actually works. I love creating. I love the freedom of it. I would do this kind of stuff all the time and leave the graphic work in the dust if it made any sense to do full time. I love that every now and then you'll hear an old lady in the crowd say, "Now THAT'S a beautiful float," and it seems worth it.
I hate having to depend on other people to make it work, but I LOVE the people that I have. There are a handful I trust to show up when they say they will, do the work they promise to do, and generally not despise me for my nit-picky ways. But, eventually I expect to wear those people thin, and have to replace them with less reliable folks. (And when I say "a handful" I probably mean 2 or 3 tops - they're REALLY hard to come by.)
I hate knowing that no matter what I create for this thing, we will never, EVER win - I just can't cater my taste to the over-cluttered, super-shiny, gaudy cluster that I know the judges love. It's really ok by me if we never win (it matters way more to me that I like the final product), but I hate having to tell people we didn't. I can't manage everyone else's expectations, and I get the vague impression that people don't understand why we keep putting so much work into it it if we never win.
I hate that for every thank you from a kid whose hand you put a candy cane into, you get an equal number of parents screaming at you that they have TWO kids, and need TWO candy canes!!! Even though, at that point, you're twenty feet away, because the parade moves so quickly, and there are 20 billion people on the route. There's some math there that will never balance out.
This year was particularly weird for me because my boss somehow checked out of the whole process. I tried to express my disappointment about this to a friend who really didn't want to listen and I probably should've let it go then, but it's still bothering me. I never signed up to take the whole thing on myself - sure, I'll put in the huge amount of extra hours to make the float happen, but I never wanted to be responsible for organizing the whole event. I don't need the added complications of making sure everyone knows where they're going, and gets there on time, and that all the marketing materials are in order, making sure we get shots to send to the show, and instructing the actors to wave enthusiastically, and realizing at the END of the parade that 2000 promotional candy canes doesn't even put a dent in the number of people at this thing, and we should reevaluate that for next year. She came down once in the process to look at the thing when it was half-finished, and told me to make sure I wrote Star Awards (our internal company award system) for everyone who helped me on it, and was never seen again. I don't want to write Star Awards. I've personally thanked everyone, many times over - if we have to go through bureaucratic process, I'd prefer that didn't fall to me. I'm a designer. I just want to design the thing, let the organize-y people organize and let the leadership lead. And though I'd prepared myself for the moment when she wouldn't show up - she has a new baby and I sympathize - I was still surprised when she didn't.
But on more positive notes, everything went off as hitchless-ly as possible. We made it to and from the parade in one piece (ALWAYS the biggest concern for me), the costumes looked great, and everyone had a good time. And now it's over. As an overwrought cop once said, "It's not a parade anymore."
I'm a sucker for packaging design. I don't always care what the product is or what it does - if it has beautiful packaging, I'm pretty easily inclined to buy it anyway. Or at least spend a good deal of time contemplating it before convincing myself I don't really need a $300 silver-plated panini maker, just because I liked the label.
I'm especially guilty of this practice in liquor stores. Or, most recently, the craft brew section of Total Wine, where I left with a $10 six-pack of 400 Pound Monkey, because the illustration was so freaking delightful.
(As it turns out, it's a light little IPA that's not so bad either.)
And while I've considered stocking an entire bar out of booze with packaging I love, some of it is really pricey. (Not to mention, I'm sure some of it tastes like complete swill.) So here, in no particular order, are a few other beverages I've loved solely for their design.
All of the bottles in this series are very cool, but it was the Gary Baseman one that sold me the hardest. I love tequila, I love mermaids - and amazingly, NEITHER of those things were even the reason. It's the mexican wrestler. I just... I just... love him.
Every now and then you see something with really simple design and great typography that is just bare enough to stand out from everything around it. I guarantee there's probably not a glossy finish in their entire product line, and it makes me want to snuggle them.
Yes, it's totally about the illustrations. BUT, everything about the Grimm Brothers brand is working for me. Look at that logo! GAH! I can't even deal.
Without a doubt, Kraken has got to be some of the BEST packaging design ever put out into the world. So much so, I'm not even taken by sticker shock at their $1000 custom wallpaper. In fact, I kinda like it. And throw in that lamp for good measure, because that octopus really speaks to me.
I've been thinking I might like to design someone's craft brew, based solely on my love o' booze art. So if anyone makes a crappy beer that needs to be salvaged by some awesome artwork, give a girl a heads up. There might be a trade agreement to be had.
