nightfall

Confessions of a Design Nerd

Do you often look at colors around you and wonder what Pantone number they would be? Does your heart race with excitement at the idea of being able to print something with reflective metallics? Do you cringe every time you see Papyrus or Rosewood used for the millionth time on something in print? Then you might be a design nerd... and don't worry, you're not alone.

While it may fit the common conception that a nerd is a calculator-carrying, pocket protector-clad, glasses-wearing individual, I think this picture is much too narrow. You don't have to love computer programming or chemistry labs to earn such a distinction. According to dictionary.com, a nerd is defined as "an intelligent but single-minded person obsessed with a nonsocial hobby or pursuit." The many hours I've spent in front of my computer on any one of the Adobe Creative Suite programs comes to mind. However, the use of these programs surpasses a level of pure necessity and functionality-- It's a relationship. I know just how to push their buttons (pun intended), and they sure know how to push mine (Why is it taking ten minutes to apply that Photoshop filter?!?!?). However, the one comfort in this, when I get ashamed of how much I can geek out on discovering the perfect font for a project or a new shortcut for a frequently-used process, is the knowledge that I am not alone.

How do I know this? Well, I know because we, as design nerds, all have one thing in common: we design things. Therefore, this nerdiness can, on occasion, spill over from its usual place in the process of creating to actually become the creation itself. Such products as this Photoshop interface magnet set and the fact that it is currently out of stock by the maker tell me I'm not the only one whose endorphins did a happy dance at the sight of such a witty, ingenious creation. I guess it's a way to allow the processes that already infuse life as a designer to actually spill over into the rest of experienced life. If only the windows could actually edit the images this way... I mean, who doesn't want their refrigerator front transformed into the screen they look at 24/7 anyway? This is further evident in the creation of "The Creative Sleep" pillow collection (featured above), where you can make yours an Adobe home by replicating your computer dashboard's rainbow-colored Creative Suite on a couch or bed. All you need now is a mini plush cursor arrow, no? (Although, any true design nerd can instantly spot that these are outdated, given that they are obviously from CS3 and haven't been updated to reflect the new CS4 shortcuts' gray lettering instead of white.)

So, if you've been suffering in silent isolation from your obsession with color palettes, consider Helvetica to be a feel-good movie, and/or find this hilarious, then you might just be a design nerd too. And don't let anything make you command+Q.

Recipe for Disaster

For my group's art project, "Recipe for Disaster," we first rummaged through the cupboard of our creative talents to find out what we had on hand to work with between all of our group members. Our majors were cinema production, fine arts with an emphasis in photography, fine arts with an emphasis in design, and theater, so we tried to think of what we could do that would best blend all of our creative talents. It seemed like a film would be the easiest thing to cook up as our group project, but we paused to think about what it was that we really wanted to make. We didn’t want to cook up a grilled cheese of sorts for our project. We wanted to do something we’d have fun with and that was a bit different from what we’d each done in the past. Call it an attempt at a soufflé or three-tier rainbow-colored birthday cake, if you will. Therefore, we realized that we all thought it’d be really fun to try a stop motion film, since that actually utilized all of our talents even better than a regular approach to a film. This way Caitlin, our photographer wouldn’t have to compromise her artistic practice due to the medium. Most of all, our group just wanted to have fun with this project. We hoped to create something that would be fun for us while we made it, entertaining for the class to watch… and would provide an excuse to bring in food for everyone during our presentation ☺ (Who doesn't love a good chocolate chip cookie??)

From there, we started to work out our plot. First, we decided that it would need to be set in an apartment, since it'd have to be somewhere we could camp out for the entire day because the process was going to take hours. We knew we wanted inanimate objects to come to life, and we brainstormed everything from kitchen appliances moving around to an alarm clock trying to strangle its owner. However, we ultimately settled on a story where baking ingredients rebel against the person trying to turn them into a dish (chocolate chip cookies). It was perfect because it could be done in one of our kitchens, had props that were easily obtainable, and, best of all, not only produced a film but also a tasty reward at the end of the process!

I worked as production designer on the film and offered up my apartment for our location. As far as dressing our "set" (aka my kitchen) goes, I didn't do a whole lot. I knew most of the film would be in close up, but I tried to rearrange things on the counter in order to make them a bit more visually interesting. The thing I learned the most during this part of the process is that my roommates and I have A LOT of cereal. Like three boxes a person. Ridiculous.

My role really came into play with all of our props, where I basically functioned as an "inanimate object wrangler." I made the faces for all of our "actors" (except for Brittany, that is) and nudged them along, snapshot by snapshot, to bring them to life. The real production design work for this project was figuring out the logistics of moving the objects down the counter, but a quick reunion with my trustworthy friend, duct tape, quickly met this challenge with a solution. We also blew the yokes out of the eggs so that they would be lighter and more easily suspended without breaking. 

During the week leading up to our shooting day, everyone we talked to about the project warned us against attempting such a time-consuming process, and we all started to get a bit nervous. (Way to have faith in us, huh?) As a result, we started brainstorming alternate solutions, such as turning the photos into a children’s book, in case we ran out of time. Luckily, though, that wasn't necessary, and we were able to get all the shots we needed in six hours. It took a lot of problem-solving and a very focused use of our time, but, in the end, we were able to do what we set out to in beginning: have fun, finish the film, and eat cookies. Therefore, I'd say our "Recipe for Disaster" turned out to be a sweet success.

Goin' Down the Bayou

Thanks to the film symposium class here at USC, I had the privilege of viewing Disney's The Princess and the Frog last week, nearly three weeks before it makes its theatrical release. While my critical studies-trained mind recognized that there were problems with the film, my escapist, borderline Disney-obsessed self loved every minute of it. Movies like this film make me question the relationship between critical thought and entertainment value because it's difficult trying to acknowledge the problems while still maintaining my extremely enthusiastic response to this film. The return to hand-drawn animation and a story laden with new Disney songs to add to my epic playlist, right alongside the likes of "Be Our Guest" and "A Whole New World," would have had to include devastatingly horrendous problems for me to leave the theater unhappy. However, I did recognize its problems, and though I feel unworthy in critical circles to say that I like a film with obvious flaws, I'd be lying if I said I didn't smile more during this film than any other I've seen this fall.

Sometimes I hate that the love of movies that led me to take film classes has also caused a bit of an embittered viewing experience in many cases. Throughout this film, I could not stop analyzing it. I think the thing that bothered me the most was the villain, Doctor Facilier, and his lack of a clear motivation for anything he did in the film. Any screenwriting class will talk about defining a character's "want" that drives their actions, so it seemed a little simplistic to think that I was just supposed to to rely on the conventions employed to tell that he was the villain to explain his evil actions. Sure he dealt with voodoo, had a menacingly deep speaking voice, and had a hat adorned with a skull and crossbones, but that just tells me he's the bad guy. I never really understood why he was so bad. It made the story feel like it was missing something, perhaps a subplot this could've produced. I didn't think about it too much in the moment, but, at the end of the film when he meets his end, I was left thinking, "Wait. What just happened? Why did he get taken back to the 'other side'?!" I think the stakes should've been clearly set for him based on his want which would've given the audience more of a reason to root against him. I think it was there somewhere beneath the surface of the story, but it was never clearly manifested in the final product. I'm not sure if it is just because I am now trained to do so, or if these problems with the plot are actually glaringly obvious to the average viewer.

I think it's also due to the fact that Disney has built a reputation for well-crafted, creative stories that audiences have come to expect so much from their films. I know I do. While this film was very good, I do feel like it was a bit safe and rested in the conventions of past Disney animated features without doing very much that was new. There was a princess, a prince, a kiss, a wedding, and wishing upon a star. There was so much about it that was just a Disney cliche. Just like in Cinderella, the stroke of midnight was employed to set a timeline for the action. Furthermore, there was a talisman which allowed the prince's squire to turn into the prince that mimicked the function of the shell worn by Ursula to sabotage Ariel's kiss with Prince Eric in The Little Mermaid. Also, the character of Louis resembles a sort of Baloo-like figure in the way he floats on his back down the river. Not to mention the idea that a kiss is the ultimate solution to breaking the spell which is present in countless Disney films from Snow White to Sleeping Beauty. Whereas Disney's Enchanted recognized and employed these conventions for humor, this film simply utilized them without commentary which seemed to undercut Disney's reputation for creativity and innovation in their films.

Whew! Okay, so now that I've got all that criticism out of the way to legitimize my status as a film student, I've got a bit more to add. I LOVED THIS MOVIE!! Like I said before, to say I'm an obsessive fan of Disney movies would be an understatement. I like Disney cliches. While it is a new installment from the studio, there is a lot that is nostalgic about this film, and I think that it will definitely resonate with audiences who grew up with a childhood relationship with films like Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast. It has lots of toe-tapping musical numbers, so catchy that I woke up with a different song from the film in my head for three days after watching it. My personal favorite song, both for music and animated sequence, is "Gonna Take You There," where the characters whirl down the water of the bayou led by a trail of glittering fireflies. The setting in New Orleans is beautifully drawn and really allows the audience to be taken away to the world of the film. I was completely captured by it visually, getting completely sucked into the setting and all of the characters who inhabit it. Despite the issues that I had with Doctor Facilier, the villain, I thought the characters in the film were great. From the high-pitched, overly talkative Charlotte to the jolly, musically gifted alligator Louis, they are all so endearing. My favorite, by far, though, was the Cajun-speaking firefly Ray, with his ridiculous colloquial phrases and devoted love to "his" Evangeline made him an enjoyable supporting cast member to say the least. I could not stop smiling throughout the entire film and was left with the same delighted grin even as the lights came back up. Maybe it was nostalgia or perhaps a strong bias, but, despite my film critical self, I have to say that The Princess and the Frog was a great movie. Yes, there a problems with it, but, the songs full of energy, characters full of personality, and settings full of detail are more than enough to combat those criticisms.

For a glimpse into what I've mentioned, check out the preview here:

"Artist's" Statement

The term "artist" has always seemed a little too lofty and serious for me. Looking at my work, it is pretty clear that I'm not out to expose social issues, critique previous artistic movements, or advance a specific ideology through my work. I guess I just don't take myself too seriously, a fact that I think my work reflects. That's not to say that I don't take my work seriously, though-- but I don't think that taking work seriously and having fun are mutually exclusive in the least. 

It is through the process of having fun with my work that I realize how little I've departed from my childhood self, for I feel like I frequently tap into the imagination I exercised every day when my bed became a secret fort and my dolls chatted with each other after school. This childlike, playful quality manifests itself in every stage of my creative process. Therefore, while it may not necessarily gain critical attention or ever be acknowledged on the basis of formal excellence, I design with a different purpose in mind. I seek to entertain, a purpose that is not always associated with graphic design unless it is applied to another medium, such as film. I like to layer my work so that there is a story, something to "figure out."

Therefore, I take a very concept-driven approach to my work, letting my idea give purpose to every element that is ultimately incorporated into the final product. And, as far as that idea is concerned, I say the wittier, the better. For me, the best part of a design project is its conception. Some are intimidated by the ominous "blank sheet of paper," but, for me, there is nothing like that first phase of the design process where anything is possible. I love the process where my mind whirls through ideas, never knowing when "the one" will strike, what will inspire it, or where it will take me. 

I approach each design challenge as a new opportunity to come up with the most creative visual solution for whatever is before me. I like to think of ways of approaching a subject that other people might not think of, which usually ends up being a reflection of my sense of humor and my soft spot for wordplay. I guess it's my background in storytelling and creative problem solving, but, if one of my designs leaves someone with a smile on their face and a moment of "ahh I get it!" then I've accomplished my goal.

Ready, Begin.

Duct tape. An umbrella. Newspaper. Thirty minutes. Napoleon Bonaparte. The Great Wall of China. Someone with asthma. 

Create a skit. Ready, begin.

In the sixth grade, I signed up to join a creative problem-solving team at my school through the organization Destination Imagination (try saying that five times fast), and looking back, I don’t even know what led me to do it. The cliché would be to say it was fate that led me to that audition, but honestly, I think it was mostly because my friends were doing it. (It was middle school, after all.) However, I don’t think I’d say I joined out of an attempt to keep up with the popular crowd or to gain a certain social status. I mean, the name alone ought to tell you that people weren’t exactly giving up their pom-poms or cleats to be a part of something with the word “imagination” in the title, let alone in a rhyming format. For whatever reason, though, that didn’t bother me.

I say “for whatever reason,” but, in truth, I didn’t have a lot to lose. I mean, I wasn’t necessarily unpopular, but I wasn't exactly turning heads as I shuffled down the hallway either. I was just a really shy and quiet kid, struggling through the years where your worth seemed to be determined by how many boys asked you out (zero) and whether or not your pair of Birkenstocks was real (nope). Becoming a part of something that could potentially (and did) lead me to dress up as a turban-wearing, Russian accent-speaking fortune teller was definitely not a move that was going to help me socially...

In Destination Imagination, students are divided into teams with five to seven members, and then each team creates a skit to function as their solution to one of five challenges in different categories ranging from technical design to improvisation. That year, my team’s challenge was entitled “Instant Pudding Improv,” and it was our job to stir up a six-minute skit whose ingredients included an historical figure, a famous place or event, and an eccentric character. The catch to this recipe (or best ingredient) was that the entire skit had to be cooked up on the day of competition, thirty minutes before we served it out, hot and fresh. No time to let anything thaw, no waiting for it to set in the refrigerator. Prior to competition, we could prepare and research various historical figures and famous events from a list, but all our efforts were only allowed to pre-heat until that moment at t minus thirty minutes before performance. Then, once we knew which ingredients we’d be using in our theatrical dish, we could set to work whipping up props, costumes, and set pieces out of ten pre-determined items like a shoebox and mailing labels. Sound appetizing? To indulge myself in the extended metaphor a bit longer, I ate it up.

Very quickly, I no longer saw all these “rules” as obstacles, but instead as key tools that actually gave me more freedom in creating a story. What if the person with asthma were the Big Bad Wolf? Should he be attempting to huff and puff and blow the Great Wall down? Could we make the wall out of cardboard? What if the Wolf ended up being self-conscious about needing an inhaler? Could we make a Chinese New Year Dragon out of paper and an umbrella? Should an Asian Humpty Dumpty sit on the wall? Once the gears started turning, the story could end up in Istanbul or Neverland, it could involve pirates and lobsters, or a man who loved to do the twist for kings and queens. A leprechaun could get lost and go in search of his rainbow home or oversized pieces of fruit constructed out of trash bags and newspaper could form a conga line across the stage, exuberantly led by the Chiquita Banana Lady. 

The cyclone of creative energy consumed everything in me, so much so that even my self-consciousness was blown off its hinges entirely. In the excitement of a good idea, no one could hold me back in trying to express and share it, even if that meant dancing across the stage in a skirt made of broom bristles or coloring my face green with a marker to become a troll. (Luckily, I recruited someone else to do this, and I was able to remain a non-alien skin tone. It was washable…) I would’ve never sung in front of anyone as myself, but in order to communicate the great wit of Grecian gods and goddesses singing songs about Greece to the tune of songs from Grease, you bet I did it. It was embarrassingly off-key and cheesy, but I sure did it. 

With imagination and lots of duct tape, anything was possible. Anything, that is, provided it could be accomplished before the judge given privy to this magical creative whirlwind uttered the words your adrenaline and brainwaves had been whirling toward ever since the countdown of preparation began-- “Time’s Up!”

1 Peter 3:21

Despite the fact that I grew up in Alabama in the heart of the Bible Belt, church was not a part of my family’s weekly routine and faith was never really talked about. All I knew about Christianity when I was young was that there was Jesus, and there was God, and there was something about a cross, but every fact outside of that was blurred. As I got older and got more curious, though, I began my own investigation through the Bible, vigorously reading, searching, and devouring every word in my pursuit of answers. It says in Matthew 7:7 to “ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you,” and for the most part, I found this to be wholly true. However, after much inquiry, there was one aspect of Christianity that continued to elude complete comprehension for me and was therefore somewhat unsettling in its inability to be fully grasped in its intricacies-- the act of baptism. I carried this curiosity with me into college, where I was given the opportunity to delve further into its exploration through a digital photography project focused on capturing my personal sublime.

A sublime was defined as something larger than oneself, awe-inspiring, and almost frightening in its vastness in either concept or form, and the act of baptism seemed to fit that description perfectly to me. In my attempts to compress the multifaceted metaphor of baptism into once piece in my photograph 1 Peter 3:21, I constantly struggled to decide upon an aspect of baptism to explore, a way to present it, and the message that I hoped to convey. However, once I decided to highlight this act’s ability to elevate otherwise ordinary elements and actions to the level of the spiritual and eternal, my fight became one with my professor and, perhaps most frustrating, with myself, ultimately revealing to me new levels of truth about my work ethic and the subject matter I was presenting.

Due to the overwhelming number of options for symbolism and visual metaphor, as well as the pressure I had placed upon myself not to disappoint my professor, there were times when the creative process felt like something vast, insurmountable, and frighteningly awe-inspiring, making it sublime in and of itself. The main theme of finding the spiritual in the ordinary also transcended the borders of my images to infuse my entire process, for I experienced everything first-hand that I had hoped to portray visually. I truly encountered God in the everyday activities of completing the project because I felt His healing and cleansing come into the insecurities I discovered along the way. Many times the lessons I learned, such as the fact that I should not fear failure, were actually lessons re-learned, for this knowledge had prompted my choice of sublime in the first place. It all just reminded me that, like 1 Peter 3:21, everything is a process, and that Christ will always be ready to meet my struggles and mistakes with a word of encouragement and a bar of soap.

Where the Wild Things Were... or Weren't

Like many others, I was highly anticipating the release of Spike Jonze's take on the classic children's book Where the Wild Things Are. I had been intrigued by its visual design from the beginning, to the point that I think it was mostly the unique look of all the trailers and posters that got me interested in seeing the film in the first place. As a designer, I was also incredibly excited (perhaps to a nerdy degree) by the fact that a blog was created to track the many forms of inspiration, encompassing various media, that influenced the making of the film. Going through it really heightened my expectations for the film’s release, because it gave a unique behind-the-scenes perspective of the planning process and how research images, music, and design became a part of the visual communication that the filmmakers used to achieve such a unified aesthetic among all the departments.

Therefore, not surprisingly, I loved the film aesthetically. It had such a distinct visual tone, with its gray, neutral, muted colors that perfectly reflected the mood of the story. I like the fact that the aesthetic choices reflected that it was about creatures who were upset, angry, confused, hurt, lonely, underappreciated, etc., despite the fact that it was a children’s story which typically use bright, saturated colors, regardless of content. I also appreciated the creativity in the set design, particularly that of the large, Death Star-esque fort and the wild things’ individual huts. It was so imaginative that it completely reinforced the idea of being in the other kingdom that was distinct from the real world that had been left behind. While the topography of the land was still somewhat familiar, the details were a reminder that this was not just any forest, any lake, or any desert.

However, despite its sophisticated visual style, I felt like the film’s story was somewhat underdeveloped and left me less than satisfied. While I liked it as a children’s book, I think it could have been better adapted for the screen in order to fill the feature-length running time. I think it could have been a great thirty-minute movie, but there just wasn’t enough to the story to keep me engaged for over an hour. I really wanted to like it, but I found myself constantly fighting boredom. 

Perhaps this is a result of the fact that the film seemed to be a little confused about who its audience was intended to be. While it was a children’s story, I feel like the film was made more for adults, particularly based on its visual style, music selection, and overall mood. On the other hand, a lot of the dialogue seemed crafted more for five year olds, which got a bit exhausting to hear as an adult because it was all so juvenile. I realize that there is a subtext to all the simplicity and that all of the wild things’ struggles are universally relatable, but I think there was a lot of missed opportunity to add more subtext or depth so that the story would be more entertaining to an older audience as well. After loving the story so much growing up, maybe I had just expected it to have grown up a bit with me…

lost and ffffound!

If Archimedes had been a visual artist alive today, his famous quote "eureka- I have found it!" would very likely have been prompted by this website.  It is a sort of visual treasure trove of inspiration, updated constantly with new photos, editorial layouts, book covers, logos, packaging designs, stationary, illustrations, and the like- a wikipedia of images, so to speak. Clicking on one image takes you to a new page that not only shows a larger version of that image, but also presents other suggested images chosen due to their similarity to the one initially clicked, as well as images saved by users who also saved that one. 

For example, clicking on this image: 

leads to this one:

which then leads to this one:

which leads to...

As a graphic designer, I find this site incredibly useful in the process of image research for projects because I can easily hone in on a particular mood, look, or style when collecting images to inspire a similar mood in my own piece. However, past research, I know that I have easily spent hours recreationally perusing the site because of the manner in which one image leads so easily to another, creating a nice, linked flow through image files. I have literally had to give myself time limits in order to keep myself from spending too much time on this website. 

However, my one criticism of the site is that I wish it contained more information about the visual content it presents. While it is convenient that the layout is not complicated by copious amounts of text, it would be helpful in some cases to have a bit of information on the page without having to hyperlink to the source. Sometimes I would like to know more about a certain picture's context, since that can layer an image with a lot more meaning than it may contain self-sufficiently. In this way it is a unique type of artistic forum since most of the images are separated from their context, source, and artist by at least one degree.

Overall, though, I feel like ffffound.com's formatting supports its content appropriately for its purpose. The way it tosses images into a sort of visual gumbo gives users license to approach it as a site to inspire new designs and enable a certain recycling of visual media. Therefore, if you are in search of the perfect picture to support a new idea or just a visually and creatively stimulating way to spend the next hour, look no further.