△Three things that stood out to me
There is no point of being a graphic designer unless it’s a calling
I am not talking about the cheesiness of doing the job you love versus being stuck in some shitshit you fucking hate. I’m talking about an inevitable metamorphosis to any designer worth their salt. The moment obsession becomes more than obsession, you’re fucked. I find numerals, indexes and hot water supply pipes sexy. I also think nothing is good enough, especially my work. That kind of obsession. So if you’re not a graphic designer, you can still be an acceptable human being. I’m telling you, you’d better be a coconut eater… unless it’s a calling.
Doing something you hate might be great
How many times do we take situations we have no control over and make the most of them? Paul Sahre made me work with Papyrus. At first, I wanted to jump from my table (I’m 1 apple tall) and die. God. Why? Why me? What did I do (besides everything I wasn’t supposed to do)? He gave me no choice but to embrace this horrible foot drawn typeface, and make something out of it. After two hours of gesticulating like an agonizing fish, I finally made an abstract background with it, using several layers and transparency. I must say, I almost like Papyrus now. Fascinating!
Heroes are human
This year, I met several people I admired at work. People who used to paralyze me. People who used to give me an instant brain damage. Then, I realized that the only difference between someone I admire and me, is that I’m a retard (to a certain degree). But both of us poop. So, all good.
☐ 1 thing that made sense to me
Meaningless is harder than meaningful
After doing my typography workshop with Paul Sahre, I understood that the hardest thing isn’t the concept. The hardest thing is the form. We are in a vacuum. All the information that we swallow every day end up being remixed intuitively, jamming in our head, which makes it hard and almost alien to not give meaning to something.
○ 1 Question
Why can’t people be themselves?
Obviously, this starts with me being drunk. And drunk me talks with everybody to seek truth. It’s odd. I mean, why would anyone want to talk to twenty strangers to find truth? I should have opened a dictionary. Seriously. The meaning of truth is defined in black and white. I naively thought that in a city as progressive as this one, people would naturally be themselves. The truth is, no one is. And, this, made me cry. What happened to being human? Why can’t we be simply ourselves? What would be the worst thing that could happen? I never heard someone dying from being themselves. People are dead from not being themselves. Oh well, this escalated quickly to some very dark shit. Here is a free hug from a chair! Yay!
P.S.: Happy pride!