drinking and designing: crit experience

So, I'm not sure how everyone else felt after class last weekend, but by the time I reached my car, I realized that I really wanted a beer. Whew! Crit can be tense and draining.

While, I agreed with many of the opinions expressed concerning my comp, I must admit they did not exactly exhilarate me.

But, after revising my work this week, I am thankful for the crit experience.

As a designer, (which I seem to be slowly becoming) I have an idea, and I want it to work. So, I set about making it work. At some point, I need to distance myself from the piece and determine whether the idea actually carries through effectively.

At this point, the input of others and "fresh eyes" are extremely helpful to add perspective.

Looking at my two versions of project one, the difference is obvious. In fact, I am almost embarrassed by the first attempt.

It was very difficult to revise this piece: difficult to let go of a neat idea that wasn't working, and difficult to let go of elements that took hours to create.

But, ultimately, it is worth the pain if the final product appeals more than the draft.

So, here we are at the end of our first project, and I am already learning my way through the design process. I just hope this class doesn't drive me to drink.

good cause, poor website

I am working on a campaign for Clean Water Action for my campaign project. As part of my research, I did some reading on their website.

From speaking with a member of their organization, I know that the group has a history of accomplishments, and is an active grassroots organization, but you would not know this from the website.

Check it out for yourself if you want to see some brainless prattling on, well, it seems nothing at all: http://www.cleanwateraction.org/.

The site begins to say something about clean water and the Clean Water Restoration Act. It abuses the Bush administration for jeopardizing the nation's water supply. It even urges visitors to contact their political representatives to support the act. What exactly does this act propose? I'm not sure, and they do not tell us. So, I guess we must blindly assume that they have a valid point, or move on elsewhere to the next cause.

Description Show and Tell

Here follows the opening of "Pamplona in July," an essay by Ernest Hemmingway, published in 1923.

In Pamplona, a white-walled, sun-baked town high up in the hills of Navarre,
is held in the first two weeks of July each year the World's Series of bull
fighting.

Bull fight fans from all Spain jam into the little town. Hotels double
their prices and fill every room. The cafes under the wide arcades that
run around the Plaza de la Constitucion have every table crowded, the tall
Pilgrim Father sombreros of Andalusia sitting over the same table with straw
hats from Madrid and the flat blue Basque caps of Navarre and the Basque
country.

Really beautiful girls, gorgeous, bright shawls over their shoulders, dark,
dark-eyed, black lace mantillas over their hair, walk with their escorts in the
crowds that pass from morning until night along the narrow walk that runs
between inner and outer belts of cafe tables under the shade of the arcade out
of the white glare of the Plaza de la Constitucion. All day and all night
there is dancing in the streets. Bands of blue-shirted peasants whirl and
lift and swing behind a drum, fife and reed instruments in the ancient Basque
Riau-Riau dances. And at night, there is the throb of the big drums and
the military band as the whole town dances in the great open square of the
Plaza.

Here, Hemmingway places us, so we are ready to hear his tale. We can see the people, the crowd, the color, the dancing. I especially like his method of describing
people by the hats they wear in the second paragraph. This not only gives us a picture of the scene, it also demonstrates the unity spurred by this event. Different people from all parts of Spain (and beyond, since Hemingway is American) have
crowded into this town for the spectacle of the bull running.

big city, early morning

In early morning light, cities look different. I hopped off the bus in Baltimore early this morning for an optometrist appointment, and walked up Calvert and Light Streets, where I only walk occasionally. In the different light, the city seemed alien to me. Beautiful, but unfamiliar. I was a tourist in my own city. The slight chill made the air cleaner, fresher. I turned a corner to see the sky and clouds beaming at me in every other tier from a Baltimore skyscraper (which would be a regular building in Chicago). I could have wandered the streets for hours, but I had the appointment to meet before rushing to work. What would life be like if we could wander the streets without purpose and take in our surroundings as if we had never seen them before?

mass transit musings

You never know what to expect setting foot on a mass transit vehicle. Novellists sometimes muse on the private lives of each member of society united for a few minutes each day to travel in the same direction, before diverging. The fascination is assisted by the usual economic status of young impressionable writers. Traveling daily by bus or train while most of the US zooms past on solitary treks in their family sedans gives writers time to contemplate. Driving does not occupy their thoughts, and they begin to wonder about their surroundings: the houses, the shops, the people who live there, fellow passengers, and often, the bus driver.

Popping across town to work or campus on the bus and the light rail, I have met a few interesting characters myself. The alcoholic, the mother with three well-behaved kids in tow, the opinionated boor, the potty-mouth, the hack, the gossiping biddies, the primper, the workaholic, the music enthusiast, the juror, the grandfather, all have shared a ride with me.

To prevent my own mind-wandering doldrums, I usually tote some reading material along for the ride. Since my life is now consumed with course work. My textbooks have joined me in my daily commute.

On Monday, we had a corporate picnic, and left work early, so I light-railed it up to campus to work in the graphics lab. Mid-day mass transit is always more amusing than rush-hour bus riding. The trains were packed (why was no one working?) so I sat next to another rider and opened Seeing & Writing. My companion dozed for a few moments, but was soon peeking over my shoulder. “Are you in advertising?” he asked. Thus a conversation began. I’m sure this man and I have many differences in our lives, but we conversed briefly, he wished me, “Good luck in your endeavor,” and I read a few more pages before bidding him a good day at my stop.

Hale has also been traveling with me (more than the McQuades, because her girth is less). I have noticed a few odd glances from passengers who see me actually smiling, while intaking material with Pronouns stylistically positioned in the margins. Oh well, I know I’ve seen stranger things riding the bus.

Inspiration Show and Tell

Here are two pieces that inspire me, both because of the words and the writers:

1. "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug." -- Mark Twain

I enjoy this quip. It's direct, it's clever, and it illustrates his point well. I can always use a reminder of the importance of word choice.

2.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our Light, not our Darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves...Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you NOT to be?
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone.
And as we let our own Light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automically liberates others."

from Nelson Mandela's inaugural address, 1994

Nelson Mandela inspires me. I read his autobiography Long Walk to Freedom about five years ago. It is a lengthy book, but worth every page. Mandela fought to uphold his ideals and remain true to his beliefs despite years of hardship and imprisonment. This passage from his inaugural address is particularly meaningful to me. I first received it from a friend who thought of me when he read it. It is the message behind the words in this passage that affect me the most, but also from a literary perspective, the balance in the last few lines is very appealing. All in all, I find it absolutely beautiful and it is one of my favorite excerpts.

Waiting to be written

It is hard to stop writing when you are once again in the writer's mindset. Any object, any living thing, any person around us is a protagonist.

I go up on my deck to water the tomato plants and notice the daily changes in the plant's life. Tomatoes are warming and reddening, but also branches are withering. I prune off the dying branches and give the orange tomato another day to ripen.

Above the neighbor's air conditioner, which, in its droning, has become background noise only noticed when it shuts off. I hear the flapping of a pigeon's wings as she hastens across the street to a nearby rooftop. Where would pigeons live if there were no cities?

New Student, New Blog

I am one of those in the class who made it through undergrad without blogging. From all of the questions buzzing around, it looks like I am in good company. Whew! That's a relief.

I'm planning to post a few flyers around the place in this square, so feel free to stop by and read them...or post your own.