day 18: lorem ipsum, y’all
Graphic designers (particularly those extra-extra special ones who live on an elevated plane than the rest of us, the ones who are so hip that Communication Arts is toilet paper to their precious asses) are generally full of hot air, and, out of necessity, will perpetuate the mystique of “true design”. Well, hell: good for them — innovative design is important, after all. Just don’t ever invite me to your parties — not that you would, you posers.
Can you tell I never wanted to be part of the black turtleneck set? I couldn’t if I wanted to — the brutal truth is that I was never good enough at design to rocket into that stratosphere, nor did I have the Balls of Steel to rise through the ranks of Ad Agency purgatory.
But I am a graphic designer, and am not unhappy in the career I chose. Actually, it kind of chose me. I was blissfully painting my color wheels and ogling nude models at Berkeley when, in my sophomore year, a catalog for the Academy of Art arrived in my P.O, all swathed in light and ready to change my life. Within weeks I had transferred and was transformed.
It seems weird, now that the tools for design are in everyone’s hands, but I had no notion of what graphic design was until I opened that catalog. Packaging, posters, ads just … existed. I don’t think I was alone in that perception in 1984.
And what a weird, weird time to become a graphic designer, what with all those newfangled computers that suddenly revolutionized every dang thing.
Coming up: I will set about to prove how very old I am.
[more about lorem ipsum>>]
I recall observing Becky from afar just after we first met. I knew her well enough to recognize her, yet not well enough to roll down the window of the car I was driving along Mission Street to holler. She looked different to me. Different than I had seen her a couple of times before in the Santa Barbara Improv Workshop. She was walking along the busy street with purpose, dressed in some citified, black dress. The sort of thing she had no doubt worn during her stint up near San Quentin. I thought to myself, I am beginning to run with the young professionals, for what little I did know about this worldly woman, I recall her mentioning the fact that she was a graphic designer. A real graphic designer. That’s classy.
!! Oh my, Mr. Drew, I blush at the loveliness of your paragraph above. I am so proud to be your friend — look at all this terrain we have covered!