Monthly Archives: December 2018

I was almost a social worker. Nearly half of my college career was spent studying child development, analyzing poverty charts, and discussing race relations, because despite it being my passion, I did not believe studio art could ever be more than my hobby. Given my interest in the magnitude and the diversity of human existence, such a compromise seemed like the right choice.

It wasn’t. I knew that when I stepped into a design professor’s office to ask about prerequisites. The multimedia menagerie of prints and camera obscuras and pseudo-stained glass that made its home on her shelves and walls felt like the first breath of fresh air I’d had in years. A few weeks later I officially declared a Graphic Design major. I have spent the past year loading my schedule with art history, media, and design courses such that I understand the tools for graphic design work and the global context from which it comes.

Approaching design as a compilation of disciples has been crucial in my work. Designing mock mural proposals, for example drew on my learning from multiple fields. My knowledge of art history taught me to research popular style trends, political influences, and societal values, whereas my studio background had ingrained in me the importance of color and dynamic composition. Design classes drew from these lessons and threw in the technical know-how needed to carry out my plans. I used similar methods in creating protest posters, institutionally critical magazines, and even my own resume.

What motivates me—in life in general and in my work—is the concept of being the best person I can be, which is a great deal of why I am drawn to advanced study in this field. Design is a discipline of constant feedback, critique, and improvement which encourages a creator to see multiple viewpoints, step outside their comfort zones, and push themselves to create something that fits their exact needs. It can be frustrating as all get out (especially navigating Adobe software) but I love it. I aim to be able to communicate with the world as seamlessly as possible.

There were a lot of roads I almost went down. Social worker, museum curator, mycologist, paleontologist, you name it. But I could not deny my instinct to create and to communicate. Through design I intake information that the world has to give me, make my sketches, and then dedicate myself to giving it information right back, just like I’m doing right now. It is in the MICA GDMA program that I hope to hone these skills.

Christina’s World by Andrew Wyeth

Using color, line, and space, Andrew Wyeth paints a piece that captures the nostalgic dullness of rural life, yet imbues it with event and intrigue. The tension between the two themes adds narrative to what could have otherwise been a simple landscape. 

Christina’s World states, instantly, that it is an image depicting rural life. Tawny grass, mostly uncut and growing tall, dominates the image. A single property, consisting only of gray, weather-beaten buildings, identifies itself with a pale mowed lawn. Combining the open and empty space with the dusty, muted colors communicates clearly that this is a landscape removed from the hustle and bustle of city life; it sits, waits, and ages like the yellowed edges of paper. The directional lines of the piece are largely flat. By splitting the sky and the land so drastically, the horizon dominates the painting. It is mimicked by the edge of the lawn. The verticals of the buildings are minimized and the diagonal tire tracks blend almost seamlessly with the grass. Because horizontals dominate the landscape, it becomes organized, placid, and serene. Uneventful, one might even say.

In contrast to this empty world, the woman—assumed to be Christina—is a force of energy. While she clearly belongs in this setting, wearing simple and a faintly colored dress, she consists of both the darkest and the lightest colors within the work. This draws the viewer’s eye to her, confirming that she is the focus of this scene. Furthermore, she is the largest element. The space between her and the houses is vast, but she fills a good portion of it. To balance her weight in the bottom left of the piece, Wyeth places the buildings on the top right. This isn’t the only diagonal alignment of Christina’s World. Contrasting the horizontals and simple lines of the buildings, Christina also follows a diagonal line. Not only does she face diagonally, but her body twists; she is not flat, rather contorted. Her linear elements provide her with a sense of movement and tension. The reader must now ask why she is saturated with such importance and how that contributes to the vague aura of mystery.