Spring Quarter...the Final Frontier

Oh dear, it has been awhile.  Let's see, over the past few weeks I've had spring break and the first week of classes and a job interview of sorts and so much tanning.  I'll start with spring break.

I stayed in Savannah for spring break and avoided the St. Patrick's Day festivities which pale in comparison to how New Orleanians throw a party.  Instead I spent my time at the park, at the beach, in my bed and I got delightfully tan (not in my bed, that would be ridiculous).  

My first week of class was a fairly easy, although slightly more work than I anticipated, so it felt like a lot.  I watched some films and wrote an essay for my online anthropology class and researched Rio de Janeiro so I can design an upholstery pattern inspired by Brazilian samba for my repeat pattern class. This is it people.  This is my final quarter of school.  Forever.  And I'm drawing pretty patterns and watching educational cultural videos.  Sometimes being a senior is real hard.  And I know that many of you think this is what I did for my entire stay here at SCAD—learned to color in the lines and sat around discussing the majors points of such art movements as Abstract Expressionism and Neo-Dada while passing around a hookah.  But you would be wrong!  There was no hookah.

For reals though, there has been actual work taking place over the last 4 years—skill building and et cetera.  And all of that work has culminated in a decision to not go into the field of graphic design.  Not full time anyway.  I would like to do graphic design work as a freelancer and do other things full time.  And there are so many Other Things I could do.  I could work in a bakery.  How fun.  And then when I'm finished with that, I will move on.  Basically I'm going to be a nomad, which I would classify as adventurous and freeing and y'all would classify as terrifying and irrational and Not Smart.  But I as I am an adventurish soul (a person who experiences bouts of adventurousness, not all the time), I think this will be good for me.  For now.  

Don't worry, I'll probably get a real job soon.

Arielle 

Pens & Knives

Sometimes college students do things differently than everybody else, like eating ramen noodles and Easymac for every meal for days on end.  (I don't do that.  I make real food.) Sometimes art students do things differently than even regular college students.  So, at the most basic level, we are twice removed from the normality of general population.

For example, I needed a gray pen for a design project.  I stopped at Ex Libris to procure this item, and I popped a quarter into the parking meter.  Then I thought, is 15 minutes even going to be enough time for me to choose a pen much less walk to the second floor, back down, pay for it and get back to the car?

This was a legitimate concern.  

I could spend much longer selecting a pen, but I didn’t want to spend any more on the meter, so I forced myself to make a quick decision. It was slightly unnerving.

Additionally, that evening, I was talking to my mama as I was driving to the Wallyworld.  She told me to be careful and I told here, regrettably, that I didn’t have my pink pepper spray.  We’re not allowed to have the stuff on campus, therefore it is not on my key ring, therefore I did not have it with me. We discussed the preposterousness that is SCAD policy of no pepper spray, mace, tasers, knives more than 5 inches in length, toasters, crock pots, popcorn poppers, et cetera and so on and so forth, because, well, those are dangerous. BUT saws, drills, chisels, box cutters, razor blades, and exacto knives are not only allowed but are generally REQUIRED. 

Like the resourceful SCAD student I am, I walked to and from my car and Wallyworld, utility knife in hand, blade out, ready to take on any creep the parking lot would send me.  Is it illegal to walk about in public with a knife in your hand?

Cover Design

One day, intend to have an entire library in my house with floor to ceiling windows and sliding ladders.  Think Beauty and the Beast.  Because I like books that much.

As a designer, I also like pretty things, well designed things.  I simply cannot tolerate poor design in my presence.  So when I have books in which one finds excellent content but on whose covers is sad design, I cringe inside.  Alas! I have a solution to the problem.  I make my own covers.  Genius.

This is what I have done.  The first one is done by hand with pen and ink, the others are printed on craft paper.

After I did one, I got really excited and wanted to recover all of my ugly books.  Problem: I don't have many ugly books because of my opposition to poor design.  That's unfortunate.  At least now I am no longer opposed to ordering the ugly, albeit cheaper, books on Amazon.

10.8 Quarters Down, 1.2 To Go + I'm Sick

Class registration. My final class registration. Up until the night before, I hadn’t a clue which classes I would take, or which ones I wanted to take.  For my last quarter, I only need two classes since I have all the other credits I need.  No more graphic design classes for me, just a general education elective and a free elective.  Intro to Anthropology was the most interesting sounding gen ed class that would fulfill my graduation requirement, so I signed up for that online.  That means I will only have to physically attend one class in the spring.  Let me tell you, being a senior is some serious work.  Anywho, that one class I will be attending is Repeat Pattern Design.  It’s a class in the Fibers department, which is pretty much the coolest major at SCAD.  So I’ll get to work with textiles and pattern creation, which will actually help me out a lot in terms of my graphic design.  I’m really looking forward to next quarter, but there is so much work to do before this quarter is through.  I have a 10-page research paper to write in about 2 weeks' time and 2 more design projects (for real clients) to produce in 4 weeks.  It’s actually more than it sounds.

For Repeat Pattern, I think I want to work with the concept of heritage.  Or sparkly things.  At dinner the other night, a friend suggested that I get a tattoo of each culture in my ancestry.  That’s a lot of tattoos. But it got me thinking how it would be really cool to incorporate bits of each culture into a single mark that could be used in a pattern or as a seal or crest or stamp.  But I could also try to do something sparkly, like with bronze coins or medallions.  So either one, or maybe both will be used as inspiration next quarter. 

On a completely irrelevant side note, I’m sick.  It began on Saturday evening with an odd feeling in my throat and continued into Sunday morning with a sore neck and runny nose.  So I called my mama and lamented about my puny little cold and laid about the apartment all day, real pathetic-like, moaning to my roommates.  And I thought to myself, if I were alone in this world, with no mama to call for help and no roommates to be dramatic for... I would probably still be just as pathetic about being sick.  At least for the first few hours, then I would man up and deal with it. 

So I did, and I made soup.  And I would like to say that when I get my own place, the thing I’m looking forward to most is real silverware.  Some nice heavy spoons that I can scoop soup with rather than these lightweight things that just are not working for me.

The Wedding

So the wedding was perfect. Really.

The sun was out, the weather had warmed up to a brisk 30° F.  All of the bridesmaids got ready in a sweet little cabin near the ranch where the wedding was.  We wore matching things, applied our makeup, took photos, put on more matching things, took more photos and then, ahhhh! it was wedding time.  I always get nervous when the wedding is about to start.  And when I say I always, I mean this time and that other time I was in a wedding.  So all 2 times, without fail, I get a little jittery although I am not the one getting married.

Off we went to the ranch.  The ceremony was lovely.  It took place in a little building that was made up almost entirely of windows so you could look out to the snowy mountains that surrounded the ranch.  Like I said, lovely. 

As K came down the aisle, B had to remove his glasses so he could wipe the tears from his eyes.  Sweet.  The crowd was small, 42 people total.  It was very intimate and fitting for them.  We all took pictures afterwards, then K, B, the photographers and I left to go take more pictures at the stables.  And there was a horse.  And they let K take pictures with a horse, which totally made her day, aside from getting married, because she used to ride when she was younger.  There was also a random puppy roaming about, so they got pictures with that too.  And if you’ve been on Facebook, you’ve probably seen my photo with the donkey.  That was fun.

Meanwhile back at the ranch (ha! you can say that in this case and actually mean it), the reception was getting started.  The barn was decorated beautifully with one long table running down the center set with place settings and lots of pretty glass things.  On one end of the barn there was a LARGE fireplace (I mean, me and 14 other people could have fit inside of it) and comfy seating.  Next to that was a photo booth, which was LOTS OF FUN.  There were props and chalkboard signs and you can see those pics on my Facebook.  Guests took polaroids and them put them into a book and wrote a note to B & K.  It was cute.  After dinner, there was mingling and talking and picture taking and sitting by the monster of a fireplace.  Then the toasts began.  Normally I get nervous when people start making speeches, and that night was no exception.  But I hung in there and they were actually quite nice.  I had no idea I knew 2 such incredible people.  I mean, I knew I liked them, but I had no idea of the glowing opinions others would give. 

At cake time, K smashed the cake into B’s face, which is totally like her.  She comes on all sweet and cute and then BAM! there’s food in your face.  I know this because she’s done the same to me.  Over at her apartment, eating food that I cooked, she, out of the blue, flung a forkful of quinoa at me.  Because she had an urge.  It was actually really funny.  B, who was sitting nearby, saw the whole thing and was appalled.  But he should have known better, just like he should have known that K would smash the cake in his face at their wedding.

It was lovely.  It was perfect.  K is married and back in Texas.  I miss her.  That is all.

p.s. Photos are from the lovely Lauren Herreid.

Wedding Week

Let’s pretend I posted this 3 weeks ago. Ok? Ok.

My trip to Colorado was so much fun. I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun. I flew into Denver on Wednesday and kept looking out the window, waiting in anticipation for the sight of mountains, snow, etc. I have never been wester than Lubbock, Texas (unless you count that California trip my mama took when I was in the womb). Finally, there they were—little squares of white ground. There were snow flurries when I landed, but over the next 2 hours, flurries turned to real, honest-to-goodness snow.

We stayed in Winter Park, a little town in a valley a couple hours west of Denver. Our cabin was massive and had a sweet kitchen (SO MUCH COUNTERSPACE). And when I say our, I mean me, K, B, both of their parents, some friends, and K’s 2 sisters and their husbands and children. The kids and I played the dance Kinect game one night and had a blast. Make a note—get one of those. We went tubing on Friday afternoon. Also a blast. I was only scared one time—I was going down the black diamond hill on my belly and hit a mogul and flew into the air and I thought I was going to fall off my tube and die. But I didn’t.

Rehearsal dinner and the bachelorette party were on Friday night. Earlier in the day I had to draw a studly fireman on a large poster board so that we could play pin-the-hose-on-the-fireman at the bachelorette party. We used twizzlers for the hoses. Then there was another game that involved toilet paper rolls and sticks. And I won the trivia game about K and B. Congratulations to moi!

Wedding Eve was exhausting, but that's okay because Wedding Day was perfect. Details are forthcoming, like, tomorrow. But really, probably not for another few days (cough!) week. Sorry about the suspense, but this week was also exhausting and it is past my bedtime.

Arielle

the Accident

I noticed my bruises beginning to appear on Sunday night after the accident that morning—on my knees, my forearm, and big, ugly ones on the back of my upper left arm.  Emotionally, I didn’t feel anything during the crash.  I felt like I was very still, contained though I could feel the car rolling and bouncing into the air multiple times.  It was like one of those rides at a fair, the kind that whips you around so fast you can’t really move.  I knew I was rolling; my car was rolling, but there was nothing I could do, so I closed my eyes and waited for it to stop.  I remember thinking, so this is happening.

I was only half an hour from Savannah; I hadn’t realized I was so close.  For the past half hour, I’d been sleepy, but I had my audio book playing (which, despite popular belief, had proven better at keeping me focused than loud music) and was looking for a safe place to pull over and take a quick 10-minute nap.  I found out later that that particular stretch of I-16 is practically empty.  As there was no rest stop or exit to be had, I continued.  I must have dozed for a few seconds because I found myself opening my eyes, and I was off the road in rocks and grass.  I quickly turned the wheel to steer back onto the road when I noticed the sign immediately ahead of me.  I swerved to avoid it, but I was too close and my cruise (set at 75 miles per hour) had me going too fast to miss it.  As I hit the pole, I don’t remember feeling any impact, though there obviously was one because it made Stella swing around about 100˚ and then roll over three times, back across the interstate into the median.

When everything was still again, I opened my eyes, put my hands to my head, and felt frizziness.  Amusingly enough, my first thought was, what did all that rolling do to my hair?  I suppose I had expected my hair to be smoother than it was.  The next few moments brought me back to reality and more pressing matters like where is my phone?  I noticed all of my things tossed about the cabin, jumbled with broken, powdered glass.  I had felt nothing during the accident, but now there was slight panic when I couldn’t find my phone anywhere and couldn’t open my door to get out.  But a woman was coming toward me, and she called to ask if I was okay.  I told her yes, but I was stuck.  She helped me open the door that had jammed and checked to see if I was really all right.  The paramedics and police and fire department arrived quickly, in about two minutes.  They checked me out, and then all the boring stuff started.

That night, I had a dream I was in the accident again, either mine or a similar one.  I woke up in a rush, sitting straight up in bed, but there was no screaming, no heavy breathing, and no fear.  Not then or during the real accident.  It just happened.  I didn’t have anymore crash dreams after that.

God’s grace was evident in so many ways.  I was buckled.  The laptop didn’t hit me as it flew out of my broken window and onto the road; in fact, nothing hit me though the car was packed full of my stuff.  No one else was coming when I flipped back across the interstate.  I landed in the median on all four tires and not upside down or on my side.  A couple driving in the opposite direction saw the accident happen and called 9-1-1.  I got my laptop from the road before it was rolled over.  Also, I got no ticket, even though I took out a sign.  I wonder which one it was.  

And Stella protected me.  I very much liked her and became sad when I realized that she saved me, and I killed her.  If the side air bags hadn’t deployed, I’m sure my entire left side, especially my head and face, would have suffered severe damage.  I’m fine with the things I lost—all the clutter and my busted laptop—it feels like a chance to start fresh. I would have been okay had I lost my portfolio and work from SCAD, although I know people would consider that important.  They’re just material things, just stuff.  But Stella was my car.  Yes, just a car, but the perfect car—my dream 2006 CR-V, white, classy yet adventurous.  And it kind of hurts that it’s my fault she’s gone, as silly as that is.

When Kim and Virgil came to get me at the wrecker’s, I thought I would cry when I saw their familiar faces; after all, I kept tearing up when I talked to my dad that morning.  But by that time, everything had been taken care of and there was nothing left to cry over.  I talked to the insurance company, and they were going to take care of everything on their end.  I talked to the deputy who drove me to the wrecker and stayed with me until Kim and Virgil arrived.  He told me what I could expect from the insurance company, about renting a car, etc.  I had no idea what one does after an accident because the TV shows and movies only show the exciting parts.  When the Kings showed up, they gave me tight hugs and surveyed the damage of the car in quiet shock.  There was nothing left to do but flaunt my #9 Krewe de Drew shirt and remind Virgil again how my precious Saints could beat his Colts anytime, be it the Superbowl game two years ago or that embarrassing match-up a few months ago when we crushed them 63-7. 

Later that day, Virgil told me again how I should never get on the road without sunflower seeds and a brown paper bag.  We’d had this conversation before.

Me: I don’t want sunflower seeds.  The fact that you have a bag designated for spitting is disgusting.

Virgil: But you’ll be in the car by yourself.  No one will see you.

Me: But then I’d gross myself out.

Conclusion:  Nobody wins this argument.

However, in light of recent events, I will embark on my next road trip armed with a bag of sunflower seeds and a brown paper bag.




And that is all.

Arielle