Designers consistently create based on intentional choices. From the very beginning, function drives form, intentions become the basis for the vehicle, and a structure is developed that can be fleshed out.
To many people, paper isn't intentional; whatever's at Staples, whatever comes free with returning an ink cartridge is good enough. But for me, I see it is as an opportunity to be intentional. Paper, believe it or not, can be invigorating. It is a sensory explosion when the Mary Kay reps of the graphic world, the paper reps, come to your workplace for a promotional show-and-tell. Brochures exhibit paper and printing techniques for the deep-pocketed; sample books pegged in one corner fan out like a touting peacock; and over the course of lunch, we melt like we've just been read a Shakespearean sonnet. It's a special time, really, because you dive in the tactility, closing your eyes, rubbing your fingers together, recognizing the impact of the details.
I am thankful that I have this heightened sensitivity.
I guess with all of this said, it is only natural that I have been identifying myself with papers lately. Why do I feel connected to Mead instead of Mohawk? Why do I find comfort in the structure of college-ruled instead of a grid system I have lain myself on a pure sheet of white?
Friday, May 22
Tuesday, May 19
Friday, May 1
Disc Four
Saw The Soloist yesterday evening, and it whisked away some dirt from memories in my mind.
My grandmother gave my family a boxed set of Beethoven symphonies more than ten years ago. They were a free BP giveaway from when she worked in their downtown Cleveland office. I remember the distinct manilla box and cases with their bold yellow and green crest, nomadically migrating through our lives over the years. They traveled from the desk of our second desktop computer in the piano room (which was called a piano room when we had a computer in it, and a computer room when we had a piano in it). The five Beethoven discs made up half of our family CD collection, along with Molly Hatchet's "Flirting with Disaster" and Hootie and the Blowfish's "Cracked Rear View, and an ambient CD entitled "Stream of Dreams" from the Unique Little Gift Shop in Defiance per my birthday request (I can remember alternating the Stream of Dreams CD and the Spice Girls CD I borrowed from the library around the same time in my life. I felt so sophisticated with my very own Sony Discman...) The manilla set made it into the Dodge Grand Caravan, where they didn't fit into the magenta, royal blue, and black CD organizer, because the jewel cases each held two or three discs. So the CDs went into the compartment under the console, forgotten. Probably when we got a new van, they were unearthed and ventured back inside near the surround sound system. All of this moving, and never played.
Probably the end of my freshman year of high school, that is when I found Beethoven again. He was in my room by that point. I went through a phase where I appreciated quantity, even if meaningless; seeing a shelf of CDs was a trophy, even though most of those CDs were singles. Beethoven was an unopened, space-consuming chunk. In an attempt to learn how to tilt up my nose, I opened the set, and found five identical discs, only distinguishable by the small 8pt. "DISC ONE" in the upper right. I haphazardly picked disc four first, so Symphony No. 6 Op. 68 and Symphony No.7 Op. 92 are to this day my favorites. I listened to the other CDs, but there was nothing quite like disc four. I escaped into a formal party, imagining men in fitted jackets with impeccable buttonry, women in pearls and dresses that would take up a room's corner: their whispers, smirks, and fan language. Mind you, these images were fueled mostly by Kate and Leopold and Wishbone. I practiced waltzing (yes), using the reflection from the TV as a guide. I would pour Sprite into a champagne flute and thoroughly enjoy the feeling of the crystal in between my fingertips. Somehow I considered myself better because I opened a free set of CDs.
This movie portrays Beethoven in an entirely different nomadic sense. It was refreshing to hear familiar tunes, with no frills; actually, within serious contexts of downright poverty. He doesn't need to be associated with tilted noses liked I pegged him before. He has the power to permeate a man's soul because of his music. All along, it should've been about the music, not the societal insinuations. I will always appreciate the gap classical music provides, allowing us draw our own illustrations, but I want to approach it humbly. I want to hear it from a cello that was carried in a shopping cart. I want to hear it from a musician that's home is at Beethoven's feet.
I want to approach God like Nathaniel approaches Beethoven. God has always been there in my life, and He has been waiting for me to open Him up, so that he can share his tunes of grace. I want to understand Him, and let his music pour out of me. I want to be humble. I want to make my home at His feet.
My grandmother gave my family a boxed set of Beethoven symphonies more than ten years ago. They were a free BP giveaway from when she worked in their downtown Cleveland office. I remember the distinct manilla box and cases with their bold yellow and green crest, nomadically migrating through our lives over the years. They traveled from the desk of our second desktop computer in the piano room (which was called a piano room when we had a computer in it, and a computer room when we had a piano in it). The five Beethoven discs made up half of our family CD collection, along with Molly Hatchet's "Flirting with Disaster" and Hootie and the Blowfish's "Cracked Rear View, and an ambient CD entitled "Stream of Dreams" from the Unique Little Gift Shop in Defiance per my birthday request (I can remember alternating the Stream of Dreams CD and the Spice Girls CD I borrowed from the library around the same time in my life. I felt so sophisticated with my very own Sony Discman...) The manilla set made it into the Dodge Grand Caravan, where they didn't fit into the magenta, royal blue, and black CD organizer, because the jewel cases each held two or three discs. So the CDs went into the compartment under the console, forgotten. Probably when we got a new van, they were unearthed and ventured back inside near the surround sound system. All of this moving, and never played.
Probably the end of my freshman year of high school, that is when I found Beethoven again. He was in my room by that point. I went through a phase where I appreciated quantity, even if meaningless; seeing a shelf of CDs was a trophy, even though most of those CDs were singles. Beethoven was an unopened, space-consuming chunk. In an attempt to learn how to tilt up my nose, I opened the set, and found five identical discs, only distinguishable by the small 8pt. "DISC ONE" in the upper right. I haphazardly picked disc four first, so Symphony No. 6 Op. 68 and Symphony No.7 Op. 92 are to this day my favorites. I listened to the other CDs, but there was nothing quite like disc four. I escaped into a formal party, imagining men in fitted jackets with impeccable buttonry, women in pearls and dresses that would take up a room's corner: their whispers, smirks, and fan language. Mind you, these images were fueled mostly by Kate and Leopold and Wishbone. I practiced waltzing (yes), using the reflection from the TV as a guide. I would pour Sprite into a champagne flute and thoroughly enjoy the feeling of the crystal in between my fingertips. Somehow I considered myself better because I opened a free set of CDs.
This movie portrays Beethoven in an entirely different nomadic sense. It was refreshing to hear familiar tunes, with no frills; actually, within serious contexts of downright poverty. He doesn't need to be associated with tilted noses liked I pegged him before. He has the power to permeate a man's soul because of his music. All along, it should've been about the music, not the societal insinuations. I will always appreciate the gap classical music provides, allowing us draw our own illustrations, but I want to approach it humbly. I want to hear it from a cello that was carried in a shopping cart. I want to hear it from a musician that's home is at Beethoven's feet.
I want to approach God like Nathaniel approaches Beethoven. God has always been there in my life, and He has been waiting for me to open Him up, so that he can share his tunes of grace. I want to understand Him, and let his music pour out of me. I want to be humble. I want to make my home at His feet.
Diamond In The Rough
Recently discovered negative of Robert Capa, from the times of the Spanish Civil War.
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