I still remember the day I got the acceptance letter. I smashed my fist straight down on my studying desk, rattling the array of pens and physics formulae sheets. In that moment, I felt relieved. Relieved that I’d managed to steer my life towards something that I wanted. Six years later, I have no regrets about that choice. Graphic Design has opened my life to avenues I didn’t know existed. The little kid who used to collect packaging managed to weasel his way into a field that was always lingering in his subconcious. RISD’s freshman year was the most humbling experience of my life. As a student who could barely draw, I remember being stuck in the drawing studio—wondering if the copious amount of charcoal in my lungs was going to be worth it. I feel like it is a humiliation ritual. Once I started my Graphic Design courses, I had been stripped of any remaining ego.
I knew even less about Graphic Design than I did about drawing—which I thought was a curse at the time. However, being able to look at everything with a fresh set of eyes was a blessing. I explored the medium with a child-like curiousity—designing abysmal posters in order to understand why my instincts were incorrect. It was fun. The last time I’d enjoyed an academic setting to this degree was when I would draw diagrams on the chalkboard during Physics.
The childish nature of creation is an interesting space to be in when the world is constantly demanding you to grow up. How does a designer find a way to tap into that curiosity from time to time? I am plagued by this question everyday—searching for a trigger that leads to a state of play. After working as a designer for almost five years—I’ve managed to find some techniques to get back into it. It starts with bodies of water for me.