Our Art 322 final project. We repurposed plastic grocery bags for a typographic installation. We also tripped on stuff a lot.

The original idea was to take used plastic bags and create hollow, airtight letterforms out of them and float them up to the ceiling of the University at Buffalo’s Center for the Arts. There were, however, three problems with this. First and foremost was the fact that the fifty-three double ply bags we initially ironed together were two heavy to float, and weren’t airtight anyway. Second, we were informed, literally an hour before we were about to launch our now-balloon-powered sculpture, that sensors would set off an alarm if it touched the ceiling. Without having a ceiling to rest up against, the unevenly distributed helium distorted the letters which were now simply tethered to chairs with fishing wire. And third, after finally arriving at a passable solution, someone came along and told us that using helium in our building was against “regulations.” So overall, this really didn’t turn out a whole lot like how we intended. But for a few hours, we managed to transform the CFA into a less rigid and sterile place, and that was good enough for me.

Cover of Virtual Insanity by Michael Gum.

Facebook link here.

Mixed Change: Map Series

This was my first idea. Based on a stupid pun and pretty straightforward. Although I liked the perspective on the first one, the focus was too distracting, so I ended up using the second. There wasn’t a whole lot to this.

Mixed Change: Mountain Series

The Mount Rushmore idea. This was a total disaster. I had this idea to represent a Mount Rushmore scene with coins, a kneaded eraser, a green candy wrapper, and a book with a blue cover. Colossal failure. It was not used in the final submission.

Mixed Change: Short Series

This one is also fairly straightforward. I was particularly proud of my photography work in exaggerating the scale. Then it was brought to my attention that the coins were out of focus. A quick reshoot lead to version two.

Mixed Change: Arts Series

I really do love my refrigerator magnets. After sticking tack on the back of every single coin and putting them up under the letters, I realized it was a bit of a heavy handed approach. Not wanting to eliminate them completely, I used them as spacers between words. The composition worked well enough, but it was still missing something. It was, well, boring. So, out of frustration, this was created:

Mixed Change: Kids

This is probably my favorite piece from the entire project.

Mixed Change: Dimes Series

Version one of the dime series is probably the worst thing I produced for this project. It also took longer to shoot than anything else due only to the fact that it took me a good twenty minutes to figure out how to use the self-timer on the camera I was borrowing. Yeah, holding down an obscure looking button with three concentric boxes and scrolling the f-stop wheel twice to the right in order to get to self-timer mode was really clear, Nikon. Anyhow. Version one was bland. Bland layout, bland photography, bland typography, bland copy, bland idea. It was, however, at this point, that I began to realize that my talents truly lie in being an asshole. So I blacked out my body and turned it into a propaganda piece against my candidate. I’m such a traitor.

Mixed Change: Mugshot

Continuing along with my anti-campaign, I scanned in a valueless token and created a mugshot. I was satisfied enough with it to not go back and revise it afterwards. This was probably a mistake, but it’s one of my favorites, so I’m not ready to go back and tear it apart quite yet.

C’est la vie.

“How can I say this as nicely as possible?”

This is my job as a designer. To take shit and turn it into gold. Shit, you understand, it’s not even like I’m taking scrap metals and transmuting them into a precious metal. Nope, I just gallop right on by alchemy atop my twenty-foot-tall horse and bitch slap it with the Hand-of-Midas.

Have you read this before? Are you sure? Then you’re probably not one of us. This is what we read. This is what we write. Articulate, sophisticated, observant, and inspired. Verbose, obscure, referential, and patronizing. Whether we love ourselves or hate ourselves, we know we’re better than the luddite masses incapable of what we do. We wouldn’t even be in this field otherwise.

Incontrovertibly, our very livelihood depends on shooting down inferior thoughts and stepping up to replace them with our own masterful conceptions. So when our thought-out, neatly-packaged, highly-prized, and cleanly-presented ideas are challenged, it’s in our nature to fight for them tooth and nail. For most of us, this means defending our designs from the filthy, pedestrian hands of our clients. Those of us who either look down on journalism or feel that it’s beyond our grasp yet choose to write anyway, attempt to pre-empt any sort of contention by using big words and name-dropping as many esoteric references as possible. We also love our hyphens. Hyphens make you look smart.

But what about everyone else? As I write this, my classmates discuss the unfortunate run-ins they’ve had with bourgeoisie unfamiliar with the concept of Graphic Design™. Living, iron-clad proof of my point, conveniently observed from my ivory tower of truth and solitude. They are right, though. It’s a pain in the ass to explain this crap to philistines. God knows, I can’t even explain it to my parents.

I recently attended a family reunion. You know, the kind where you see forty aunts and uncles that can’t believe how much you’ve grown up. The kind where everyone wants to know what you’re doing in school now. Graphic Design. What the hell is that? Well, uncle Hector, it’s- and I’m already getting a blank stare here- well, I’ll probably use it to go into advertising. Do I plan on making a career out of advertising? Fuck no, but no one here is going to care enough to listen to what I think typography is or the niggling differences between art and design. I mean, honestly, besides us, who cares? And that’s it right there, I guess. No one else cares about the inner workings.

As far an outsider is concerned, our job is to make things look pretty. If he doesn’t like the way it looks, no amount of justification is going to change that. And who’s to say he’s wrong? What makes him the asshole? How about Susan Sontag, claiming that outside interpretation is a fate worse than death? Is she the asshole? Elliott Earls? He seems to think it’s not only cute when something is misread, but vital to it having any sort of life. Is he the asshole? And here I am, a wet-behind-the-ears college student writing about how wrong everybody is. So I’m clearly an asshole. Then who’s the real asshole? To be quite honest, we’re all assholes whether we like it or not.

By the way, we’re using italics, and hyphens now, so try to keep up.

Inevitably, someone is going to read this and be offended by it, and while that very thought warms my heart, that’s pretty pathetic. Even worse, however, is that someone- probably the type to actually use the word “bohemian” in a self-description- is going to agree with it too. The only people I respect are those who won’t care either way. Interpretation be damned, I’ve said my piece for my own reasons, and no one will ever know why for sure. This truth is my own, and though you may borrow it, it will never be yours. And that makes me an existential dick. Excuse me, asshole.

Comments are welcome in the space provided.

(available in pretty PDF form here)