Grad anxiety

I have a beautiful little box that's been sitting on my vanity for the past two years. It's not an heirloom, nor particularly precious. It's made of paper. But I can almost smell the fresh rose scent that it used to hold.  It's just packaging for Fragonard soap -- and I've found excuses to use it long since the soap's run out.

That's the power of beautiful design. It's compelling, and at the same time entirely mundane -- its power lies in it's usefulness, like well-cut clothing.

I could write you a sonnet about the  day I bought that soap and it's box; about the emotions of finally leaving a country I'd dreamed of living in, about learning to deal with failure and being presented with death after trying so hard to escape it. About loneliness, and a rainy afternoon spent writing postcards to send far away in a pub two blocks from the Louvre where an exhibition of lists was being presented by Umberto Eco. An exhibition I'd come to see and needed to miss.

The memory's not the point - that's an entirely different subject.

The point is that such a simple, disposable (recyclable! even) object can do that, and I want to be able to create that kind of thing. I'm tired of my head. This abstract space where I write is so burnt out by these past years in j-school that I want to do something tactile, with images and geometry and colour, rather than write more now that I almost have the freedom to write what I want. (One month. Almost.)

I was looking at MFAs in design today. I spent most of the day buried in InDesign for the magazine project I'm working on as Art Director - a title I could really get used to. Maybe one day.

This is all just dreams for now.