{ chrislip.com/matthew : blog }
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31 October 2005
{ The ecological (r)evolution }
Emerging from underneath my pile of art history textbooks, I'm left with the impression that the rise of the modern era was marked by strict segregation of specific schools of art and design production, whereas the last few decades have seen increased diversification and the coexistence of innumerable styles and methodologies. Whether or not this is an accurate observation, the perpetuation of this idea has contributed to the sense that the highly debated and socially conscious design theories of older generations have given way to a myriad of hollow trends. This can be very discouraging for young designers who feel that "it's all been done before" and wonder what opportunities exist to truly shape the course of design in the twenty-first century.The opportunity may have finally come.
Although they had been lying dormant since having introduced us to Birkenstocks and recycled paper in the early nineties, groups of ecologically-minded radicals have recently resurfaced, unearthing a more mature form of environmentalism that might just be able to solve our problems. The long-term effect of this neo-granola movement has yet to be seen, but we can be sure that it will incite dramatic (even revolutionary?) changes in all aspects of our society, whether domestic or global.
To place our current situation in historical context, consider the profound influence of the Industrial Revolution on aesthetics and creative production in the nineteenth century. Artists and designers allowed the ideals of the era to find visual expression in their work, and they employed new processes in its production and distribution. The Revolution's influences even carried well into the twentieth century, spawning a number of smaller, shorter-lived periods of artistic reform.
The same will doubtless be true of this next phase in the evolution of civilization. And while we can already see the influences of this environmental focus on the world of art and design, what we have witnessed so far only hints at the massive potential for change.
Step aside, hollow trends. There's something much bigger on the horizon.
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 19:46 : 4 comments :
]27 October 2005
The following is excerpted from Dilbert Newsletter v. 61.0:"People who are trying to decide whether to create a blog or not go through a thought process much like this:
1. The world sure needs more of ME.
2. Maybe I’ll shout more often so that people nearby can experience the joy of knowing my thoughts.
3. No, wait, shouting looks too crazy.
4. I know – I’ll write down my daily thoughts and badger people to read them.
5. If only there was a description for this process that doesn’t involve the words egomaniac or unnecessary.
6. What? It’s called a blog? I’m there!
"The blogger’s philosophy goes something like this:
"Everything that I think about is more fascinating than the crap in your head.
"The beauty of blogging, as compared to writing a book, is that no editor will be interfering with my random spelling and grammar, my complete disregard for the facts, and my wandering sentences that seem to go on and on and never end so that you feel like you need to take a breath and clear your head before you can even consider making it to the end of the sentence that probably didn’t need to be written anyhoo."
(I don't know whether to laugh or hide my face.)
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 13:50 : 2 comments :
]25 October 2005
{ Breakfast is the new black }
My phone alarm went off this morning at precisely 07h20. I rolled off my bed and shuffled across the room to my dresser, where my vibrating phone was trying half-heartedly to hide itself under my scooter helmet. It took me a minute of fumbling around with my phone to turn off the alarm—before leaving for Paris I had changed all the menus to French, and in my early-morning grogginess I could never seem to figure out what anything said—but after having succeeded, I retreated to my bed. When my back-up alarm clock went off five minutes later, I knew it was time to get ready for work, but I stayed in bed for a minute longer.I finally flipped my legs off to one side, which rotated my body until it was perpendicular with my bed, and I tilted my head backward to peek through the blinds of my window. The dim sky was still a dull gray along the horizon, but a subtle blue tint was emerging further up. Thinking that this whole thing would make a good short story, I tried to focus on these sorts of romantic details, but I couldn't help but laugh a little at how facetious it all sounded in my head. I'm no Fitzgerald.
After getting dressed, I walked into the kitchen. The sliding door had been left open during the night, and the cold air made the hairs on my bare arms stand on end.
I had fallen out of the habit of eating breakfast since starting my job at the beginning of September, but thumbing through some breakfast recipes the night before had rekindled my interest in the concept of taking three meals a day.
Our neighbors had brought us a plate of Halloween cupcakes the day before, and they were still sitting on the counter as I poked around for some food. I eyed them hesitantly, but I eventually decided that a cupcake would be exactly the right amount of food to hold me over until lunch (or rather, until those two stale cookies that were given to me by a secretary as I waited for a printing estimate at work). Under normal circumstances I would have felt guilty for eating a cupcake so early in the morning, but Martha had recently proclaimed on her show that they were one of the hottest food items in New York this year, and that was justification enough for me. Trendiness shouldn't be limited to select hours of the day.
I tried to legitimize my chocolate-frosted breakfast by eating it over a small plate, but the pumpkin-shaped candy corn that topped the cupcake still seemed out of place. Feeling as though I had skipped out on the most important parts of a "complete balanced breakfast", I thought about supplementing the meal with a banana, but I ended up just washing it down with a glass of water before hurrying off to work.
Thanks to my newfound appreciation for breakfast, I've found the motivation to start planning other morning meals. Coming attractions: a toasted bagel lightly smeared with peanut butter and sprinkled with sesame seeds and raisins, and plain oatmeal drizzled with maple syrup and topped with diced apples and cashews.
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 13:49 : 6 comments :
]24 October 2005
{ Almost famous }
There's nothing like seeing your name in print.While I was in Paris this summer, a writer from Grafik (a London-based magazine about international graphic design) came to the studio to interview Antoine+Manuel. Although I wasn't directly involved in the interview, the writer talked to me for a minute or two as she toured the studio, and I couldn't help but be excited for my employers. The first draft of the text of the article was sent to Antoine+Manuel a few weeks later, and I read through it for them before they gave their final approval.
Well, while I was purusing the magazine racks at Border's this weekend, I stumbled across the September issue of Grafik. I had almost completely forgotten about the interview, and I was excited to find twelve full pages devoted to Antoine+Manuel. And skimming through the article I found the paragraph that mentions me! In the midst of a brief description of the studio's layout, the writer notes the placement of the intern's desk, explaining parenthetically (literally) that "the current occupant is from the US." That was me! :)
There really isn't anything quite like seeing your name in print. The only thing that comes close is seeing a vague, parenthetical reference to your existence.
(P.S. In the Gift Shop section of my website you'll find autographed copies of the September issue of Grafik, available for only $25 each. They make great stocking stuffers!)
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 11:49 : 1 comments :
]14 October 2005
{ Smuggling }
Back in the huge warehouse-like space where the presses are, there is a big cabinet and a fridge that are filled with all sorts of snacks and junk food and sodas and stuff, and it's much cheaper than any vending machine. Well, I was really hungry this morning, so I went down there to pick something out. Near the bottom of the cabinet I saw a few packages of those mini chocolate-dipped donuts (the kind we'd get after "scouting for food" with Brother Hollist). I felt so gross even considering it, and I looked around me to see if anyone had seen me eyeing them. Well, no one was around, so I snatched a packet, left my change, and made a break for my cubicle. I didn't make it very far before one of the press managers walked around the corner and, without even looking at my face, looked straight down at the packet of donuts in my hand. I could feel my face turning red, and I tried to tuck the packet part-way up my sleeve as I passed by all the staffers that were supervising the binding/trimming machines. It seemed like an eternity before I made it to the exit of the press area. On the home stretch, back in Designerland, I thought the worst was over. But then, without any warning, a lady suddenly appeared behind me in the hallway. She must have smelled the chocolate and jumped out to catch me in the act. I panicked, and when I looked back, I could see her squinty eyes glaring at my hand and the half-concealed packet. "Now I've got you, my pretty," I could hear her saying to me telepathically. I walked faster and faster down the hall, trying to resist the urge to look back again, until I finally arrived at my cubicle. I slithered into my chair and tucked the donuts behind my computer where no one could see them. My heart was still racing.Next time I'm just going to get a granola bar.
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 13:52 : 2 comments :
]10 October 2005
{ Introduction to form and material }
A substantial portion of the design/communication philosophy of Vilém Flusser is based on the relationship he sets up between form and material. An abbreviated—and arguably insufficient—definition of this relationship might read like this: "Forms" are the models and theorems that give shape to physical existence, and "material" is made up of the physical elements themselves. If this sounds too vague, it might help to envision a completely transparent box (a form) that can only be seen after it has been filled with a material, such as sand, that conforms to the shape of the box.As I've let this concept sink in over the past couple weeks, I've noticed a number of spiritual applications. The first deals with the Atonement. I've always viewed the doctrine of the infinite nature of Christ's atonement from a slightly different perspective than most members of the LDS church, and Flusser's philosophy of form and material has helped me to pinpoint the difference. The scriptures—and LDS doctrine in particular—suggest that Christ suffered for all the sin and pain suffered by man, and this is often taken to mean that Christ personally and literally suffered the effects of each possible sin and felt each intimate pain. Logic, at least as far as I can see, would dictate that a truly infinite atonement need not be bound to the details of each sin (whether petty or damning) and pain (whether minute or chronic). Rather, Christ suffered an eternal "form" of sin and suffering that served as the model for the entirety of human existence. This allowed him to gain perfect experience and understanding without living out the "material" details of each possible sin and pain.
The second application: A popular adage in the LDS community states that we should be "in the world, but not of the world." When this was repeated this afternoon in our Sunday School class, I was reminded of how frustratingly narrow this view seems. The implication is that the world is so tainted by evil influences that we need to separate ourselves from it in every possible way. Consider this revision: Whether or not it is acknowledged by the general human population, this world (and every aspect of our existence) conforms to models set in place by the Creator. If we foster a keen perception of what goes on around us, we will eventually understand that living in the world allows us to see how these models affect its inhabitants, whether to benefit them or to impose consequences (both temporal and eternal). This perspective eliminates the fear that is commonly associated with the "in the world, but not of the world" approach: the fear that we are suffocated by the worldliness and apparent spiritual decline of the human race.
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 02:47 : 4 comments :
]
{ Signed, a disillusioned design student }
The following is excerpted from an email I recently sent to Ellen Lupton, a well-respected designer/researcher/educator:As an obsessive graphic design student, there is very little that inspires me as much as intelligent discussion of design theory. Unfortunately, it seems like the day of the intellectual/idealist/designer is coming to an end. My theoretical and philosophical approach to graphic design, even in its young and underdeveloped state, is often what puts me at odds with my classmates—and occasionally my professors—whose frightening allegiance to marketability and trend-spotting has been the catalyst for some very passionate classroom discussions. Granted, my experience as an undergrad isn't necessarily representational of national or global trends, but it seems as though the design world has taken an even sharper turn in the direction of all things commercial. Rudy Vanderlans (of Emigre magazine) recently made a similar observation, and I am saddened to think that this trend may have played into the decision to close the doors on the journal that established such a powerful position as the vanguard of progressive graphic design theory. (The only thing that has carried over from "the age of Emigre" is the designer's social awareness, but even environmental issues seem diluted and trite once they find their way to the pages of popular design journals.)
So what remains? Print? HOW? The void left by Emigre will certainly never be filled by magazines that cater to the world of popular markets and corporate design. This has become painfully apparent to me as I have begun researching publication possibilities for a budding grant project that will analyze the design/communication philosophy of Vilém Flusser. Apart from those little pockets of crazed graduate students that congregate on the campuses of Cranbrook and Yale, there seems to be little interest in this sort of work.
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 01:26 : 0 comments :
]05 October 2005
{ Immi }
Seeing Imogen Heap perform last night in Salt Lake City was worth another night of sleep deprivation. Although there were four other acts, she was the indisputable star of the show. All the other musicians praised her—before and after her performance—and she was the only act that was brought back on stage for an encore. As Butch Walker said (more or less), "Sometimes I think this is Imogen's world, and we're all just living in it." She is incredibly talented, and she has created a truly unique sound.Before Immi got on stage, I mustered up enough courage to talk to her and ask her about the song she co-wrote and co-produced for Britney Spears ("Over to You Now"). I only talked with her for about a minute or so, and that's mainly because I was too nervous to think of a way to drag out our mini conversation. I was babbling nonsensically anyway, so it was probably for the best. Either way, it was fun to talk to her (not to mention touch her arm and be within three inches of her face as she was trying to talk over the music). :)
One of the funniest moments of the night came just before the show, as Hillary, Ben, and I were sitting at a little café-style table to one side of the room. One of the club's employees came up to us and said, "You're one of the bands, right?"
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 15:24 : 1 comments :
]04 October 2005
{ Incurable }
Fresh off an exhausting night of printer malfunctions, hunger pains, and pre-critique stress, I give you my waning self-confidence.Lately I've felt like a near-dead carcass lying in the middle of a hot desert, watching helplessly through glazed eyes as a vulture circles above, dipping closer and closer to my rotting flesh with each pass. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. Really I'm just tired—too tired to maintain a healthy and positive outlook, but not tired enough to prevent me from using hyperbole and cliché metaphors—and fatigue can really wear on a person. At the same time, I have to admit that sleep-deprivation is not the only party at fault here. If due only to my innate and incurable cynicism, I think my self-doubt would have the strength to persevere through many years of relative restfulness and contentment.
It's a funny thing, that cynicism. It's both a strength and a weakness.
Like sleep-deprivation, cynicism is also sometimes blamed for things that aren't his fault. In defense of this argument, I cite the circumstances of this past weekend. Saturday afternoon found me sitting in the Legacy Theater of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building, watching the last session of General Conference. Up to this point, I had felt "blocked" from inspiration by my cynicism, and I hadn't retained anything of significance from any of the previous sessions. What I noticed, however, is that I had become obsessed with trying to "feel" inspiration in a very literally emotional way. Rather than allowing my brain to process the information in its natural, intellectual way, I was attempting to force an emotional reaction (to no avail). In the last hour of the last session of General Conference, I finally surrendered to my intellect, and inspiration came almost immediately. Words and ideas resonated in my brain, and my thoughts raced with excitement. I felt enlightened, and my inspirational "fog" cleared. Waiting for an emotional reaction had proved useless and depressing, breeding uncertainty and anxiety rather than clarity and confidence. (And cynicism, the poor sap, was finally cleared of all charges.)
I had intended to go on writing for some time, but I am losing energy, and I'll need to save some for Immi. :)
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 17:09 : 0 comments :
]01 October 2005
{ Ça commence }
Up to this point, I have stubbornly resisted participation in the whole blogging movement, but it looks like the time has come for me to cave in. It is a logical substitution for those ghastly and long-winded emails that I got in the habit of sending this past summer while I was in Paris. And because a number of you have requested that I continue the trend—I here make reference to those of you with masochistic tendencies—I have decided to migrate my ramblings to this medium.Enjoy.
P.S. The fact that { Immi } has a blog was, I admit, one of the main reasons that I decided to go through with this. Just don't expect me to throw around cute and quirky British slang all the time.
[ posted by Matthew Chrislip at 05:50 : 2 comments :
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