Pixels? Pixels! Pixels...

Self-discovery and expression via RGB dots and squares of light

Am I an artist?

I used to take drawing classes as a kid. Like, real art classes. In a classroom with walls and windows, with physical sheets of paper and numbered pencils, with a face-to-face teacher and ten other little toddler babies that loved Minecraft, Pokémon, Batman, … We would flip through comics and graphic novels, trying to recreate the sketches and images the best our underdeveloped hand dexterity would allow us (it hasn’t gotten better since). Our teacher had his own web cartoon or comic or something of a tiger with a unicorn-like horn. Something like that, I can’t really remember. I do remember his eyes. They were so kind, blown-up to double the size by his square prescription glasses. They were dark and expressive; they looked like he drew them on his face before class with the same black sharpies he used to make his characters. I wonder if he is happy, I hope he still likes making that comic.

Maybe the classes weren’t that real. I think my parents just wanted to get me off my 3DS and do anything else. “You love that little Zelda guy, why don’t you draw him?” (that’s probably something they said) Or maybe I asked to do it? I still don’t know the difference between those fancy number and letter pencils (I felt so special, picking between HB and F to draw a warped Heracross for the ten-millionth time). All of those physical sketchbooks are now stored away in a damp, dark cabinet somewhere in my house. I have not gone looking for them in years, for all I know they might not be there anymore. Without an image on my phone, they might as well not exist.

A couple of weeks ago, someone was asking me about my most recent job with a raised eyebrow and a scrutinizing curiosity. “So, did you like… draw for them?” I laughed and told them the usual, that I can’t really draw. He tilted his head, kind of like how dogs do when you go past your usual five phrases (“Sit.” “Walk?” “Good boy!” … that type of thing). Something about me being at that company was mind-boggling to him. “I was doing design, it was a digital design role,” I tried my best to explain without being corny (hard to do in this field). “Like… pixel art?” Warmer. “No, like web design and UI and stuff.” I couldn’t tell if he seemed more impressed (in a sort of patronizing way) or disinterested, but either way it felt slightly judgmental. He paused a little longer. “Did they need a new logo or something?” He joked with me, probably trying to bring us back to an understanding (I think it was a joke). “Yeah, man, they needed a logo.”

I sit at my computer writing this (duh), with thousands of categorized folders full of GBs of working files and my entire mind/being/soul poured out in the form of slop made in Photoshop. Logos, icons, animations, prototypes, posters, pixels, more posters, etc. I don’t even want to know how many hours of my life I have spent looking at the gray backgrounds of Illustrator. If I lost this laptop, as depressing as it is, I would lose almost everything I am. And yet, as I was stuck writing one of these previous lines, spinning in my chair, I noticed the empty walls of my room. No decoration. No personality. No life. All my work is in the form of .png’s mathematically converted to binary data and stored in a shiny, metallic hard drive somewhere inside my laptop (clearly I have no idea how any of this works, and yet I depend on my hard drive more than the sun some days). What will I pass on to my kids when I die, a Google Drive backup? If I go looking for something, I can click it and find it in an instant. Yet none of it is real, and my walls and cabinets at my house stay empty. I have a million copies, but if the power goes out, they may as well have never existed.

The permanence of digital media & convenience death

Shift + C and I have a new artboard in an instant. Delete, copy, paste, delete, delete, delete. Press P and I have a pen tool that can automatically make perfect curves for me. Grids and layouts used to comfort me, everything in its place arranged exactly as it is supposed to. The amount of precision that can go into every decision was hypnotizing to me. I can download whatever garbage I made essentially instantly (unless it’s you, After Effects… I will hate you until the day I leave this world) and share it all over social media for the entire world to see within seconds—hypothetically at least, I think most people may have muted my posts by now. Even if only my 3 loyal followers see it (hey!) these things are now out there forever and for everyone. I wonder if Michelangelo imagined the paint of his mural fading with time or the chapel in ruins as he worked. Did he create with the concept of impermanence? He pushed himself to the cusp of perfection in his craft for the appreciation of a select few. Now, anyone has perfection in an instant with a tap. Maybe the thrill of creating was in the fugitive, the keen awareness of our mortality and, in turn, our creations and imagination also. Now, things appear purely temporary because of our declining attention span. Michelangelo would be too busy scrolling on reels to even get on the ladder. A mural painted today would have a 300 part TikTok Day in the Life series attached to it, every step of the way.

The philosophical tangent and rant of the current state of social media derailed my initial vision for this section (oops). I think my biggest criticism of my work, of what I do nowadays (that exists only in screens) is that it lacks friction entirely. Of course, there is skill involved, and I am by no means trying to talk down to myself about it or anyone else that does what I do. There are bad days when I wonder how much I would love to never do any of this design stuff again, to spend the rest of my days as a fisherman or farmer, but I would not be this far in if there wasn’t something I enjoyed about it. I get joy out of making, but the biggest challenge I face nowadays is an unexpected software crash and a headache from blue light exposure. I can’t help the feeling that, while the things I make are cool, they never really go past that; I think cool is a level or two below art. It has never been easier to do what I do, and don’t even get me started on AI. There is something admirable about building a shelf or even baking a cake, doing things with your hands and having a tangible product that can be felt with your senses. There are variables of friction, like sharp saws or burning flames, that you learn to navigate to create something of quality born out of countless hours of practice and dedication. Digital media can feel like the convenient choice. What danger or stakes do I face when making a logo or a website… finger cramps? Can I pin that up on my wall? Yes, I can make posters, but without meaning or reason, without a story, do they ever pass the cool tag?

Making something cool

I had a high school graphic design teacher that pushed us past the convenience boundary, closer to the art category if that even makes sense. We designed a cover for a sketchbook at the beginning of each semester, then we printed it and bound it to use for the class. We made pins and stickers, laser engraved/cut our work into different materials, screen printed on clothing to show off… he pushed the idea of “making something cool.” There was something magical about such a simple mission back then, even if my work looked terrible compared to now and things took twice as long to finish; There may be a correlation between the amount of keyboard shortcuts someone knows and how much they smile. I followed this seemingly straightforward ideology for most of my time being a graphic designer, I sort of thought that was the guiding principle for all of us out there. Before I cared about human-centered or any of those other buzzwords (they are very important, but I have to drag myself to love them sometimes) I wanted with all my being to express myself and share something that people could find interesting. It used to be the highest compliment for someone to look at something I made and say a phrase that unfortunately frustrates me now: “Wait, that’s really cool!” Nowadays, it seems like with everything I do, I chase something (Larger? More impactful? More educated?) that is unattainable—I can’t even choose the right word. Making something cool is vague, sure… corny, very yes… perhaps a little self-centered if you look at it a certain way (i.e. am I making just for attention?)… but it kept me moving.

So, what even is cool anyway? I ask myself that now as well, just as much as you. Back then, I didn’t really question it much, I just went with it. When I sat in that comic art class, I questioned it even less. Drawing of Batman? Cool, no question. Even then, however, the underlying, unspoken notion of quality lived in my underdeveloped brain, deep in the subconscious. I can identify it now too clearly, but back then it just pushed me invisibly. What makes that drawing of Batman done by the professional cool (or cooler than mine)? Skill and time. I wonder if leaving that awareness in the background is what keeps someone going without frustration. Now, I hyper-focus on this perceived quality, comparing myself constantly without grace, viewing my work as a competitor in a Darwinistic landscape of art/design. I think the more time you put into something (and when your paycheck depends on it) the easier it is to fall into this habit, to forget the cheerful simplicity of a vision like making something cool. Even writing this, doing this weird Flower Boxes blog thingy, I am trying to use it as a means to share and express without overcomplicating.

New_File

So… am I an artist? Do I make cool things? Should I go outside more? Probably, definitely, yes (pick the order for these answers, it makes no difference). I would love to find my comic book art teacher and ask him all of these questions and more. I want to show him what I do now, complain about how bad I am at drawing still (but I try), tell him I still like video games and Minecraft just as much now at 22 years old. Most of all, I would do anything to go back, to look him in his eyes, and tell him “I love your work, you make such cool art.” And I would mean it.

I will print some more of my posters to put on my wall, even some of the ugly ones I made in high school. They’ll be a good reminder for myself that making is cool because of the act itself, it doesn’t have to be more complicated than that sometimes.