A Day in the Life
Someone wants me to help them develop a book project revolving around the appearance of ghosts in their house in San Francisco (the City is, by the way, a veritable vortex of ghosties and things that go bump). They are planning to send me a video of said ghosts. I am fascinated. But a little nervous. Will I be required to commune with spirits of the dead?
In more mundane news, I am awaiting the arrival of my Adobe InDesign CS2 program, which I hope to use for creating various goodies like business cards, promotional material, pdfs, book and catalogue or pamphlet design, and who knows what else? I am ritually purifying my computer desk area, and hoping that I will actually have room on my computer for this thing. I may have to purge my computer of extra "fat."
Strangely, this takes me back (full circle it seems) to my earlier incarnation as a commercial artist. So long ago, that I was actually cutting and pasting and inking illustrations by hand, mind you, on an actual drawing board. I am waxing nostalgic now, for pens, inks, pencils, rubber cement and gum pickups for cleaning off glue. I worked, for a time, for a Chilean furniture illustrator, who insisted that I knock off and go home every afternoon for siesta time, which could be anywhere from 1/2 hour to 3 hours -- he didn't care, as long as I returned and finished off the work for the evening (sometimes that would be 8 or 9 p.m.), met the deadlines, and did my job well. He believed strongly in siesta, bless his heart. While working, we would take short breaks to passionately discuss politics, economics, and religion. He adored Neruda. I began working for him as a complete greenhorn, learned quickly that what I thought was good work was half-assed, spent whole afternoons drawing end tables and lamps until the perspective was exactly right, and emerged with an understanding of what it really meant to do professional-level work, even if it was only inking pictures of furniture.
What a difference that was, from working in offices where every break and lunch hour were meted out in stingy increments, conversation was limited to the latest gossip, and one did only what was required.
In more mundane news, I am awaiting the arrival of my Adobe InDesign CS2 program, which I hope to use for creating various goodies like business cards, promotional material, pdfs, book and catalogue or pamphlet design, and who knows what else? I am ritually purifying my computer desk area, and hoping that I will actually have room on my computer for this thing. I may have to purge my computer of extra "fat."
Strangely, this takes me back (full circle it seems) to my earlier incarnation as a commercial artist. So long ago, that I was actually cutting and pasting and inking illustrations by hand, mind you, on an actual drawing board. I am waxing nostalgic now, for pens, inks, pencils, rubber cement and gum pickups for cleaning off glue. I worked, for a time, for a Chilean furniture illustrator, who insisted that I knock off and go home every afternoon for siesta time, which could be anywhere from 1/2 hour to 3 hours -- he didn't care, as long as I returned and finished off the work for the evening (sometimes that would be 8 or 9 p.m.), met the deadlines, and did my job well. He believed strongly in siesta, bless his heart. While working, we would take short breaks to passionately discuss politics, economics, and religion. He adored Neruda. I began working for him as a complete greenhorn, learned quickly that what I thought was good work was half-assed, spent whole afternoons drawing end tables and lamps until the perspective was exactly right, and emerged with an understanding of what it really meant to do professional-level work, even if it was only inking pictures of furniture.
What a difference that was, from working in offices where every break and lunch hour were meted out in stingy increments, conversation was limited to the latest gossip, and one did only what was required.
posted by Okir at 12:52 PM
3 comments
