When I was a kid living in rural North Mississippi, literally on a farm, I would spend many hours entertaining myself by running barefoot through the countryside, chasing lightening bugs, rabbits, cats, or whatever else I encountered while playing. When you are a kid, it's all magic. The moon. The stars. The lightening bugs. The way that sharp kitty claws are concealed in their little fuzzy paws. Happy Meal boxes. The way my feet turned black from running barefoot. Air conditioners. Everything was magic. Not in the Harry Potter sense, but that it all existed outside the grasp of my childhood intellect...I lacked the understanding, the syntax, or the mechanics to wrap my oversized noggin around it. My imagination filled in all the gaps with fantastic voyages of spaceships, muppets, dragons, warriors, robots, and whatever other bits of art that I had consumed to that point...these were the syntax and mechanics of my child mind.
As I got older, I traded magic for fact. And you can never trade it back. Or can you? I was taught two very different takes on why I exist and how it is that I am sitting on this rock looking at my stained feet in the first place. One, religion, says magic isn't real because God is the only true supernatural force in the universe. The other, science, told me that magic isn't real because what we consider to be magic is just that which we lack scientific understanding of for the time being. Science says God doesn't exist. Religion says science is deceiving you and undermining faith. As a child, you have no idea what to believe, but if there's one thing both agree on, it's that magic doesn't exist. Indeed, we are taught that at a certain age, to think of things in terms like "magic" or "supernatural" is to behave childishly. As if that were a taboo in and of itself.
How can you as an adult fight through all this conditioning to get back to place of pure joy and wonder in the world around you. The things that are just so awesome that you can't really wrap your head around it, even when you have an intellectual understanding of how it works. Can the world ever be magic again?
Without a doubt, my single greatest joy as a kid was spending hours upon hours alone in my room playing video games. Had I to do it over again, I might have gone a different route...you know, actually seeing the outdoors and other kids. But the past being what it was, it still had an enormous impact on me artistically. I used to sketch out complex designs for new games literally all night long. I dreamt of creating the sequel to Bionic Commando using advanced 16-bit parallax scrolling and mode-7 scaling. I imagined entire worlds that spawned from the images I sat and lovingly digested for hours. No images were more permanently seared into my cranium than that of the classic video game cover.
This is such a lost art. Now things are so...literal. But back then, it was the wild west. The cover didn't really have to bear any real resemblence to the game inside because the graphics were so low-fi, to render any artistic image to represent it was conjecture. It was FANTASTIC. And the crazy stuff that people put into the games back then. Insane man. I'm talking, if I'm in Ninja Gaiden, I'm fighting hunch-backs, crazy insects, birds, machine gunners, and robots all in the span of a single 2-D level. And these artists had to interpret that shit into something that would sell. There is truly no wonder why 8-bit game art is some of the most unintentionally hilarious cover art ever.
To that point, I've collected a small gallery from all over the interwebz. Please, take a stroll through memory lane to a time when men could be men, and tennis playing astronauts broke down rainbow walls with square balls.
Most of you who see this blog have never met me personally, but if you do know me, you might find the simple statement above to be a bit ironic. Historically, although I'd like to think of myself and nice and compassionate, I'm not exactly known as the warmest blanket in the wardrobe. To the contrary, the moisture content of my blanket-like qualities have been called into question. I am well aware of this, and the realization of it isn't some epiphany that stuck me suddenly as if implanted by some supernatural force. No, it was the slow reveal.
You see, becoming jaded doesn't happen overnight. Somehow, over the course of years, you can forget how wonderful and awesome the world truly is. You can forget how to laugh at silly stuff. You can forget how to smile. It's true. At some point, it was cool to be a little stoic...a little unaffected by the world around you. Maybe it happened when I was searching for my identity in my late teens...you know, it was the 90s. I grew up watching media heroes such as Fox Mulder and Kurt Cobain go through life with an aloof and cold demeanor. There seemed to be no simple joys or silliness in their life. Perhaps I subconsciously emulated these media role-models. Maybe it was my becoming disillusioned with the things that used to bring me joy. Or perhaps it was the Southern culture, where when you ask how someone is doing, it is followed by a loooong sigh, a "Well....", and then a list of all the terrible things in their life, like maybe old so-and-so's kid got hooked on Meth. Hell, maybe it was the loss of Santa Clause or Optimus Prime. I can't really say, but whenever or whatever happened, at some point, I forgot how to smile.
Fast forward 20 years.
The last two years, as outlined in previous blogs, has been something of an upheaval in everything that I knew in my life. I gave up drinking. I decided to live a life without material importance. I took up Zen practices. I sold my house. I lost a ton of weight. I got more healthy. I became of vegetarian. But all of that change didn't help me hold onto something that was more important to me than anything.
The end of a relationship is like the death of a close friend or relative...it's all about how you choose to deal. The Southern Baptist culture I grew up in would deal with it in the most morose and joyless way possible, the Baptist funeral...which always turned into a hell and brimstone sermon, urging all to turn before they end up like the poor fool in the coffin. To the contrary, the Irish celebrate the passing of a loved one by celebrating their life with a wake...a sometimes multiple day party where the pain is washed away by booze and laughter. For these two groups, it's a choice of how they want to deal. So here I am, having gone through the most amazingly transformative period of my life, only to have the one thing that truly mattered disappear. How would I deal with this?
You know those stages of grief you hear about: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance? I hit every branch of that tree on my quick journey to Acceptance, and every one hurt. But I quickly realized that I had a choice...dwell in one of shitty stages or get right to the part that allows me to move on. I could crawl up into a corner in a fetal position, or I could get on with it.
Get busy living, or get busy dying.
It brings to mind a bit of pop psychology you are all probably familiar with, which is probably my most hated statement in history "How's that working out for you?" In the past, if you said that to me, my eyes would drop a piano on your head, but only after they kicked you in the baby-makers. I always felt it was such a condescending, smart-ass way to approach someone who's trying to be open up with you. Yeah, yeah. Tough love and all that. I get it. But it still pissed me off. But as it turns out, it's kinda true. How WAS my attitude working out for me? It was sucking ass, thank you. But I'm a firm believer that every breath you take is an opportunity to turn it all around. This was that breath. It just took getting hit in the solar plexus to find it.
So I chose a new path...a radical path for me. Not only would I deal with my loss, but I'd leapfrog straight to another huge life-changing plan of action: BE POSITIVE. SMILE. SEE THE AWESOME IN EVERYTHING. Unlike my jaded, unaffected outlook of the past which had years to take hold, this new path would be implemented immediately. It's been a bumpy transition and it's possible that it hasn't even been noticed by many around me, but dammit if deciding to see the world a different way doesn't eventually help you to do it in reality. If you believe in something long enough, it becomes truth to you. I don't know if I could pass a polygraph, but I can smile.
So since making this decision, life has certainly sucked less of the afore-mentioned ass. I'm reconnecting with many old friends and making new ones at a staggering pace. I still have bad days and bad moments, but I'm smiling and laughing again, more than ever. I admit, sometimes I'm smiling when I want to scream. But it's a process, and with the support of friends, it's all taking root. One of the most amazing things I've found in this process is the following video and blog, 1000 Awesome Things. Do yourself a favor and watch this TED talk by the author, Neil Pasricha.
You've heard "what a difference a day makes", right? Imagine what an entire year with the expressed desire to change as much of your life as possible could do for you. You discover some things are easy. Some things are crazy hard. And some things just take a long time to set in motion and follow through on. Over the last 12 months or so, I've been on that journey. For me, change has been almost entirely about subtraction. I've had at least 10 years of bad habit forming and shit accumulation. And when given the chance to make the type of life changing decisions I had the opportunity to make, it began with cuts. Deep cuts. But I can't say that I've ever been happier. Why? Because I'm letting go.
I've run the gamut between losing a ton of weight, quitting drinking, and even selling my home of almost a decade. But one of the more rewarding and addictive changes I've made is just getting rid of stuff, and therefore, stress. It's true, the cliche': Stuff you own ends up owning you. When you honestly don't care if you have a single possession or not, you find yourself in a place of remarkable freedom. Unprecedented freedom to not worry as much about what the economy is doing. Freedom to chase a dream. Freedom to be bold enough to live a life less ordinary.
Now, I'm not there. You see, I need a car to travel in, and a computer to do work on. But even then, need is subjective. To go Fight Club on it, you could say that we "work jobs we hate to buy shit we don't need." Indeed. That draws the whole "need" thing into question. And certainly, the modern materialistic life can be a trap, perpetuating states of misery because we can't let go of the stuff around us. And of course, children who are dependent on us change everything. So let's keep it philosophical: could we let go of the material in pursuit of greater happiness and more lasting contentment? I'll let you know when and if I ever find out. But the journey is intriguing. And with the world changing around us and standards of living falling for everyone but the rich, living with less seems like a quest we should all embark on. For many, the trip will be mandatory.
Those who are in the know might tell you that I am obsessive when it comes to things I love. I feel compelled to dig up every little scrap of goodness I can find about whatever it is that I'm really into at that particular moment. It generally results in annoying people around me, but sometimes it has the benefit of educating me to the point where I can pass along cool stuff to others. In the case of Oxford, Mississippi's Fat Possum records, I think the latter to be true.
I find it amazing just how few people are aware that a label from Oxford is being recognized as arguably the best indie label this side of Sub Pop. They have certainly been on a winning streak the last couple of years, releasing album of the year contenders such as The Walkmen's Lisbon, to recent hotness like Unknown Mortal Orchestra. And whether or not they've meant to or not, they've developed a Fat Possum sound which is characterized by surf and garage elements and often very analog, purposefully stripped down production. This emergent style also makes the Fat Possum catalog perfectly suited to the sweltering summers we enjoy here in Mississippi.
So, obsessive as I am, I put together this little playlist of things you can currently buy that has a Fat Possum logo on the back. Some of it is brand new. Some of it is reissued. But all of it has a certain summery quality that I think you'll enjoy on your next trip to Dauphin Island.
Being an Alumni of Mssissippi State University's Graphic Design Program, I contiue to swell with pride at the many awesome things that are happening there. Students and teachers alike are being recognized nationally for their outstanding work. Just this week, two MSU GD people were featured in HOW online's Top Ten Graphic Design Sites for Designers section. The student, Rob Toombs, interned under me at Mad Genius. It's really exciting to see the great things he's doing now. But today, we're going to talk a little about Jude Landry, an assistant professor who is continually recognized for his design work. Not only was Landry featured in the Top Ten, but he's also recently been named a Young Gun by The Art Director's Club. Viewing his bold and varied design book, it's easy to see why.
Designing a great logo is one of the most underestimated tasks that a graphic designer may ever be asked to undertake. Sure, you could simply say that it's just a simple little mark to represent a company. But that really gets past the fine art of making a mark that is distills an organizations basic offering ... be it philosophical, material, or anything in between ... down to its barest essence. In doing so, can you make it memorable? Can you make it infinitely reproducible across pretty much any medium? Can you make it contemporary without looking trendy? Can a complete stranger take a glance at it and get it, or is context required? Does that even matter? Those are a lot of criteria and questions to consider. There is no universal answer. But great logo design does tend to have a common genesis: lots and lots of sketches.
The key to how to do this is to keep it as simple as you possibly can, working in black and white and on paper for as long as you can. STAY OFF THE COMPUTER. If it doesn't work in black and white on paper, it doesn't work. Period. This is how some of the best logos ever made were designed...on grid paper. Take the Braun logo above, whose perfect proportion illustrated the strength of simple design. Its perfect proportion was no accident. It was a mathematically precise reduction of form. That isn't to say that all logos need to be so perfect. Nor should math or grids enter into the discussion in every case. But the lesson to be learned is that by solving the design issues on paper first, you spend less time fiddling around in the computer, trying to use what the computer gives.
What's so bad about what the computer gives you? Well, I'm going to try not to sound hopelessly dated here, but the computer is a wonderful tool. It is meant to bend to your will, brining your designs to life with fidelity and ease. But the problem is, many designers go to the computer far too early. Some skip the sketch phase altogether. This leads to a condition some call "Computeritis." I call it "taking whatever the computer gives you." In simplest terms, this just means that when you are hashing out looks and concepts on screen without having thought them through on paper, you tend to use elements that are readily accessible to you. Simple, flat, geometric shapes that you copy and paste over and over until it makes something you like. And when it comes time to explore an additional idea, the easiest thing to do is to copy and paste elements of what you've already done to save time. This gives both designs a sameness ... it limits the number of happy accidents and discoveries that you may make by keeping a design on paper longer. By the end, you'll have spent hours and hours on a computer to come up with a bunch of versions that aren't different enough to really be considered separate options. They're iterations. In short, you simply explore a greater number of more diverse solutions on paper than you ever will on computer. By contrast, solve it on paper, and your time on the computer will be short and fruitful.
This isn't anything you haven't heard before. But we all sometimes ignore the little lessons we've learned along the way when a deadline is pressing down on us. It's a bit like driving, design is. When you're in a hurry, you bend all kinds of rules. You drive wrecklessly to pass the guy in front of you. You roll through stop signs. You basically act in ways that you never would in normal driving situations in the name of speed. But then you look up and see that same car you wrecklessly passed is now right beside you at the end. You've accomplished nothing by the careless antics to shave some time. You could have done it the right way and arrived at your destination in the same amount of time. Sometimes, when you're driving too fast, you miss all the good sights along the way.
Continuing on the last post's chalkboard theme, I thought I'd share another awesome artist of the dusty arts. Brooklyn's Dana Tanamachi is a true wizard on the blackboard, bringing beautiful typography to life with texture and depth.
Public School is a collective of designers and photographers in Austin, TX doing some amaaaziing work. Among the collective is Mississippi State Graphic Design Program alum Will Bryant, who teamed with photographer Adam Voorhes to produce this really, really cool animated "magazine cover" for Bluetooth's Signature publication. Voorhes describes it below:
"For this project I collaborated with illustrator Will Bryant to create a stop motion animation for Bluetooth's publication 'Signature.' We incorporated the cover copy and the logo into the illustration and filled the cover with Will's signature style. I love seeing a cover done organically, let alone being able to display it as an animation!
To post it here I added a track by Animal Collective. Check out their site here http://fat-cat.co.uk/fatcat/artist/animal+collective"
This is one of my fav discoveries this year...well, it was passed along to me, more than discovered. In any event, I'm pleased to pass along the love of Doodle Everyday, a blog that features an amazingly well-realized sketch every single day. The artist responsible for the prolific outpouring of brilliant little ideas is Lim Heng Swee from Malaysia. I'm not sure what Malaysian food is like, but I want some of whatever they're cooking. This work is stellar.
This is my first turn as director, editor, and producer on a video, fwiw. I give you LIVER MOUSSE
Update on Thursday, March 3, 2011 at 5:17PM by
Chris Nolen
THIS JUST IN...
LIVER MOUSSE Mini Doc will officially be shown at Crossroads Film Fest! YES! I'm pretty stoked that my maiden voyage in film didn't suck. Or at least no one had the heart to tell me. :)
The counter at Sneaky Beans Coffee Shop, in Jackson's Fondren arts district, is a wonderland of distraction for the visually A.D.D. This is great if you're standing in line, as you have time to take in the posters, T-shirts, postcards, and other colors of the rainbow. This is not so great if you should be ordering your coffee and letting the next person in line get on with their life. As I'm up there glancing over the wares, even though I already knew what I wanted, one item in particular caught my eye. Nestled amongst the local band CDs on the counter was a really large CD by a guy named Ming Donkey. Turns out, it was no CD at all, but a 7" vinyl single. I'd heard of this "vinyl" thing...even browsed the collections of many a friend, but being the modern man I was, I never really considered having vinyl of my own. I'd even turned away record collections offered to me in the past. I understood the quaint nostalgia of it, but never felt compelled to go down that path to obsession, which seems to be a common quality of all who indulge in vinyl.
Sunday, January 15, 2012 at 7:43PM 
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