Finding love at the bottom of a soup can

My place has always been with words. I’m a talker, have been since I said, “Dada,” to my father as he walked into our house after a long day at work. He was, as is convention, quite excited, though after a couple of decades of listening to me chatter, I wonder if he wishes I would have put it off just a bit longer. Eventually, I learned to channel that constant dialogue into writing and the occasional side job in retail.

But as much as I live through language, what I live for is design. I fell in love with art when I first saw Andy Warhol’s bold soup can at the age of 11. I copied it every way I could: watercolors, screen prints, even a valiantly attempted but questionably executed tissue-paper collage. Quickly, I learned the hard lesson that just because you really want to be good at something doesn’t mean it’s meant to be.

Instead, I resigned myself to picking up a minor in art history, roaming around my university’s fine arts complex, pretending I belong and seeking out beautiful design wherever I can. My social media feeds are full of artists I love and fabulous typography and ingenious packaging. I take pictures of clever signs and have spent many an afternoon losing track of time in a gallery.

With this blog, I intend to share a little bit of my aesthetic. I’d like to think after a year spent interning at the local art museum, the Samuel P. Harn Museum of Art, I’ve developed a pretty decent eye for things worth seeing. I’ll gush when I discover an artist I don’t know how I’ve lived without. I’ll discuss new innovations I’m still in awe of – probably from, to be honest, my go-to design/ technology/ everything cool guru. When I’m lucky enough to end up reporting on something artsy – like last week, when I had the pleasure of hanging out with the staff of Gallery Protocol, a little operation with a lot of gumption – we’ll talk about that, too.

I definitely can’t draw, but I like to think that through journalism, I found my way of being an artist. I tend to shy away from writing about art because the only time I seem to be at a loss for words is when it comes to something I love. However, it’s about time I forced myself into verbalizing the things that make my imagination whir, so I’m stepping into the blogging wilderness, hoping I don’t get distracted by something pretty on the way.

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