2008 Woodie Awards
Living out a college major
Deciding on a course of study becomes a way of life
Nikki Glibert
Issue date: 10/30/07 Section: OpEd Page
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Those are just a few items that irritate me as a graphic designer. And believe me, those are just a few. The day I casually checked the box indicating my prospective field of study at Miami University, I never dreamed it would lead me into a life of extra-pickiness, over-analyzing and premature gray hairs.
My relationship with graphic design is definitely one of deep love and sincere hatred. I swear I wasn't always this selective, annoyed and tired.
Yes, there was an era when an unprofessional poster could hang in my midst without my scorning it. I could, once upon a time, be completely satisfied with a flier created in Microsoft Word. And, in another life, I was OK with the fact that educators around the globe requested Arial, originally designed for the Web, as an acceptable font for term papers.
Sometimes I wonder why I chose graphic design in the first place. Sure, I love art and always jumped at the opportunity to do an outrageously complex hands-on project versus taking the simplest of exams during my middle and high school years. I took all the art classes I could and after that, created a few independent studies of my own in order to satiate my yearnings.
But, I wasn't dubbed "artsy" by any stretch of the imagination and I'm not certain I would have ever pegged myself as a future member of the fine arts community at a university.
I don't know if I even understood what graphic design was when I haphazardly opted to "major" in it. I didn't realize that it would consume my days and keep me up half the night. I wasn't aware that it would take over every part of my existence and control my life.
The tasks of a graphic designer are never complete. Everything I do could be better. Could be pushed. Could include something more. I could improve, tweak and modify an abstract blob for years and still remain unsatisfied.
I'm a prisoner to graphic design-in the clutches of this nitpicky ideal that perfection exists and should be sought at all times. Ugh.
I feel guilty if I'm not working on my laptop 24/7-like I owe it to graphic design or something. My index finger is permanently attached to the track pad and I can feel arthritis setting in now. Relaxation went out the window long ago and exercise was next to be sacrificed in the name of this almighty field of study.
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