First Quarter Perspective

A Writer's Journey Into Another Dimension

by Gray Hardison

(Editor's Note: This student survived both class and quarter and is happily resting up for the adventures to come.)

When I read the supply list for my design aesthetics class, I felt like Phil Hartman in the 'Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer' skit on Saturday Night Live. In the skit, Hartman plays a recently thawed caveman who is also a lawyer arguing in a courtroom setting. At one point, a frustrated Hartman wails, "Your world frightens and confuses me."

Actually, that was a small lie. I was thinking more four-letter words, like the one that rhymes with 'buck.' As in, "What the buck is a translucent, non-bleed marker layout pad?" And that wasn't all. A nib black marker? But not to be outdone by a round, nib black marker. My knowledge of markers didn't go past Crayola washables.

List in hand, I headed to an art supply store where, hopefully, someone would have the art version of the Rosetta Stone to translate what I needed. I had never been inside a true art store before, so I was completely confused when I started looking around for things on my list. Unlike the rest of the free world, art stores don't have a sign titled "paints" for the paints section. Instead, they have areas named after streets. For instance, the paints might be located off Richard Arrington Boulevard. And those nasty adhesives could be in the bad part of town near Woodlawn Avenue. At first, I thought this absurdity was limited to one particular store, but I've since learned that they all participate.

I did my best impression of a tourist lost in New York and thought about the results this signage might have in a store like Wal-Mart. No one would be able to find anything, which could possibly drive the most dedicated watch-for-falling-prices shopper to go on a three state Smiley killing spree. The idea of a riot-like atmosphere inside the store put a smile on my face.

Eventually, a store employee came to my rescue. His name was Lance or maybe Vance, and I remember him saying bro and brah a lot, which made me think he might be a surfer. Surfer or not, he was fluent in the art supply language. He led me through the neighborhood of sections and gathered everything on my list. I followed behind and nodded my head whenever he explained the uses of the items, as if I understood. It was like going into a pub in Ireland and talking to a real Irishman. He was speaking English, but I couldn't understand a word he was saying.

Thirty minutes later and an arm and leg lighter, I left the art store with my bucking translucent, non-bleed marker layout pad and a collection of nib markers. As expensive as these things were, I assumed they were made of gold or even had the ability to print money. After all, why would someone spend the equivalent of the gross national product of Ecuador for some black markers and a writing pad?

Clearly, my relationship with markers and pad was off to a rough start. I didn't like them because their price seemed to say they were better than me. And they probably wouldn't like me because I was more of a taker, not a giver. All their old friends on the shelf at the art store would go home with capable artists or designers, enjoy the good life. My pad and markers would spend their days toiling for someone who'd snoozed through Mrs. Louis' art class in eleventh grade.

A few days later, with my disgruntled marker pad and nib markers in hand, I walked into my first class for design aesthetics. For the first thirty minutes, I frantically scribbled notes into my notebook, which I found on my own, thank you very much. Notes related to areas of focus, swelling forces, and point forces filled four pages. It was like rapid fire Mandarin Chinese. It crossed my mind the teacher was making all of this up just for her own amusement, in which case it would have been a pretty good joke.

Turns out, she wasn't making it up. After she finished the lecture on forces and areas of focus, I was told to get out my marker pad and draw some thumbnail sketches of an animal from a list given to the class. And while I drew these, I needed to incorporate the different kinds of forces and have an area of focus. If my face had been a Dell computer, it would have shown the blue screen of death: System overload.

Thumbnails? Color wheels? Mandarin Chinese design terms? I was drowning in a sea of design aesthetics. For the second time in a week, Phil Hartman's caveman lawyer voice started going off in my head.