At some point early in the whirlwind of last week, I stopped to think about aesthetics. In fact, they almost kept me from moving forward. In my professional world, there are people who are gifted at creating visual art and design, who’ve studied it, who’ve made it their life’s work.
I’m not one of those people.
I’m close with many of them, though. And a few had offered to help with whatever I needed. I know I could have. Maybe I should have. But I couldn’t wait. (Also, I’m a PITA client. I really hate doing that to people I love.)
I debated whether to have a logo created. I contemplated claiming a single color, using All The Colors, black and white. And I considered whether making visual art detracted from this effort rather than supporting it. I even thought about the role appearances – maintaining them at all costs – played in my own life.
Here’s where I landed.
Symbolism matters to me, deeply. The raw, stark images (yes, stock photos, and no comments from my advertising peanut gallery) and abstract textures felt like the right backdrop.
Part of me wonders whether it would’ve been more appropriate to simply go with plain text, for all of it. But making it visually appealing – let’s face it – makes people want to take a look, take a second look, take action. And as friends and strangers continue to reach out with stories that need to be told, giving them a thoughtful, simple backdrop feels like an act of love towards each survivor, each story.
But it’s not about making the subject matter pretty. Powerful? I hope so. But I want every word to stand on its own, as the survivor wrote it, however they chose to express it. This is not and will never be about making it pretty, any of it. Making art is a means to an end, and an act of healing in its own right.
When I’m too tired to write, late in the evenings, I search for images. I’m not overthinking it, just selecting. It’s something easy, maybe the easiest thing about all of this. It's... soothing. I need that.
The first image I found was the staircase that serves as a profile pic and appears on this site. The line “For years I feared stairways, not falling down but the climb” is part of my story, and a difficult set of memories, but also something I could officially reclaim by giving it a prominent place here.
Because, see… I’m not afraid to climb. Not anymore.
Much love,
Jess
Comments