Fashion photography is so fun and fearless. There really are no rules. Well minus the whole “super skinny” aspect, but thats a whole ‘nother movement we dont have time for today. #gocurvygirls Just kidding. Okay. Here’s some beautiful work done by jessica rivera.
for some reason i cannot create links today? not sure whats happening, but please visit her behance site. These are sooo cool. I love the idea of mixing medias, playing with digital and hand done design and illustration.
We as a class signed up for the GD portfolio review… excuse my bitterness as i type this, but i’m still slightly irritated about the situation. For two weeks i put together my portfolio, correcting assignments as we discussed in class, spending money on printing, matting, reprinting, rematting, etc etc etc. 89$ and some anger later, everything is looking nice. Probably the most time and especially the most money ive spent on my own work, to present to a group of “professionals” (and i use the term lightly) to LOOK at my portfolio. Not even apply for a job. Not get an internship. Just to LOOK at my stuff, and tell me what i’m doing wrong and seldom right…. 25 minutes with 4 reviewers from 9am to roughly 11am. And experience…go…
This woman was so nice. Put me at so much easy. Genuine, kind and helpful. Loved my stuff, something i wasn’t expecting. She talked about my color schemes, my personality, my type strength, and all other great things that caused my ego to expand the size of the room. I talked to her about my personal family business back home and she said i would be incredibly successful in a big corporation with a small business mindset. Which was nice to hear. Her closing words…”you should be incredibly proud of your portfolio. it’s beautiful and you are incredibly talented. Good luck to you in the future and here is my card.” I felt like passing out. Cloud 9.
This “gentleman” comes over, tosses his card at me…okay, thank you? Sits down, and says “go.”. So here i am, second interview on it’s way, ready to die. I am not an angry person. I am kind, fun, and i like to joke. This man is all business…and by all business i mean he is a jerk and is trying to intimidate me. I dont back down. I start with my favorite piece, he is just staring directly into my face, not even looking at what i’m talking about. Another “gentleman” sits down, says “Dont mind me, keep talking” okay, great, now i have two jerks to try to talk to. Jerk 2 starts shuffling through my stuff, ignoring the fact that im talking, rudly making noises, pointing to things, showing Jerk 1 things on my projects. Hey, Nevermind me, just talking.
Jerk Two: “So uh, VIKTOOOOR-EE-UHH (he says my name like it’s a sick disease he could contract at any minute) what IS your major exactly, and uhh what GRADE are you in?”
Me: “I’m a graphic design major, and im a junior at Cardinal Stritch.” (ive already told jerk 1 this information, had you been here when i started…)
Jerk Two: “Well after this, why dont you go over to her (points at girl across room) and look at what you should have as a SENIOR. She is READY.”
About now is when i start to black out. Really? Go across the room? Sure. Excuse me, i’ll leave this toxic conversation before i punch you. i didnt say that, but i was angry. That’s for sure. Jerk two leans back and starts talking to Jerk one about how hungover he is. I am not joking. Really? Okay. perfect. So at this point i lean all the way back in my chair and begin meditating and trying to refrain from crying. Jerk one eventually realizes i am not impressed by their “hungover bro talks” and snaps back to talk to me as he sees im scanning the room for ANYTHING but these two. Tells me my work will “get there.” okay. thank you.
I’m ready to vomit. Two more men sit down. They shake my hand. And are very warm and compassionate. They can clearly see the panic on my face and it might have been possible for them to hear my doubt throughout my head. He asks which piece best describes me, i show him, he says he LOVES this piece and he would showcase it. To not ever sell myself as a student, but as a “designer” in general. We talk about all my other pieces, he says my portfolio is strong and to build up more real world work, or to revamp my class work as real world stuff. Great advice. The other guy tells me my stuff is very strong and i have a key eye for color and layout. That i should really consider selling myself as more in the advertisement world. Cool. I’m back to level ground. Less depressed.
This great guy sits down, has me explain all my stuff, and tells me things i could work on and play up. Tells me i have an amazing color sense and to really work that. Not all designers can figure out colors that sell, and “i have a knack for it”. We then talked about what i want to do, where i want to go, and what i do now. He basically repeated the last interview, same advice, and same comments and compliments.
Overall: i couldn’t get the negative interview out of my head. It really wrecked my good feedback. It wasn’t the fact that they weren’t crazy about my stuff, it was the unprofessionalism that occurred while i was presenting. Interrupting me, ignoring me, and then blatenly discussing drunken evenings the night before. You can rip my work apart all you want. But do not treat me like i’m an idiot.
“Most things about me are hard to explain, I guess, like how I’m mostly delusional and live in a half-imaginary world but am also a realist to the core. I’m just a bunch of contradictions most of the time and I don’t like it, but I also do.”
“I go through phases. Somedays I feel like the person I’m supposed to be, and then somedays, I turn into no one at all. There is both me and my silhouette. I hope that on the days you find me and all I am are darkened lines, you still are willing to be near me.”
“Sure, I’m sad, but I’m not looking to soothe that sadness by replacing it with a new relationship. Women are allowed to be sad, and they’re allowed to be single, and they don’t need to hear that one day a man is going to make it all go away by telling her she is good enough again. She’s good enough as she is.”
“Let someone love you just the way you are – as flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel, and as unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room.”
If I should have a daughter…instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”
She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.
And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”
But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.
I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “there’ll be days like this” my momma said, when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.
You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.