- Jun 14, 2024
- 5 min read
Updated: Apr 13, 2025
Illustration of Yellow Vending Machine @smarti
At the bus stop for school there was a small yellow vending machine with aluminum cans of hot chocolate, hot coffee and...corn soup. I was 7 years old. We lived in Japan. In all kinds of little and bizarre ways, Japan is eye-opening. That’s where my design love story started. It's the first time I remember paying attention to all the small things that we touch, carry, experience in design and packaging. It also gave me the first inkling of why I would struggle with my future design career.
It wasn’t my first time abroad. We had popped in and out of Spain since I was a baby because Momola is from Spain. That in itself is special - the sidewalks are tiled, the village houses are chocabloc tight, the playground kiosks have bright posters of ice creams, and soda is served in tall glasses. Ah, Spain! But I had normalized the language, the cultural and architectural details just by virtue of growing up with it.
Japan, however, was so outrageously different, I couldn’t help but pay attention. Pocky stick packaging with its red clam-case top for easy storage. Neat-o! Folded origami or pastel lanterns and light decor in the streets tickled me pink. Weekly visits to a small shopping center displayed the Japanese design experience from plastic bath stools, music players, and Hello Kitty printed underwear. I saw a very different expression of commercial commodification. Charming and unexpected - novelty is entrancing.
On the weekends, my parents would volunteer our family for beach clean-ups. Walking along the seaside to collect litter along the shore, I remember picking up little bits and putting it in my bucket. Some of it was colorful bits of plastic. The plastic bits would swish around at the bottom of my bucket. When I started recognizing candy logos and colored wrappers, it dawned on me that it was the discarded end of design. No longer beautiful, no longer special. Rubbish. It was the first time I connected that the things that brought me so much joy could also be so sad. I couldn’t verbalize it, but I remember feeling disheartened.
To be frank, this isn't a knock on Japan. A lot of Japanese products incorporate ecological design - rice paper candy covers, furoshiki gift wrappings, bamboo packaging. But as a kid it was the first time I noticed how products were made without planning for their demise. When I was becoming a designer, the after-life consequences of my creations became more important to me. And like many other artists, I learned to try to be careful about the tools I own and plan for what I make to minimize waste and maximize sustainability.
As a result, I have so many mixed feelings about being an artist/designer.
Illustration of Beach Clean Ups @smarti
First, I struggle with how so much of creative life requires tools, equipment, fabric, energy, etc. It's important to just start, and yet there is inevitably always some kind of waste. There's ways to be more mindful about the tools, but moreover, the creation of the tools themselves is an act of destruction. As in, at the very least, the tool creation comes out of destruction. Paper requires tree mulch. Dyes require toxins. Paint requires synthetic stabilizers. Ultimately, it’s unrealistic to not want to harm anything. By virtue of being alive we are already contributing to the growing waste of society.
And gosh, I hate how there is such a push to commodify the result of the creation. Hustle culture encourages artists to print creations on anything and everything that can carry a design. Towels, t-shirts, mugs, keychains - merch, merch, merch - it's the commercial way of "getting ours" out of our creative expression. It supplements (or frankly, even completes) a salary that so many struggling artists dream to stabilize. I get that. Merch is the proverbial cliff that all artist have to decide if they will jump off of too. It's hard to say no.
Then as a minimalist, I realize the consumption itself is also dangerously exploited. Especially with the globalization of commercialization. Endless options. Overwhelming access. The Story of Stuff. The never-ending conveyor belt of new items. Unboxing. Oh man, unboxing. So much unboxing. Everyone's individual choices unboxed in pursuit of showcasing a life well-lived. What toys do you have? What's your personal collection? All while averting our eyes away from the environmental destruction. (I sound like the Grinch complaining about a Whoville Christmas here...)
But, on the other hand, I also deeply understand the joy of creation. The inspiring spark of ideation. The challenge of making something out of nothing. The special mix of talent and determination that gets me through each project, sometimes just barely hanging on. How much I feel alive - focused, happy, connected when I'm making something! Even in the middle of a hard project, I know I wouldn't feel fulfilled doing anything else.
Self-expression is also so important! It's truly painful to contain. It has to come out! If not, I ruminate and feel crazy. It just has to get out! Pencil to paper so I can feel the release. When I have tried in the past to contain it, I would feel less human, almost numb, like a zombie. And eventually, it would come bursting out through frivolous side projects anyway.
And geez louis - novelty IS wonderful to share! That blessed yellow vending machine! The surprise and joy of finding the unknown. Colorful patterns, new flavors. Expectation. Experience. Memory. Humans are wired to seek something different, to try new things, to just basically want more, to expand the limits of life. There's something charming about how curious and excited we are for something new. Even to our own demise, let alone that of the environment.
Illustration of Litter Combing the Sand @smarti
So I think about that yellow vending machine and the beach too much. I wrestle with my personal and artistic choices all the time. Knowing it's such a unique privilege and yet, so hard. So very hard. Getting bogged down in my mind about what choices I'm willing to make. Feeling insecure and frustrated about how it has probably limited me and my career. How my choices are imperfect, because every choice comes with ecological consequences. Even the mindful choices come with consequences. I guess this is the reality of living in the climate-change era. And at the least, I know I'm not alone.
For now, I'm trying to focus my personal projects only on the making small things that we touch, carry, and experience to connect with each other and with the world around us. I don't make a lot. But I do make things. Maps, toys, zines, cards, games. As close to paper as possible, as safely printed as possible, as consciously made as I can...knowing it's still not the best, but it's the best I can do right now.
A pledge of hope:
May I have the courage to use what I already own.
May I build a network to help me borrow what I need.
May I thrift the resources to make what I want.
May I produce using homemade alternatives when I can.
May I create using ecological resources where I am.
May I only buy or make with the highest intentional plan for the end-of-life cycle.
here's to my fellow artists who also struggle with their choices while still making beauty,
smarti
- May 14, 2024
- 4 min read
Updated: Apr 13, 2025
Plateaus are normal. Especially with art skills. One can look back and see tons of progress and feel encouraged, while at the same time feel stuck in a perpetual spinning hamster wheel of stagnant tools. It's the worst. I want to share a story about a challenge series I used to move my skills forward two years ago. It's my 100 Inanimate Objects which started as a drawing challenge and turned into a lovely Vintage Object poster.
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As a writing warm up one day, I made a list of vintage things that I find incredibly adorable. Normally these lists are just to get the juices flowing. But I found myself later that week flipping back to the list, adding things to it, looking up items on Pinterest, and daydreaming about this list quite a lot.
I was home at the time, visiting my parents, and Momola let me play with her antique UnderWood typewriter. So I decided to take the vintage objects idea and turn it into a personal drawing challenge. My drawing skills were frustrating me - relying on digital too much, crutching on dark outlines, languishing on immature flat shapeless coloring. The goal was to draw a little each day and hopefully fail-forward to understanding color, light and darkness. So I typed out the vintage object prompts on a stack of little sheets. I brought the stack home to my desk and drew out a couple at a time as a daily warm-up.
Black Underwood Typewriter. Pencil shavings and the first awful color studies of vintage objects by Smarti. Illustration of a wingback chair above typed words "Blue Chair" by Smarti.
Underwood photo, stack of illus, blue chair illustration by @thesmarti
Personal challenges are often embarrassing and exhausting. You have to be ok with being really bad AND still have the courage to keep going. So many of my first attempts were lame. I mean, likely - really lame. There was a lot of groaning and a tendency to want to just slink down out of my seat to the floor. I just wasn't improving as I thought I would. But at least it was fun to look up vintage things...
And then eventually around day 60, I started to see a shift. Coloring with pencils forced me to look at hues - and I started to see color as an elusive eye trick. Things that are blue are not actually blue but green and black and purple sometimes. So I let myself play with different colors and lean into the exploration. And then I started to see shadows. Muted colors of undertones in and under every object. So I started to try to smudge them in with my pencils. And it gave objects weight and gravity and a bit of realism in a wonky way. Play and exploration - silly and unforgiving - but still a way to get into the lessons and try to absorb some knowledge.
Illustration of a vintage periwinkle atomizer above the typewritten "perfume atomizer" by Smarti. Assorted illustrations of vintage objects on a desk by Smarti. Colored pencil illustration of a marbled FM radio by Smarti.
perfume atomizer ilustration by @thesmarti, stack of illus, radio ilustration by @thesmarti
I think, more interestingly, my hands and fingers started learning a language of their own in movement. Sliding, swooshing, shimmying across the page with an audible satisfaction of grit and texture conferred on the page. I liked seeing how my eye-to-hand coordination got more exact and I felt a greater sense of subtlety in the pencil pressure I put on the page. I still leaned heavily on outlines and my shadow work is immature, but I felt like I was slowly getting somewhere. I posted the progress on IG during the year of 2022 and took a lot of joy in researching the history of the objects for the captions.
At the end of the challenge, I had a stack of 101 inanimate objects sketches. I scanned each one in, cleaned them up and assembled them together in a celebratory poster Vintage Objects. I, of course, only used some of my best drawings, or at least the ones I felt were the best portrayed. (You can find that poster and more of the drawings here.) And is it amazing? Not exactly. But am I proud of myself? Yes. Did I learn a lot? Oh heck yea. I could literally track my progress and see that over time, this challenge had changed my ability to "see" things and capture some nuance.
Vintage Object poster by @thesmarti
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Trying to be an artist can feel ridiculously frustrating at times. I see other artists all around me on instagram who incredible and talented beyond my wildest dreams. The lesson I sit with often is that I have to be ok with where I'm at right now. Growth happens slowly. Purposefully. Paying attention and creating moments of learning is important to building my own talent and failing forward.
And even when I've figured out some skills, I will always be failing in some other aspect and that's ok. The goal is to find joy wherever you are. I feel like this project gave me a little taste of that. There is a beauty in the willingness to experiment and feel foolish, and the everlasting lesson to not give up. [...] It's also fun to know that a good gritty pencil can soften my mood any day.
happy art challenges, dear friends,
smarti
- Apr 14, 2024
- 4 min read
Updated: Apr 13, 2025
So it's been a year since we arrived in Windhoek, Namibia for our tour. How does time move so quickly? I still feel like a tourist! [...] But we have settled into a rhythm and routine, and I have adjusted without realizing. So I thought it would be good to take a moment and write down all the things I've internalized about being here.
I'm learning to ritualize sunscreen, follow sun protection and embrace desert weather. It's dry all day. The sun is intense. It's nippy at night. Lotion up, bring a hat, have an evening jacket ready.
I keep a stack of 5 dollar coins in my purse for parking attendants. They wear these neon vests and sometimes they are hired by a shopping complex. More likely, they are self-appointed for that area. Other than as ceremonial security, they really don't offer much service. But I understand that there's a dearth of employment opportunities here, and these parking attendants are doing their best.
Sometimes their job is to point at the parking spot while I'm already pulling in. Other times they wave me permission while I'm already successfully backing out. Sometimes they do diddly-squat. I still pay them. I make sure to hunt out those 5 dollar coins like they are four-leaf clovers so I can have a stack at the ready when I inevitably need 'em.
I throw curtsies around after greetings or finished exchanges. When you enter a shop, a greetings is common and expected. (Heck, in Paris, we would be considered so rude for not throwing an all-purpose "Bonjour" to everyone inside while entering a shop.) But I think I got used to the direct Danish way (or maybe the very obviously American way) of using absolutely no formalities in an exchange.
So you can imagine my startled confusion the first time I shook a woman's hand in greeting and she bobbed into a curtsy! (More intrigued than confused and also somehow delighted.) I've learned since that people do this to shake hands but also to receive payment/tips. I thought it was strange but endearing. Now I throw them in all the time. After a friends introduction. At the end of a shopping exchange when I get the receipt. When I'm asking a question to a sales attendant. It's silly and fun and maybe that's why I like doing it!
Driving on the left side isn't so scary. When we arrived I had been spoiled for a decade with public transport. Metros and buses in Buenos Aires. Throw in some trains for Paris. And bikes in Copenhagen. So, dusting off my sleepy beach town driving skills to cruise on the left-hand side of the road was overwhelming.
Judging traffic felt wonky and wrong. Ignoring the honks from taxis (that's how they solicit riders, apparently) gave me anxiety. Checking mirrors was disorienting. Even perspective-decisions were tricky - why does it feel like I'm driving in the middle of the road! It didn't help that a car hit me in my first weeks driving. Yup, my very first accident. Even though it wasn't my fault, it still gives me sweaty palms every time I pass that traffic light.
But slowly, eventually, driving on the left side became more familiar. Trusting my left-side driving skills started to feel more natural. Navigating the city - with GPS on - felt a little better. Figuring out how to turn right at lights (there are very few right turn lights which means you have to just drive smack into the middle of the intersection and then wait for the traffic to finish on their red light to make that right turn) - became a little bit more manageable. [...] All the same, I'd trade the driving for a bike ride if I could.
Living a Windhoek life is small...but the wildlife payoff is big. I like to believe that I'm suited for a wide-range of spaces. After all, one can get used to anything. While Windhoek is a tiny capital, it's more like a town. There are less people, no public transport. Mail doesn't get in easily, the few existing shops/restaurants close early and often, the public library is dismal and you have to drive for hours before hitting another destination. It's just...very different.
And yet, I've always cultivated a small life - even in big cities! I like my workout & errands / work / dinner routine. Only periodically would I throw in the pleasures of a library and museum research visits, intimate SoFar concerts, vintage book hunting, thrift-store hopping, and vegan treats. Now, I've contracted my life way more here because none of those exist (unless I book a flight to Cape Town in South Africa.)
But more interestingly, my life has expanded to include my own house garden (with planted citrus trees, tomatoes, basil, hibiscus and even roses from previous owners), as well as the obvious big adventure of travel and nature in Africa. Driving up north to see elephants, giraffes and impalas, or driving east to see whales, seals, flamingos - I mean, what is this life? There are even lodges and game-drives less than an hour away from where we live! The possibility of seeing wildlife is astounding and wonderful and I know I'm lucky to be here for now.
So it's been a year to adjust to life and realize the beauty of this adventure. I still feel lost with so many parts of our life here. I still have questions for why things are done a certain way. And I sometimes feel sad when I miss the things that I had in other posts. But I know these are all parts of the dynamic culture shock waves, and I'm riding them the best that I can. Mostly, I'm just grateful when I have awestruck moments of star-gazing or giraffe-studying or even just sampling small, sweet vegan dinner parties with friends.
here's to celebrating Windhoek and our first year here,
smarti
