No. 20: Yellow Vending Machine

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