When I first began this line study project, I found the restrictions intense, painful even–until a revelation occurred. Similar to strategically placed circles, I discovered lines, even straight ones, when displayed in a particular arrangement, can convey emotion. I knew I had been brainwashed when: just the other day I saw a crumbled up napkin and thought it looked sad. . . My project is not just about lines, but rather, it tells a story about the progress and possible loss of a relationship.
Although the ancient world of analog supremely slows the design process, it is for the good of all. Applying analog qualities to a design allows it to retain a human quality. For instance, we added text to the line studies not by typing on the art, but by the gloriously, meticulous process of hand-made mockups. This included cutting out individual letters and glueing them imperfectly onto the art. Only after the mock-ups were complete did we scan them in and attempt to reproduce the awkward, yet amazing positioning of the letters. If every element of the design were created by the perfection of the computer, it would likely look controlled and stiff. (And in my mind, controlled and stiff equals: dull as tombs.)
The more the boundaries for this project were loosened, the more personal creativity was able to seep in; therefore, the level of narrative steadily increased. And in my surprisingly, opinionated opinion, narrative is vital to design. In the resonating first line of Claus Oldenburg's I Am for an Art essay: I am for an art. . . that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.