The sun is snuggling into the horizon and dinner is on the table. Your family jokes with you about not drinking milk because it makes you gassy. You pour a glass anyway, smiling and holding the carton with one arm and the naysayers back with the other. They make believe they're trying to get past you, but they don't really care. What started out as light-hearted jostling turns into a warm-hearted embrace. Gassy or not, they love you. And you love them.
You hear a low grumbling, like an old pickup pudging along on its last whim. The sound doesn't match the image, though, because it's approaching much faster and louder than any old pickup you've ever heard. The floor begins to vibrate, then jitter and shake. The kitchen appliances start to jerk across the countertops and fall to the floor. Your family looks at you for an answer. Then the world roars.
You open your eyes. They sting with wetness. You smell milk and metal. Someone is crying. Many are crying. You're crying.
This is the type of scenario I imagine when I try to envision the devastation that happened in Haiti. It is something akin to a sudden, merciless scene change, like a snow-globe shaken after a lifetime of settling, except that the little white pellets floating in the air have been replaced by human cries. We have all seen the images and words in the media expressing a dystopic landscape. Unfortunately, only a fraction of the horrific truths translate to us in the videos, pictures, and stories we see and read in the media. To make matters worse, they are often slipped in-between clips of upcoming action movies or the latest fashion style. Many of us have become numb to reality because we are saturated with surreality; it is hard to tell what's real and what's fake when everything looks real. This is why many people look to art.
It's the writer's and designer's task not only to connect the reader/viewer with words and images, but also with the ideas behind them. I wrote the above narration in an attempt to connect the reality of the citizens of Haiti with your own. If, even for a nanomoment, you can imagine what it would be like for your snow-globe to suddenly be shaken then my goal as the writer has been achieved. Permeating the viewer's shell of separation is also my goal when designing.
As a designer, I have been presented with another opportunity to support the people of Haiti: a Valentine's Day candygram. (The first opportunity was Drummers for Haiti.) Every week I meet with Kenia Del Rosario and members of the George Washington building to discuss how we can bring the community together. With Valentine's Day approaching we decided to do a candygram fund raiser and donate the proceeds to Haiti relief. Kenia designed the following poster and the program was underway.
During the week before V-Day we took turns selling candygrams in the building lounge/kitchen area. We sold them for fifty cents each - that included a lollipop, small card, and delivery on Sunday morning. Since we had to design the card, we used it as a means to express the tragedy in Haiti and remind the community what the program was for. Oftentimes, fund raisers and benefits become so far removed from the cause they're supporting that the participants don't know where their donation is going. With this in mind, Kenia and I put together a few cards that would keep the purpose of the candygram program at the forefront of the message.
It's the writer's and designer's task not only to connect the reader/viewer with words and images, but also with the ideas behind them. I wrote the above narration in an attempt to connect the reality of the citizens of Haiti with your own. If, even for a nanomoment, you can imagine what it would be like for your snow-globe to suddenly be shaken then my goal as the writer has been achieved. Permeating the viewer's shell of separation is also my goal when designing.
As a designer, I have been presented with another opportunity to support the people of Haiti: a Valentine's Day candygram. (The first opportunity was Drummers for Haiti.) Every week I meet with Kenia Del Rosario and members of the George Washington building to discuss how we can bring the community together. With Valentine's Day approaching we decided to do a candygram fund raiser and donate the proceeds to Haiti relief. Kenia designed the following poster and the program was underway.
Kenia's poster for the candygram program.
During the week before V-Day we took turns selling candygrams in the building lounge/kitchen area. We sold them for fifty cents each - that included a lollipop, small card, and delivery on Sunday morning. Since we had to design the card, we used it as a means to express the tragedy in Haiti and remind the community what the program was for. Oftentimes, fund raisers and benefits become so far removed from the cause they're supporting that the participants don't know where their donation is going. With this in mind, Kenia and I put together a few cards that would keep the purpose of the candygram program at the forefront of the message.
Many people wrote messages in the empty space to the left of the child.
When people came across this one they stared at it longer than the other two. Many commented on the intensity of the image.
This was the favorite among people who wanted a more conventional V-Day card.
Each card was filled out and attached to the back of a heart-shaped lollipop. After all was said and done, we sold over eighty candygrams and received several donations on top of that. On Valentine's Day morning Kenia and I split up and delivered the pile of lollipops to the building's denizens.
The candygrams after the program was over. (Cell phone picture.)
Candygram: delivered. (Cell phone picture.)
All the candygrams were delivered successfully and the program was a success. Thank you for reading. Spread the love.
[If you liked this post you may also like Drummers for Haiti: A Fund Raiser.]
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