A San-Serif Font of Creativity

I've always been a graphic designer.


No, really. It's always been a thing with me. However, when I was a kid, I and everyone else in art class didn't know the term "graphic designer." We called them "commercial artists."


And, I thought this was the coolest idea. I could create wonderful things, and make money doing it. This was an honorable career choice for me: do what you love to do, and earn a living doing it.


Oh, sure, I was sneered at by the other kids who thought it was far cooler to be a "fine artist." Why would you want to be a sell-out, Al? I'd reply back, why would you want to end up in an attic somewhere, making soup out of hot tap water and ketchup and lopping off part of your ear for some girl who thinks you're a nutcase? No, thanks.


Some agreed with me. Some didn't. I wasn't too concerned either way. I knew what I wanted.


I got my first gig when I was about 11 years old. My sister-in-law worked for a food brokerage, and she needed a big banner for their company picnic. She remembered that I was the artistic one in the family, and asked how much I'd charge to paint the banner. In my head, I started to figure about how long it would take, mentally comparing the work to my babysitting job, asked if she was providing supplies and then negotiated a price. She agreed, I did the work, had Dad help me write my first invoice, and got a check about a week later from her company. She said her boss was happy with my work and accounting was amused that my invoice was hand-written on notebook paper.


I loved it, and knew this was my calling. By the time I was 16, I was painting and drawing banners and posters for five different clients: Swift & Co., Devore-Knight Food Brokerage, Bobby Jones Golf Course, The Sandpiper Restaurant and the Business & Professional Woman's Club. And it sure beat the heck out of babysitting!


My resume states that I've been in my current profession for the past 18 years. But, a resume is just a piece of paper (or a bunch of zeros and ones) for a Human Resources Department to put in some folder somewhere. It never gives the whole story.


I'm an artist, a creator, a problem solver. I arrange things. Nicely. I look at certain things around me: candy wrappers, junk mail, t-shirts, Aunt Millie's needlepoint website, and I think, "I can design that to be better!" I marvel over the texture of a certain paper, or revel in the smell of ink on a printing press. I wonder how the gobbledegook of HTML, CSS and Javascript becomes an elegant graphic interface.


I can't help it. I've always been this way.


Ever since my folks carried me out of the hospital, and I thought to myself, "Did they really think the name of the hospital looked good in that font?"