The saddest designer An Essay by Chia Amisola chias.blog I am tired of the premise that creation means productivity––especially in the laborious sense...Creation has become mangled with labor in a world that demands man to monetize all of their hobbies and pursuits. In return, it seems empty, almost sad, really––to be the designer spending weekends again on the screen. To tell you what I like to do in the weekends, I like to do the sad thing...The ‘good’ people tell you to detach your life from your workspace, but this summer, I think I’ve just realized how much I adore what I have the luxury of working on everyday. In the weekend, I make. I make not because it’s the only thing I have ever known, but because it’s the most certain way forward. To see the fulfillment of the workYour life adds up makingidentitywork
The web in decay is the web by design An Essay by Chia Amisola chias.blog When will there be a guide to best practices for archiving the web? Will the giants responsible for the platformization of the web make the act of digital archival any easier for us? Is it foolish for platforms like Snapchat or Instagram Stories to brand themselves as “temporary” when temporariness is impossible on our internet? Should the web exist as something organic, malleable, and destructible –– or as an eternal timekeeper? Is link rot more of a technological issue or a human one? Do humans want to know themselves forever? The Internet Is Rotting decaywww
In defense of disorder: on career, creativity, and professionalism An Essay by Chia Amisola chias.blog Professionalism is a lie, build what you love, explore everything. In today’s age of creation, anyone who attempts to tell you otherwise is lying. You’ll end up seeking what you traded for the rest of your life. Successful careers are not planned workcreativitybureaucracy
On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning A Short Story from The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami 100% perfect
100% perfect And through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society... Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty. One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, both along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in the chest. And they knew: She is the 100% perfect girl for me. He is the 100% perfect boy for me. But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fourteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever. love