The building is grey.
Inside and out.
It is half made of glass,
of stunning windows.
The graphic design department
on the second floor.
Up four flights of stairs.
Lots of Wednesday afternoons,
in my third and fourth year
I sat there,
on the last flight up,
crying.
Feeling like a complete failure.
Every Wednesday I was nervous.
Graphic design class.
Challenging assigments.
The teacher was the coolest.
An amazing designer
and artist himself.
Very kind.
Funny.
Demanding.
Hard questions.
Though advice.
On the typography,
details,
sometimes on ‘sales’,
not being able to tell the story behind,
or the worst thing,
on the concept.
He stretched all my bounderies.
All my thinking.
My knowledge on visual language.
Pushing,
asking for more,
for better.
He could spot from a mile away
how much effort I had put in.
Every week
I wanted to be better,
experimenting,
on better visuals
and typography.
Finding a visual voice.
Last week,
I’m stretching myself.
Here.
He was right.
Think better.
Details matter.
Tell your story right.
Don’t do regular.
Do remarkable.
On all you do.
Be all-in.
Whole-heartedly.
In the end
he gave me the best rating ever.
Taken by surprise.
It took quite a while to understand.
