“To collect one’s forces, even when they seem to be scattered, and when one’s aim is only dimly perceived–this is a great action and will sooner or later bring forth fruits.”
—Maria Montessori

I re-visited Sister Corita’s rules the other day and found them ever-pertinent. I started to underline them in the little sheet of them I printed out for my notebook, but then realized I was underlining them all, defeating the purpose of giving emphasis. I especially love “Consider everything an experiement.”

*taken from http://eismann-sf.com/news/?p=133

I used to pass these doors in Ourense on one of the paths I would take through the city. I always found something rustically romantic about them. (terrible ipod photo).

The doors closed on my time in Spain (definitely not the last!) with a painful goodbye in June. I returned home looking for the next open doors. Obviously with the balancing of freelance and a job search, I had to make time to finally get caught up on blog posts…in JANUARY! Wow, too long.

My time since June has been spent freelancing on some fun projects, looking for the next opportunity, and taking this time (forced “extra time” as it may be) to read a lot and explore topics of design about which I now have a head swarming with questions. July was as hot as ever in Alabama humidity. And August. And September. Though good to refresh at home. I spent part of October and November working on a contract project with FEMA in Birmingham putting together tornado recovery plan books. It was an interesting experience and a great time to get to pick some brains of city planners. After seeing many cities this past year I have a fascination with how we plan cities, foster culture within them, and how people move around and connect in them. I have started Jane Jacobs’ Death and Life of Great American Cities to explain some more in a classic sense. Highly recommended.

A trip to Chicago in December to see much-missed friends from time at PieLab/Greensboro was so refreshing. We had many conversations about where design is going, what is the changing role of the designer, what do we therefore call ourselves now, is social design really viable?, etc. Expect many more fleshed out explorations of this as I gather notes from sketchbooks. Those are some smart people and I’m always inspired by how they’re “making it work” (thethirdofthree.com, amandabuck.com, wholman.com, Will’s recent article here).

A job search in a struggling economy is never fun. I keep questioning if I really need to keep “searching,” or whether or not to stop, and start my own gig. Tempting. The thing is, though, I’m young and have much to learn from those more imbedded in the profession. All good craftsmen have apprentices. There’s a passing on of the trade that young designers cannot forsake. Hopefully the newer ones will push the conversation, but to do that you must know where you stand in the conversation. Delving into some old books and periodicals (not the only-eye-candy-rewarding design magazines on shelves now) is helping. Stay tuned for findings there.

Okay, Galicians, don’t judge me if the title isn’t perfect. Morriña: Galician sentiment of a longing for something lost.
One of the biggest blessings in Spain was mine and Katie’s adopted family while there. I will forever be indebted for their welcoming us into their family and group of friends. It’s interesting how much smell is a powerful memory trigger. I recently received a package from their house and the instant smell of their house made me miss them and Galicia so much.

And Katie, the perfect roomie/rover companion for the year:

Panxón. Some of the loveliest beaches.

Last few pictures from my school. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to be than CEIP de Santiago de Oliveira. Buena gente.

Nuria, the awesome English teacher I worked alongside.

Click here for a video from class.

Mari Carmen was the fantastic director at my school who took me in like a daughter. I am forever indebted for her and her family’s hospitality and care.

Above: Across the border in Portugal. A couple of times she took me us to get coffee and pastries in Moncao, just a twenty minute trip from Ponteareas.

When my parents came, she fixed an amazing paella. Don’t you love those blue glasses on the table?!

Jamón, jamón!

Going away dinner. Some of my favorite people. Beautiful, smart, fun. Welcomed us with open arms. I couldn’t be more thankful.

Super cool coffee shop in Vigo. Loved the decor.

Cris! Almost-twin modernita glasses requires a photo.

During my last few months in Spain there was a protest/revolt/don’t know what to call it, demanding that Spain function in a more “real” democracy. Maybe kind of like our Occupy, but more oriented towards government than Wall Street. It started in Madrid in the main plaza there, but many of the smaller cities held their own sit-ins. Ourense had their own at our Praza Maior.

I was wandering my city one of the last days there to do some last minute documenting, of a city I now dearly miss. I snapped a few photos of the movement. A lady passing by saw me and asked what I was going to with it. I said I was just taking pictures to remember my year in Spain. I don’t think she got it. She pushed it further asking what I was really going to do with it and I gathered that she thought I was some kind of journalist. Flattered though I was, I assured her that I had no intentions to do anything with the photo other than document my surroundings. She told me I should send it to “someone in my country.” I asked her what I would even say with the photo to which she remarked, “Tell them we don’t have a real democracy in Spain.” Then she proceeded to share her passion for her Galician homeland with me. It turned out to be an enriching conversation. However, I still left laughing thinking about how anyone with a camera who looks foreign can be made to look a little more powerful, like they’re going to tell a story with it. I honestly never got a full grasp on the movement and have no political comments to make on it, and think it wise to not form strong political feelings about a country’s system when I’m not actually a citizen and could probably never understand their sentiments fully as I’m not subject to their laws, taxes, and systems. I was impressed by the participants’ willingness to step up for something they want to see changed.

A recent article in the NY Times about the 45 places to go in 2012 had me interested–I’m always curious about how they pick the places for those kind of articles. I arrived at a paragraph on one of the places in Italy that it recommended as an alternative to Cinque Terre while two of the five villages recover from massive mudslides that were devastating to the town centers. I had no clue! How did I miss that in the news?! After some googling (it’s 2012, that can be a verb, right?), I found photos that confirmed it. I have no connection to Cinque Terre aside from two short visits, but was still saddened to think about such a gem under mud. Hopefully the recovery will be quick. I was thankful to have seen it before the destruction. A few years ago as a backpacking student I spent time hiking between the villages. This time I was with my family in a rented car which made for a different experience. The road into town is chock-full of elbow turns and going like 10 mph. Sorry, like, 20 kph…when in Rome…We stayed in Vernazza and only visited this one of the five villages. I had hoped for a boat ride to the other villages but the seas were really rough that day so no boats were running. We decided spending our time would be best spent by staying in Vernazza and enjoying Mediterranean rays.

There’s something about the ocean that gets me. I know I’m not alone as it is the topic of many historical writings from the first time people began to write. So I’m not saying I have a special lure to the sea. Just one that changes something in my attitude like in so many people. Something about being on the edge of land is fantastic. You look out and the horizon is so promising. It’s a reminder that there is a whole world out there and you’re at the edge looking out. It’s so deep and mysterious, as all you can see is the surface of the water. It brings unique smells that complete the ambiance. It provides food and a medium for transportation. After dinner one night we walked up a hilltop and looked out. The sea more calmly surged below, the lights of the town twinkled; I could hear music, the clanking of restaurants cleaning dishes off of the patios, people chatting. I treasure the memory.

Left: 2007. Right: 2011.

It’s hard to get the idea from the two pictures above, but this was a scene where we, and many others around, stood mesmerized watching these young boys play in the rough seas. The gist of it is that there was a sea wall that was maybe 5-6 feet above water level. But with the ebbing and flowing of the sea, the waves would crash over the wall. The boys had figured out that if they just bobbed out the in the water (usually well-below the wall), eventually a wave big enough would intermittently come and be so big that they could ride it over the wall and it was set them own perfectly on their feet on top of the wall. Though risky, it looked fun.

Our hotel room itself was nothing special, though it did have a balcony with a great view. However, the breakfast room was so lovely with flower petals everywhere and these were our lovely cappuccinos.