Just the other day, I was talking to a friend about a mild inconvenience that was just about obliterating me. I’m using the word “obliterate” here to illustrate the fact that that’s essentially what it was doing to me—disrupting my life in such a way that I was allowing myself to be completely undone by it.

When and where did I get so damn entitled?

In a world where we’re afforded so much, the smallest of inconveniences can seem an impossible chore. We’re so used to everything being calculated, curated, and automated that when it’s not, the sky may as well be falling.

We’re not short on essays about the state of the Design culture. It seems everyone’s got an opinion about whether or not we’re too loud, too sensitive, and just plain too mean for our own good. I know I, myself, have fallen into the trap of groupthink, and fired shots on what’s easiest. Whether it’s a logo I’m not hip to, a redesign I can’t stomach, or a line that’s not deserving of my time, getting riled up is easy. If you’re looking to be pissed, this is the Information Age: There’s no shortage of content out there to sink your teeth into.

With social media, we’re a living timeline of our thoughts etched in text and broadcasted for the world to see. It’s been incredibly telling those few times I’ve combed through my Twitter feed and weighed complaints vs. praise (or just non-complaints, even). It does wonders for detecting those times I go full curmudgeon and allow the more grating interactions to dictate my behaviors. There’s a lot of good in this world and sometimes you’re going to have to be intentional about looking for those things—because friction often demands a reaction, but deliverables we’ve come to expect can feel as if we’re entitled to them.

Most of us are building products for humans, so let’s try and make them the best products we can and minimize friction points. But for the times we miss the mark, let’s hope that we find that same grace on the other end of the experience. And that we act with expedience to correct and refine those interactions.

I’m grateful for those friends, like Olivier Lacan, who encourage me to reach out to a company before blasting them on Twitter for what they’ve done wrong, because you could be surprised at their willingness to help.

Here’s to taking more time out of my day to celebrate those things that are worth celebrating. And maybe occasionally shutting the hell up about those things that aren’t worthy of it.

I was invited by Troy DeShano to take part in his collaborative design project, Futuralbum. The concept was simple: Create an alternative album cover using only Futura (in any weight) and images from the Flickr Internet Archive Book Images.

There’s this really great vintage vibe that permeates throughout the entire library, but I thought it would be a fun challenge to work within the constraints, while adding in an anachronistic aesthetic. Something about blending in this hand-drawn antique feel with an amped up science fiction 80s seemed like a perfect flex for that environment.

More importantly, I’ve always loved how the 80s treated science fiction. The films were bold, loud, and downright silly at times. But there’s something infectious about its hyperbolic dreams of the future; they’re not bound by the hyper-realism that we subject modern films to. There’s no microscope fact-checking each and every claim. This girl’s got rocket launchers for arms? Awesome. This guy’s actually an android being piloted by a cybernetic praying mantis? I’m all in.

I assembled some of my favorite inspiration pieces that are either from or inspired by this wondrous little slice of time. James White’s Uzicopter tumblr is one hell of a moodboard if you’re interested.

Building the cover was so much fun, but undoubtedly the most critical part was getting the type right. I obviously didn’t have to make a choice for the typeface (Thanks, Troy!), but getting effects down pat had more than its fair share of struggles. Below you’ll find a small visual documentation of how I created some of the more dynamic elements of the type—which I strived to keep reminiscent of some of the more flashy, over-the-top treatments of old.

Ultimately, in my process, there was no real short cut to creating it. As everyone’s different, there very well may be a more direct, compact approach to these renderings, but I really enjoy getting to “paint” things on myself; it gives you can incredible amount of control over the piece. The original type was created in illustrated and imported into Photoshop by dimensional faces. From there, colors are masked onto the individual faces as I use brushes to add colors and gradients. It’s laborious but it’s also one of the more fun techniques to play in. The results you get can be incredibly varied by adjusting a single color or blending mode.

Gradually changing temperatures in a piece make for some dynamic transitions. Try using warm colors (say orange) and transitioning into some of the cooler ends of the spectrum (like a royal blue or purple). These add complex visual patterns that stand out—especially when you’re working with a more muted background palette. 

In order to get a real handle on just how to create these pieces, it was necessary to do some experimentation. Before actually creating the full Dynatron type, I played around with some additional covers (that I did for the album’s singles) to get a few running starts.

When you have the time, I find that these purely exploratory iterations can yield some helpful results; showing you what works and what absolutely doesn’t. For these creations, I didn’t stick to the Futuralbum guidelines in having to use images from the Flickr Internet Archive Book Images. Instead, I created my own visuals that would aid the experience without any constraints attached. Without any restrictions, you’re able to create unfettered creation that purely pulls from whatever is in your own mind. I find that this is a particularly useful technique when working on client projects: Do a first round where you just go nuts with the piece before having to reel it back in to Earth.

Overall, I’m happy with how it all turned out and would love to give this aesthetic a go again at some point. But more importantly, go check out the entire Futuralbum project. It’s a real treat for the eyes! Also, feel free to give Dynatron a listen here.

It’s been a pretty fine year. Sure, maybe it hasn’t been the loudest but in some ways, that’s a victory in and of itself. Here are a few things I learned in 2014.

• If you really want to do something, you’ll make the time to actually do it.
• You can lead a client to a solution, but you can’t make them buy it.
• Public speaking makes me want to throw up before I go on and speak again once it’s over.
• The Save-for-Web Claw is real and we’re all going to get carpal tunnel.
• The Transformers sequels simply aren’t going to stop.
• If you don’t know how to do a hair tie, a hat or bandana works just as well for keeping snot out of your kid’s hair.
• Whiskey is medicine and works better than most over-the-counter remedies.
• At a certain age, there is such a thing as too much bacon and it feels like all the light has gone from the world; leaving only a husk of what it once was.
• Butts: Surprisingly hard to draw.
• People are preordering watches when what we should be preordering are jetpacks and hoverboards.
• My knowledge of the Tinker Bell Universe is vast, ever-expanding, and arguably the most concentrated repository of information currently in my mental possession.
• You can say you’re buying Legos "for the kids" all you want, but deep down you know the truth of the situation.
• These bullet-pointed listicles are essentially what journalism is on the internet.
• I suppose they think it makes reading more digestible?
• If you’re still reading this one, your persistence is truly worthy of admiration.

Screw it. Here’s to learning more in 2015!

From time to time, I’ll get emails from thoughtful folks trying to out someone "ripping off" a design I made. Occasionally—and it’s rare—there’s an actual abuse being reported: Someone is printing a design of mine on a piece of unapproved merchandise, or maybe someone copied a piece point for point and claimed it as their own. Though, to be fair, these are the exceptions.

More often than not, the accused are those making work that happens to share a common theme or similar structure in the build of their work when compared with mine. Whether it’s a geometric base to their work or a similar lighting mechanic, some confuse my technique with a fully owned, patented solution. I’ll just take the time here and now to be as clear as day when I say that I didn’t and continually am not inventing anything new or unseen. My concluded solutions have surely been revelations to others laboring on similar problems without any intervention or influence of mine.

Working with a grid system and creating abstractions therein isn’t something that belongs to me anymore than the Pantone 2592 U belongs to any one person or organization. I simply don't see myself in possession of any one particular technique.

The sheer size and publicity of the internet community has made creative theft a true, punishable assault in the realm of mass professionalism. And with good reason. The ability to “out” a wrongdoer amidst a jury of peers is a tempting offer; often snowballing into a social firestorm of vitriol that’s damnable to the offender and beneficial to the originator. It’s the shot tweeted around the world.

And the fact is, we like to watch it happen. Like flies to an open wound, we crowd around to get a good view; waiting with bated breath for the response of the offender. Will they cower in defense? Will there be a maelstrom of words lobbied back and forth? My freshman English teacher probably said it best when she said we have a "fascination with abomination”.

I can’t speak for everyone on the exact scale of sensitivity he or she experiences, I can only speak for myself when I say that I have little to no interest in outing anyone for building their work in a manner similar manner to my own—other than perhaps patting them on the back and taking notes on what they’ve done better. If you’re eager to know how something is being built, let me know. There are no trade secrets in here that go under lock and key at night. If I was only being hired for my hands or software know-how, I’d have bigger problems than I know.

Take a moment to think twice before crying "foul". Oftentimes, doing a little extra digging for context could shed some valuable light to the perceived conflict. Be prepared to accept the possibility that perhaps your work hasn't been seen by literally every living being.

It’s crowded working in this space; crowded enough that, at times, we’re going to be rubbing elbows. I’d just prefer to be able to labor side-by-side in admiration as opposed to constructing windowless walls in paranoid isolation.

That said, there are undoubtedly, inarguably instances where work is being illicitly stolen. In those cases, do what needs to be done. Obviously. Though, as I’m not a lawyer, the usefulness of this specific article has plummeted to a resounding zilch. Apologies all around.

One of the things I’ve come to love most about the design community is this infectious sense of camaraderie that seeps into almost every crevice of the culture. It’s the sharing of ideas over various chat clients, critiques offered in the safety of friendships, and the opportunities to meet face-to-face over the intimacy of a shared drink or amidst the hustle and bustle of a conference. Those moments where we’re able to be more than a faceless part of a larger whole.

And while it’s not always sunshine and rainbows in Design-ville, these are opportunities that aren’t widespread across all of working culture. They’re practices that are easily taken for granted.

For some reason, (probably for the sheer potency and social traction of said commentary) it’s become increasingly popular to bemoan the design culture as a whole: To find the more troubling tendencies and exploit them as a preachy tell-all that journalistically exposes the seedy, self-aggrandizing nature of the community itself. As if, by airing this dirty laundry, we’re effectively inspiring a change at the heart of those doing the most damage by the utter brilliance of our personal convictions.

But most of these pieces do little more than raise a clenched fist in condescension—turning aimed sights on a particular group of people that, clearly, doesn’t include ourselves. We patronize an entire community on the assumption that they’re too dense, too divisive, and too self-involved to fully grapple with the depths of their own depravity.

None of this is to say that these concerns and complaints aren’t valid or warranted, but in place of an actual discussion on the subject, we trade discourse for assault; instead of opening a conversation, we declare war on an entire community. 

We, in effect, take a concern that can be incredibly powerful through the right lens, and lose those who need to hear it most—not because what we have to say isn’t important—but because the way we’ve said it is immediately rejected upon reaching its final destination. No, the argument isn’t invalidated, but it may have been substantially neutered in its potency by the chosen style of delivery.

Generalizations are easy, but they’re also dangerous. They trade accuracy for cheap efficiency.

Your commentary and critique on culture is likely a needed voice, but you’re potentially losing those most needing to listen by launching into a full scale rant that outright attacks a people group.

Maybe what you're saying is exactly what we all need to hear, but how you're saying it is causing complete deflection on any possible introspection.

It’s only made worse by the fact that once these articles do make their way to digital publication, there’s a resounding “amen” across the design landscape that’s anything but self-reflective. As if everyone is above the noise and the interference. As if we’re all somehow beyond the darker parts of our own consciousness. You’d think that with so many nods of agreement, “hoorah”s and “hooray”s, there’d be no one left in the actual culture to be the intended targets of these pointed poachings.

As if we’re casting down judgement from our own lofty tower to the feeble miscreants below.

The truth is, we can all do the right things for the wrong reasons and even the wrong things for the wrong reasons. There are parts of my own self that are just as self-important, insecure, and petulant. I’m a constant work in progress that’s hurtling towards my own potential while hitting plenty of rocks along the way. I’m only just beginning to offload some of the baggage I’ve collected along the way, but I’ve got further still to go—with no end in sight. And it’s been those moments of grace that have affected more change in me than the whole of damnation combined.

Insult is great for shock-jockeying, less so for making a dent on the cultural conversation.

Of course, that’s not to say there’s not room for growth within the walls of the Design culture. We’ve got a whole host of issues that need to be fixed—and fixed now. Gender equality in tech is worth more than a thousand conversations on whether or not people should be doing unsolicited redesigns.

If you’ve got some energy to invest, considering putting it into places that could really use your voice to affect real, substantive change.

Changing an entire culture can’t be done alone and sweeping the more troublesome parts of our community under the rug isn’t going to inspire any actual revolutions. But in order to make a real impact, we’ve got to be willing to occasionally put down the torches and pitchforks and opt for an actual discussion.

After all, maybe design culture isn’t a frozen shithole any more than the rest of this world is.

We’re working on a public platform wherein everything we publish is open to be talked about, picked apart, and quantified by any number of external interactions. From Appreciations, Shares, Reposts, and everything in between, we’re able to directly come into contact with the work of others in an entirely new way. And while the majority of these interactions are scripted (click to Like), it’s in the Comments that we’re able to break off the tracks and offer a more extemporaneous approach.

Just how you choose to utilize the commentary section of any piece is completely up to you, but I think we can all agree that the value of your input is anything but a one-size-fits-all diagnosis. Browse any of the major outlets for creative publishing and you’re sure to find varied discourse taking place that ranges anywhere from invaluable to utterly useless. 

But among the most unproductive of all forms of feedback could be the knee-jerk dismissal: Those short, punchy jabs at someone’s work that offer nothing in the way of meaningful, worthwhile critique. Instead, they seem to pride themselves on their outright refusal of admiration.

There are likely a number of reasons these have a tendency to crop up, but personal disassociation could be a compelling factor. It's easy to identify someone by their work alone and create a one-dimensional view of them as an individual. We boil down their whole being to a series of pixels and points and offer our two-cents with little regard for them as a sensing, breathing, feeling person. In this way, we view all work as something to be merely consumed, digested and spat out; built only for a viewing pleasure (or, perhaps more notably, our displeasure). It’s easy to remove the “human” element from a conversation that only exists online; never having to come face to face with the individual on the other side of the screen.

If you find something that doesn’t quite meet your particular fancy online, consider not having to fire off your discord in a show of grievous displeasure if you have no recommendation for betterment. Offering commentary devoid of encouragement or the opportunity to teach does little more than beat your own chest in a show of personal taste superiority. It’s beneficial for neither the creator or yourself.

It’s no more than hip-fire; a gut reaction that oftentimes hinges on personal preference. And while gut reactions can be great for food, they're less so for professional feedback.

Consider an alternative: Offer a thoughtful critique wherein you might suggest a course of action that could enrich the work.

If you have the time to type out your distaste for a given body of work, perhaps you could also find a spare moment to offer a suggestion on how the creator could improve his or her craft. Prescribing actionable, thoughtful critique is sure to take more cognitive process, but it’s worth far more than posting a punchy declaration of disharmony.

If you don’t have anything useful to say other than that you don’t care for a given piece, consider the fact that you needn’t say anything. Others don’t need to know you were there. You’re not signing someone’s yearbook. Sometimes it’s okay to leave through the back door without letting everyone else know you weren’t impressed and making a big show of it all. Sometimes, you can just walk away. Simple as that.

If you do, however, decide to give feedback, here are a few things to consider:

Offer critique; not condemnation

There’s absolutely room to talk about what you don’t like. Feel free to share what’s off-putting or feels out of place, but try your best to offer solutions in place of inflammatory statements. If you don’t have an alternative but know that something seems to be missing the mark, feel free to just tell him or her that you don’t know the solution yourself. It shows that you’re just as puzzled as they are, but you’ve given your response the thought it deserves before satisfying a shallow gut reaction.

Also, refrain from any critique that’s personal in nature. If you disagree with a certain choice, keep that in the context of the work you’re evaluating. This isn’t the time or the place to lambast the person on the other side of the screen.

Add to the conversation, not to the noise

If you’re willing to give actionable feedback, you’re entering into a two-way conversation rather than a one-way diatribe. Getting coffee with someone is more fruitful than verbally attacking someone from the sidelines. Starting a dialogue will go a long way in allowing the other person know they’re worth your time, not just worth your commentary.

Before posting, maybe ask yourself if you’d say this to another person face-to-face; without the cloak of anonymity or distance that the digital medium provides. Impart wisdom, don't incite a riot.

Remember that intent and tone are masked in the text medium

Work towards the clarity of your position; leaving little room for deviation in your intent. Maybe even read your feedback aloud to yourself. How does it come off? Is there any way the creator could read this as scathing or condescending? When words are all you have, word choice is essential.

Take a look at the recent comments or tweets you’ve been making online from time to time. They could be a great summation of the way others are perceiving you. Are you the kind of person who's spending your time complaining or tearing others’ works down? Or are you the kind of person who’s investing in other peoples’ lives—encouraging them in their craft and giving of yourself without expecting anything in return?

Is this a lot of work? Not going to lie here: It sure is. But so is community. And that’s exactly what we’re all taking part in. The question isn’t so much if we’ll take part, it’s more about what the nature of this relationship will look like for us and—just as important—for everyone else.

Consider being the designer you wish you could’ve met.

Maybe you’re at the place in your career where you want to be working on things you care about, but no one is hiring you to do them yet. Maybe you’re looking to expand your craft and reach out into the overwhelming world of multidisciplinary design, but no one knows you do anything besides what you’re already known for. Or perhaps you’ve started a smaller side project and, after all this time, it's still not gaining any traction. You might feel like it’s never going to catch on and that you’re wasting your time.

Don't lose heart.

Passion projects can be a great outlet for creativity that’s not quite being satiated in your day-to-day. Or they could scratch that itch to be a part of something you have no other way of achieving—as a sort of ode or a link to something that once resonated deeply within you.

One of the greatest misconceptions about passion projects is that at some point in your career, you’ll be completely unable to work on any. But the truth is, your time is what you do with it. You choose to invest it, like any other thing in life. That’s not to say you should always be working on one. Taking time away from any additional loads of work is just as important as flexing your creative muscle from time and time. Like all things: Moderation is key.

Here are a few things I’ve found particularly helpful in crafting my own passion projects:

Find Something You Resonate With

You’re going to have your whole life to be suggested, directed, and even dictated to the whims of your clients or your superiors. This is a time for you. It’s a luxury you won’t always have the affordance for in every season of life, so take some time while you’re able to do so. This means the subject, concept, and execution are fully in your hands. Think you’re your own best client? Prove it.

This is your chance to do something you actually care about it. Regardless of how impractical it may be. If you’re super into underwater basket weaving, underwater basket weave like everyone is watching. If you do something just because it has mass appeal and other designers will probably like it, that’s a flimsy motivation. Eventually, your preference for other things in life that you actually care about is going to win out.

Find those things that truly resonate with you and do something about it. So you may never be a filmmaker, but you can create something that tells a story you believe in. Maybe you love The Legend of Zelda? Well, chances are, this is going to be better than writing fan-fiction. Make something worth a damn about something you give a damn about. These creations born out of a place of raw, unadulterated passion are a rare and unique window in to you as a person. It makes you more than a “design shop”, it makes you a thinking, sensing, preferential person that’s excited about more than just Pantone colors and ampersands. This is your chance to stand for something more than just craft beer and a crippling coffee addiction. I know, right?

Tune Out the Noise

Don’t be discouraged by the lack of attention something receives; especially in the first few weeks. Chances are, when something is getting off the ground, most people aren’t going to know about it. If you know you’re going to be dismayed by a lack of interaction right out the gates, one of the more helpful things for you could be to turn off comments, likes, or any other metric that could potentially dissuade you from carrying on. It’s in our very nature to crave the attention we think we need. If you’re constantly investigating how many sets of eyeballs or how many indiscriminate thumbs-ups you’ve racked up, you could essentially be setting yourself up to pull the plug early due to a lack of traction. The fact is, things don’t always happen in the timeline you’d like them to seem them unfold in. Sometimes projects park in cyberspace—undiscovered for what seems like an eternity—before ever really finding the right audience. Other times, projects never receive the mass appeal you had envisioned, but that doesn’t make them any less successful.

I’ve had work that never caught on in the public eye that clients have specifically referenced for what brought them my way. Oftentimes, this work was a year or two old; all but forgotten in my own mind. You never know the exact reach of your work. What resonates with a small, select minority could be worth far more than finding success in mass appeal. You’re not Michael Bay. You don’t have to sell something to everybody, just the right somebody. What's more, that someone might only be you, and that’s okay!

Protect yourself from allowing social currency to dictate the impact of your work. That could mean choosing a platform like Tumblr that doesn’t publicly display follower counts and has more social control. Whatever you need to do to do what you should be doing, do it.

Find Accountability

Get someone you can trust to hold you to a set amount of work in a set amount of time. Maybe that’s once a week, perhaps once a month. Whatever it is, set a course early and follow it. Spoiler alert: You’re going to miss the mark here or there. Life gets crazy; it’s unexpected and interruptive. The key isn’t perfection, it’s carrying on in spite of the inevitability of fallibility.

But probably the best part about this passion project of yours, is that I can’t really tell you a thing about it. Because it’s about you and what you love. And that’s an awesome thing.

So find something you care about and others might just care about it, too.

Stranger things have happened.

Most days I feel like I’m exactly where I should be.

But some days, I feel like I must’ve stumbled into this career by accident and that I should just keep my head down and hope nobody notices.

In assembling a body of work and building an audience, you create in yourself a desire to please this new base. And, if you’re not careful, you can get lost in not wanting to disappoint those that are watching. You measure each and every step, so as not to trip in front of (what you perceive to be) the whole wide world. But this idea that designers are these infallible tastemakers—free from the burden of bad choice—is just plain wrong. The fact is: Your favorite designer has, at one time or another, created a real lemon. And, most likely, not too far back in time.

I get the struggle. We work in a public arena where our output is constantly measured by way of metrics a hundred times over. From the battlefields of Dribbble to the back alleyways of the Twittersphere, there’s no shortage of opinions online. Depending on how you deal with the collateral damage, these can be a tool to empower creation and creativity, or a bore a hole in the bottom of your life raft—threatening to bring you down under the weight of insecurity.

The truth is, I often question how I feel about my work. On multiple occasions, I'm second-guessing my compositions or wondering (occasionally aloud) if this is actually any good. None of us are beyond the nagging doubt of uncertainty. But this, I know for sure: I’ve made terrible work, and I’ll continue to make some pretty shoddy pieces from time to time. It could be in exploring a new style. Maybe it will be in working in a medium or discipline I’m far from comfortable in. But the fact remains that, at another point in time—maybe not far from now, I’ll be on the ledge; holding my breath and waiting to take the plunge.

Unsure of just where this leap will land me.

I can’t tell you what this looks like for everyone else. Maybe some people just “get it”. Maybe, for them, things just click and they’re able to assemble an undisputed masterpiece time and time again. Or maybe their personal taste is, honestly, just better than my own.

But I’d be lying to you if I said that every day I feel like a designer who’s doing something I’m truly proud of. Some days, everything feels off, somehow; like the pieces are there and I just can’t quite figure out how to put them together the right way.

Some days I feel like I'm a designer.

Other days, I feel like I’m still just faking it; hoping that no one notices.

But no matter how you wrestle with these internal struggles, what really matters is that you keep moving forward; that you don’t let the shadow of doubt outweigh the light of your determination. Stop worrying about whether someone thinks you’re a “fraud”. Shove aside those inner demons telling you that you’re "not good enough yet”.

Don’t let your fear cripple you to the point of inaction. You may never reach the point in your career where you figure out just what it means to be unquestionably confident in each and every design decision you make. And in some ways, that’s sort of a beautiful thing. Because the unknown spurs in us a beautiful chance to feel like we’re risking it all again.

And there’s a humility in that tension I’ve come to love.

Recently, I witnessed a conversation over Twitter between a number of designers that railed against the “popular” mechanism and purported that most designers are more infatuated with being a designer than actually designing. It was laced with superiority; creating a distinction between themselves (i.e., true designers) and the masses of these “posers”—uninspired hacks who do little else than cobble together old or repurposed work for their own personal gain. As if the modern state of design is little else but a sniveling, talentless, cesspool of bad work.

Remind me again when the Golden Age was? When Design was perfect and untouched by muddy hands; a clear cut, faultless art form without blemish or scar. When everyone involved was drenched in divine insight and no work was poisoned by the hand of human error.

It’s easier to throw stones than it is to build up. It’s easier to break things down and find the faults instead of working to create a better world to work and live in. Anyone can find something that’s wrong with the world—some injustice we feel is being perpetrated in our lives. But instead of offering solutions, we stand back from our high places and hurl stones. In that way, we come off as grumpy old men, sitting on a porch pretending that all of design is our “lawn” and chasing off any of those who’d seek to make it anything less than what we believe it should be.

We become enamored with the “Glory Days”; some imaginary time when things were simpler, less dire, and more favorable towards our own craft.

But is this really the way we want to work? Is this air of exclusivity and arrogance truly something we want to project?

Is there bad design out there? Sure. But only in the same way that there are bad films, bad television, bad music, and bad *insert anything you want to put here*. Our complaining about the state of design and creating a chasm that’s actually just an "Us Vs. Them" mentality does nothing but raise our own egos and pat ourselves on the back for being one of the last true creatives out there.

This self-congratulatory behavior isn’t helpful for Design and it’s anything but helpful for our own personal lives. It reeks of self-importance and is tinged with the frustration of our own work not getting the credit we believe is deservedly due.

Dribbble isn’t the only metric for a design's success. I’d find it difficult to argue that anything that makes it to the Popular page is of poor quality. Are there going to be pieces you disagree with, don’t care for, or think just plain suck? Absolutely. But that shouldn’t invalidate any and all of the work that finds its way to the top of a given site. This sort of poisonous thinking only goes to further our own masturbatory view of ourselves at the expense of others working in our industry.

In fact, you could argue that we’re actually putting more stock into design. Rethinking and reshaping our world for the more intuitive. Companies are investing in smarter design decisions and people everywhere are coming up with solutions. The internet is making distribution unlimited and universal. The next great solution could come from anywhere: Be it a seasoned veteran working in San Francisco or a bright kid from Michigan who’s still in High School.

I’m reminded of the wonderful words of Pixar’s Ratatouille:

This is a world full of possibilities.

And it seems like as good a time as any to be in Design.

Community, at its core, is a difficult thing to keep in check. On one hand, we’re plugged into the internet for intravenous social stimulation; weathering a world where our very conversation is carried on the backs of tubes and wires with little or no audible speech actually transferred. Here, we can rely on the predictable safety of the “enter” button—keeping us forever self-edited by way of 5 or 6 second intervals. But on the other, it becomes easier, maybe even tempting to lose sight of those tactile relationships where the only thing standing between your face and that of another is a cup of coffee, a tall pint or two. I can tell you now, I’ve seen both the darker sides of isolation as well as overwhelming constancy of social bombardment.

The baggage I’ve carried with me on the ideas of healthy community isn’t something I’m going to work out in the next few months (or even years), but I think they played a large part in what made my experience at Creative South such a dynamic and poignant one.

To be honest, I can’t say I’ve ever been one to fully trust the conference model. In the past, it’s admittedly ranked somewhere between high-fiving ourselves for non-specified jobs well done or a convention for people who really like to wear hoodies and want to talk to other people who also like to wear hoodies (I brought a few just to be safe). Part of the uneasiness is surely spurred from the idea that the very concept of the “design conference” seems oddly self-serving at best, and purely self-congratulatory at worst.

But what I found was something different altogether. I stumbled headfirst into a large group of people that came to the same place because we happen to have related fields of work and shared interests, but stayed because we believe in the idea of community as it can be lived out with thinking, breathing, sensing individuals willing to be human more than they’re willing to be merely professional.

And while the speakers were a delight to get to know, the workshops such a wealth of information, it’s the times outside of the formal events that really come to shape my memories of this April in Georgia. It was during the intermissions, in talking with people I’d never met before; hearing a bit of their story and sharing some of my own. Laughing over common, seemingly inconsequential complaints. Pouring over our shared heroes in art. Those moments we talked about anything but our body of work. It was in the times we went to the bar to order a drink and ended up buying a round. Especially those moments we went searching for food as two or three, and snowballed into having to ask for a table for 20 because of all of the people we picked up along the way.

For a long time, I consciously made a decision to only be represented by my body of work. In that way, it allowed me to be anonymous, and far from the public’s eye of speculation and even criticism. I resolved to be defined solely by my output of work maybe because it was easier to deal with the public based on something I’ve made rather than something or someone that I am. The world may get to have what I create, but who I am—well that was just for me and a select few others.

I made another conscious decision over a year ago to work towards changing that. To not just hide behind my work where most things are agreeable, but rather to put myself out there as a flawed, learning human that doesn’t have it all figured out. It was terrifying to come out from behind the pixels and start writing, to start using my own updated photos places, and to talk about more than just design; because it’s but one facet in my big, diversified life.

The time I spent at Creative South was a reminder that this is where I’ve found the most joy in what I make. It’s in having a shared human experience where there’s vulnerability in the possibility that you’re not who someone thought you were—and that’s okay. Hell, sometimes, it’s even great. What it is is more real, and it feels more honest. And having conversations where you can talk someone through your own experiences and hopefully shed some new light onto where they are with their own is worth more than any number of likes, comments, or appreciations. Getting the opportunity to talk with students, and even long-time heroes of mine in such an eclectic setting was instrumental in reminding me that community happens in these intermissions where nothing feels planned and it’s all left up to happenstance or serendipity.

So here’s my informal thanks to anyone who put themselves out there and shared a beer (or two, maybe three) with me. For those that made a point to give some minutes of your own life to pair with a few minutes of my own. For those who shared wisdom with me, encouraged me, or those that allowed me to attempt to share some of mine. Your impact in my life is bigger than you’ll know—it’s bigger than even I know at this point. Talks over drinks, over terrible food, over the roar of music that’s far too loud to be pleasurable: It’s these conversations that have sparked more thought and more creativity than any of those heard from the stage.

I don’t know what you think about conferences at this point in your career or if you’ve ever found yourself curious about attending. I can tell you that not all conferences are created equal and that I’ve had my fair share of those that felt a lot like duds for my personal preference. But if you’re looking to experience something that will pull you out of your shell and get you across the table, eye-to-eye with some incredible people who are willing to teach, occasionally dawdle, and learn, I don’t have many recommendations over Creative South in Columbus, Ga., Front-End Design Conference in St. Petersburg, Fl, and Weapons of Mass Creation Fest in Cleveland, Oh. Look these things up. If you missed it this year, plan on it next year. I know I will. Let's get a beer.

Take a chance, get out there and surprise someone that you’re not who they had in their mind. Chances are, you’ll like who you find yourself becoming as well.

If you're interesting in pawing through my talk from Creative South, the Speaker Deck is up here.

Some incredible people I met at CS that you should totally check out:

Mike Jones: The man, the myth, the legend. Found of Creative South.

Andy Keil: Founder of FU Weekend and someone far smarter than I could possibly hope to be.

Anyone from Focus Lab: Like seriously, anyone. No, but really.

Drew Roper: Smiles + good vibes, seriously serious design, co-creator of TypeFight.

Bryan Butler: Bearded wonder, type, logos, illustration, co-creator of TypeFight.

Amanda Cheung: Front-end mastery, killer painting, can totally dance.

Justin Pervorse: Stupid good illustrator, stupid amazing dude.

Meg Robichaud: Her illustration work is as great as her personality.

Jeff Finley: Founder of WMC Fest and a brilliant mind to share a meal with.

Eric Stanley: This guy knows how to treat your brand, take it out for drinks and call the next day.

Barak Tamayo: One of the kindest, most humble people I've met who also does great work.

And so many other amazing people that I can’t list because I have to get work done today, too.

I don’t have a story about the first time I knew I wanted to be a designer.

I remember drawing a lot. Not very well, but a lot. I’d fill out the margins of my school notebooks with sinewy aliens, mechanical constructs from another world, unhistoric architecture, anything I could do to keep from plugging into the lesson at hand. I remember drawing type all over a folder when I was younger; the names of my favorite bands—the details of which, I’ll spare you (or, more likely, myself).

And while there’s nothing all that remarkable (or maybe even mentionable) about my story, I know that somewhere in that narrative, I fell head over heels with the idea of working on things together.

My brother and I would build these spiraling epics on paper. We’d create entire worlds that could be played out as our own table top games. He would author a compendium of all the world’s exotic locales. We would create cities with commercial exports, valuable resources, select industries. I remember that I was in charge of the monster manual, wherein I’d detail all of this universe’s creatures in a collective bestiary: which was actually just a few scrawled out spiral notebooks, packed from front to back with exhaustive species descriptions as well as attacks and hit points. I’ve always been terrible at illustrating people, so he’d do those for us with technical specs on armor and the arsenal. We were, essentially, a two-man Comic-Con.

None of this is probably very interesting to you. Well, I don’t have an editor and this is my blog, so there’s that.

But this idea that there were things that I couldn’t do very well—ideas that I, myself, wasn’t as competent at conceiving—where my brother would pick up where I could only begin to scratch the surface, was a concept that I came to fully embrace.

It doesn’t mean that those have to be opportunities where you pass the pen and check out, it means that they can become learning opportunities wherein you can achieve something together you wouldn’t have accomplished alone; at least not at that level of excellence.

When a business of mine failed some years ago, I set out to build something of my own that I could fully control. I wanted to champion something where I was the only responsible party. For my failures or my successes, I’d remove the variables. After all, fewer moving parts means fewer moving pieces.

And for some time, this worked. Better than I thought it would have. I got work as an illustrator, had opportunities that I, myself, couldn’t believe had presented themselves, and found a solid rhythm to my workflow. I was my company. The one I thought I was going to build those few years ago before things went South.

To be honest, it took me a long time to realize how isolated my work became—even longer to see just how walled off I’d become to those around me. On a personal and a professional level, I’d made my own island where, sure, I was king. But of whom and for what?

I did freelance illustration for two years and in that time, I don’t regret taking the plunge to do it. I grew in ways I never thought possible and have, through time, hatched some of the fondest relationships I’ve had the opportunity to take part in. The world has felt a lot smaller since connectivity has made remote co-working a real, tangible possibility.

But I know, for me, that one of the things that I’d missed doing, was being part of something from the beginning to the end. Seeing it through from concept to creation to iteration to distribution and everything between. Those messy, oftentimes infuriating parts of the process that, as a contractor, I was spared from. I missed being able to work on things that were impossible for just me to do at this point in my life.

Joining on staff with the team at Code School has been one of the more rewarding things I can think of doing. Largely, in how it’s challenged me to remember those parts of myself that really come alive when I’m working with a team of likeminded (though sometimes differing in opinion) people.

Right now, I’m getting the opportunity to work beside those who are a lot smarter and a lot more patient than I am. What’s more, we’re building something that I couldn’t even possibly conceive of doing alone. I’m challenged so much more when I’m engaged for my brain, rather than just my hands. I’m more present than I’ve been able to be in my work and it’s given me the chance to grow in more than just illustration.

I’m not trying to tell you that this is the only way that you should work or what’s ultimately going to make you the most fulfilled in your personal life.

But I will tell you that if you’re fresh out of Art School or just joining the job force in general, take some time to work with a team. Learn what it’s like to answer to someone on a regular basis that you can’t just crumple up the contact and close the books on. Don't undervalue the opportunity to learn under people more seasoned in their experiences. There’s a lot you can learn from a non-horizontal work environment. It doesn’t mean that it will always be the absolute best method for efficient workflow or how creativity is supposed to be serviced, but working with others is a good reminder that you’re not just you out there, floating in the void and looking out for numero uno.

You might think now that getting to work yourself is the ultimate goal, and maybe for you it will be. But for others, you might discover that it's within a team environment that you find yourself most engaged and consistently enjoying your work. Different strokes and all, eh?

This isn’t a story about how freelance is bad or how the only true happiness is in working with a team, but I know that, for a time, I thought going solo was the one true climax of a design career—that thing you work towards until it's finally within your grasp. It’s not a plea for playing nice with one another or a guilt trip for those lone wolves. Maybe, for you, working with a team doesn’t mean working somewhere full-time. It could just mean making more space in your schedule for collaboration. You're the only one who can figure out just how to remember what a valuable resource it is to have someone working beside you.

This is just a story about how I came to terms with those parts of me that needed those parts of others to make something that felt tired feel new again.

It's where I currently find myself.

And I don't think I want to be anywhere else.

This isn’t the part of the story where I bore you with my input in the ever-waging “flat” design debate.

I’m probably about as sick of that conversation as you are.

In fact, with the unmistakable decline in gradients and drop shadows, the infectious popularity of stroked buttons, and the Great Texture Purge of 2013, it seems like that’s a battle no longer worth fighting. Not that I would if I could.

For me, this one’s a bit more personal.

If you want to call your design “flat”, by all means, you reserve the right to title it so. I’d argue that this classification, by itself, largely undermines the importance of contextual clues that do indeed offer some sort of non-flat hierarchy and actually place more importance on the style over the actual substance of our work; but alas, for those who choose to call it so, flat it is.

But when I saw word, “flat” making its way into how we classify illustration, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I cringed.

I’ve been working in this space longer than I remember it being called flat so when it suddenly became a qualifier (which I supposedly build within), there was something that didn’t quite sit right with me. Maybe "flat illustration” and its vocal proponents are addressing the lack of texture and gradient shadows in a given work. Maybe they’re referring to the limited colors that artists within this field strive to work within.

Whatever it is they’re choosing to single out, to me, it fails as an acceptable qualifier of the work we build. It’s a one-dimensional decree on a multi-faceted process that’s being boiled down to one or two stylistic traits. What’s more, many of us are actively working against the idea of “flattening" a scene out. We strive to achieve contextual hierarchy and even dimension within this digital plane of pixels; flat as the canvas itself may be.

If "flat illustration” is merely dissecting the lack of shadows and spacial cues, then I’ve failed at what it is I’m striving to build. I don’t wish to remove dimension from imagery. I don’t want to take away lighting and shadow. What I do want to create is a space by which these variables can be established in my own interpretation.

The very idea of “flattening" a scene is actually the opposite of what I’d ever want to achieve.

My building on a grid and working with familial geometry has little to do with just how “flat” a given environment is, or so I’d hope. We’re not cutting out spacial reasoning, we’re reimagining alternative solutions on how to render them.

Working with lighting and depth is one of my absolutely favorite things to do in a piece. They’re opportunities to create atypical distinctions within your work that add more than just a few extra pixels to a scene. Their presence can drastically alter a composition or even a mood. But our “flat” classification completely dismisses these critical variables and lumps them into a crude, misleading bucket.

More importantly, its pervasiveness as a buzzword within our community is actually restricting a lot of creative freedom. I can’t tell you how many comments I’ve seen or read on various design networks encouraging other users to flatten their illustration work—to remove a gradient here, a drop shadow there. We’re so fixated on what it is we think we should all be doing, that we’re missing what it is that we could be doing.

It’s a shortsightedness that’s going to cost us if we’re unwilling to reimagine how things could look in a new light.

Obviously, things change. Trends come and go and fashion is fleeting. But if we could drop the misused attribution that we’re slapping on to things because it’s en vogue, we could be seeing a lot more nuanced solutions. We’d see people who finally understand that these rules we’re setting up to box ourselves in don’t have to be there after all.

Whatever you create, in however you decide to reinterpret, reimagine, or remix the world, you’re not bound by one style over the other. There aren’t rules by which you have to contain your creative problem-solving; too paralyzed to traverse the unknown waters of stylistic departure. How you see the world and the ways in which those visions manifest themselves makes your worldview unique.

So whatever it is: skeumorphic, flat, long-shadowed or whatever the hell we'll next call something, let’s think beyond the buzzword.

Let’s strive to create work that’s as unique and divergent as the products we build for.

It can mean the difference between a lasting impression and one that’s merely another fading reverberation in a very loud echo chamber.

After all, it’s getting pretty crowded.

So you’ve found something people like? Something that cashes in on the “Likes”, the “Ooh”s & “Ah”s. And for that moment, you bask in the adoration of an audience hungry for more. Perhaps, it’s in these instances that we’re fed, refueled, and given the stamina to soldier on. Where the tiresome tedium of creation feels somewhat worth the struggle. But while immediately satisfying, the public’s overwhelmingly positive response to new work can oftentimes serve as a brutish course correction—hurtling you towards more of the like to relive the glory of self-satisfaction.

In some ways, these hard-earned stylistic successes that resonate with the public on a larger scale can also be a millstone threatening to drag us down. They can cause us to relish in the sounds of a thousand cheering fans; fueling a stagnation wherein we opt to not grow. To not move on. To no longer pioneer new paths, but rather, sink in to a state of complacency—regurgitating, over and over, the same recipe to reignite that same flash in the pan. As if the recipe for success will work forever unchanged.

Until it doesn’t.

In this way, we milk our styles for every last drop of creativity.

We’ve all seen it. That designer who found one way to do things: whether it’s a specific color palette, an interesting web layout, maybe it’s a singular illustration style that’s now just going through the motions—recreating the same illustration with a different subject. An endless cycle of reproduction.

And the truth of it is, it might just get you work. It could even continue to get you noticed. You might extend that 15 minutes of fame for more than a mere quarter of an hour.

But is it worth it?

Is that the kind of designer you want to be? How many jobs will you have to do where you’re asked to recreate the same project with a different masthead until you’re ready to stop coasting and get back into mud with the hard task of building from scratch and trying new things? Because I’ll tell you this much, almost no one is going to tell you it’s time to change outright. That’s the sort of discovery you’ll have to make for yourself. And I won’t lie to you, it’s not easy. It’s a tempting offer to stay the same, to be sure. Especially when financial success and consistency seems within your reach.

While this might work for some people, for those of us who aren’t satisfied riding out a style until we die, growth has to be a part of the equation. And with growth, comes an even larger potential for risks, for missteps, and work that can feel derivative or just downright bad. But it’s a risk that’s worth it, because stagnation and complacency don’t come in the most obvious ways. They’re the quiet kind that let you run their course for so long that they make their very presence a secret. Instead, they’ll offer you temporary social and financial incentives at the cost of your own creativity and propensity for innovation.

So be vigilant for those seasons where you refuse to grow and become far more content to allow your past to dictate your future. Growth is messy and oftentimes tedious, but so are some of the best things in life.

Whatever it is you think you know at this point in your life, prepare to be challenged, undermined, beaten down, bored, unfulfilled, marginally erroneous, and just flat out wrong. This indisputable fact of life isn't merely one facet of the human experience, there will be moments—maybe even seasons—when it seems more the fact of your own life; a constant battering of circumstance, chance and poor decision making. You may have moments where, in a seeming ocean of defeat that feels almost certain to weigh you down like lead in your veins, turning back seems like the only option.

I can't tell you to choose otherwise with the assurance of success. I can't promise you a lofty castle in the sky or your name up in lights, largely because so many of us have chased the same fleeting fever dream brought on by what the film and television industry tells us success should feel like and maybe even a misreading of The Great Gatsby.

You're certain to come face to face with what measure of success you'll choose to hold to your own life. Whether it's working for that one big company you've put on a pedestal all these years, hitting that number of followers on your social media network of choice, or getting that email response back from your hero you've admired from afar for so long.

But what happens when you get there? What happens if you peek behind the curtain, claim the prize, and nothing feels any different?

Or maybe it's better to frame it like this: "What happens when".

Maybe you'll do what you set out to do so long ago. Maybe you won't. I can't personally speak to the goals in which you've set for yourself, all I can do is offer my own story and my own experience grappling with the ideas of success—be it personal or professional. I still don't have it all figured out and I'm surely not the guy who can tell you how to achieve your dreams.

All I can offer is the possibility that maybe those dreams aren't all that there is. In fact, maybe those dreams aren't what is really going to make you come alive. It doesn't mean that you're way off or misaligned in totality, but it could mean that you need to reevaluate just what it is that you want (or at the very least, what you think you want).

Getting the opportunity to work for incredible companies won't stop being great—don't ever take that for granted. Being trusted with something is such an incredible honor and privilege that shouldn't stop amazing you. But bear in mind the perspective on what really matters to you. At the end of the day, when the computer is off, and you're left to your own thoughts, what in this whole human experience makes you tick? Asking yourself from time to time is a cathartic and necessary exercise because, in truth, you may be surprised by the answers. What if it's not quite what you thought it would be? Or maybe you've done what you had originally set out to do and nothing feels any different because none of it is really enough.

You can always seek out opportunities to get more money, more work, more praise, more social media attention, but is any of it really, intentionally adding to the value you crave? The value that we, as humans, are innately, evolutionarily predisposed towards.

Talk with somebody about it. Someone who can hold you accountable to what it is you're looking for and someone that you can be honest enough to talk to about your actual goals. These goals probably won't have anything to do with design outright. They'll more than likely be something much more personal than that. Having open, honest conversations with people who will call you out on your shit and reel you back when you go too far out of orbit is a sobering, but essential piece of this collective experience.

Don't be too arrogant to think you need that.

Find that tether.

Live in the calm assurance that you don't have it all figured out. That you—yes, even you—need a reality check from time to time to find out what's truly important. Because the results may surprise you.

Plenty of people will tell you that if you do good work, the world will eventually take notice. That if you make something that grabs enough people where it really matters, you'll set the world on fire and paste your name in the clouds. "Do good work, get recognition" seems to be a battle cry to call you up from the muck and charge you with an emblazoned call to create; and create well. But that very word "good" is so entirely subjective that it doesn't even begin to cover the far reaching conditions by which "recognition" (another arguable wording choice) is, in turn, ascended to.

What's more, most of the people telling you this are the people that are already being recognized for their good work. As if their own success is the result of slaving and chipping away at the unfinished stone of mediocrity until at last—eureka!

They produce good work.

The truth is, you might do good work already. Maybe you're pushing yourself unlike you've ever been pushed and somehow this famed yet far concept of recognition is anything but near. Struggling tirelessly for this idea will sap the energy from you if you allow it. It can influence the very course your path takes and manifest itself in the jobs you accept and the kind of design you output. It can influence and negatively shape what you do for clients—picking work that helps promote you more than it actually helps the brand you were hired to work on. And, ultimately, it's a vanity that's less measurable than you'd like to believe.

There are undoubtedly factors you have control over (your online persona and interaction on social media, encouraging user engagement with your own personal brand, writing, etc) and there are also those which you have almost no control over (others' personal tastes, their history with your kind of work or people, the relationships that other designers may already have with industry influencers, what some people choose to share publicly or admire in silence, and sometimes it's just luck).

But this isn't a call to devalue "good" work. It's to unveil the myth that good work is something to be reached in totality. That all work is equally rewarded based on merit.

Because it's not.

And there are those who should be getting more recognition than they've yet received on merit alone. Maybe that's you or maybe that's someone you've seen or even know. Don't lose heart. Just because your audience isn't what you want it to be or because you don't have the following you want doesn't invalidate or demerit your laboring to produce the best products you can create. It doesn't make your problem-solving any less vital. Give all you can to the task at hand and know that the reward won't always be measured in the quantity of eyeballs. Sometimes, your personal best has to be enough. And maybe, just maybe, if a number of controllable and uncontrollable conditions alike are just right, that could be a spike in viewership. But don't let that get you comfortable. After all, recognition and "fame" can feel an awful lot like chasing the wind.

In the ever-waging war of page views, unique visits, and follower counts, it can seem like the only way to stand out and drive traffic in waves is to kick up a dust cloud of controversy. When there are enough "design" and "inspiration" blogs to take a real chunk out of mainstream media, making a name for yourself is hard. But that doesn't justify articles like "The 10 Hottest Female Designers". Especially not in an industry that's already had its share of problems working with and attracting women to be a part of the creative community.

And here's a tip: Hiring a woman to write the article doesn't make it any better.

The motivations are paper thin: Of course these pieces are about driving traffic. A larger audience means larger profits for ad revenue. When it comes to page views, polarity is moot. They're actually counting on your outrage. Your vocalizing the article to your followers—whether lambasting or praising—is distributing their link all across the internet. Tweets and Facebook posts are driving eyes to their content in droves. An article's financial success is measured by traffic, not critical reaction. These "Hot Female" articles are a sickeningly shallow, asinine attempt to undermine the talent of so many by way of glamorizing an irrelevant, opinionated detail. It singles out individuals by merit and leaves out others in its bullied exclusivity. And it's time we all called it to a halt.

The truth is, as long as these articles are successful in driving traffic, they'll continue to exist: a perpetual loop of sexism as a last dying gasp of lazy but calculated editorial work. And our expressed outrage is potentially channeling all of that energy straight into their wallets.

But therein lies the problem. How do we talk about our utter disgust without also playing into their game? I'd suggest we do anything but stay silent. We have every right to express our distaste in these practices, but when we do it, let's not embed a link to these articles. Let's work to ensure that these editorials get buried beneath the waves of irrelevancy that they rose from. We can talk about these issues within our industry far more effectively if we take the rug out from underneath of these bullies. If an outlet wants to publish an article like this, steer clear of the site. Stage a complete boycott of that url without calling attention to these specific sources. If you want to take this boycott public, be wary of how you publicize it so you don't unintentionally drive even more traffic. Just like drivers slowing down to see a car accident, people have a fascination with abomination and an itch for drama. Work to ensure that you're not driving any new pairs of eyes for them.

So for us: Let's be vocal about sexism in the industry. Let's work to make the design and tech fields more friendly to both genders and all types of people, to celebrate individuals for their work and their integrity, and do away with crippling stereotypes and archetypes that box in those already working within these walls.

And for design blogs: We can't tell you what to write, but we'd ask that you have even a shred of decency. That you'd stop to think twice about what you're publishing and how it's affecting actual people's lives.

We can all work to bury these sites and these practices, but we've got to stop rubbernecking first.

For a much better writeup on all of this, I'd highly recommend you check out the Onion's coverage of Miley Cyrus on CNN's Top Story.

Peruse any designer news aggregate and sprinkled throughout the various articles on typography, new CSS tricks, peppered somewhere between working with the grid and another unsolicited iOS7 redesign, you're likely to find it: the post about why Dribbble is ineffective as a platform—at best, a glorified chest-beating and, at worst, a most gruesome indulgence of designer hubris and visual masturbation.

These kinds of posts are frequent and consistent. They bemoan the crashing down of their "Dribbble Dream". What they thought the community would offer them and what it ultimately failed to give back. They invalidate the platform based on their unfulfilled expectations of what this sort of community could and should be; a broken system that favors copycats, opportunists, and gluttonous design hedonists.

There are complaints about why follower counts mean nothing and, it's true, in a lot of ways, they don't. There are cries that some people remain largely unrecognized on Dribbble while others are almost worshipped and yet these authors are choosing to write about why Dribbble is broken, rather than perhaps write about someone's work they've seen on Dribbble that could stand to get the attention it deserves. Instead, these articles often feel opportunistic themselves—capitalizing on the number of users that have felt Dribbble to be an ineffective platform for themselves. And, yes, maybe it was.

Does the number of followers ensure the quality of content? No, of course not. I don't think anyone would even begin to make that claim. But the same goes for Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr and nearly any platform that has follower functionality. The fact is, so much in design and so much in art is subjective. There are works of literature and films that are more digestible en masse. But I'd argue that their digestibility doesn't necessarily invalidate them.

Calling an entire platform "rigged" or "bullshit" is a broad, sweeping accusation that points the proposed problem at nothing more than the building that houses the community. How can Dribbble be to blame if what it's doing is merely allowing you to publish work with unlimited circulation and free of corporate distribution? If you're suggesting that the validation of shallow or hollow design is at fault, really, what you're implying is that the very people that co-labor in this environment are at to be held responsible. That their "liking", their "sharing" or "retweeting" is to blame. But these things lie in the camp of subjectivity.

Are poor design decisions celebrated? Sometimes. You can't always know why or how something affects an individual's perspective. We all react to art in a number of radically different ways—from gleeful awe to disdain. In truth, maybe you can steer people towards being more contextually sensitive, but that decision lies with the individual. Moreover, you can't know the entire story in which these "shots" exist. Saying that something is purely playing the Dribbble game is easy to accuse, near impossible to prove. That's not meant to be enabling to those that are making things for the sake of Likes, but it is to say that I'm not the one who can make that call for others—and neither are you.

In truth, you can argue the merit of art vs. design—wherein art exists as a communicative, experiential application, while design, being both experiential as well as communicative, seeks to solve problems and places communication at the forefront of the experience. Dribbble is neither exclusively design nor exclusively art. I'd also suggest that those lines get blurred quite frequently. Experimental design and working towards alternative processes isn't any less merited design but it does satisfy a good deal of the qualities associated with "art". Without a client or a confining creative brief, the designer is free to build out hypothetical products to his or her liking. Whether or not that designer chooses to make critical UX conclusions to either hamper or glorify that particular experience is up to the individual. An argument can be made about why making those decisions are anything but superfluous and I'm of that same mind in terms of challenging yourself to grow, but ultimately, making decisions that fall far from the typical creative brief does anything but invalidate Dribbble as a community.

I've seen people claiming they're unable to publish work to Dribbble and thus at a severe disadvantage due to NDA's. To them, I would say that perhaps that's why a lot of people put up work that isn't for any one specific client. I'm not allowed to share a great deal of my work, myself. But that doesn't stop me from taking the time to work on projects on the side for the sake of releasing new work that I can challenge myself on or to experiment with techniques that my current clients aren't asking for. In the same way, if you're not able to share most of your work, you will be at a disadvantage by not being able to release new pieces. The burden of choice lies on you in that case: Create more work. Stuff you're not getting paid to do.

Please, if nothing else, understand this: Your complaints, your frustrations, your unfulfilled expectations—they're valid, to some extent. But what you've entered into is a community. And community is hard. It's difficult, it's messy, it's oftentimes ineffective. It can feel isolating. You can feel worn down, burnt out, and insignificant amidst the din of so many echoes. Dribbble is a community that has existed for some time. These wheels have been spinning and it's oftentimes difficult to enter in to that without it feeling like you're walking into some sort of club where exclusivity reigns supreme. Don't let that deter you from putting out your best work.

There's a time to be frustrated and even a time to lick our wounds and get back up. There's a time to be critical and maybe even call people out on things. But don't let that invalidate an entire community of people.

Dribbble once wore the tag "What are you working on?". The original concept was for it to be a place to share in-progress designs from concept to execution to completion. Things changed as the community changed. It's now labeled as "Show & Tell for Designers" which is a lot more broad. And I think, for that, we should be grateful. Dribbble is, essentially, what you make of it. Maybe you're an illustrator and you really want to get into UI design. Dedicate your Dribbble account to pioneering into that unknown and use your website to show off your illustrations. Or perhaps you just use Dribbble to be a part of the community, be inspired and ask questions to other designers in a public format where you can learn more about techniques and thought processes. The possibilities are enormous.

So make something of it you'd be proud of.

Chances are, you didn't have to learn how to be hard on yourself. As your own greatest critic, only you know what those moments when you're left with only your own thoughts in solitude are like.

By nature, I'm a pessimist. I tend to invest a great deal of time imagining how and where things could go wrong. I've, admittedly, allowed these thoughts to consume me—to cripple me from taking chances or from fully enjoying the here and the now. Being aware of those tendencies in myself has enabled me to find my own workarounds for dealing with them. I've set up my own safeguards for pressure testing these internal dialogues and rooting out the valid concerns from the illogical ultimatums.

With the demands of a full-time job where creativity means more than just showing up, you're liable to experience dry spells or days where you're not feeling particularly innovative. There are projects that will pass you by that didn't meet your expectations for how you could have pushed yourself into new, unreached territory. These feelings are natural and, in and of themselves, aren't harmful things to think about. They're a great gut check for being aware of your own strengths and weaknesses. In equipping yourself with an insight into your own flaws and shortcomings, you can better prepare for future projects and interactions—pinpointing your more troubling proclivities.

All around us, there seems to be an unrelenting chorus that tells us to "do better". They tell you to expect more of yourself. Demand it, even. To not allow yourself to be content with where you are. As an internal mechanism, these tendencies can propel us into new, uncomfortable areas of our careers. Occasionally living in this tension can be a shot in the arm of complacency. But I'd strongly caution you from allowing these voices to dominate your professional or personal attitude. Self-deprecation, while maybe jolting in the short run, doesn't have the stamina to be all that fulfilling on a large scale.

Figure out how to think critically about your design decisions. Get informed about yourself and learn how you can more effectively live in the tension that exists beyond your comfort zone, but do so without allowing it to consume you.

Try not to be so hard on yourself.

Even you deserve a break from time to time.

I've been working on a post about how I do color for some time now. Trying to figure out the best way to help others build color palettes that are unique and cohesive, as I'm asked about it often. But putting the post together hasn't been the easiest thing to do, mostly due to the large disparity of the workflow/narrative experience.

There's no shortage of how-to sites out there that will help you learn the vast array of tools packaged into your creative software, but in so many ways, getting access to the scripted techniques is only the beginning of the creative process. You can supply someone with all of the recipes for how to do what you do, but it's then in the hands of the artist to discern appropriate integration. The throwaways and takeaways will differ from person to person. Try not to view how-to's as a holistically prescriptive order. 

Be wary of those that tell you that one way is the best way to do something.

In truth, the secret is that there's not much of a secret to my techniques or anyone's, really. I'd like to think that, in many ways, we're the product of our environments—and in work, we can carry what we've learned from various disciplines and organically incorporate the experiences from laboring in other mediums and apply them to our current workflows in meaningful ways.

Perhaps, the best quality about this way of thinking is that there's no true master of any given field. The qualitative measure of value in your techniques isn't reflective of follower counts or the quantitative years working in your medium. Instead, what's valuable about what you do is the culmination of your experiences—the way you think, the choices you make in what to not do, the techniques you've brought over from seemingly unrelated disciplines.

The funny thing is, I'm writing this without having a multitude of tutorials available to learn from. And even in writing my upcoming color post, I'm painfully aware of the shortcomings in what it offers. I'm happy to share my techniques with those who want to learn, but maybe the best advice I can give is to also let you know that I could be wrong about all of this for you. One artist's way of doing things isn't a cure-all for every other one out there. You could find absolutely nothing even remotely helpful in my line of thinking.

What I hope it does and what I hope all tutorials do is open up your internal dialogue. As a designer, decisions are everywhere. You're going to make choices about what to do and, equally as important if not more, what not to do. Is less really more or are you just being lazy? Are these colors own-able or do you look like every other product out there? Are you still playing within the confines of your comfort zone?

I'm excited to be able to offer up a piece of that dialogue and honored that so many of you want to learn from someone who's still figuring it out—just like all of you. Being a part of the conversation has been an inspiring aspect of my work and I look forward to learning more from others who take the time to teach as well as gaining more of my own experiences that alter my view of my work and techniques.

I hope you find something useful in my workflow that you can repurpose and reuse for your own work. But more accurately, I hope that you won't let it keep you from building it out, taking creative license, and evolving it for your own growth.

Occasionally, in your professional career, you'll indadvertedly stumble upon a designer or illustrator with such an incredible surplus of raw talent, your veins will run green with envy.

Ladies and gentlemen, the bane of my career existence: Logan Faerber. That's not to suggest that we're even in the same league or work for much, if any, of the same clients. In fact, it would be hard to even consider any of our work in competition because of how vastly out of my league Logan's work is. To be honest, if there was somewhere that I could trade in my skills for a spiffy new set, it'd be hard not to choose Logan's. To be able to achieve what he can with a pen and ink sounds like a pretty good gig to me.

 But the focus of my envy goes deeper than his pen strokes. Logan is, by very definition, a storyteller. His work heaps layer upon layer of dense narrative into vibrant worlds, laced with detail and atmosphere. It's more than merely the sum of its parts—though, these parts are, on their own, impressive.

It's how he weaves these into stories told in a single moment that's most captivating. Still frames that capture more than any live action frame could. His compositions play with perspective in stirring ways: abstracting, elongating, or contorting form through masterful manipulation.

I love where Logan chooses to invest his artistic license. Character forms feel natural and yet faces have their own unique quality. While the subjects may change, the worlds may differ, there's a consistent tapestry that seems to somehow imply that while these stories may be vast distances apart, they may indeed be contained within the same universe.

This is more than just "interpreting" characters into your own style, it's a careful balance of maintaining these characters' identities in a new world.

His Margot Tenenbaum is a stand-out; specifically the tent scene spewing from her memory, as if carried by smoke.

Unsurprisingly, Logan's work has made its way over to the comic medium. He's worked on a variant cover for kaBoom!'s Adventure Time series, Bravest Warrior comics, as well as the artwork for indie title, Six-Barrel Shotgun.

Check out more of Logan's work below or head on over to his site for the full experience. Stalk him on the web via Twitter or Dribbble.