

How sad! Our final post for Design for Social Change.


I wanted to juxtapose pleasant, summery colors associated with vacations with the ridiculous amount of waste created by cruise ships to make the information all the more jarring. I think it turned out well.

What's beneath the surface of churning turmoil as well as found under a tranquil veneer? Dive under those waves, under the beams of support, and there it is, under the bridge. Our purposeful cephalopod. Rejected logo to the right, better one to the left.









Choosing a topic centered on youth violence was difficult for me. I cannot recall every being physically harmed by anyone else. Okay, maybe the occasional punch in the arm from one of my brothers, but no "real" violence. After coming to that realization, I reached a conclusion: violence isn't just physical. Violence can also be verbal, and that was a heavy presence in my life.Conflict Minerals are used in cell phones, computers, and almost all electronic devices. The illicit trade in minerals essential to phones and other electronics fuels Congo’s war. Congo is the Saudia Arabia of minerals: gold, tin, copper, coltan (computer & cell phones)
Horrible human rights attrocoties here particularly against women
- didn’t start the war, but now perpetrates it
Create a consumer demand for conflict free products!
The rate of Sexual Violence in the Congo is the highest in the world. It’s the most dangerous place on Earth to be a woman or a girl.
5.5 million people have died in the Congo in the last decade.
Walmart largest gold retailer in America. What if Walmart demanded tracability all the way to the mine for all of the gold it sells. Of all of the jewelers questioned by 60 Minutes, only Tiffany & Co. said they trace all of their gold all the way to the mine (Utah). Walmart said they will trace 10% by next year.

Tim O'Brien also creates work on his own, such as this portrait of Neda Agha-Soltan, a woman who was killed on camera and became a rallying point for Iran in 2009. O'Brien posted a portrait online and was contacted later by grieving family who used his image at Neda's funeral. Art can create an impact, and is spread in weird ways. More on this event here.
Anyway! Behold!






It took me some toying around to pick the expression I wanted. I settled on a bit of a smug "I'm so tolerant I don't even see race. I mean, sure, it means I could be denying part of who you are as a person, but I'm white so I don't really have to care, do I?" smile. Or at least that's what I was going for. People of privilege can exist without being aware of those who aren't--not that they should. It's yet another privilege that can be added to the injustice tally when it comes to race. I think my image's message is straightforward and could serve as a blog icon or header for an article about the same topic. So, for this purpose, my blunt style managed just fine.
Are all of you prepared for Becky's late night blogathon? Well, you better be! It's absurdly late, but here nonetheless. And so, I will begin these posts with a tale from way back when we did a little thing known as (drum roll) project one:









The redone version
I allowed myself to have absolute fun with this fourth project. Instead of creating posters about preventing violent situations I have almost no first-hand experience with, I decided to go with something that resonated a little closer to home: road rage.



One day, when I was about 13 on the ranch I grew up on, the adults were gone and the mice were going to play. Although I always thought the mice that weren’t my real brothers...the ones that came with my mother’s current husband, were really just playing with my brother. They obviously had no regard for his well being. I don’t know if I can say they were playing with his life. Could he have died from this stunt? I do know he could have been seriously hurt, scarred for life. What am I saying? He probably does have scars from this day. The game they were playing involved a car. An old nondescript grey/beige car with a rounded hood and fenders. Mitch was probably around 13 and his younger brother, Chuckie, was probably 11, same as my brother, Robert. So, too young to be driving, but you don’t need a driver’s license on the ranch, especially when the adults are away. Mitch was driving and Chuckie was riding shotgun. My brother Robert...he was on top of the car, spread eagle, holding on to the car roof through the open driver’s and passenger’s windows. And at 11, he was barely able to reach across. I became aware of the game looking out from an upstairs window.
What kind of male adolescence taunting had they used to get my brother up there?
Mitch was probably driving with his foot to the metal all the way up that mile-long, dusty, gravel road that leads to our house. As the road gets to the house it takes a slight curve to the left and continues up to the barnyard. It was at this curve that they lost him. Robert flew off and hit the gravel. He is very lucky that he didn’t hit something else... like farm equipment parked between the shop and the road. Robert came into the house. I am sure the sight of him made me weak in the stomach. His face and hands were covered with blood, blood and gravel. Dozens of tiny pieces of gravel were imbedded in his face and hands. He was asking me to clean him up before Mom got home. All he was worried about was getting in trouble. So I did. I picked every one of those pieces of road out of his face and hands and cleaned his wounds. I don’t recall Mom ever finding out what happened. I’m sure Robert came up with some excuse for his wounded face...and the excuse was good enough for her.