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January 24, 2019 - Image 10

Resource type:
Text
Publication:
The Michigan Daily

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KEEMYA ESMAEL / MICHIGAN DAILY

When
you
walk
through
the Stephen M. Ross School of
Business, a lot of things may
catch your eye. Perhaps it’s the
flock of sharply-dressed men,
unwavering and determined,
barreling
forward
to
an
unknown destination. Or maybe
it is the brazen coloring that
targets your eye like a harsh ray
of sunlight – orange paneling,
yellow bricks and blue windows
eerily mirroring not the colors
of Michigan but the electric
uniforms of Stephen Ross’s
Miami Dolphins. And maybe,
just maybe, it’s the bizarre
interior design of the school

hanging
cyndrilic
lights
and zig-zagging staircases to
nowhere that are as if someone
had a fourth grader read Kurt
Vonnegut and then draw what it
made them feel.
I admit I am a bit of a
hypocrite for poking fun at the
atmosphere of Ross; I study
there more than anywhere else
on campus (though in large part
to the fact there is a Starbucks,
a cafè and it is a five-minute
walk from my apartment). And
for me, everytime I enter the
extensive building there is one
thing that draws my attention
more than anything else listed
above: the art. Yes, believe it
or not, Ross is full of art. Two-
hundred and fifty pieces of it
to be exact. It is hard to notice
the collection, especially after
a seven-hour bender in the
Winter Garden that leaves your
eyes feeling like they got the “A
Clockwork Orange” treatment.
But it’s there, in all of its beauty,
irony and oftentimes weirdness,
art permeates Ross from floor to
ceiling.
I will begin with the horses.
You have to know the ones —
beasts of welded steel protecting
the
entrance
to
Robertson
Auditorium, a room named
after the very man who gifted
these impressive brutes. The
horses are a duo, one is titled
“Forgetting the Other” and
the other “With the Current.”
I love these horses, I really do.

Not only are they the result of
extreme horse-girl syndrome
(Deborah Butterfield, the artist,
said “I knew when I saw my
first horse that it was the most
important being on earth”),
but they’re really fucking cool.
Giant horses made of steel?
How hardcore is that? I like to
think they come alive at night
à la “Night at the Museum” and
gallop freely through the empty
halls until sunlight returns
them to their permanent home.
Journey past the magnificent
beasts to the water fountain next
to the Starbucks and you will be
greeted by a series of sketches
and drawings by California
artist Chris Johanson. Entitled
“Perceptions,”
the
pictures
depict humans, ants, bottles
and other objects accompanied
by
phrases
like
“PLEASE
STOP
YOUR
HORRIBLE
WAYS EARTH PEOPLE” and
“IT IS HAPPENING RIGHT
NOW, ACT NOW.” The irony
in these pictures being hung
in a business school at the
University of Michigan comes
flowing in heavily from every
direction.
Johanson
wanted
to make the sketches look like
kids drew them because, as
he said, “I hated school, and I
hated education.” Johanson’s
work is also seen as a critique
on advertising and capitalism —
need I say more?
As we walk out of Ross and
into the Blau building, may I turn
your attention to the man who
made this all possible. A portrait
of Stephen M. Ross hangs not
from every rafter of the ceiling
and above every doorway as
you may expect, but rather in a
humble corner in the lobby of
the building. I have witnessed
many a misidentification of Mr.
Ross, from a poor, confused
boy commenting that he didn’t
think Bill Gates looked like
that to a young girl proclaiming
“Grandpa!” as she pointed at
the image (though honestly,
that may have been his actual
granddaughter). Yet his persona
should not be mistaken. Ross
stands poised in front of a
window
bearing
the
same
orange and blue that pervades
his namesake school. He looks

presidential, all the way down
to the small American flag
cufflink exposed on his left
wrist. And in fact, the image
was done by American artist
Everett
Raymond
Kinstler,
the same man who did the
official presidential portraits of
Ronald Reagan and Michigan
alum Gerald Ford. Rumor has
it, if you stand in front of the
painting and say Ross three
times outloud, J.P. Morgan will
contact you about a junior year
internship within the hour.
Walking through Blau, the
poetic younger sister of mighty
Ross, your eyes will be directed
towards
frame
after
frame
of abstract modern art. My
personal favorite hangs from
the left as you walk out of the
building,
a
geometric
little
piece by American artist Sol
LeWitt. The piece is entitled
“Irregular,
Angular
Brush
Strokes”
and
is
composed
of colorful — you guessed it

irregular,
angular
brush
strokes. Much like a business
education, this art is straight to
the point. When I first looked
at and subsequently tried to
interpret this art, I thought the
lines were an abstract take on
stick figures, welding together
people of all colors to speak
towards inclusion and diversity.
Apparently, the true meaning
is highlighting the unexpected
aspects of our mental process.
Either way, they’re pretty cool
lines.
As you leave the building,
what do you feel? Do you
feel
enlightened?
Inspired?
Indifferent? Annoyed by this
treatise? I could write 900 more
words about the art in Ross.
I want to know who chose it,
where it came from, why they
chose it, how much it cost. It’s
like a friend’s annoying habit,
once you notice it you can’t
stop thinking about it. I’ve
highlighted a few pieces of
art, but there are still over 200
for you to seek out yourself. If
nothing else, I hope you feel
encouraged
to
look
around
while you’re walking through
life instead of straight forward.
You may be surprised by what
you see.

Discovering works of art
over at the Business school

SAMANTHA DELLA FERA
Senior Arts Editor

KEEMYA ESMAEL / MICHIGAN DAILY

Spouses have been and still
are designing together, and
they’re doing it well.As early as
the ’60s with the prominence
of
designers
like
Charles
and Ray Eames, to today in
the Chip and Joanna Gaines
phenomena that was once the
HGTV series “Fixer Upper”
and has fabricated itself into
a interior design collection at
Target. Blending the romantic
and
creative,
couples
are
redefining what it means to
work in a team. Even high-end
brands like Tory Burch are
making things a family affair,
Burch naming her husband
Pierre-Yves Roussel the chief
executive of her company.
Why, you might ask, would
people mix home life with work
life? Or even choose to share
something you’ve made with
someone else? Coming from an
artist’s perspective, I am not
sure I could so willingly share
my creative endeavors. Yet,
when looking at such power
couples,
something
clearly
seems to be working. Ray and

Charles Eames revolutionized
the worlds of mid-century
modern
furniture,
graphic
and architectural design. And
Tory Burch is a timeless, high
quality brand in the world of
fashion. These couples have
shaped design so much so that
other spouses are following
suit, inviting their significant
others to design alongside

them.
When
looking
at
the
relationships of these creative
pairs, it begins to make sense
that one would want to work
so closely with their spouse.
While
it
is
an
extremely
personal process, design is
one that relies on the people
around you to challenge and
better your ideas. Why not
choose someone who will be

brutally honest with you or
will listen to random creative
discoveries that pop into your
head at three in the morning?
Designing is a lifestyle, so
why not blend the personal
and professional? When you
have constant conversations,
brainstorms and sketching,
the outcome is almost always
better
designs
and
new
discoveries. When including
a spouse in the process of
design,
brands
inherently
become more family-oriented
in the eyes of the consumer,
creating a sense of comfort.
Knowing that not one, but
two individuals are constantly
revising, bettering, thinking
about the product they are
creating,
customers
feel
connected
to
the
product
they
are
buying,
knowing
the investment is one of true
value.
While
on
the
surface,
Burch’s decision to elect her
husband
as
CEO
narrows
her field of work within the
company, what she is doing
is showing herself as a true
professional, willing to do
what is best for her work and
the world of design as a whole.

The aesthetic of being a
couple in the workplace

MARGARET SHERIDAN
Daily Style Editor

Unlike the students who
were
willing
to
test
the
waters with some brand of
a biology major and organic
chemistry, I learned really
early on that pre-med wasn’t
for me. Maybe it’s my lack
of willpower for work of
disinterest
(i.e.,
anything
my parents expected of me).
Or, perhaps, my willingness
to better exert myself into
topics of my interest. I can’t
truly put my finger on it.
All I know was that there
wasn’t enough space for me in
physics, so I took an art class
my sophomore year of high
school and my life changed
forever. While my grade in
the class soared and I scored
a place in the city-wide art
show, my math exams were
about as dismal as they had
ever been in my entire life.
My mother scorned me, but
in retrospect, it strikes me a
lot more as a tradeoff than as
a failure; I’ve gone through
a lot of charcoal over the
years, but not very many math
books.
And though I still do believe
I embody this artistic spirit,
I can’t help but think of my
earlier perceptions of what
it meant to be a disillusioned
artist. At 16, I saw artists on
a different plane from people
who had more “pragmatic”
goals for the future in mind.
Who really needed to know
anything beyond their purest
craft when guided by passion?
I thought that simply because
I enjoyed portraiture (and,
not gonna lie, I was pretty
damn good at it), I would
make it as an artist simply by
merit of this fact and the idea
that other people who were
guided by fear of financial
stability were sellouts. For
people like a 16-year-old me, I
have one thing to ask you: Are
you miserable yet?
As heavy consumers of art,
whether it be on Soundcloud
or at the Detroit Institute of
Arts, we’re quick to blame
artists when it’s obvious their
piece was produced for mass
appeal. We challenge them to
revert back to truer versions
of themselves, to adopt a style

that strikes us more genuine.
But can you truly do this
when you base your entire
career off of art? Is it really
that easy to brave your most
personal work to the world
without fear of rejection?
I say all of this because I
wanted a career based off
of art. I wanted all my life’s
accomplishments
latched
onto a project that spoke to
my personal experiences and
those of others. And perhaps
that might’ve come to fruition
if I stuck at it. But when I
graduated
high
school,
it
struck me that passion and
talent alone wouldn’t get you

anywhere; you had to be able
to sell yourself and if there’s
anything I can’t do, it’s that.
I
opened
myself
up
for
commissioning
and
Instagramming my artwork a
few months prior to starting
college.
My
art
teacher
recommended me to some
people in the city interested
in portraits and then people
on the internet would message
me. I remember thinking,
“This is my big break.” I
just had to get my name
recognized. I tried everything
from submitting my work to
art galleries to buying fancy
frames to make my work look

more professional. It was a
lot of paper filling, a lot of
time inside and alone in the
summer. But it was worth it
for what I loved, right?
I quickly learned that the
thing with trying to get people
to buy your art is that your
vision doesn’t mean much to
them. This isn’t to say your
signature and work doesn’t
matter — it does, and people
will appreciate it regardless.
The thing is, you lose a bit of
what makes your art yours
when
your
production
is
dependent on the approval of
others. I remember looking
back at my art at the end of
that summer and despising
everything I made; it struck
me how different it all looked
from pieces I had made in the
past. It lacked the pops of
color I liked integrating into
my black and white pieces, the
3-D textures I carved in for a
signature style. There was no
development as far as I could
see; there’s just not much
leeway when people request
very specifically that you
draw a photoreal portrait of
their dog in black and white.
I don’t think these feelings
apply
for
everyone.
Some
people master the art of
business and the business
of art. So go on, make your
YouTube channel, post your
photography on Instagram.
I think the problem for me
was
that
I
couldn’t
find
balance between the two. I
was always either way too
fixated
on
promoting
my
art or not doing enough of
it. Perhaps I could’ve done
things differently as an artist
— found projects I liked or
stuck to a more authentic
representation
of
my
art
before promoting it to others.
All things considered, I don’t
think I wasted my time with
this experience. I learned that
even though I love producing
art, it requires a lot of alone
time, something I’ll already
apt at providing myself with
as an introvert. And now, as
I study to become a teacher,
I find my artwork a lot less
prolific, a lot more deliberate.
I’m genuinely content with my
portfolio slowly expanding
in the top right corner of my
dorm room, even if no one
ever gets to see any of it.

In pursuit of a paycheck,
or, how I learned to stop
worrying and not get paid

DIANA YASSIN
Daily Arts Writer

So go on, make
your YouTube
channel, post
your photography
on Instagram. I
think the problem
for me was that I
couldn’t find the
balance between
the two

B-SIDE

B-SIDE
B-SIDE

Why, you might
ask, would people
mix home life
with work life?

4B —Thursday, January 24, 2019
b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

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