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

