Pati Nuñez owes me some roast cannelloni. They haven’t arrived yet, but there’s no rush. I’ll soon send her an official invitation, and I trust she’ll show up at the studio with the container under her arm.
I officially met her a year ago —I say officially because I had known who she was for years— when I participated in a debate organized by DHub on the occasion of the exhibition ‘WE ARE HERE! Women in Design. 1900 – Today’. We were invited to contrast our experiences: she, as a pioneering designer featured in the exhibition, and me, as a designer from another generation.
A question that I now regret not asking while they were recording the conversation, because I’m sure more than one person would have appreciated hearing us. I would have appreciated it, for sure. But better late than never, right? Learning has the shape of a snake and never slides in a straight line.
When I read the email inviting me to participate, I thought about how brutal life can sometimes be. Why? Because Pati had her studio above mine when I ventured to work as a freelancer from Sant Agustí Street, number 3, in the Gràcia neighborhood. And because I never, ever, dared to talk to her during the times we shared the elevator. Maybe one day I managed to say a polite “good morning” to channel the tension, but not much more. I had a lot of respect for her, what can I say? Pati was a big name; I was a nobody and didn’t want to come off as a fan. (And what’s the problem with being a fan, Ingrid? Yeah, I don’t know). But deep down, I truly felt that the day would come when we would talk as equals, not as a pioneering designer and a designer-in-the-making. It was just a matter of time because, inside, I thought: you don’t know it yet, Pati, but you’ll see, one day you and I will reflect together on this damned and wonderful profession. And if that day never came, well, nothing would happen either.
What I didn’t know back then was when, how, and where this meeting would finally take place. Nor did I know that many years of experience do not guarantee emotional stability with work. And I say this because, after the DHub debate, I approached her to ask The Question. A question that I now regret not asking while they were recording the conversation, because I’m sure more than one person would have appreciated hearing us. I would have appreciated it, for sure. But better late than never, right? Learning has the shape of a snake and never slides in a straight line.
It was winter, it was dark outside, and while she was zipping up an ash-colored anorak, I said to her: Pati, have you ever thought about quitting? You can imagine why I asked her. I don’t want to quit now, but sometimes the thought has crossed my mind, and I wanted to know if what I sometimes felt was normal. And she, like someone in the middle of an exam who wants to whisper the answer to a fellow student who is lost, said to me: Me? Oh, it must happen to me approximately twice a year on average.
So, in summary, if someone today, or yesterday, or last month, or at the end of March woke up worried, thinking they were the only one who sometimes thinks about throwing in the towel, know that it’s not the case. It happens to us too.
Thank you, Pati.
Warm regards from H6,
Ingrid
