Ingrid Picanyol Studio.

Leave a Little for Later

19 January 2025
3 min

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Uncategorized


Leave a Little for Later

Today, I’d love for someone to explain why people fantasize about becoming graphic designers. Yesterday, I was watching my students at La Massana as they worked, and I felt envy. It wasn’t the kind of envy they might feel for some well-known artist or designer. I’m talking about something different. When I was starting out in this field and looking up to those who came before me, I could feel the pull of inspiration coursing through my veins. That kind of envy made me think, ‘I want to do that too.’ And with that longing came an obsession to make it happen. Watching those with established studios felt like having a lighthouse to guide me; it made me believe that, to get there, all I had to do was row. Maybe for some of my colleagues, seeing how brilliantly others did things was overwhelming. But for me? Not at all. I’m drawn to challenges and the unknown, like a moth to a streetlight at night. You see them from the outside and think: What are you even doing, you amazed things? Well, I’m one of those amazed moths. Because when I’m lost in the darkness of monotony and stumble upon a new light, I get so excited I actually believe I could turn into an insect.

Maybe for some of my colleagues, seeing how brilliantly others did things was overwhelming. But for me? Not at all. I’m drawn to challenges and the unknown, like a moth to a streetlight at night. You see them from the outside and think: What are you even doing, you amazed things? Well, I’m one of those amazed moths.

At the studio, I ran into Olga. She was having coffee, and we caught up. We hadn’t seen each other since before the holidays, and she told me Christmas had gone great. She told me that she loves illustration, that it’s absolutely her calling, but she’d also enjoyed doing nothing more than walking, lounging around, and cooking simple dishes. I listened to her as she sipped her to-go coffee, which, now that I think about it, probably lasted her well into lunchtime. If there’s one thing about Mrs. Capdevila, it’s her tradition of never finishing her coffee completely. She waits until she’s ready to leave the table. She must’ve gone back to work with the calm that comes from stretching out the best part of the morning for the entire morning. She was probably answering emails, sipping her coffee, savoring that little ritual repeatedly, while I, meanwhile, kept trying—repeatedly too—to catch up on the tasks waiting for me after the holiday break.

With the rhythm of a bell tower, I reach the end of the afternoon and head home, already dark, balancing on a packed bus. The windows reflect us back: thumbs stuck to screens and shoulders worn out from carrying new year’s resolutions throughout the day. And in the face of this collective disillusionment, I wonder how different each of us must have looked on the first day of the lives we now lead.

How different were our faces, convinced that the enthusiasm for this new routine would be anything but finite? How can we keep from completely exhausting the gentle spark of beginnings? Maybe Olga has the answer: you’ve always got to leave a little at the bottom of the cup.

Best regards from the H6 bus,
Ingrid