CONTENTS DESIGN ILLUSTRATION INTERACTIVE MEDIA WRITING
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EMMA J HARDY www.emmajhardy.co.uk emmajhardydesign@gmail.com @EmmaJhardy BA(hons) Animation Bristol School of Animation UWE 2013
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DESIGN “She fully embodies the concept of less is more, and makes it playful all the while – compelling you to love her varying creations.” -Liveacre
DRUNKEN WEREWOLF I am currently doing freelance work as the lead graphic designer for Drunken Werewolf Magazine, a Bristol based music publication with roughly 4,000 issues distributed every month for free accross the city. The role included initial branding such as logo design and the general ‘feel’ of the publication, however for each issue I
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also design the publication layout, typeset and produce flyers for the magazine. Below: tshirt design, Drunken Werewolf Magazine Right: Issue 1, Drunken Werewolf Magazine
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THE WEDDING This set of wedding invites and RSVP postcard was designed for a London based couple looking for simplicity and an origami themed look. I both designed the contenr and liaised with the printers and client. The final outcome were these invites, printed onto thick card with embossed text.
Below: RSVP Postcard Right: Invite
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BOOK COVERS In order to practice working to briefs I regularly pick a book and create a front cover design for it. I find that this helps to practice thinking about what a client would be looking for, and also keeps my design skills up to date if I’m working on less designed based projects at the time.
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Below: We Need To Talk About Kevin, Lionel Shriver Right: Enduring Love, Ian McEwen
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Above: Marketing is Violence, Marianna Cage Left: The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, Stieg Larsson
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MOMENTUM MAGAZINE Momentum Magazine was a one off publication project that I initiated and lead. The project brought together a group of 14-21 year olds from the most rural areas of the west midlands, and combined their skills to produce a magazine celebrating the talent of young people in their area, as well as providing them with information on
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interesting and relevent events happening near them. The publication was distributed both digitally and on a print on demand site, we recieved around 250 online downloads. The project has continued as a website. www.momentumpublishing.co.uk
Above: Issue 1, Photography by Ed Tritton Left: Contents page, Momentum Magazine
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JAM 250 Last year I was approached by limited edition , New Zealand based t-shirt company jam250, they wanted to use my ‘Birds’ illustration on their tshirts, and asked that i also produce another one with a similar theme.
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Right: Love Birds, Limited edition tee Below: Birds, Limited edition tee
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ILLUSTRATION “Emma J Hardy. The woman of minimal design and bright illustration. -Liveacre
EXHIBITIONS Print Isn’t Dead (Dec 2012) WWA Gallery California Aardman “Show and Tell” (2012) Aardman Animations Studio Bristol
Upper right: Print Isn’t Dead, WWA Gallery Lower right: Aardman “Show and Tell” , Aardman Animations
Ladyfest Bristol (2012) The Canteen Upcoming: Print Isn’t Dead (June 2013) WWA Gallery California
FEATURES & COLLECTIONS Interviews Liveacre Features & Collections Society6 Design Milk Collection Society6 Front Page Greetings Card Universe, Design of the day Piccsy 404ward project JuicyCanvas artist StickySkins artist Society6 most popular framed print (March 2013)
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IULLUSTRATION Over the past three years I have been developing my illustration skills accross a range of mediums, and have been successfully selling my work online via sites such as Society6, ‘Birds’ (pictured left)recently becoming the most popular framed art print for a number of days.
Left: Birds, illustration
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Left: Wolf, illustration Right: Celloist, illustration
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Left: Hartog’s Theorem, illustration Right: Nevermore, illustration
SCIENTIFIC ILLUSTRATION Scientific illustration has become a particular passion, as i greatly enjoy learning about anatomy and translating the information into artwork. Over the next few pages is a selection of my recent work, some of which was exhibited as part of the Aardman Show and Tell exhibition last year.
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Right: Heart Diagram, illustration
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Left: Inside Our Bones, illustration Right: Heart, illustration
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Left: Female Reproductive System, illustration Right: Male Reproductive System, illustration
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Left: Organs, illustration Right: Skeleton, illustration
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INTERACTIVE MEDIA “Emma’s art has the type of simplicity that makes anyone want to partake, not feel outcast from it.” -Liveacre
LET’S LEARN Let’s Learn is the first in a series of educational apps designed to teach kids in interesting and interactive ways. This app aims to teach 7-11 year old’s anatomy and life processes following the national curriculum for KS2. The app was developed in AS3 using the adobe air packager to convert into an app file. The app has been
accepted onto the Apple app store, and is currently available for download at: http://bit.ly/163bDX2 Images: Collection of promotional images for the application
“A really beautifully crafted app that is informative and fun” -Customer review 40
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APP DESIGN My perfect day is my current app in development. It is a simple drag and drop storybook for 3-6 year olds with a twist; the text is displayed as a writing guide, allowing the child to practice their writing over the top, with their finger.
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Right: initial mock ups of designs Below: mock up of 3 Little Pigs game concept
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WRITING
THIS SOUNDS LIKE SOMETHING A GIRL WOULD SAY Published in: WestWorld, UniLass Blog, Momentum Publishing Consider your favourite historical artists. Van Gogh? Matisse? Da Vinci? It occurred to me recently that I couldn't think of one single famous female 'master' who is celebrated in the way that these great men are. Of course this is most likely due to the emancipation of women only being a relatively new thing, so instead I turned my attention to contemporary artists. Still I struggled to think of even one great female's work that I really loved. How can this be? I'm in a university full to the brim with female art students, and no doubt it's exactly the same in every other university around the country. Women have been studying art for years and years now so why is it that the only famous female artist I can think of is Tracy Emin? Even in the industry of buying and selling art women's work goes for considerably less. The most valuable female artwork sold in the last ten years is Louise Bourgeois' bronze sculpture Spider, which went for $10.7m - which seems like a lot, but is overshadowed by the $259m that Paul CĂŠzanne's The Card Players sold for. So what's the reason behind this? Women have equal access to education, I would argue that the women in my class are just as good as the men, so something is clearly still going wrong for us, and I think it's down to the general attitude present in our community of artists. Before we go any further we also need to address the stigma around raising this kind of issue. The word 'feminist' has become a loaded one, bringing to mind man-hating hippies who don't shave their armpits. All labelling oneself as feminist really expresses is 'I am a person who wants women to be equal to men in our society'. If you agree with this simple statement, then you are a feminist (men included). If you do not agree with the statement, better hand over control of your bank account, body and mind to your husband or father now. The art world likes to consider itself a very free and open minded place, so the lack of female work in galleries and female presence in my influences really bothers me. The fact that, on average, art museums only present 15% of artwork by women in curated exhibitions and of the work they acquire only 4% of it is from female artists should be setting off alarm bells in everyone's heads. However as Donald P. Eckard argued in his research, Artists' Income and Gender that by singling work out purely because of the gender of the artist, we run the risk of female work being presented in its own little section of a gallery under 'female artists' thus placing it in a category that is judged differently to men's work. No, we need to introduce and reinforce the belief amongst our own social
groups that female artists are just as good as male artists. Eventually the gender bias in galleries' selections would even out. This might sound obvious but I've heard countless comments on pieces that are centred around seeing femininity as a negative: "their story lines are too girly", "that looks like something a girl would do", "women just can't make funny art, because they're just not as funny as men". This drives me mad. How will we ever be seen as equal competitors when there is this kind of attitude in our own university? Even whilst writing this article, I came across some horrific sexism; on a google search for 'sexism in art' one of the first listings was from the mainstream website Zazzle, selling tacky tops with slogans on. I found lines such as “if you are a woman and reading this get back in the kitchen”, “women are good for one thing: making me a sandwich” and “cool story babe, now go make me a sandwich”. As if all this wasn't offensive enough, it was listed under the category sexist gifts on the store website. To find that people are so openly sexist and even willing to wear their sexist opinions on a t-shirt really worries me. What is perhaps even worse is that these slogans aren't new to me; they're frequently circulated on Facebook and Tumblr with thousands of 'likes' and people rejoicing about just how funny it is. Maybe I just don't have a good sense of humour, or maybe I worry too much about what people think of women, but when I come across something like this that other people clearly find funny I try to decide whether it is actually sexist or whether I'm just being oversensitive. So I swap the word 'woman' for 'black person' and see whether I think that's offensive. Surely if it would be racist then it would also be sexist. Suddenly the 'joke': "if you are a black person and reading this get back in the kitchen" or "black people are good for one thing: making me a sandwich" doesn't sound so funny does it? I'm not sure how many men would be brave enough to wear that around town, and such a slogan posted on Facebook might even be removed. Racism and sexism are issues with very different histories, but at the core both are discrimination on arbitrary basis, and as such both are wrong. So girls, we've got the right to vote, we have almost equal pay in the work place, we have the pill - it's safe to say the big things are being tackled, but we've still got a hell of a long way to go with the small things. The every-day-affects-you-a-little-bit-but-it-all-mountsup-to-a-lot things. So be brave enough to fight our corner, don't put up with offensive jokes that inevitably undo all the good progress that women and men have made towards equality. Next time you see some really great female work, make a note, show other people and help spread the word that we are just as good at art as the men.
TV REVIEW: GIRLS Published in: Momentum Publishing Written, directed and acted by talented multi-tasker Lena Duhnam, Girls offers a rich and audacious insight to the lives of the 20 somethings of New York. It seems almost common place for people to become obsessed with a TV show: the wide integration of social media with our day to day moments of life means we can tell people what we think of a show, and the direction it's going at just a few clicks of a button. However It's not very often that I come across a series that I really love. Sure I sit down to watch the next Downton Abbey, or Gray's Anatomy just as willingly as the next person, but these are programmes that wash over me and help pass the time rather than make me want to pass on the experience of watching in the way that the new HBO drama Girls undoubtedly does. Written, directed and acted by talented multi-tasker Lena Duhnam, Girls offers a rich and audacious insight to the lives of the 20 somethings of New York. The small group are learning to live in the awkward, post graduation but pre family and career stage of life. The writing feels very raw, and unforgiving – contrary to what you might believe this makes it all the better, as of course real life is both raw and unforgiving. We see all the humiliations, triumphs and cracks (both emotional and physical) that get covered up in a generic shiny comedy drama. Lena Dunham plays Hannah, who in her own words is an: “11 pound[s] overweight” young woman, struggling to launch her writing career whilst managing her relationships with those around her. Played by Allison Williams, flatmate Marnie has a job and boyfriend of 5 years yet still manages to run into obstacles showing us both sides of the coin: just because you have a career and relationship doesn't always mean you have life figured out. Almost all the characters in this refreshing account of life are both likeable and unlikeable; complex issues spring and unlike other programmes where the audience is clearly shown who's side they are supposed to be on, you find yourself torn, changing your mind when each character puts their point of view across. However, it's not all drama and struggle – Girls offers a comedic perspective on some slightly more exaggerated characters that many of us can probably identify in our own friends. Jemima Kirk plays Jessa, a bohemian, British traveller who can't quite seem to settle and is constantly viewing the world in a way that other people naturally clash with. You want to hate her, but you can't; far from being the token 'annoying girl' that is often shoved into a script, she brings emotions that the others don't come up against. Thus proving her place amongst the group as the series develops. Without a doubt, Girls is something special. Whether you love it, or hate it no-one should deny the individualism and bravery to go against main stream portrayals of young women (and to a lesser degree men) finding their place in the world. HBO have announced that season 2 of Girls will air in January 2013
THE SNAIL Bristol Short Story Anthology Entry 2013 Little Robert looked up from his gameboy approximately every 8 minutes to ensure that his mother was still nearby, and that his sister Gemma was not getting something that he wants such as chocolate, or money. When he looked across the plastic -but pretending to be wood- table at around 11:08 he remembered that Gemma isn't with them, he couldn't remember why not. Instead he saw his mother staring out of the train window with a surprisingly vacant look upon her face. Robert didn't usually consider what other people, especially his mother, are thinking but today he does. 'She is probably trying to work out what to get me for my birthday next week' he decided, and then as quickly as the thought appeared, it disappeared as Roberts gameboy made a bleeping sound signalling he had fallen down a hole. Frustrated at this sudden turn of events Robert vowed not to look up from his game at all that day, 'it's just not worth the risk' he decided. As the brick walls that encompassed the rattling tube went by, Roberts mother thought about her life. These bricks could represent a moment, a minute of her lifetime, each one passing by in the flicker of an eye. She couldn't go back and look at each one in detail now that each had passed, but she hadn't paid enough attention to appreciate them. 'Each brick had such potential' she thought, 'each could have been something beautiful but instead they are all almost indistinguishable, each passes by without a glance from anyone else. These bricks could be anyone's moments, there is nothing that makes them different'. Nothing, she thought, apart from her two children. They are the large sign on the wall of life, the 'I was here and I created something' message to all. But what use was that if her own children were doing exactly the same as she had done? Take her mother for example; she was a nobody. She had lived a perfectly normal life and her greatest achievement was her daughter. But her daughter had grown up to be equally non eventful, she bestowed no good on society, or those around her, she simply 'was' and so Lilian's mother's greatest achievement is a non-achiever. and now she thought, I have had two children, one I have already failed and the other will do the same: grow up and die as no-one. She looked across at Robert, his head buried in his game. 'Thousands of other little boys will have completed that game in exactly the same way' she thought, 'what sets him apart from the rest? Where is his aspiration, his yearning to do something with his life?'. Of course how could he have developed those traits, if she had not displayed them herself? There was nothing that she thought she wanted to do. Lillian knew a lot about art and could probably have applied that to something, but somehow never did and most likely never would. This was a very pessimistic view of her life, she knew that and if her therapist (Mr. Achievement if there ever was one) was here, he would tell her to list everything positive and she would be surprised to see it outweighed the negative. That might be true, she had told him, but would they outweigh the dull? The non events? The every day things that no-one ever counts because its too depressing to think about? He had chuckled, thinking it was a joke.
The tube screeched to a halt, people rushed to get on and off, whacking each other as they went past but hardly noticing. 'A thousand times a day people in this city interact and don't even realise' Lilian thought. 'I wonder how much I would learn if I stopped to ask just one of them about their lives'. She slowly stood and tapped Robert to signal that they needed to get ready for the next stop. He didn't even look up, 'even my own son doesn't notice me'. She also noticed that from the train to the art gallery, not one person looked her in the eye or bumped into her, or even brushed her shoulder. It was like there was a sign above her head, 'I'm a nobody, not even worth pushing against, it won't get you anywhere'. With this thought, Lillian realised she was very sad again, and should remember to book an appointment with Mr. Achievement when they get home. 'Perhaps I won't get home' she thought 'perhaps I will kill myself on the rails and leave Robert to be picked up and held by a kind stranger as i'm ripped from life'. This thought stayed with her as they entered the art gallery. Robert felt the rush of cold air as they stepped off the train and onto the platform edge. He used his peripheral vision to navigate his way amongst the crowd, not daring to take his eyes from his game for even a second. He was about to reach level 23, it was a miracle, he had only ever gotten as far as level 15 before. Not wanting to so much as breathe out of time incase it should destabilize his tapping thumbs he walked with a steady pace towards wherever it was his mother was leading him. After a few minutes he heard the sliding of doors and his skin began to warm up, he hardly even noticed and certainly had no interest in finding out where they had arrived. They walked in circles for a while, Robert was pleased as this place had very flat floors which meant he didn't have to worry about tripping up. Then Robert died. It was a painful death, both for the character in his hands and himself. At level 27 he was struck down by an enemy. 'Here lies Robert' he thought 'greatest warrior there ever was' would be written on his grave. As he imagined this he felt weary, that had been a huge amount of mental exertion on his part and now he was feeling hungry. He decided his vow to not look up didn't count as he hadn't clicked 'play again' yet. He looked up, he was in a large room with lots of paintings on the walls, and lots of people standing around looking at them. Robert thought this was very odd, but didn't much care why they were doing it so went off in search of his mother, who had escaped his vision a good hour ago. As Robert moved around the building in calculated circles, ensuring his searching was done in the most efficient way so that he could find his mother, eat and be back to his game quicker, he began to feel funny. Everyone around him was much taller than him and he couldn't see very much through the crowds of legs. Suddenly Robert wondered if this was school, he had heard his mother mention a few times that he would be starting school soon and he was adamant that he would not. Perhaps she had tricked him here and left. No, he thought as he realised she had definitely told him there were children at school, but there were certainly no kids in this place. Robert considered telling someone that he was lost, his mother had told him to do that if they got separated, but the funny feeling in his tummy was starting to ease and suddenly finding his mother didn't feel so important anymore. 'Maybe there are kids somewhere to play with, in a different room or something' he thought, they might have packed lunches that they would share if he let them play on his
game boy for 5 minutes. At that moment, Robert noticed a room he hadn't spotted before and headed straight to it. Robert had been staring at the snail for 3 hours and 14 minutes when it was finally noticed that no-one seemed to be in the gallery with him. An old woman with grey hair and skin wrinkled like the shirt on Robert's back came and sat next to him. Robert didn't notice, he was busy, looking at the snail. 'What's your name little man?' The old lady with the kind voice asked, Robert thought she sounded a bit like someone from the television, but couldn't remember who. 'Robert' he replied, eyes still fixed on the snail. 'Who did you come here with Robert? Are you lost?' 'Mummy' 'Where is mummy now?' probed the woman, Robert was beginning to feel irritated by her, so didn't answer. The old woman thought he seemed sad, so decided to start a conversation about something else. 'Do you know what this is a painting of Robert?' she asked, pointing at the large masterpiece towering over them, 'It looks like a snail' Robert said, because it did. 'You're right, in fact that's the title of the piece 'The Snail' by Henri Matisse' 'Who's that?' Robert asked, finally taking his eyes from the painting and looking into the woman’s sunken eyes. He thought she looked like she was about to fall asleep, he didn't blame her, he was tired too. 'He was a great painter, here you can have this if you like, I bought it in the shop earlier' she handed Robert a small postcard, on the front was The Snail. He took it from her hands and held it in his lap, looking slowly from the miniature version at his finger tips and the massive reality of the painting hanging on the wall. The colours seemed dance across his vision, it was like nothing he had ever seen before. Each colour looked like one thing, but he had discovered in his 3 hours and 14 minutes of staring that if you looked closely you could see other colours, and scratches and tears. It reminded him of something Gemma had once said, about how sometimes things seem like one thing but sometimes they're another. He was really little when she had told him that -at least 3 and 3/4- and he hadn't understood what she meant until now. He thought that this painting looked how happiness felt, and it wasn't until he realised that, that he also realised he had not felt happy in a long while. Probably not since his last birthday party when Gemma was there. 'Now Robert, are you going to tell me where your mummy is?' 'I'm lost' replied Robert. Lillian had been walking through the gallery for about an hour before she realised that Robert was no longer trailing behind her. She immediately felt a tug of panic from her gut, and frantically began to look around her, hoping he had just stopped to rest on a bench nearby. After a few minutes Lillian's thoughts began to poke and squirm their way past her automatic response to loosing her child, perhaps she thought, this is a sign. I could just slip away now and Robert wouldn't know. Someone would look after him, he has a card in his bag with our house number on it so when they find it they can call home, he would be fine. Lilian's blood began to pump fast with adrenalin at the thought of what she was about to
do. She was about to leave when she saw a sign for 'Balcony level' pointing upstairs, they were already 4 flights up, she could throw herself off the same building that she abandoned her son in. It all sounded very tragic and poetic, much more meaningful that being another 'one under' at the tube station she thought. She wouldn't be a nobody at the end after all. Each step up took her closer to finality, she began thinking about moments again, she should stop and think of a memory for each step she decided. She started with Andrew. Andrew had come into Lillian's life suddenly and without warning. She had been sitting on a bench, reflecting on the horrific news she had just received, when Andrew sat down next to her. 'It's bad isn't it' he had said, staring straight ahead, his sad brown eyes piercing the horizon with all it's might, the cliff edge that their bench was facing merged into the sea beyond them, making it seem as though they were sitting in the middle of an ocean. 'Yes' she had replied. At first she was a little confused, she had no idea what he was talking about – or who he was, but she agreed that 'it was bad' whether or not they meant the same thing by 'it'. 'I'm not supposed to be here' he told her, exhaling like the wind against the branches of the many trees behind them. 'No, I don't suppose you are. What's your name?' 'Andrew' 'That's a nice name' 'Yes' he said with a tone of finality that Lillian was not expecting. 'You seem very grown up Andrew, for someone your age – how old are you?' '10' Andrew told her. Then he got up, walked to the edge of the cliff that they were standing on, and sat down with his legs dangling over the miles of air below. 'I think you should come back over here Andrew, that's not very safe, think of what your mother would say if she could see you now' 'She's dead' he said, then he twisted his back, so that his eyes could lock with hers. Suddenly Lillian felt wrought with grief, tears began to swell up in her eyes, she could feel them already red hot, distorting the world around her. 'How old are you' Andrew asked '13' Lillian whispered, 'my sister is dead'. Andrew never left her life from that point. They kept in contact, met up at the cliff edge regularly, and by the time they were in their late teens, had fallen in love. She didn't want to do this to him, but there just wasn't enough good to outweigh the bad anymore. She could feel those red hot tears stirring up inside of her once again, and an unbearable feeling of just 'being alive' that she suddenly wanted to get away from as quickly as possible. “This steps thing is a ridiculous idea” she thought to herself, and ran up the stairwell. The sun had set whilst she'd been in the gallery, Lillian hadn't realised quite how late in the day it must be. She was standing on the balcony, looking out across the ground below. Cars whizzed past, busy to get wherever they were going. If she squinted, they looked like shooting stars, hundreds of them. All soaring past below her impossibly fast. Lillian began to feel sick, which she was not expecting. She thought it would be calm, and easy, to throw
herself off the edge. But instead she just had words circling around her mind, filling the corners. She could't move, all she could do was remember; remember what Andrew used to recite to her when she would sit at the edge of the cliff, feet dangling, insisting that one day she would throw herself off it. On the train journey back home, Robert was still clutching his postcard. His body hunched over it, fascinated by every millimetre of colour. He would keep it forever, he vowed, and always get it out when he was feeling sad. Lillian held her son close to her, as she stared out of the train window and up at the lights which now shone and whizzed by like shooting stars above her. She would book that appointment with Mr. Achievement in the morning, to keep the starry skies above her, and her son in her arms for another day. 'Though the tree boughs bend and buckle neath the starry eyes that glow, yet we must still shrug and struggle through the murky seas below. Oft, this world seems fair and breezy to the many who find it so. And though in life some lie easy, Others fold beneath the stars' soft glow. Keep those starry eyes above me, I do not wish to bend and strain, Keep those storms that stir inside me, to the far and distant plains.'