Archives for posts with tag: Goldsmiths



Did you hear? We threw them mortar boards up in the air, and we graduated.





[via J Warren]


Two months in Montreal have pretty much dimmed the British schemas in my mind, but I knew I was in London again today when I waited thirty minutes for buses that would never come because the student demonstrations against government cuts to tertiary education were going on everywhere. Even more acute was that realization when I finally got to school in the most indirect way possible, and right in front of the very inviting entrance of Goldsmiths’ hung two long, black banners that shouted in bold: “WALK OUT“. Or the fact that the book-return cart was completely devoid of paperbacks, in place of which was a single sheet of loose-leaf paper that read quite emphatically: “Cut off Nick’s Dick”. (I’m assuming that ‘Nick’ here alludes to the Couldry variety. You know, my very esteemed Media Rituals professor?)

And then J and I walked into the main building and heard the chorale group belting out Jingle Bells in a three-part harmony, the kind that makes you want to break out the red cable-knit sweater with the giant snowflake print and sit back with a steaming mug of eggnog. It couldn’t have been more ironic in that single moment, especially when I realized that the great occupation of the Deptford Town Hall took place a mere month ago.

Only in Goldsmiths’; only in London.

On another note, I hope the safety of Nick’s vital appendage hasn’t been compromised.




Goldsmiths ’10 MA Design Degree Show

We headed down to Shoreditch Town Hall for C and M‘s design degree show, which was centred around the theme of design for living. C‘s space blanket design that basically works a lot like a hug machine for two individuals separated by distance and M‘s shifting plant wall were designs I actually could see being incorporated into daily living, as were the designs for breaking bad habits and the most intriguing exploration of intelligent light. They aren’t just audacious contemporary designs that cost an arm and a supermodel’s leg (I once saw a documentary of a British artist pricing a doorknob he had attached to a blue wall for £9,000 and calling that a real bargain), but real specimens of how the blur between art and life could actually prove to be of value.

And you know, I tried to convince M to patent her plant wall design so that when I have my own apartment in the future, I can lay claim to a Martina Wu piece of my own!

The most epic of a year together, the most epic of friends, the most epic of farewells, the most epic of pictorial chronologies in a long while, the most epic of tributes in a justifiably emotional state.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

[Goldsmiths Class of 2010. Asian Represent.]

To say that 2009 was the worst year of my life is an understatement. But what goes down also must really come up, so it comes as no surprise that 2010 has proven to be nothing short of amazing for me.

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My favorite boy at Goldsmiths goes byebye.

Honestly, farewells suck balls. Especially when it’s about time to say goodbye to the boy who cheers you up with a “Hey, we have Master’s now! Life is great!” and makes you do dubious M-handsigns to celebrate, who delivers cheesecake and strawberry-banana smoothies to ease the transition between your 6,000th word and your 8,000th, who almost manages to convince you that there really isn’t anything wrong with shamelessly and hedonistically enjoying life, one wave of sunshine at a time.

I will miss you, E.







For the first time, the end of this hellhole looks visibly within my reach.

Eight nights. That’s how long I haven’t slept before 12 noon in the fraakin’ afternoon. That’s the number of all-nighters I’ve been pulling, saved only by four-hour naps in the afternoon. That’s how long I have been jabbing at my laptop, my eyes pleading for sleep and dark circles threatening to eat them poor eyes whole.

You don’t poop unicorns and rainbows when you’re merely happy. You poop multicolor, dayglo mythical creatures of every kind when cold, hard relief washes through you. And you think, dang, I can wing this. I can.

Thank You. Really.
Thank You.

Lounging & lazing are E‘s specialties.
It was nice to follow in his exemplary footsteps.

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Dazed & Confused.

And not in a good way.

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