- Zarina (1999) Home is a Foreign place [Portfolio of 36 woodcuts]. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Available at: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/499720 (Accessed: 30 April 2025)
Zarina’s Home Is a Foreign Place is a series of 36 woodcut prints combining minimalist visuals with Urdu words to evoke memory, displacement, and belonging. Drawing on her personal history and global movements, the series weaves cultural, linguistic, and material references into a poignant meditation on home and identity. This selection of woodcuts inspired me to consider how graphic shapes can relate and represent feelings of displacement and of longing towards a home that never was, emphasizing that abstraction and simplicity can carry profound meaning. Her representations inspired my choice in my iterations to apply graphic romanian-inspired symbols to the original prints to create the layered effects.
2. Space One Eleven (2015) Negotiated Identities/Saints and Tears [Exhibition]. Birmingham, AL: Space One Eleven. Available at: https://spaceoneeleven.org/exhibition-archive/negotiated-identities-saints-and-tears/ (Accessed: 1 May 2025).
Negotiated Identities/Saints and Tears is a 2015 international group exhibition held at Space One Eleven in Birmingham, Alabama, featuring artists from the American Deep South and Romania. The exhibition explores how personal and collective identities are shaped by political histories, cultural memory, and religious symbolism. Romanian artists, navigating post-communist realities, and American artists from the Deep South, confronting their own socio-political landscapes, engage in a visual dialogue. Through collaborative works, the exhibition delves into themes of autonomy, privacy, and the enduring impact of authoritarian regimes, highlighting the universal quest for self-definition amid complex historical contexts. Within this exhibition I was struck by the work of Karen Graffeo who’s use of graphic symbols overlaid on old romanian imagery inspired my subsequent iterations in this project.
3. Benjamin, W. (1969) ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’, in Illuminations. New York: Schocken Books, pp. 1–26. (First published in 1935).
The painter maintains in his work a natural distance from reality, the cameraman penetrates deeply into its web.
In The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, Walter Benjamin argues that mass reproduction technologies, like photography and film, strip art of its “aura”—its uniqueness and presence in time and space. This shift transforms how art is experienced, detaching it from tradition and ritual. While reproduction democratizes access, it also opens art to political manipulation. Benjamin explores how these changes reflect broader shifts in perception, politics, and cultural production. While this choice approaches more broader subject matter, I still found it fundamental in guiding my reflection upon the medium I have chosen. While not entirely political, my piece relies on the handmade aspect of it’s production to reflect and represent my feelings.
4.Laranjo, F. (2015) ‘Critical Graphic Design: Critical of What?’, Modes of Criticism, 1 January. Available at: https://modesofcriticism.org/critical-graphic-design/ (Accessed: 24 May 2025).
A talk, song, scarf, flag, web meme, website, installation or publication may all be valid ways to pose a critique
The essay Critical Graphic Design from Modes of Criticism challenges my understanding of how personal experiences can be represented through design by questioning the neutrality and function of graphic design itself. It argues that design is never apolitical—that it always communicates values, ideologies, and power structures, whether intentionally or not. This perspective pushes me to think more critically about how I frame my own life experiences. It’s not just about telling a story visually, but about examining what assumptions or norms my design choices reinforce or resist. Rather than aiming solely for aesthetic appeal or clarity, this essay encourages me to consider how my work can engage with broader cultural, social, or political contexts. It opens up space for more self-aware, reflexive design practices that don’t just represent life, but question how and why it’s being represented.
5. Fowler, R. (2024) Boarding All Rows [Linoleum and Woodblock Prints]. Unknown. Available at: https://www.boardingallrows.com/blog/new-series-of-linoleum-and-woodblock-prints-2024 (Accessed: 1 May 2025).
Fowler does not provide a detailed explanation for the pieces created; rather, they serve as an exercise in lino printing. The work is particularly notable for its blend of lino and woodblock printing, combined with the use of different coloured inks. It is an experiment in layering ink, creating a visual effect reminiscent of decoupage. This approach inspired my own work, giving me the idea to layer symbols over my initial designs. While I originally intended to replicate the feeling of these overlaid, somewhat chaotic images, I realized that such complexity could make the compositions too busy and difficult to keep fast and light-footed, which was essential for my 100 iterations.
6. Ford, L. O. (2011) Savage Messiah. London: Verso Books.
Savage Messiah by Laura Oldfield Ford is a zine-style, psychogeographic exploration of post-industrial London. Blending collage, drawing, and text, the work captures the emotional residue of urban decay, gentrification, and working-class displacement. It documents forgotten spaces and resistances, channeling punk aesthetics and radical politics. Through layered visuals and fragmented narratives, Ford evokes both rage and nostalgia, offering a haunting portrait of a city transformed by neoliberalism and erased histories. Inspired by Ford’s expression of individuality, I wanted to also use text and words at points to establish my feelings in regards to my identity. The layering of her images solidified my desire to add the collage style spin towards my second rounds of iterations.
7. Knisley, L (2007) French Milk. Epigraph Publishing
Lucy Knisley’s French Milk enhances my understanding of how personal experiences can be meaningfully represented to an audience through a balance of intimacy and relatability. Her use of hand-drawn illustrations alongside journal-style writing creates an accessible and emotionally resonant narrative that doesn’t rely on dramatic events but rather on the details of everyday life—meals, conversations, passing thoughts. This approach challenges the idea that personal stories must be exceptional to be shared. Instead, Knisley demonstrates that authenticity and specificity can invite others into your world. For my own work, French Milk encourages me to trust the value of my ordinary experiences and to consider how visual elements, tone, and structure can shape the way an audience connects with my story.
8. Tamaki, M. and Tamaki, J. (2008) Skim. Groundwood Books
Skim by Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki deepens my understanding of how complex, layered emotions can be conveyed through the interplay of text and image. The graphic novel captures adolescence in a way that feels both intensely personal and broadly relatable, using visual silence, body language, and sparse dialogue to express what isn’t easily said. This challenges me to think beyond literal storytelling when representing my own life experiences. Skim shows that ambiguity, mood, and fragmented moments can be just as powerful—if not more so—than a straightforward narrative. It encourages me to embrace uncertainty and emotional nuance, and to consider how visual storytelling can communicate what words alone often can’t. It’s a reminder that not everything needs to be explained to be understood.
9. Brătescu, G. (1971) The Working Desk. Geta Brătescu, Bucharest
Geta Brătescu’s The Working Desk enhances my understanding of representing life experiences by highlighting the creative process itself as a form of autobiography. Rather than presenting a polished narrative, Brătescu documents her workspace and the rhythms of her daily practice, turning the act of making into a reflection of self. This challenges the idea that personal storytelling must always result in a finished product. Instead, she positions the everyday—scraps, gestures, routines—as central to self-representation. Her work encourages me to see value in process, imperfection, and repetition as expressive tools. It opens up the possibility of sharing my experiences not only through what I say or show, but through how I work and what I choose to keep visible in that process.
10. Ahmed, S. (2017) Living a Feminist Life. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
In making feminism a life question, we will be judged as judgmental.
The introduction to Living a Feminist Life by Sara Ahmed enhances my understanding of representing life experiences by validating personal narrative as a form of critical knowledge. Ahmed emphasizes that lived experience—especially the experiences of those navigating systems of oppression—is not separate from theory, but a way of doing theory. This challenges the traditional separation between the personal and the intellectual, reinforcing that telling my story is not just self-expression, but also a political and theoretical act. Her concept of the “feminist killjoy” resonates deeply, encouraging me to embrace discomfort, contradiction, and resistance in how I represent myself. Rather than smoothing over complexity for the sake of clarity or likability, Ahmed gives me permission to center friction and vulnerability. This perspective invites me to see my project not just as a personal account, but as part of a broader feminist practice of making visible what is often ignored or dismissed. It empowers me to resist dominant narratives of coherence and productivity, and to trust in the critical potential of my own lived, felt, and embodied experiences.
11. McLuhan, M. and Fiore, Q., 1967. The medium is the massage: an inventory of effects [PDF]. New York: Bantam Books. Available at: https://archive.org/details/pdfy-vNiFct6b-L5ucJEa (Accessed: 25 May 2025)
Reference one
Marshall McLuhan’s The Medium is the Massage (1967), produced in collaboration with graphic designer Quentin Fiore, presents the provocative idea that the medium through which information is conveyed is more influential than the content itself. This foundational media theory posits that technological mediums shape human experience and perception, fundamentally altering how individuals understand themselves and the world. Rather than focusing on what a message says, McLuhan urges us to look at the structure and delivery system of the message—how it “massages” our senses and perceptions.
This idea is not only stated in the text but embodied in the book’s design, which becomes an essential part of its argument. Rather than presenting a conventional, linear narrative, The Medium is the Massage is an experimental collage of typography, photography, layout disruptions, and visual juxtapositions. The typography often breaks with tradition—sometimes exploding across pages, other times minimized or curved, demanding that the reader interact with the text in a new way. The images often clash or contrast with the words on the page, creating a dissonance that forces the reader to make connections rather than passively absorb information. These design strategies perform McLuhan’s message: the book itself is a medium that reshapes the reader’s sensory experience.
In terms of communication and graphic design, The Medium is the Massage radically redefines the designer’s role—not simply as a transmitter of content, but as a co-creator of meaning. This work challenges my previous understanding of graphic design as primarily about clarity, order, and aesthetics. Instead, McLuhan and Fiore present design as an active force that constructs reality and perception. Their book rejects the idea that form should be subordinate to function; rather, it shows how form is function when the aim is to awaken audiences to the invisible influence of media.
This insight has significant implications for my own area of interest: representing life experiences to an audience. Before encountering The Medium is the Massage, I often thought about representation in terms of storytelling—what I want to say, what parts of my life feel meaningful or compelling. McLuhan shifts the focus: how I choose to present these stories (the media I use, the structure, the aesthetic choices) might have a greater impact on how audiences engage with and understand them than the stories themselves.
For example, if I’m creating a visual memoir or zine, The Medium is the Massage suggests that the format—folds, pacing, image/text relations, paper quality, and even printing errors—communicates as much as the content. This insight encourages me to think beyond content delivery and towards immersive design strategies. Could the layout of my project mirror the non-linear nature of memory? Could shifts in typography signal emotional or psychological states? Could visual overload or fragmentation be used intentionally to express disorientation or complexity?
Moreover, when considered alongside Skim by Mariko and Jillian Tamaki or French Milk by Lucy Knisley—two personal, illustrated narratives—McLuhan’s ideas amplify the importance of medium specificity. While those works rely heavily on consistent visual language and linear storytelling, The Medium is the Massage explodes the narrative and asks the reader to piece it together. This opens new possibilities for my project: I might, for instance, break from traditional storyboarding and create a patchwork of moments, images, and texts that invite the audience to experience, rather than simply understand, my life events.
Ultimately, McLuhan and Fiore’s work invites me to reconceive my project not just as a story I’m telling but as an environment I’m constructing. If the medium is indeed the message, then I must treat every element—visual, textual, material—not as decoration, but as a tool of expression and transformation. This challenges me to be more intentional, more experimental, and more critical about the ways in which I design my life for others to see.
12. Satrapi, M (2000), Persepolis.
Reference two
Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi is a graphic memoir that explores the impact of the Iranian Revolution and the subsequent Islamic regime through the eyes of a young girl growing up in Tehran. The key ideas presented in the text include the loss of personal freedom under authoritarian rule, the tension between modernity and tradition, and the struggle for identity in the face of political and cultural upheaval. Satrapi presents a deeply personal and political narrative that critiques repression, celebrates resilience, and highlights the complexities of growing up as a woman in a society marked by war, censorship, and resistance. While her story is compelling, it is through her medium that Satrapi found a way to capture her readers within the richly compelling world of her own childhood.In Leigh Gilmore’s essay Witnessing Persepolis: Comics, Trauma, and Childhood Testimony, she identifies a key reason why Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis resonates so powerfully with readers: the central perspective of a child navigating a world shaped by political violence and upheaval. Gilmore writes, “Persepolis aims not only to teach these readers how to think about the Middle East, broadly, and Iran specifically, but also how to feel. Satrapi’s use of comics is part of this affective strategy, as is her choice of an autobiographical child/adolescent protagonist, whose direct witnessing of adult violence encourages sympathetic readings” (Gilmore, 2011, pp. 157–170). In presenting the Iranian Revolution through the eyes of a young girl, Satrapi invites the reader to encounter the events with a sense of immediacy and emotional vulnerability. The child protagonist, Marji, does not yet possess the filters or political frameworks of an adult; instead, she processes events in a raw, affective manner that mirrors the confusion, fear, and resilience that can characterize a child’s response to trauma.
This choice of narrative voice establishes a crucial bond between the reader and Marji, one built on identification and empathy. As Marji witnesses scenes of injustice, brutality, and loss, the reader too becomes a witness—not in the traditional, detached sense, but through an effective proximity fostered by the graphic novel’s form. The visual medium of comics allows Satrapi to render emotional expression and symbolic imagery with an immediacy that words alone might not achieve. The stark black-and-white illustrations, for instance, underscore the moral and emotional binaries that often shape a child’s understanding of complex realities. These artistic and narrative strategies combine to create a compelling form of testimony, one that does not simply present historical facts but seeks to transmit the emotional truths of lived experience.
Persepolis challenges my existing understanding of graphic and communication design by revealing the medium’s potential to communicate complex emotional and political narratives in ways that go beyond traditional aesthetics or functionality. Previously, I viewed graphic design primarily as a tool for visual clarity, branding, or persuasive messaging—often tied to commercial or informational purposes. However, Marjane Satrapi’s use of the comic form to depict personal and historical trauma repositions design as a medium for testimony and empathy. The black-and-white illustrations, simple yet powerful, show how restraint in visual style can deepen emotional impact rather than limit it. Moreover, the combination of image and text allows for layers of meaning to unfold simultaneously, encouraging reflection rather than immediate comprehension. This challenges the idea that effective communication must be immediate or polished; instead, Persepolis demonstrates that ambiguity, subjectivity, and emotional resonance are equally valuable tools in a designer’s toolkit. It pushes the boundaries of what communication design can be—less about selling or simplifying, and more about witnessing, provoking, and connecting across cultural and emotional distances.
Text was reworded at points and gramatically corrected through AI
Gilmore, L. (2011) ‘Witnessing Persepolis: Comics, Trauma, and Childhood Testimony’, in Chaney, M.A. (ed.) Graphic Subjects: Critical Essays on Autobiography and Graphic Novels. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, pp. 157–170.
Sirlin, D. (2019) ‘Geta Brătescu – Drawing Stories of Forms’, IdeelArt, 1 March. Available at: https://ideelart.com/blogs/magazine/geta-bratescu-drawing-stories-of-forms-1 (Accessed: 23 May 2025).
Ashby, C. (2019) ‘Geta Brătescu review – the woman who made lines dance’, The Guardian, 26 February. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2019/feb/26/geta-bratescu-review-the-woman-who-made-lines-dance (Accessed: 23 May 2025).
Harrington, E. (2016) ‘Review: Skim by Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki’, Disability in Kidlit, 4 November. Available at: https://disabilityinkidlit.com/2016/11/04/review-skim-by-mariko-tamaki-and-jillian-tamaki/ (Accessed: 22 May 2025).