The provocative Stefan Sagmeister

I was at my Art History class the other day, the teacher was showing a bunch of famous artists and designers through out time and their works. One of them was a photo with a naked man full of scars on it. It was a bit shocking but, what isn’t nowadays? It wasn’t until our professor began telling the story that I was blown away by such audacity and radicality.

May I introduce you to Stefan Sagmeister, graphic designer. So yes, the picture your about to see is actually a poster designed in 1999 for the American Institute of Graphic Arts (AIGA), in an attempt to represent the pain and suffering that a designer experiences with each of his projects. He asked an intern to carve the event’s information directly on his skin, so the scars became the ink. Sick, but definitely attention worthy.

Sagmeister Aiga 2

Now look at his design firm’s (Sagmeister & Walsh) team photo, which was available at their website in 2016.


They have some balls don’t you think? 😉 LOL. Anyways, he’s a really interesting guy with really interesting work, you should check him out (leave some useful links at the end). Let me know what you think in the comments. Here’s some more of him, enjoy!




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The Boring Days, Troogblog

Thoughts on love | #troogblog 007

Current mood: Say (All I Need) by OneRepublic

Hello my friends, welcome back. It’s time for us to peep into our girls’ life once again. Let’s start by announcing that she’s been flirting with her forgotten past, unearthing old loves and admitting to herself that maybe, just maybe, she’s still in love with her first and only love.

I say “maybe” because it might be just the need to feel, or Valentine’s Day getting into her skin -less probable, though-. The fact is she’s been thinking about love, pondering on the possibility of digging it all out, give her whole self again to that old connu -knowing she’ll get hurt… again-. She has no more goofy stares or muted words or red-coloured cheeks or bouncing heart to give as love proof. The only thing left is her pride, her admitting that the feelings are still there, her jealousy, her “wanna see you again”, the dreaded “I’m not over you after all these years”.

I’ve reached to some conclusions myself. I think most people don’t know what love really means. Neither do I, of course, but I do believe that we’ve failed in matching love and freedom on the same sentence. We want the other person to be ours, to have a tag with our name on it, exclusivity. Our way of loving is the pure essence of insecurity. Why can’t we see ourselves in terms of moments? Imagine a world were you give yourself to the person in front of you, whoever that is. You devote your senses to the moment.

In that imaginary world, when you finally get to be with your loved one, you’ll give it all, instead of that give and take game we are all so used to play. You won’t be scared of delivering your heart, of expressing whatever it is that you are feeling because you are not supposed to call it love if you restraint. The best part of all is:  no more jealousy. You won’t expect anything from your loved one. The key word here is share, you’ll share a moment, an instant together by choice, not by obligation or expectations or entitlements.

You need two free people for that world, of course. Which means that you have to give it all but also know when to run from harm and selfishness and insecurities in case the other one is locked in conventional love.

I, the woman whose life we are peeping into, am going to try to make that world a reality. That means letting the loved one choose his moments and company. Enjoying the time we both decide to share together without expectations and making art of each of my moments, regardless of the company. I know what you’re thinking: moments are special because of that person. Wrong, it’s easier that way, but that just means you’ll have to try harder to compensate the loved one’s absence.




Spare time at uni

The Boring Days, Troogblog

Sugar rush | #troogblog 006

Current mood: Flightless bird, american mouth by Iron & Wine

Walking up the street, coming back with her laundry after a whole week of putting it off. Crazy man passes by her side muttering God-knows-what and she doesn’t even flinch, she feels so out of this world as well right now. Time to pay for ingesting that much sugar.

She gets to the apartment, lies on her bed, plugs the computer on… let the typing begin. Yesterday was definitely a crazy day. She missed her first and second classes while trying to work out before going downtown to buy a pair of gigantic milkshake glasses for her new video. She managed to exercise for 10 minutes before giving up, trying to finish a poem she had recently written: Once.

Morning was lost. She went to her third and last class at 1.20 p.m., then headed downtown and looked for hours until she found the glasses. She came back home, ordered a pizza for later, rushed to the supermarket, bought everything needed and finally went home for good. She bathed, dressed, got the pizza and began the Gilmore Girls’ Marathon with her roomie’s and roomie’s boyfriend’s help. They prepared giant milkshakes, spicy chopped oranges, Kool-Aid pitcher, butter popcorn, spread tons of candies and junk food on top of 4 cardboard boxes and placed the computer at the middle. Netflix was on. Shoots were taken and eventually, five Gilmore Girls episodes gave way to the dawn. Bellies bursting, hearts pounding, muscle spasms. They finally went to sleep at nearly 5 a.m.

She woke up exhausted, it had been a tough, expensive and fattening day. Although, definitely worth it. Can’t wait to see it all edited and up.

Polaroid CUBE



Poetry, Troogblog

A broken heart | #troogblog 005

So much has happened, so little has been done. A couple of days ago, she discovered she was still in love, the same old love. Or else it wouldn’t hurt at all. Her wound has had a long time to heal, so the pain didn’t stayed that long. She wasn’t too surprised by the news. It is what it is. Pigs will always be pigs.

The good side of the story is that inspiration knocked on her door again. She wrote, she drew, she’s just missing a song. Soon.

Here I leave you a small piece of her poetry. Read aloud, drink some wine, play some Handel, take your time.


You were once my love
Once, I was your lover
Heart misunderstood
Burning undercovered

Coal dust in your hands
Unexpected bloom
Fly, sky, wings
Sink, mud, boots

Dress my despair
Lusty reflection
Touches unconquered
Battle unnamed

Sour old wine
Uncraving temptation
Again seems a whisper
No kiss, automate

Once, you were my love
Aztec marigolds
Creaking playground’s cover
I was once your lover

Design, Troogblog

Decadent loo | #troogblog 004

If you could see the inside of her lungs, you’ll discover touches of fluorescent pink and yellow. The bathroom she envisioned as a great and easy vlog idea, turn into and endless headache. Everyday she’ll make some progress, but somehow it looked the same. A few moments ago, she finally did it. The bathroom is complete, the video is ready for edition and she can breathe colorless air again.

It actually looks great: crazy, over-the-top, unforgettable. Just what she aimed for. Some parts didn’t turn out as expected, but that’s part of life. Rest assured she gave her all on this project, she can accept victory now.

I leave you a couple of pictures. Let me know what you think in the comments, I’ll pass the message on to her, I promise.




The Boring Days, Troogblog

Anxiety | #troogblog 003

She puts on her hoodie, she sits, stares at the blank paper, draws a couple of lines and the hoodie goes off again. The Superbowl has been today’s soundtrack against her will -the downside of living in an apartment building-, how long does that stupid game last for? The air is annoying tonight, she can’t sketch in that mood, so writing seems a good idea until she finds herself looking for pimples on the arm to squeeze.

She decides to get up and do something, anything. I’ll let you know what when she’s back.

The Verdict

She never came back, the bed was begging her to stay, so she did. After some analyzing, she got to the conclusion that the elephant pressing her chest was caused by the worst possible thing: the unidentified. The feeling was completely new, she was clueless of what to do.

Now, there are always at least 2 paths for every situation in life: the active or the pasive, to act or to react, to be a victim or a warrior. You don’t know this woman very well yet, but I do, and I know her choice already, I knew it before today even started. It’s a matter of principles. Once you decide to fight, you’re a warrior for life.

So there she was, flirting with the elephant, letting him sink deeper. She felt the sadness, the loneliness, the anguish, and then smiled, because she knew the best way to fight the invisible and the ethereal, was patience. Everything changes if you know how to wait long enough. Just hang on and smile. Always smile.