Tag: death

#133 Death & Destruction

Chaz DeSimone 1 Comment
#133 Death & Destruction
#133 Death & Destruction
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This piece is an expression of empathy for those who lost everything in the recent natural disasters.

One week ago fam­i­lies across Amer­i­ca sat down to their tra­di­tion­al Thanks­giv­ing din­ner. Some were elab­o­rate, oth­ers sim­ple, but most were savored in a warm, cozy home at a famil­iar table.

But not for those whose homes were destroyed in recent fires and hur­ri­canes. Many shared Thanks­giv­ing din­ner with strangers in shel­ters and even tents. Some made new friends. Some reflect­ed on how their lives had been over­tak­en by osten­ta­tious sur­round­ings. But none were at home.

Oth­ers were too con­cerned about miss­ing loved ones to par­take in Thanks­giv­ing din­ner. Not to men­tion where they were going to live, how to sur­vive, the deep pang of loss — homes, fur­nish­ings, valu­able pos­ses­sions and even cash that was stashed away in their homes. In many cas­es, liveli­hood, as com­pa­nies they worked for, or their home offices, were also destroyed.

The most dev­as­tat­ing and excru­ci­at­ing loss was that of loved ones: par­ents, chil­dren, sib­lings, rel­a­tives, friends, and pets.

At Thanks­giv­ing, no less.

It is hard to com­pre­hend. It is sad. 

Concept

I cre­at­ed this piece to empathize with those less for­tu­nate. I felt it might bring clo­sure to some, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a mor­bid piece. Maybe reflec­tive. I just felt it and cre­at­ed it.

The col­ors and effects I chose for the sen­sa­tions in the fall­en amper­sand rep­re­sent fire, water and seis­mic activ­i­ty, all nat­ur­al forces. It’s iron­ic that ele­ments such as fire, wind and water can be tremen­dous­ly ben­e­fi­cial and also ter­ri­fy­ing­ly disastrous.

Comfort

I don’t know what to say to help the vic­tims of these recent dis­as­ters or past dis­as­ters, as some things are nev­er for­got­ten, nev­er recov­ered, for­ev­er mourned as a void that’s deep as one’s soul. If you have any words of com­fort please leave them here.

Here’s my clos­ing thought: 

Does­n’t nat­ur­al dis­as­ter cause enough death & destruc­tion? Why does man add to it with war and crime?

 Please comment here.

Production notes for #133 Death & Destruction:
Original size: 20x30 inches
Program: Adobe Illustrator
Font: Helvetica Ultra Compressed (modified)
Ampersand: Helvetica Ultra Compressed (modified)
Credits:
Background image: deposit​pho​tos​.com
You may repost the image & article. Please credit Amper​Art​.com.
To download a full-​size high-​resolution 11x17-​inch poster, click on the image.

For pro­fes­sion­al graph­ic design, please vis­it Des­i­mone Design.

Desimone? Damn good!

#51 Salt & Pepper

Chaz DeSimone 16 Comments
51-salt-pepper
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Find printing tips & framing ideas here.

Dad­dy died March 29, 1962, over a half cen­tu­ry ago. I was 10 years old. He was 62.

Now I am 62.

You can imag­ine March 29 this year has been on my mind a lot late­ly. I am healthy, still feel young and strong (until I do some­thing stu­pid at this age), so it’s hard to imag­ine my dad look­ing like such an old man when he passed away at only 62 years old.

But he always looked like an old man to me, and I loved him for it. That’s one rea­son I’ve always respect­ed my elders. You see, my dad was 51 years old when I was born. Already he had salt & pep­per hair, and still a full head of it in the cas­ket. That’s how I’ve always seen and remem­bered him: with this beau­ti­ful, wavy salt & pep­per hair that I want­ed when I grew old. Well, I have it. Mine’s more sol­id gray, but that’s okay. It still reminds me of Dad­dy. (I nev­er called him Dad, always Dad­dy as I was only 10 when he died. So if it sounds sil­ly that I still call him Dad­dy, well that’s okay…it just sounds right to me.)

I could tell you a lot about this man I loved and admired, and I will. But one thing that is absolute­ly fas­ci­nat­ing is that Andrew J. De Simone was born Decem­ber 31, 1899. That’s the last day of the cen­tu­ry before last! Which meant he was always the same exact age as what­ev­er year it was—to the day. That’s why it’s a lit­tle con­fus­ing to com­pre­hend he was 51 when I was born in 1951. And he was 62 when he died in 1962. Read More