Design is bitter sweet. It’s being paid to be creative. Sweet. It’s being creative for the sake of money. Bitter. It’s security in your finances at the expense of security in your art. It’s being able to go on a yearly vacation and paying rent in Cosmopolitan cities. It’s relinquishing creative control at the behest of the client. It’s both an ideal and, paradoxically, as real as it gets. Our culture dictates. Refuse the dictation and you will pay via poverty and ostracism. That’s the realism element. The ideal is you can still express yourself, and let’s face it; even a mild form of creativity like client-work is an improvement over the majority of occupations in the world. Designers are allowed to be inspired and likewise to inspire. That’s the ideal. My goal is to learn the tools, become a competent designer — run-of-the-mill, initially — and then, once I have the experience and stability, I plan to slowly sneak my idiosyncratic conceptions with more frequency into each project (with the blessings of the client). The fringe benefit of course is I’ll have obtained the knowledge and experience I need to work on my own little artful side-projects, should my attempts to share my creative vision with the clients be rebuffed. Likely.