Lydia Chodosh [she / her] is a graphic designer [+ writer] who likes playing with language. She holds an MFA from the Rhode Island School of Design [2024].
Selected Design Work
On the Impulse to Notate
Supersaturated
To read is to
Artifactual Accumulations
Interior Atlas
Artifacts of Countability
Spore Site
RISD GD MFA Biennial
Clock Studies
Translations of Gratitude
Atlas
Art Direction
Harper’s Magazine
Volume 1
A Guide to the Politiverse
Are.na
© 2024
Light or In Limbo
Written by Lydia Chodosh [Excerpt below]
Edited by Taylor Zhang
Designed and Riso Printed by Emily Bluedorn
Available for online purchase.
Light or in Limbo [excerpted]
I pause inside the gallery’s chill walls, a happy reprieve from the city’s sticky outdoors. My eyes dart from left to right, then up and down — each image offers a soft reminder. The hillside reminds me to look out. The palm trees remind me to look up. The park, lit by bright streetlights, reminds me that I continually fear going blind. The sidewalk, lined with stucco facades, reminds me that looking is not the same as watching, and neither is the same as seeing.
I glance over my right shoulder, and then over my left, as if I’ve suddenly been caught in the dark.
On a late morning in November, I drive past a long row of cars flashing their brights. A row of them, hundreds of feet in length, waits patiently for the light to turn green while on the opposite side of the median, I rush to get home. I’ve just stopped
to pick up a large ream of paper, something shiny our local supplier sells in excess. Something they call Stardream.
While awaiting my signal to turn, I glimpse a delicate shimmer on the dashboard of each pulsing car. I inch closer to find the word funeral displayed there in uppercase letters. It reads less like a warning when I see it repeated, upright on some cars and off kilter on others; more like poetry.
When I exit my studio later that night, I look to the stars. My neck careened upward, the chill breeze of the near-winter air gathering in the pit of my nostrils, I have to squint my eyes to decipher sparks of light through the clouds. Sparks of stars.
I think to myself, some of the plainest pictures can hold us captive, and wonder why I spent the larger part of my day arranging complex shapes on a page in search of the perfect pattern.