Maybe it's just me, but I making this site made me realize that portfolios can be an incredibly humbling experience.




When I first sat down to start work on this site, and perhaps more importantly my updated portfolio, I figured it would be easy. I made a digital portfolio back in 2016 to get into a Yearbook class of all things. For 17 year old me, I found it to be pretty impressive. It had a fair amount of works in it, the works were of respectable quality, and everything was done for academics. For the application, it fit the bill nicely. I'd say so at least, given that I got a seat in the class and commendation for my application despite signing up past the deadline.

But it came before a time I learned how to make a site from scratch. It was a Weebly drag-and-drop, and as drag-and-drops often go, it lacked a truly personal feel no matter how much I tried to deviate from the prebuilt template. I felt a yearning for a change.

So some time after my first Web Design class in 2018, I knew the writing on the wall for a new site to fulfill those very desires, and with a new site would inevitably mean a refresh of my portfolio. I wasn't in the search for a new job and I figured there wasn't anyone out there that needed to reach me through my site. So in late 2019, I decided to officially start the process. I cut ties with Weebly and had my hosting done through my Dad's AWS front. I gave the site a quick and dirty work-in-progress front in the meantime. I figured that by the time Web Design II came in 2020, it would all come together.




2019 me didn't realize a few important variables, at least one of which was not entirely in his control. I'll describe them in order of least to most impactful.

The first problem was branding. The Paul Edmiston brand was entering a revision as early as 2018 for what was ultimately a simple reason: the US shades had to go.

In my defense, for a while it had a personal value. Maybe that personal value was ultimately an inside joke based around a pair of sunglasses I bought at Six Flags back in 8th Grade, but I still say that's personal value. Either way, it was a simpler time where I used my personal brand on personal matters as well as more disconnected online material. It meant applying a generalist that was purposely more casual, even if in hindsight casual was more like tacky.

Looking back, I think part of me recognized the tackiness and even tried to find ways to nudge the logo towards a less tacky direction. At various points in time in high school, I experimented with variations. Yet at the time, no variation felt unique enough to stand on its own. In a way, for better or worse, the US shades leant a personal charm to the system.

It was an experimentation that would continue for literally years, until I got around to recreating it from the ground up in 2019. It was great! Now I had my hands on a logo that felt like the best of both of my goals: sleek and sharp, yet retaining its character from a personal history of art.

But then I realized it meant applying that update in branding to everywhere else.

It's a simple problem, but one which can drag on for ages. The good thing about a robust branding system, even if it isn't formulated in a style guide, is that you have a robust plan and asset inventory to work with. The bad thing is that when you update it, it's a lot of work. A lot of work.

So much work that it meant playing brand catch-up when a project came around for it. Drat!




My second problem was one I didn't realize was a problem until I got into it: 2020. The COVID lockdown and its rippling ramifications throughout society.

Productivity wise, this was the sort of situation I thought would be a boon for me on paper. Having my responsibilities adapt to work from my computer meant I could have an experience tailored to my own personal workflow. It meant more personal control and less time spent on things that didn't explicitly contribute to my aspirations, like driving on I-680, having to find a spot to eat lunch, or spend more time than I really felt like spending preparing myself for the day. It meant I had more time to focus on what I wanted to do, like draw that comic I had in my head, experiment with a social media presence, or properly exercise. I whole heartily felt for those that weren't as fortunate, but undeniably I knew I theoretically had my hands on a moment of productivity.

But as many things that look good on paper tend to go, it didn't quite work out that way.

It was the first time I think I felt independent in a meaningful way. Sure, I had my share of milestones before 2020: got my own car, was in community college, turned 21, had access to my own independent funds not immediately under the scrutiny of my parents. But before the COVID lockdowns, obligations and responsibilities more or less felt like they were handed to me, or at least concretely easy to see and concretely hard to ignore.

In a way, 2020 was the first time I faced this sort of critical realm of independence. Physical institutions, the act of actually going to them, and even the simple things waking up in the morning and fixing your bed have a way of communicating concrete senses of responsibility and obligation that I currently find lacking in my current schema of working online. You don't yet get the same casual, unplanned yet meaningful pointers in the right direction that come with a physical space. My sense of responsibility and obligation were no longer buildings I went to, but this vague cloud of ideas. My focus experienced a short circuit.




So what was it that brought me back on center?

I wish I could offer some sort of clever answer or panacea, but this project didn't have something like that. Rather I kept going, chiseling at it, even when I lost faith that I may have understanding granted my way and figured that I would academically suffer. Indeed, I took a hit in the moment academically. But it wasn't enough to bring me down properly. I had padding in the form of prior success in that class to help keep me afloat. There's a lesson there that extends outside of academia: trying your best when you can is insurance for when you can't.

But how did I feel about this site personally when all was said and done? How do I feel about it now?

I remember indeed feeling proud for what I accomplished after the fact. Besides the fact that it was an albatross around my neck, it was indeed something I felt proud of. I found that it looked nice then, and if I may, I'd like to say it looks nice now. There are aspects of it I would like to refine to better reflect my tastes today, but even still, I find that the bones of this site are strong. Even if this was a case of a project doing the academic equivalent of running over time and over budget, I remember feeling no regret for it then, because I had something I truly felt like would stand on its own outside of that class.

Did I regret taking the time I felt this site really warranted, to make something I thought would shine for a long time to come? No. Do I regret that now? No, no I do not.