(RE)SOURCING 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

Reading Techgnosis by Erik Davies, particularly the chapter “imagining technology” made me feel haunted by ghosts from the past when I use my phone or my laptop or when I press the button of the elevator and it takes me to my department. Davies talks about the mythical in technologies and how it has always been inherently connected to human desire. The desire to never die and live on forever, the desire to know the universe in its entirety or to fly. All of these desires have led to inventions that shall fullfill a certain promise coming from a specific desire. So when I use my phone or my laptop or the button of the elevator I think about that special someone that had a desire a long time ago which led to the invention of the technological objects I am using everyday. The ghost of this person lives on in these technologies. Techgnosis, Erik Davies

“The secret to being a good designer is enjoying your work and not paying too much attention to what other people are doing.” “I devote about half my time to work for other people. In these projects, I continue seeking the satisfaction of at some point entering that other creative world. Usually, I’m successful. I ask myself three questions when considering a project: 1. Will it satisfy me and challenge me creatively? 2. Is it likely to lead me to other interesting projects? 3. Is it well paid? At least two of these three responses must be’yes’. My design is very expressive. People tell me often that the work I do is very ‘me’. I’m not sure what that means, but I like it when I’m able to transmit a powerful state of mind. I always think of the mood of the work before anything else. I try to set it and assure myself that it’s where it needs to be before moving onto the details.” (How Ideas are born: Graphic designers on creative processes, Miguel Angel P. Arteaga) I come back to these words because they feel like a reminder of why I started designing in the first place. The idea of enjoying your work and not watching others too closely feels honest, and freeing. I relate to that sense of balance between creative satisfaction and practicality. I also think about design through emotion first, before details or rules. It’s reassuring to see that this instinct isn’t wrong, that it can actually define a strong, personal style.

Watching the video of the circumhorizontal cloud in the mountains brings me back to a feeling of beeing excited. I can feel the clear, ice-cold air and the wind blowing around my ears. I was on the first Team-Trip with my team in a long time. At first, the atmosphere was really awkward. It was the first time we had all been out together outside the office, and we had to wait for our boss, who was late as usual. But after hiking the mountain in the snow for about 10 minutes, we suddenly saw this cloud. None of us had ever seen this rainbow effect before, and somehow the awkward atmosphere disappeared from that moment on. My colleague was wearing sunglasses, which made the effect even stronger, and we all tried them on. The little cloud with its rainbow stood so beautifully alone in the vast sky, and I remember how it motivated and inspired us all to continue our hike. It was a unexpected moment, which gave me a warm, good feeling of hope and exploration.

While watching the movie “a bugs life” I feel the sometimes overwhelming comfort of my childhood again. It brings me back into my grandparents living room. My sister and I are squeezed in front of the tiny TV. I feel close to her, I can even feel her company now. My grandma is cooking in the kitchen, the noices and the smell fills the apartment. My grandpa is sitting behind us, reading something so he does not have to watch the same movie with us over and over again. These memorys makes me feel carefree again, as a child who has nothing to worry about. Conflicting the heavy message and first confrontation of capitalism and class criticism the movie is telling through the adventures of bugs. Watching the movie nowdays it makes me feel hopeful. Hopeful that I´m like Flik, the inventive ant who wants to change the system. It´s sobering that in reality I´m one of the circus bugs, or sometimes even one of the ants following the line.

“I think about all the times busyness and exhaustion have stolen my joy and possible life-giving connections. How many times have you attempted to connect with a friend or loved one but a brutal work schedule and a pull tu hustle more have severed the connection, stolen your time together, or made it almost impossible to bond?“ When reading these lines from Tricia Hersey’s Rest is Resistance, I feel both understood and ashamed.
I’ve always been a bad texter, not because I don’t care, but because when my mind is crowded with stress and to-do lists, reaching out feels impossible. Messages pile up, calls go unanswered, and I tell myself I’ll reach out “when things calm down,” even though they never really do. This constant cycle of busyness sometimes makes me feel disconnected not just from others, but from myself. I hate that, and yet I don’t always know how to stop.

This video captures the sky at early evening from my new shared flat, just a glance outside the window. It’s that fragile moment when the day light begins to soften, and the first hint of spring lingers in the air. A look up from the bustling street, it feels like a secret shared only with those who pause their rushed city lives and look up. The clouds dissolve and blend into a living painting—fragments of light and shadow that feel both fleeting and eternal. Watching them, I feel a quiet warmth, a whisper of hope. This sky reminds me of my mum, who taught me to pause, to stop, and to observe my surroundings, even in a city where nature must carve its space between buildings. And then there’s the thought of my friends, scattered across the world. I sent them this video and wondered: What is the color of your sky at this Moment? Is it a bright, endless blue? A deep, velvety black? Or maybe a soft, hopeful pink? The sky connects us, even when we’re apart—its ever-changing colors a reminder that we’re all under the same vast, shifting canvas. It makes me feel nostalgic of the time we shared a sky to look at.

When I return to The Little Prince, I always stop at that first story. It makes me think about how early we learn to adjust, to explain, to simplify, to stop showing the “wild,” alive parts of our imagination. I felt a small sadness there, not just for the boy, but for everyone who has ever put away an idea or a feeling because someone didn’t get it. But I also feel a kind of strength in that moment, the way he keeps the drawing, still testing the world with it, still searching for someone who sees beyond the outline. It reminds me why creativity matters, and how important it is to find the few who understand what you mean without needing it explained.

*Last month I found an old sewing machine on the street. It was abandoned in a pile of furniture around the door of a house. The place, located in an industrial street did not have a bright future. Part of it was being torn apart as I was there. And soon it would have arrived at the place where the machine came from. I felt heartbroken by the scene. Even though I think I do not know who lived there. ‘But from the situation I knew they had to leave.’ Maybe they did not have enough space in their new house. Or perhaps the rent would go up so that they would not have time for a hobby, or domestic work. The machine was used but decent, simple and straightforward. I wondered what was made with it. I felt like entering a very intimate place, as I opened the tray under the machine. It was full of messy bobbins. I loosely held one between my thumb and finger to pull the thread. I could picture this person on a cold evening in October. Candles on, in their dusty living room. Pinching their eyes to get the thread through the needle. As I unrolled the winter green yarn, a bright red color appeared. Like a child with a jar of gobstoppers I went through their projects. Short, effective and well saved. Like an archaeologist I skimmed through the layers of labor. ‘Punky patches, comic-cons, ballroom Bodysuits, Halloween costumes, mended elbows of their parents and knee padding of their kids.’

I speculated with the projects in this story in a personal way. I find the prectice of domestic textiel work and mending an inanimate process. It relates to ones body and identity. As well as a form of care that goes against capitalism and generalized expression. I fleel that the combination of the displacement and erasure of this persons home adds to the falue of the bobbins