Sisters and Friends
Chapter 21
Close Quarters
"I learned something about Jane and Trent last night," Daria said absently, as she looked over Quinn's latest project sketches. "Trent still feels guilty about wrecking Jane's first serious art project."
Quinn looked up at her sister. "Trent? I can't imagine him doing anything like that. What happened?"
"He ate it," Daria said, fighting a grin. "Jane's first expressive medium, as it turns out, was nibbled toast, glued together with peanut butter."
Quinn, making no attempt at restraint, burst out laughing. "I noticed that he always makes toast for everyone else but never eats any himself."
"And he always buys the large jars of creamy Jif. The smooth peanut butter was a better adhesive." She smiled as she studied a rendering in colored marker. "These are really good, Quinn."
"Thanks. If it wasn't for Jane's tutoring I'd be the class dunce. Steve, the visualization instructor, was a little surprised. He said that it's kind of a rarity these days for a designer to have any real hand sketching and rendering technique; most of the time it's quick pencil or ballpoint sketches on printer paper and then straight to a computer. He pulled out some of his old stuff from his student days, and it was pretty amazing."
Daria continued leafing through the stack of sketches. "You have a definite style. Fluid, economical and very graceful."
Quinn smirked. "Like fashion design sketches, I know. That's all I used to draw in high school. That fluid look is because cloth moves and conforms to a body moving, and to its weight, drape and billow. It can stretch, and it can have an incredible range of texture, color, and feel." She picked up her cellphone, stroking an edge with the ball of her thumb. "Totally different from plastic, metal and glass." She held it up, examining how the light reflected from its shape and surface. She said nothing more, lost in thought.
Daria traced her finger along a line in a sketch. "I guess I'm seeing the way you recognize the human core, and the way every line in some way serves it. Not that I'm only talking about clothing- there's kind of a deferential quality to your work, the way it seems to focus on human needs and not on itself as an object of attention. Kind of like the way you created Mosaic. That was centered around taking stress off Dad, and not you being clever, even though it was quietly brilliant."
Quinn smiled modestly.
"We created Mosaic. You guys helped a hell of a lot. It was for Daddy, and of course it was for me. If I didn't want to get into Raft, I probably wouldn't have thought about that way. Besides, none of my classmates think much of it. It's not a very exciting product to look at."
"Dr. Maas wouldn't agree. Neither would the rest of the Admissions committee. They understood what Mosaic was about. It wasn't a glorified cardboard box, it was a system, and that box was just part of its interface. Its concept is beautiful, and the system works just as you intended. It took a hell of a lot of stress off Dad. Your classmates aren't seeing the real product."
Quinn said nothing for a moment.
"My stuff is different. Nobody says much about it in critiques. It's not exciting, not compared to the other stuff in class."
Daria turned in her seat, looking around at what used to be her office and study. Quinn's drawing kit was small, nothing like the pile of stuff in Jane's room. Her textbooks were neatly arranged on one of the countertops, and a book of products by Deiter Rams, the famous Director of Design at Braun AG, lay open, yellow post-its tabbing several pages.
Daria missed having her office to herself. Quinn was careful to not take over the space completely, knowing that Daria needed to work from home and that the small, quiet space was ideal for the videoconferences that happened almost daily. She stayed off Daria's desk, instead carrying her sketchbooks and laptop to the dining table, or sometimes reading in the sleeping loft while Daria worked on her computer at the desk. Quinn had wanted to find a place for herself and Annie, but she had her hands full at the moment, jumping in as she had into the deep end of the academic pool at Raft.
Daria smiled inwardly. We haven't shared a room since we were little kids in Highland. She sat back, studying Quinn's body language. She was worried, dejected, perhaps going through a crisis of confidence.
"Look, Quinn," she said, pointing at the Rams book. "How do you think these design concepts would be received by your classmates in critique? Look how simple and clean they are. You don't see many products with this kind of aesthetic these days; everything is more visually complex, more colorful, with wild shapes and out-there concepts. I'd bet you most of them wouldn't give the concept sketches for these products a second glance."
"Those are old, Daria."
"These are timeless classics. These are in museums, held up as examples. Their brilliance is in the thought that went into them." She pulled out her iPhone. "What about this?" She pointed at her Mac Air on the desk. "Or that?"
Daria nudged her sister's backpack on the floor with her toe, exposing Quinn's Windows laptop. "You and your classmates are in the first year of a world class Industrial Design program. You all recognize the designs you like and the ones you don't, but I'm betting not all of you understand why they might be different."
She reached down, pulling out Quinn's laptop and placing it next to her Mac.
Quinn smirked. "That thing is so ugly."
"But it's beautiful in its own way. You have this because it's much faster running your CAD program, because the software was developed for the Windows platform. You've learned to ignore its appearance in order to have its utility. Nothing is either black or white, Quinn. You're in a design universe, and there is no clear right or wrong. Your sensibilities are your own, and you can yield to the majority and go with the eighty percent, or think for yourself and be part of the twenty percent.
"What are you talking about?"
Daria sat back, looking out the window. "The eighty-twenty rule. The Pareto principle. It's kind of this weird law of the universe, about how things fall out or distribute, applicable in some way to many things. I was thinking that eighty percent of your class will go on to be good designers, while twenty percent of them will be outstanding designers. Of those, eighty percent will be yes, outstanding, and twenty percent will be brilliant, and so on." She held her arms over her head, stretching. "You said there were twenty people in your seminar group, right? I'm guessing that three people understand your stuff."
Quinn looked thoughtfully at her sister. "Something like that. Yeah, three people usually react positively, with serious, reasoned comments."
"You're not counting the guys that want to ask you out, right?"
Eyeroll. "Correct."
"And are the ones commenting positively on your work also the strongest ones in the class?"
"Well…yeah."
"And I remember you saying that Dr. Maas mentioned that you were approved unanimously by the admissions committee. Ergo…" Daria raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You're not part of the eighty percent."
Quinn wanted to give her big sister a hug, but she knew better.
"Thanks, Daria," she said quietly.
"You're welcome. Now, I've got a video call, so…"
"Sure, I need to do the laundry anyway."
"Thank you. And remember, don't empty Trent's pockets. Just throw his stuff in the washer, or he won't learn."
Four people make for a lot of laundry, mused Quinn. "You're not helping, Weev," she laughed, scooping the cat out of the laundry basket before putting the darks and jeans into the washing machine.
She began folding and stacking the last of the delicates. Trent's stuff was easy; Jane liked those funny tiger striped panties, and of course the bras were easy to tell apart.
It was harder separating the rest of her undies from Daria's now.
Whoa, these sure aren't mine, she grinned, holding up a rather scandalous wisp of lace.
I really need to find a place for Annie and I. Daria's been really patient, but it's not fair to them. Still, I like living with them; Jane and Trent are my friends too.
Real friends. Daria knew what a real friend was.
And I have Annie… and Haroun. She smiled softly. It was a far cry from the summer two years ago.
Transferring the last load into the dryer, she carried the basket of folded clothes up the stairs, stacking them neatly on the beds.
The office door was open, so she entered quietly and put her things away in the hanging organizer that dominated the little closet.
Daria shut her computer down, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Quinn, I'm sorry that I tried to give you to the postman."
"Mom said that you wanted to mail me to Australia," she laughed.
"Nah, I gave up on that. The stamps kept falling off your diaper, and then you wouldn't stay in the box."