How can I do the most good?
In the Summer of 2016, I asked myself this question. I was about to embark on a year long thesis project, one that would be the pinnacle of my undergraduate education. I knew I wanted to use my art and design background to help an underrepresented group, but my sense of direction ended there. Having taken a fifth year to complete my BFA, the stakes were high.
My skillset within art and design was a bit unorthodox for the University of Notre Dame, as I had forgone more traditional graphic design courses for classes in motion design, design drawing, programming, and 3D digital modeling for video games. Originally I intended to create for my thesis a 3D interactive story that explored pro- and anti- revolution sentiments between a father and a daughter, influenced greatly by my family's experience in Croatia in the early 90s. However, as I delved in further, I kept coming back to a class I had taken called Moving Pictures. Through that course, I not only created video art, but performance art, in which I used my body as a way to communicate meaning. I found something refreshingly authentic in the process, in undergoing uncomfortable things as a way to connect with and stand up for those suffering. Of all the work I had done at Notre Dame, the video art performance pieces I made were the things I had most pride in. I realized that using performance art was the best way for me to show empathy in a way that felt sincere and not contrived. |
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Where can I do the most good?
From the start, I identified my desire to focus on an underrepresented group that lacked a platform for advocacy. Eventually, I concluded that I would be able to do the most good for a group to which I belonged.
For the entirety of my adult life, I have suffered from a myriad of health issues. Since none of my struggles manifested in a way people could see, I was mostly able to keep the extent of my hardship to myself. This was both a blessing and a curse. I was desperate to keep people from seeing my pain, to keep them from identifying me solely as the sick girl, and so, my pain remained mine alone to bare. In time, I began to share my experiences and found support from those around me. I knew, however, that there must be many others like me who suffered in silence and in solitude. With research, I found that I was not in the minority. The majority of individuals with mental and physical health conditions show no outward symptoms. This realization led me to focus my thesis on the invisible illness community. I went forward interviewing and surveying dozens of individuals with invisible illnesses, learning about their unique struggles and their unique triumphs. I found a common theme in all of my conversations was the phrase, "But you look fine." Going forward, I sought to have my thesis break down the barrier between appearances and actualities by showing visually what the internal experience of invisible pain feels like. When I started my work with invisible illness, I did not realize that there were others close by who were hoping to advocate for this very same group. In the Spring of 2017, I partnered with a community of young women at the University of Notre Dame, called the Invisi-Lilies, for the University's first annual Invisible Illness Awareness Day. I designed a logo for the club and created promotional material. The day culminated in a panel discussion about life with an invisible illness and a brief overview of my project for the audience. |