Life, like craft, is a work in progress, and so am I.

Improvement isn’t optional, it’s tradition. For Black people, excellence has never been a luxury. It has always been a necessity. We’ve had to go further, work harder, and refine more deeply just to be considered for a fraction of the opportunities freely given to our white counterparts. That reality didn’t break us, it sharpened us. It taught us how to evolve, how to adapt, how to keep becoming.

Children of the Urf is built on the understanding that “always getting better” isn’t pressure, it’s inheritance. And “know what’s good for you” is both advice and reminder: to trust your instincts, honor your craft, and move with intention. These aren’t just slogans; they’re ways of living, ways of working, ways of seeing ourselves clearly.

I’m working to ensure that this brand is made up of tinkers and thinkers, people who work with their hands and their minds, who experiment, question, refine, and return to the work again and again. At its core, Children of the Urf is about shaping self-esteem, finding what brings people out of their shells. 

My time at Parsons School of Design was rooted in play, exploration, and self-discovery. Fashion, to me, has always been about identity and storytelling. In a space like Parsons, I stood out simply by showing up as myself. Add the audacity of being proud of who I am, where I come from, and the fearlessness to claim it, and making a statement became inevitable.

My life, especially my time in school, was defined by self-discovery, discipline, and refinement. I began millinery design during my thesis year, and what started as a component of a collection quickly became a pillar of my practice. Now, it’s a pillar of my life. Falling in love with this craft has been one of life’s truest delights. There’s always room to improve, that’s a given. At least I can admit it. What I’m building is rooted in my inner child, the part of me that still believes in fantasy, the version of myself not bound by the world’s limitations. That child still lives with me, and through my creative practice, I challenge what I’ve been taught about those limits. In honoring that voice, I’m carving out my own lane within the world of millinery, something honest, refreshing, and deeply true to me.

Right now, both the brand and I are in a special stage of becoming. As we engage with this dying craft, we’ve begun showing up in the few remaining spaces that still cherish it, and once again, we stand out. Like millinery itself, I enjoy flipping things on their head, seeing opportunities where others see constraints, and fully utilizing my perspective on the world. I view my Blackness as ever-expanding. Within the company, that’s where our point of view begins; where it ends is something still unfolding.

We’re finding our audience, and our audience is finding us, naturally, day by day, never forced. Each person who connects becomes part of the story. Every hat sold feels like someone taking a chance on me, a leap of faith we take together.

Children of the Urf is still becoming, just like me. Always learning. Always crafting. Always improving. And if you’re willing to grow with us, there’s a crown waiting for you.

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I was on the horn last week with a client talking about what KARJAKA is, to which she blurted out off the cuff, “A useable thing that looks beautiful.” To which I replied, “Modern Design by KARJAKA.”

If you know me, or are in my orbit, you know that I’m obsessed with design… graphic design, product design, brand design, packaging design, information design, interior, furniture, UX etc. the list goes on. This magazine was borne out of curiously designing mock graphic Vogue covers to teach my students at Parsons, and here we are 6 years later. Taken aback from her statement, I paused and thought about what defines Design? My own thoughts are the organization, functionality, usefulness, (and other adjectives) of something aesthetically pleasing.

I’d never really thought about that with photographs, or my photos in particular, as something to have boiled down to it’s most basic principles. But maybe that’s what defines Art? In today’s world I’m torn between the commercialness of our fashion, interiors, still life and beauty to fullfill certain goals and needs. Sell more of this, highlight that, give the feel of open air, capture the anti-aging of this product on skin, all of which I’m only too happy to oblige. Meanwhile, I have clients that want the ineffable captured, the softness, the rawness, what’s behind the curtain and buried deep into the soul. For both camps, to my eye, it’s all Art, and yes, design, too.

There’s a lot I could say on what Art and Design are, and deserves far more than a 4 minute Letter from the Editor article, but this statement has me thinking on pottery and throwing clay, the process and end result. The design and art of it all. A vessel, no matter how well it’s made, even with cracks or holes, is still a vessel and has utility in some form or fashion. Do those who throw clay need utility from the end product, or is process of the making the item the usable and satisfying need, the art. So much to be curious about, I leave it to Don and Mandy to answer those questions in this month’s Issue at Clayground.

Me, in the meantime I’ll take it… a KARJAKA, a useable thing that looks beautiful.

Modern design by KARJAKA.

Christina Halatsis of Halatsis Architecture puts the final touches on the doorway to Clayground as Don unveils their glorious storefront windows, while Russ does his Russ things on the digital tech cart.

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Product design has this mystic aura surrounding it. It involves creativity, innovation, and the ability to solve complex problems in new and exciting ways. Designers are often seen as people who can transform ideas into tangible and visually appealing products which can be attractive to others. Designers often work across all industries and greatly influence product development; therefore, designers have extensive power to impact business or create new business opportunities. This can contribute to the perception that design is unattainable and the profession is quite illusive. 

Yes, that is the perception, but someone can also say that entering this field takes some luck, such as getting your first high-profile client, but be aware; a lot of hard work is involved. A small percentage, like any creative field, has a bit of luck behind it. Still, after luck, the determining factor for success are skills, creativity, hard work ethic, and the ability to solve complex problems. These skills may come naturally for some, but for most, it takes years of experience and learning to be an expert. Another determining factor for success is how well you can collaborate and influence others. Designers work closely with different stakeholders, and it will be an uphill battle if one can not deal with different personalities. Therefore, one only benefits from luck if there is a solid foundation to stand on. 

Designers are constantly developing their skills, staying up-to-date on the latest design trends and technologies, and working hard to create designs that meet the needs of their users and clients. Designers must always stay abreast of the latest technology and trends or be left behind in this competitive landscape. Technology moves fast, and keeping up is not for the unmotivated individual. As the world competes in a global market, more demands exist to innovate and ship quickly. It takes a quick learner and a quick-witted person to stay at the forefront of what users may want to consume in an ever-changing landscape.  

However, it is essential to acknowledge that luck can sometimes play a role in a designer’s success, such as being discovered by a high-profile client or winning a prestigious design award. Luck can provide designers with opportunities, but their skills and hard work will ultimately determine their long-term success in the design industry. The fast pace of technological progress is driven by a complex interplay of market demand, competition, innovation, and investment. Technology constantly evolves, and staying abreast of the latest developments can help you identify new opportunities for creativity and innovation. Understanding the latest technology trends and developments can generate new ideas and approaches to help designers stand out. By continually learning and staying informed, designers can position themselves for success and continue to grow and develop in their careers. – KL

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I quickly fell in love with architecture even though it was a Hail Mary for post graduation career aspirations. Architecture engulfed me and would not let me go. I fell into the rabbit hole in an overwhelming, consuming sort of way, much like Alice did as she chased the White Rabbit into Wonderland.

The architecture, engineering, and construction (AEC) world is as mad as any tea party hosted by the Mad Hatter. In order to combat the long hours and stressful situations, I was extraordinarily caffeinated, sleep-deprived and definitely drinking a touch too much (caffeine and alcohol, after hours, sometimes at the same time – espresso martinis were all the rage). What captivated me about architecture at first (and has kept me here) is this idea that I could impact the world around me. Depending on who you ask, architecture can extend to the built environment. The built environment is a term used to encompass any space made into a place by human intervention. This can include gardens, train stations, playgrounds, greenhouses, etc. Tiered farming could even be classified as part of the built environment if you really wanted to make a case for it.

People say it takes a village to raise a child. I can say it’s about the same for any building. Many folks in the industry joke that projects are their babies. The idea that so many people have to come together to build a project is extraordinary. It’s empowering and historically with a master builder at the helm driving the progress forward. A master builder in the western tradition envisions the project, designs, secures funds, and actually directs the folks that will build – put the literal stones and bricks on top of each other to create the building. I think of the Renaissance masters such as Brunelleschi (of the Duomo in Florence) and Andrea Palladio, the Venetian architect whose writing is still required reading in architecture curricula to this day. 

Besides the obvious of being men, traditional master builders all had two things in common: drive and influential contacts. The concept that one person’s idea is better than another’s can be subjective. Who is to say what order of priorities should be? So, I think back to the playground. And like any industry, it’s the bullies who get ahead (at first) by being louder, more intimidating, and more conniving. And do the ends justify the means? 

Who is to say what will happen when an idea turns out to be a mad one? We are human after all, even if the most arrogant of us will not admit that even in our most intimate of moments. But, it is this ambition for building, legacy, and lack of compassion that causes this trickle down of people treating each other poorly. People talk about workaholics; well, folks in the AEC industry are definitely frequent offenders, especially architects who are trained to constantly rework and iterate through different designs.

They’re the ones who drive the design process, so as a facade engineering consultant, I recall frequently falling victim to late nights, impossible deadlines, and constant design changes that resulted in an unhealthy work-life balance. And all that sacrifice for what? Is that the food my own ego needs for extraordinary contributions? It is a draining industry. There is always work to be done, designs to be improved upon. A more ambitious, less expensive, thinner, shinier – perfect facade is the quantum concept, constantly receding goal post off in the distance. How do you sustain yourself in an industry that is a selfish lover who only takes?

Well, what is love in the first place? I’m partial to the answer put forth by Captain Holt in the comedy series Brooklyn 99, “Love, it sustains you. It’s like oatmeal.” For those unfamiliar, Captain Holt is a person of consistency, strict rule following, kindness, and a streak of silliness that endears him and inspires the utmost respect and admiration of the folks in his precinct. For him to equate love to oatmeal, is to say that love is an everyday thing, that love is necessary, and that love is consistent. For me, those are cornerstones in my practice of self love. 

Self love is based in self-respect and esteem – it requires believing you deserve good things, things that bring you joy, and that you deserve to fight for the things that bring you joy and for the ones that you love. And, for me, it was the basis of requesting (nay, demanding) a more flexible work schedule. If I had to wake up at 6:30am to run meetings for a project across the world for months on end, I best be able to take the call from home. At the time, I even leveraged to get a laptop while people of similar rank to me only had desktops! I also asked for much needed raises frequently and often. I also would purposely book travel for fun and vacate the premises when I said I would. I honored my needs as I would my best friend with the same enthusiasm, kindness, and affection. Honestly, I treated my needs the way I treated design requirements of any facade I would design.

And, it was a paradigm shift that took years to implement after years of neglect. I finally prioritized me, my loved ones, and my career in a way that suited me – I’m still extraordinarily passionate about my industry (hell I’m starting a branch of the Society of Facade Engineering in North America), but I’ve shown myself over the past few years the importance of taking care of myself. It helps me take care of others and be passionate and pragmatic in my career. It is through my practice of self love that I sustain my love of architecture and facade engineering. It is so fulfilling to point to a building and say, “I worked on that one.” And, it feels extra good when I’m walking with someone I care about. -KC

_{Katherine (Kat) Chan is a facade engineer with more than 10 years experience in the built environment, hyperlocal to NYC, where she calls home, and internationally. Her self-propelled desire for thorough analysis and a propensity for detail has enabled her to advocate for innovative approaches and materials. Her aim is to make facade design and engineering concepts accessible for more people, so they can have an engaged experience in the environment they live in. Kat has a degree in Structural Engineering from Columbia University, where she teaches as part of Adjunct Faculty in the Graduate School of Architecture, Preservation, and Planning.}

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Not a metaphor, I mean, anatomically. I was born with big eyes, and I have had big eyes ever since.

When I was a child, kids used to laugh at me because of my eyes. In day trips, if I fell asleep on the bus, my eyes were left somewhat open. I know it because whenever I woke up kids were staring at me laughing. It’s a kind of memory one doesn’t forget.

Along the years, I overcame the embarrassment and grew up to respect the issue. My big eyes appeared to be a tool. I learned that I have a rather good sightseeing.

I started wearing glasses for short distances two years ago, by the age of fifty five.

Ten years prior to that, people around me developed some kind of antagonism towards the fact that I still don’t need them.

Through the years I’ve learned to use this tool I took my eyes to be. It is rather useful if one is a graphic designer, which I am.

And yet, to my great disappointment, never in my life I had an eye for photography.

I use photography on a daily basis. It’s part of my job. I like photography. I can tell between good and bad photos, but I can’t take a single decent shot. Unfortunately.

* * *

I got my first camera upon visiting New York for the first time in my life. This was 1986, and I was 21 years old. I entered the first store I saw in Times Square, and bought myself an FM2 Nikon. I didn’t even have enough money for a case, so I went down to Canal Street, entered Pearl Paint, bought some canvas leftovers, and made one.

I loved it, the FM2. I believed it’s an extension of my hand, which in itself is an extension of my brain. And it was all true, only I missed the part of eye in the equation.

* * *

Nowadays, I’m a teacher in the same Visual Communication Dept., in which I studied in (only by then, it was called “Graphic Design”…). When I speak to my students about photography, I emphasize on the distinction between “them”, the photographers, and “us”, designers.

“Their work”, I tell them, “is done the moment they press the button. Ours only begins after that”.

***

Helmut Smits is a “visual artist”, in his own words, lives in Rotterdam, Netherlands. He uses photography as his main vehicle of expression. A glance at his work and at my own, even a child can easily tell that his abilities are by far better than mine.

No wonder, I’d say on my behalf, giving the fact that I saw Rembrandt’s Night Watch for the first time when I was seventeen.  If Mr Smits did not see it at a younger age, it is only because he didn’t bother to spend the hour or so it takes the train between Rotterdam and Amsterdam, plus the tram between Amsterdam Centraal and the Rijksmuseum, where the painting is hanging since 1885, save the 2nd WW years, which were anyway some 30 years before he was born.

The Night Watch is, of course, only an example to the differences between growing up in the heart of civilization versus growing up in a small (ugly) suburban town in the northern part of a small country in the Middle East. Culturewise, that is.

And yet,looking at his photos, is not seeing his art. In order to “get” Smits’ art, one has to read the title of the work. It’s the dialogue between image and words that is the work. Non is a self-standing something.

Here’s a bunch of wires, ropes, tapes, cables, wool, etc. set on a white floor. Nothing to write home about. On the surface of things, it even looks totally arbitrary, laconic and somewhat boring.

And then, one reads the title: “1847 meter, the distance from my house to my studio”… (See the specs for yourself).

And here’s the most banal 1L bottle of Coke.

Until one meets the interaction between image and words:
“0.26 Gallon of Oil (1L Coca-Cola bottle filled with oil)” (2007).

Speaking of Dutch masters, here are 4 images I took while strolling in the village. Not much to say about any of them. Unless you have a different way to look at their meaning.

Same with Rene Magritte’s famous pipe (or not pipe). I care not about how the photo itself looks, but only as documentation for use later.

* * *

My second camera was a Leica, M4. My father gave it to me when I began studying in “Bezalel School of Art and Design, Jerusalem”. Having both an FM2 and a Leica got me many points among teachers and students alike, but none made me any better photographer.

I use the camera as a documentation tool, and I use photos as part of another picture, I wouldn’t say “a bigger picture”, as it is not. Just a different one, with a different approach to photography.

* * *

The Nikon, I gave it to a friend sometime before the turn of the millennium. Not long after, the woman moved to Japan, bringing the Nikon “home”. The Leica I gave to my son, who started the same art school, same department, as myself, few months ago. The Polaroid I keep. I love it, though I take pictures only with my iPhone (and the gadget did make my photos better somehow, I have to admit).

I forgot all about this Nikon long time ago. If to allocate memory space in my head for something I got on my first trip to NY, 37 years ago, it is better to use it for Coltarne’s “Love Supreme”, Miles Davis’ ”Kind of Blue”, and Bill Evans’ ”Sunday Night at the Village Vanguard”. This music changed my life way more than this beautiful all-manual SLR camera. Visually-wise too.

But few weeks ago I get a message from this friend in Japan. She tells me she’ll come visit homeland after 11 years of absence, and while going through old boxes, she finds this Nikon that “I don’t even now how and why I was so ignorant to take for myself”, and now she wishes to give it back to its original owner.

“I know you never liked the idea that the most beautiful pictures don’t just come out from the camera for you (in your own words. I did think you took pretty nice photos with it), but since your son started studying, maybe he will do something with it”.

And so, here it is.

And as for myself – whenever someone refers to anything I did as “pretty nice”, I know I failed once again.

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