design

poetry

about

I'm Jessie, an LA-based designer & poet seeking to create small pockets of wonder.

I'll construct a digital space for you, then inscribe a rhyme on the door. I'll carve out white space and line breaks to make room for big breaths, I'll nail in every period and pixel with intention, precision, delight. Whatever it is we're building, my process will guide us through curiosity, clarity, and conviction. Something good is on the other side. It waits for us to arrive.

Thank you to Melissa Zhu for this beautiful photo.

A Few Favorite Things

Books:

  • Small Arcs of Larger Circles by Nora Bateson

  • Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

  • Three Body Problem by Cixin Liu

  • The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin

  • Sister Outsider by Andre Lorde

  • I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

  • The Best Interface is No Interface by Golden Krishna

  • Dear Data by Giorgia Lupi and Stefanie Posavec

Experiences:

  • Fez

  • Celeste

  • Zelda: Breath of the Wild

  • Meow Wolf

  • My Dragon Cancer

  • Monument Valley

  • What Remains of Edith Finch

Poets:
Mary Oliver, Ada Limón, Joy Harjo, Louise Glück, Jack Gilbert, Chen Chen, Rumi, Ocean Vuong, Tracy K. Smith, Rainer Maria Rilke, May Sarton, Dorianne Laux, Victoria Chang, Jericho Brown, & so many more

—

Sometimes I wonder whether Keats would've had an Instagram. Maybe they all would've, and with terrible wordplay handles too: Rumi-nates, Frost-in-woods, Dickinsonnets (though that one's a bit unfortunate, Emily)– or maybe they wouldn't have bothered at all, too busy inspecting the freshly sprung wildflowers, or interrogating their household objects, or examining their giant grief. But then again, maybe they would've. Maybe they would've spent hours browsing videos of clumsy baby elephants and puppies wiggling their booties to Cardi B. Maybe they'd soothe their unsayable insides with the giant heart of quick delights: children dancing, old folks singing, our big world turning. Proofs of all of us, trying to be.

—

Sometimes I wonder whether Keats would've had an Instagram. Maybe they all would've, and with terrible wordplay handles too: Rumi-nates, Frost-in-woods, Dickinsonnets (though that one's a bit unfortunate, Emily)– or maybe they wouldn't have bothered at all, too busy inspecting the freshly sprung wildflowers, or interrogating their household objects, or examining their giant grief. But then again, maybe they would've. Maybe they would've spent hours browsing videos of clumsy baby elephants and puppies wiggling their booties to Cardi B. Maybe they'd soothe their unsayable insides with the giant heart of quick delights: children dancing, old folks singing, our big world turning. Proofs of all of us, trying to be.

—

Sometimes I wonder whether Keats would've had an Instagram. Maybe they all would've, and with terrible wordplay handles too: Rumi-nates, Frost-in-woods, Dickinsonnets (though that one's a bit unfortunate, Emily)– or maybe they wouldn't have bothered at all, too busy inspecting the freshly sprung wildflowers, or interrogating their household objects, or examining their giant grief. But then again, maybe they would've. Maybe they would've spent hours browsing videos of clumsy baby elephants and puppies wiggling their booties to Cardi B. Maybe they'd soothe their unsayable insides with the giant heart of quick delights: children dancing, old folks singing, our big world turning. Proofs of all of us, trying to be.

send me mail 💌
jessiexlian@gmail.com

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