JANE ZHANG


ABOUT ME

I’m a Communication Design major at Washington University in St. Louis who is also pursuing minors in Human-Computer Interaction and Computer Science. In my work, I strive to explore a diverse range of narratives, perspectives, and approaches. My favorite part of the design process is the iteration stage, especially the moment where I finally arrive at the version that addresses everything I’ve been trying to communicate.

Recently, I’ve been interested in the nuances of multilingual typography and how the characteristics of different languages’ letterforms can be leveraged to enhance a concept across multiple linguistic demographics. Outside of my work, I love stories in any form, whether that means books, movies, or music. Lately, I’ve been watching Summertime Rendering and listening to Jack Stauber. 

Feel free to reach out for work or friendship, and check out more of my work below!

HOME / CLIENT WORK / ARCHIVE

FONT OF FALSEHOODS


This is a short story I wrote and designed about my unwillingness to wash my face as a toddler, but disguised as a religious pilgrimage. I hid motifs like water droplets, bathtubs, and bubbles in the ornaments, and sprinkled water on the pages for texture.



FONT OF FALSEHOODS

Written by Jane Zhang

She heard the voice call her name from above.

With no reason to doubt its intent, she crawled towards the warm, loving light. After all, why would a child question the legitimacy of her mother’s embrace, especially when it has offered nothing but grace and gentleness?

And so she began to make her way up the mountain, reaching for kind eyes and a beckoning smile as the subject of her pilgrimage. Though her ascent was arduous and her journey taxing, she readily toiled away. For the tenderness of the voice filled her with strength, and propelled her towards the precipice.

But just when she was about to clear the summit, the illusion of warmth and comfort was shattered by none other than the sound of rushing water.

She had been betrayed.

Half a second was all it took for her to recognize the sound of the spring. Half a second was the only hint she needed for her instincts to seize control, launching herself back down the way she came. A pair of hands shot out to grab her, but gravity was on her side; she narrowly dodged the clutches of the one she once called her mother and accelerated her descent.

The woman, sensing that the child had ascertained her true intentions, began to give chase. Her hands darted in and out, snatching at the child at every opportunity. But the child was nimble and leapt down the stairs with reckless abandon, her strides extending as far as she could in order to lengthen the distance between herself and the sink. Though the cloth had not yet touched her, she knew what the water meant — sandpaper, scrubbing at her face, eroding her features until nothing remained.

Spurred forward by the memory of the washcloth, the child began to churn her legs at superhuman speeds. Her size enabled her to weave through the clutter, using her environment to hinder the bellowing giant behind her. But the house only provided so many places for a three-year-old to hide, and her mother soon caught her, dragging her writhing little body back up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Though the child had put up a good fight, she was once again subjected to the torment of that wet, scratchy cloth scrubbing against her skin, diving into every nook and cranny. Yet although her attempt to escape was once again unsuccessful, her will to fight remained strong. The water may have defeated her this time, but it would never extinguish the fire of her spirit. Never again would she be at the mercy of the cloth.

Silently, she made a vow. Next time, she wouldn’t be captured.