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


   

YOU HAVE A HOME IN SPICES AND SUBURBIA


This is a pop-up map of a Chinese potluck as I remember it in my mind, with descriptions written by me.




YOU HAVE A HOME IN SPICES AND SUBURBIA (WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT)

Written by Jane Zhang


SHOES


There’s already a battlefield the moment you step inside. Shoes of all different sizes and styles are scattered everywhere like fallen soldiers. You will attempt to cross the sea respectfully without trampling on any of the corpses. You will fail.


KIDS TABLE


The prison of your youth. How dare the adults look down on you like this. You’re definitely old enough to hold sophisticated conversations and sip wine, yet they’ve cast you amongst the likes of screaming mouths and grubby hands. Just because you’re short doesn’t mean you aren’t mature. You’ll show them though. They’ll look over and see you babysitting and realize the truth — they need to promote you from this table, stat.


KARAOKE


It’s just a normal TV with a couple mics plugged in. The reverb is set to max to hide the lack of musical training present, but all it really does is make the pitchy warbling incomprehensible. Jay Chou and Richie Jen have never sounded so horrible. While it’s typically the dads’ domain, occasionally a kid or two will slip in and the elderly will be forced to humor the young.


KITCHEN TABLE


If England has the Crown Jewels, then this house has the kitchen table. But while the Crown Jewels have long since become symbols of colonization, the dishes on the table link you to a homeland you don’t know but now miss terribly. No jewel could ever reproduce the aroma of white pepper powder and nostalgia, which is why this dinner is more priceless than all of the British Museum.


CARDS


The moms sit in a circle — pictures of elegance and poise with fans of cards in hand, predatory eyes glinting with secrecy. It’s easy to forget that their accented English and stuttering belies their power and cunning, and these poker games are rare glimpses of how they fought against the odds of life. But then the table breaks into guffaws that resonate throughout the house, and you realize that while these games reveal how they faced their struggles, they also offer a rare chance for these mothers to become children again — even just for a moment.


GRILL


Every time the door opens, the smell of Uncle Frank’s signature ribs and lamb skewers permeates the house. You’re not from Sichuan, but even you know that no restaurant in the States can replicate the taste. What’s his secret recipe? The answer doesn’t matter because deep down you know — even if you had the ingredients, your imitation would pale in comparison to the flavors of his homeland.


BACK PANEL


This house smells like five-spice powder.

I fight the urge to scrunch my face as the pungent smell burns my nostrils. My tiny Skechers are immediately lost in the unrestrained mass of older, larger shoes. The cacophony of raucous laughter and off-key crooning grates on my ears; how can these people call themselves parents yet make such obnoxious noises? Dutifully, I walk towards the kids table — even though it’s so unfair that all my friends are old enough to sit with the adults now, leaving me all alone with the babies. Smoke wafts in from the patio, making me tear up. It makes me feel like I don’t have much time left; all the carcinogens I’m inhaling are probably going to propel me towards an early death. But my parents’ faces are absolutely jubilant as they guffaw wildly with the other aunties and uncles, completely unfit to call themselves my mom and dad. I don’t get why they look so happy. It’s just a normal, suburban house filled with people we see all the time.

One decade later, I step back into that same suburban house.

This house smells like five-spice powder.

I fight the urge to cry as the familiar aroma warms my memory. Though my boots are larger now, they still stand no chance in the massive pile of shoes. The cacophony of raucous laughter and off-key crooning forces me to stifle my laughter; these parents don’t get many chances to act like children with their friends. Wistfully, I glance towards the kids table — it’s so unfair that all my friends and I are getting older and going off to different states now, leaving the times when we chattered and ate together behind. Smoke wafts in from the patio, making me tear up. It makes me feel like I don’t have much time left; the grandpas are getting old, and I won’t have many more chances to taste their grilled skewers. And despite how many times they come here, my parents’ faces are still jubilant as they guffaw wildly with the other aunties and uncles, free from the responsibilities of being my mom and dad. I know why they look so happy. It’s just a normal, suburban house, but it’s filled with people who bring it to life.