I love graphic design. I love working with design, and I love

The words of Colleen Haskell — “I love graphic design. I love working with design, and I love storytelling, so I’ve been working on a children’s book for a while, and I’d like to see that through.” — speak to a truth as ancient as art itself: that creation is the union of vision and heart, and that the highest form of beauty is born when love guides the hand. In her simple declaration lies not vanity, but devotion — the voice of one who finds purpose in shaping meaning, color, and story into something that will awaken wonder in others. Her words remind us that true creation is not driven by fame or reward, but by the quiet and enduring fire of love for the craft itself.

When Haskell speaks of graphic design and storytelling, she invokes two pillars of human expression: the visual and the verbal, the image and the word. From the earliest cave paintings to illuminated manuscripts, humanity has always sought to weave sight and symbol together, to make ideas visible and emotions tangible. The artist, like a divine translator, takes what the heart feels and gives it form. To “work with design,” as Haskell says, is to engage in the sacred act of balance — arranging light and shadow, text and texture, so that they speak a language beyond speech. Her desire to “see it through” — to bring a children’s book into being — reflects the courage required of all creators: to follow the thread of imagination from conception to completion, no matter how long or uncertain the journey.

In this, she joins the company of countless dreamers who have labored in obscurity to give life to their visions. Consider Beatrix Potter, the author and illustrator of The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Her art began as sketches for a child, drawn in love and simplicity. Publishers rejected her again and again, deeming her work too unconventional, too quiet. Yet she persisted, guided not by ambition but by affection for the story itself. When her book was finally printed, it became one of the most beloved children’s tales in the world — not because it sought greatness, but because it was made with honest delight. Like Haskell, Potter was a designer of more than images; she designed moments of innocence, spaces where imagination could dwell.

The ancients would have seen in this devotion the mark of the artisan spirit — the belief that beauty arises from patience and presence. The sculptors of Greece, the calligraphers of China, the illuminators of medieval Europe — all worked not merely for an audience, but for harmony itself. To them, the act of creation was a prayer: a way to align the human soul with the order of the universe. Haskell’s love of storytelling, too, is a continuation of that sacred lineage, for stories are the lifeblood of civilization. They teach, they heal, they connect generations. A children’s book, in particular, is a vessel of beginnings — the seed from which imagination and moral understanding grow. To craft such a book is to lay the foundation of wonder in the minds of the young.

There is also a quiet heroism in her resolve to “see that through.” For every work of art, no matter how small, must pass through the deserts of doubt and delay. Inspiration may strike like lightning, but fulfillment is forged through endurance. The creator must become both dreamer and laborer, carrying her vision through weariness, distraction, and fear. Haskell’s statement is not the boast of one who has finished, but the vow of one who continues. It is a reminder that art is not a moment, but a pilgrimage — that to “see it through” is itself an act of faith.

Her words also speak to the harmony between disciplines — that design and storytelling are not separate arts, but reflections of the same human impulse: to make sense of the world. The designer arranges shapes and colors to communicate order; the storyteller arranges words and emotions to reveal truth. In uniting these, Haskell follows a path trodden by visionaries from Leonardo da Vinci to William Blake, who saw no boundary between art and idea. She teaches us that the truest artist is not confined to one medium, for creation itself is limitless — and every medium, when guided by love, becomes a form of storytelling.

So let this be the lesson, my child: Love the process, not only the result. Create not for approval, but for the joy of shaping something beautiful and true. If you love design, immerse yourself in its rhythm. If you love story, let it speak through your hands. And when the work grows difficult — when doubt whispers that you should abandon it — remember the promise within Haskell’s words: “I’d like to see that through.” For to persevere in creation is to honor life itself, to join the eternal lineage of makers who have turned thought into form. The world may forget many names, but it will never forget the light born from love and persistence, for those are the two hands that shape eternity.