ChemArt High

This is my third summer at ChemArt and while I’ve always known that ChemArt reminded me of somewhere, I didn’t realize what that place was until now. ChemArt is like one big high school. Now for those of you who are having panic attacks at this comparison let me clarify. I mean this as a sincere compliment. ChemArt is not a horrible-Mean Girls-can’t wait until I get out of here-why do they pick on me kind of school. Rather, it’s a High School Musical kind of school, minus the singing, choreographed dancing (then again, I’ve never been to the holiday party) and love story.  For those of you who haven’t seen High School Musical (and I don’t pass judgment), the school is full of various groups who, while different, get along happily. And so it is at ChemArt. We have your artsy kids, your cheerleaders, your jocks, your wisecracking friends, even our very own student council! The only people we don’t have are slackers, but then again, neither does High School Musical.

The point I’m trying to make is at ChemArt, where people come from all backgrounds and have a multitude of strong opinions (just utter the words Red Sox or Yankees), everyone works together as a unit all the while maintaining their own personality. It’s the type of corporate culture that I love and hope to work in when I graduate.

Tears and Tribulations: the weekly weigh-in

Quite a few of the employees here at ChemArt are involved in a year-long weightloss competition where everyone who participates donates a dollar a week and the winner takes the pot. With my desk directly parallel to the scale, every Wednesday I witness a unique procession of people waiting to meet their fate. Prayers are said, self-recriminations muttered, excuses are readied for a potential gain, and jewelry, shoes, socks and any other article of clothing that can be taken off while retaining modesty are removed. A hush falls over the room as, oh so gently, each person steps on to the scale. Jackie Camara, the ringleader of the competition, jots down the results. Success is met with a congratulations and failure with motivation to do better.

It’s my favorite day of the week. No, not because it’s my own personal Biggest Loser episode. It’s because I’ve learned that your job, while it shouldn’t take over your life, should compliment your other endeavors. A healthier person is 90% of the time, a happier person, and therefore more effective in all that they do. It’s just another one of the career tips I’ve absorbed at ChemArt.

“I set up romantic shots of ornaments at my summer internship…no really, I did”

As an intern this summer in the ChemArt marketing department, I expected a variety of tasks that no doubt would make me BFF’s with the photocopier and the filing cabinets. What I got instead was a variety of tasks that (gasp!) made me feel like I was actively contributing to ChemArt’s work. One of them was photographing our lovely ornaments for internal use as well as for ads. Now this may appear to be a simple, albeit interesting, task. Well, here’s a project for you. Try photographing a shiny piece of metal without getting yourself, the camera, or anything else within 20 feet of you reflected in it as well as capturing all that fine etching and detail. And to top it all off, be creative about it… Not so easy huh?

 Although sometimes frustrating, my almost daily photo shoots taught me some invaluable skills. One is Photoshop, for when those ornaments simply will not behave. Another is to think outside the hotstamped box. A picture of an brass ornament on a Christmas tree is boring and reinforces the idea that ornaments are seasonal. I’ve experimented with a lei, tea chest, Christmas garland, vase, flowers, stuffed animals, even a tissue box (the pattern was interesting) all to get what we call a “romance shot” of an ornament. What at first I thought of as a skill only valuable if I one day decide to become an ornament photographer (not exactly in high demand) became a lesson in creativity and patience; lots of it.  I’ve learned to take challenges as they come, whether that be in school, my future career, or (as it often did this summer) a velvet lined box.