Alan Clarke-Symonds — Home
Senior graphic designer living and working in Bristol, UK. Passionate about creating simple, well-crafted ideas. …
I was born and raised in Mumbai, India—where, at the time, “design” wasn’t something people really talked about, let alone considered a career. I started drawing when I was five. My childhood came with a series of health setbacks, and drawing became not just meditative but an anchor. Something I could return to again and again, without needing too much from me.
I didn’t know it then, but I was already thinking like a visual communicator. I was the kid who always drew my elder sister’s science diagrams in the simplest, cleanest way—and somehow, she always got higher grades. In school, I doodled in every corner of my notebooks—not just for fun, but to capture things visually. Even gossip had its own illustrated version. I didn’t have the language for it yet, but I was already drawn to simplifying complex things and telling stories through imagery.
We called it Applied Arts where I studied my bachelor’s back in Mumbai, and it gave me my first structured glimpse into the world of typography, branding, and visual systems. After a short stint in advertising (five months—that was enough 😅), I knew I wanted to go deeper. I moved to the U.S. to pursue my master’s in Graphic Design and Visual Experience at the Savannah College of Art and Design—and that epiphany opened up my horizon to the massive design world.
Every day, I remind myself: you get to try again. That mindset has become something I hold close—especially as a creative. If something doesn’t resolve today, there’s always tomorrow to meet it differently—with a new perspective, a fresh pair of eyes, or even new tools. While I love new challenges and ideas, what actually grounds me is structure. It doesn’t come naturally, but over time, routine has become one of my most valuable teachers.
Most mornings, I wake up around 7. I meditate for 7 or 8 minutes—nothing elaborate, just a quiet moment of stillness and gratitude to start the day. Then comes my one big pot of coffee (non-negotiable). If I can, I’ll squeeze in a yoga class or a gym session before settling into work. I work hybrid, like most people these days, so no two days are exactly the same—but I try to split my energy into two windows: my 9–5 and my 5–9. I make a to-do list that’s always slightly overambitious, but if I check off even a few things, it feels like a day well spent.
Creatively, I’m most alive in the mornings. I like to start the day with something that sparks curiosity—a blog post on It’s Nice That, or a great Substack read (I’ve fully embraced my Substack era). That early focus window is when I’m at my sharpest, so I try to tackle the most strategic or creative work before the day fills up with meetings. It’s when I drop into deep focus—solving design problems, shaping systems, or crafting the visual story behind a product experience.
Once the day winds down, I try to leave space to create just for the sake of it. No deadlines, no briefs—just play. That’s often when the best ideas show up: in the quiet, in the in-between, when no one’s watching and I’m just making because I want to.
I’m naturally a bit of a mess-maker—so to balance that out, I keep my workspace intentionally clean and minimal. It helps me return to it with a sense of calmness and clarity. A bit of order to welcome creative chaos.
I live in New York, and I’m endlessly grateful for its chaos. It’s not just the city—it’s the people. My friends, my creative circle, the strangers on the subway, the quiet sparks in unexpected conversations. If you let yourself step into rooms that intimidate you here, the city has a way of ushering you into your next chapter.
I try to stay close to real, tangible art. That doesn’t always mean museums. Sometimes it’s a quiet gallery in Chelsea, or a school art show where I’m cheering on a friend. It could be a late-night poetry reading, or someone sharing their passion project with that unmistakable light in their eyes. Inspiration lives in those small, honest moments.
Books are a constant in my life. The internet is a treasure trove, but books offer a kind of depth and intimacy that always brings me back to center. There are design books that have taken me to entire worlds I didn’t know existed.
And then there’s home—India. I carry my culture with me in all its color, rhythm, language, and contrast. It’s loud, bold, and full of texture. It reminds me to think differently, to make choices that feel instinctive and unexpected.
It’s a place—Grace Farms in Connecticut. It’s one of the most beautiful intersections of architecture, nature, and intention I’ve experienced in recent years. The moment you step into it, you feel completely elsewhere—held by the quiet harmony of space and light. It’s thoughtful design that doesn’t shout, but it stays with you.
And on the digital side: the One Year: Countdown Widget app. It’s such a simple idea—a visual year tracker and daily journal—but it feels incredibly grounding. I love how it helps you pause and reflect, one day at a time. The “garden” theme is especially lovely: each day, a hand-drawn plant or creature appears, showing your progress like a living, breathing calendar. It’s soft, personal, and quietly motivating. That kind of design—gentle but intentional—is what I find most inspiring right now.
Most of the work I do right now is confidential—part of building for billions of users in the tech world. But there’s something deeply satisfying about knowing your designs are quietly becoming part of people’s everyday lives.
That said, a recent project I can talk about is a full brand identity and strategy I created for a flower shop in London. It was a dream—getting to explore typography, craft, and storytelling in one beautiful package. It also reminded me how much I love the strategy side of design: digging deep to understand a product or client, and finding that one emotional truth everything else can grow from.
Another piece I hold close is a game I designed for Google’s Santa Tracker. It was playful, whimsical, and full of joy—and that kind of work is a gift. There was something magical about designing for delight, especially knowing the audience was kids (and kids at heart) all over the world. It reminded me that design doesn’t always have to be serious to be meaningful. Sometimes, sparking a moment of wonder is just as powerful as solving a complex problem.
The biggest challenge? Constant change. New teams, new goals, new directions. Working in tech means learning to thrive in ambiguity. Things move fast, and you have to be both flexible and grounded at once.
Creative challenges in tech are unique. It’s not always just about the idea itself—it’s about how clearly you can communicate it. You’re often designing through layers of decision-making, trying to align many teams with different priorities. And sometimes, in the push for metrics and speed, the riskier, bolder ideas get squeezed out.
The hardest—and most important—part is advocating for creativity at scale: helping others see why a little more imagination might just lead to something better.
Don’t take rejections personally—even when they sting. In the moment, it can feel like a door closing. But more often, it’s just life rerouting you toward something better. And embrace feedback—it introduces fresh viewpoints and almost always sparks a new direction.
Keep learning. Stay curious. Don’t let change intimidate you—even if it’s AI—let it invite you. Be an enthusiastic early adopter. Design isn’t just about taste or talent; it’s about building mental muscles. The more you train them, the more your ideas begin to move with ease.
And if there’s something you truly want to do—even if it feels out of reach—you owe it to yourself to try. That little tug you feel? Follow it. The regret of not trying is always heavier than the discomfort of starting.
Come say hi on Instagram — little moments, visual play, and everything in between. My portfolio’s where the design projects live.