July 24th, 2014 by Sean
London Guide, Herb Lester Associates, Anna Hurley, 2013
Here’s one of the differences between being a surgeon and a designer: surgeons are required to be meticulous and have an OCD level to details. If they are, in most probability, people live and have healthy outcomes. Designers are required to be meticulous and have an OCD level to details also. If we are, nobody except another OCD designer notices. The upside is that bad word-spacing doesn’t kill people.
I can spend hours kerning the crap out of a headline. Does anyone apart from me care, or notice? Probably not. We zoom in to a gazillion percent to make sure a point is absolutely precise, obsess over the difference between Adobe Bodoni and Monotype Bodoni. But of we didn’t, we’d be slobs and hack designers, and it wouldn’t be as much fun.
Herb Lester Associates produces a wonderful collection of guides to different cities. Let’s face it, most city guides look like the Map to the Stars Homes. The Herb Lester guides are not only pertinent to travelers who prefer something more interesting than mobbed, but are detailed to death. Every tiny piece of type has been considered. The illustrations are wonderful and change from map to map. I know the designers were working on a the files at 400%, and it shows. Even the packing tape on the envelope is a work of art (which I plan to steal).
In this instance, I noticed. Every thoughtful and beautifully crafted detail adds to the overall extraordinariness of the guides. The lesson here, go ahead and fine tune the shit out of the details. If only one person in the world sees it, you’ve succeeded.
July 14th, 2014 by Sean
Herb Lubalin poster, Davida Typeface, Louis Minott, 1965
Some fonts are bad. They are like that photo of a horrible car crash that you can never unsee. It’s not because they are cursed or especially ugly (well, some are), it’s because they have been mutilated and left to die. As I’ve grown older, I’m drawn to typefaces that may, perhaps, strain the limits of good taste.
Last week, I used Davida, designed by Louis Minott in 1965, on an annual report project. Noreen suggested I was not following the corporate system and could be opening the door to future infractions. I saw it as adding some zest and excitement. I see so much good taste sans-serif typography on a daily basis that I’m starving for something wrong.
The problem was getting a good cut of Davida. The original is really well drawn and formed. But someone along the way discovered it in the bin of forgotten typefaces and beat it regularly. The digital version is a far cry from where it began. It’s been around the block. My only choice is to redraw it myself and try to save it.
The lesson here is to find the original version of any font, see what it was meant to be before someone redrew it in a dark basement. I pledge to continue to rehabilitate Davida regardless of the current typographic style du jour.
July 8th, 2014 by Sean
Herbert Matter, Swiss travel poster, 1932
There are two sayings in Hollywood that I like: “The ass you kick on the way up is the one you kiss on the way down,” and “Blame others, take credit, deny everything.” I know quite a few people that live by the motto of blame, credit, etc., and ignore the ass kicking advice. I’ve known fine designers who, after the first taste of fame, became heinous and awful divas making demands and driving kind conference organizers to tears. And I know fine designers who have been famous for years and are the first to wrestle credit away from others. My friend, John Bielenberg, suggested I start a magazine or blog that is like Vanity Fair of the design world, telling all the stories. That sounds fun, but I’d like to keep at least the few friends I still have.
Conversely, I am endlessly amazed at the down to earth, generous nature of some of the industries legends. 90% of them are just good people, willing to help others, devote time, and always have a funny story at dinner. From what I understand, Herbert Matter was one of the least pompous designers in the field. I’ve never heard anything that paints him as difficult or negative. From all accounts, he was a true mensch. You wouldn’t expect that from his work. It’s so brilliant and confident that the author would have all the right in the world to be a jerk. But, it’s proof that either we as designers are, on the whole, pretty darned good. Or we’re nitwits and falling behind while other in different professions claw, stab, and blackmail their way to the top.
Don’t be alarmed, three “Herbert” stories in a row does not mean the next one will be about Herbert Hoover.
June 30th, 2014 by Sean
Herbert Bayer, Letterhead Design, 1932
My friend, Kathy McCoy, recently asked if I had any Herbert Bayer images from his Colorado days. She checked with Lou Danziger who pointed out that we were the caretakers of his monumental slide archive of graphic design. After I pulled everything together, it was obvious that Bayer designed a lot of stationery, and I mean a lot.
The world is screaming insanely, “Print is dead, print is dead, the end is near!” People may not be using letterhead for a casual note that can work on email, but they still use it in more formal situations. The good part of this is that clients want the best stationery with the options, not the down and dirty cheapest one. Now it really matters.
Bayer designed most of these at the Bauhaus and before he emigrated to the United States. The letterheads are all asymmetrical, use the golden section as a guide, and are designed for functionality. Since Modernism demanded that functional should be paramount, this makes sense.
When I design a letterhead I like to help the user also; add a short rule to delineate the fold, put a bullet where the date is typed, and guides that identify the margin.
Bayer takes this a little more seriously by identifying the location of every type of information. I’m certain that nobody tried to use too small of a margin or fail to line the date up with the type. I get the sense that this would have been a pretty serious infraction and all hell would break loose in the halls of the Bauhaus.