CBS Didot, 1962, detail

Guests visiting AdamsMorioka for the first time are often disgusted. William Pereira designed our building in 1969 as the Great Western Savings and Loan headquarters. Today it is the headquarters for Flynt Publications. The classic mid-century aesthetic has evolved into a lush “Las Vegas casino” style. I’ve grown to embrace the beautiful silk flower arrangement on each elevator lobby and the faux-marble elevator walls. The disgust our guests experience comes from our door sign. Clearly Tiffany Heavy and Optima are not expected here.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is the “black rock.” The New York headquarters for CBS designed by Eero Saarinen in 1962. The signage for the building is a flawless version of Didot. Lou Dorfsman commissioned a new version of the font specifically for CBS. This served as the corporate typeface for over a decade. As designers, we disagree on many issues: Fillmore posters sucked or ruled, modernism is over or relevant, AdamsMorioka does vapid and fun or smart and seductive. I don’t think anyone would argue, however, that the CBS Didot signage and collateral is remarkable.

Think of it this way: a client asks you to do a signage program, a designer in your office suggests Didot, what would you say? If I weren’t aware of the CBS program, I’d probably say, “Are you out of your mind? Do you really think that’s legible? Who is going to fabricate these letterforms and not break the very thin parts of the letters? Get the hell out of my office! In fact, leave for good.” Actually, I probably wouldn’t say that. I’m the nice one. Noreen would say it.

CBS Didot, 1962

CBS Didot, 1962

CBS Didot, 1962, address signage

CBS Didot, 1962, elevator signage

CBS Didot, 1962, clock

CBS Didot, 1962, service entrance signage

CBS Didot, 1962, mailbox

AdamsMorioka door signage, mmmm Tiffaaany

AdamsMorioka elevator lobby. Love the flowers! Love them!

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Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

When I start talking about identity design, everyone loses his or her sense of humor. “Logos? That’s no laughing matter,” is the tone. There’s no room for funny in logo design or ID systems. Don’t you people understand this is a serious business? Of course it’s serious business. It’s the cornerstone and foundation of a company’s communications plan. But does that mean every logo should be a hard lined box with a tortured letterform, and a system with a vertical blue bar on every piece of collateral? I would say, “No.” Communications should engage and delight. That applies to identity design as well as a website, brochure, or signage program.

A great example of this approach is Alexander Girard’s design for La Fonda del Sol restaurant. In 1960, Restaurant Associates hired Girard to oversee all elements from the logo to the plates. Located in the Time & Life building in New York, La Fonda del Sol embraced the international ambitions of Rockefeller Center. Girard’s identity is varied and uses a multiple set of icons. What, you say, more than one logo? Was he mad? I don’t know about Girard’s psychological health, but it works for me. The restaurant paired the hand-made, craft of Mexico with a high-end and cosmopolitan tone. The solution was years ahead of a tongue-in-cheek tone now used by Jet Blue and Virgin Air. I especially like the newspaper ad that reads, “Will the lady who lost her composure during Fiesta at La Fonda del Sol please come back this Sunday?” I’m not so sure about the completely non-politically correct Siesta ad.

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, logo, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, menu, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, matches, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, logo, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, ladies room, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, a guy and the room, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, cool wall thing, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, table setting, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, 1960

La Fonda del Sol, non PC ad, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, newspaper ads, 1960

Alexander Girard, La Fonda del Sol, ceramics, 1960

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51: Which book starts with this line? See answer below

There are a few projects that I regret not doing. The first was the Avalon Hotel, here in Beverly Hills. It was a perfect job for us: mid-century Alvin Lustig tiles, incredible building, beautiful redesign by Koning Eizenberg, and just a few blocks from the office. But, alas, it was not to be. The project went elsewhere, and as is typical, the final result was pretty darned good. I also was desperate to design a little book on “first lines,” when I was working at The New York Public Library. Again, the project was designed by my friend Donna Moll, who did a far better job than I would have. So the lesson here is to be glad that some projects get away, as long as they go to someone good. Or, if you don’t like the choice of a different designer, well accidents happen everyday.

The Know These Lines booklet that Donna designed is a gem. The design is subtle and incredibly crafted, and fits the subject matter flawlessly. The content is fantastic. The idea is to read the first sentence of a famous book, and answer its origin. For example, “Call me Ishmael.” is the first line in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. However, like the New York Times crossword, the choices become more difficult. If you have the kind of parties where people in worn out, but well made suits (men and women) get angry over a discussion about modernism and Virginia Woolf this is a perfect game for you. One caveat, however, like most things in life this game is better after cocktails.

Know These Lines cover, Donna Moll, 1987

Know These Lines title page, Donna Moll, 1987

Know These Lines spread, Donna Moll, 1987

48: Which book starts with this line? See answer below

51: Which book starts with this line? See answer below

94: Which book starts with this line? See answer below

96: Which book starts with this line? See answer below

100: Which book starts with this line? See answer below

Line 48: Answer

Line 51: Answer

Line 94: Answer

Line 96: Answer

Line 100: Answer

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Disney's Contemporary Resort acrylic trees, 1971

When I was 12, I thought the coolest building in the world was the Contemporary Resort at Walt Disney World. It was futuristic and a monorail drove through it. When you are a 12 year-old boy, these are the criteria points used for architectural criticism. Today, I still think the Contemporary Resort is cool, but now for the Mary Blair mural in the Grand Canyon Concourse. The Contemporary has a sleek boutique W Hotel feel. That’s great if you like that, but I spend enough time in W Hotel rooms, so I’ve moved on to the Yacht Club. My clothing choices fit in better there also.

When I see images of the Contemporary when it first opened in 1971 it looks like the most magnificent vacation spot ever. It’s so groovy and chic. The color palette of avocado, burnt orange, brown, and butter yellow is magnificent. There was a happening supper club, the Top of the World, with live entertainment in the style of Lawrence Welk. The disco had a nifty Logan’s Run vibe. I imagine happy men dressed in their finest maroon suits and women in their floor length chiffon dresses dancing to KC and the Sunshine Band, but a more mellow version. I want to go to a conference where the dining room is all orange. But most importantly, there are giant acrylic trees in the lobby. I say to all the tasteful boutique hotels out there, “dump the beige ultra-suede. Put in autumn toned acrylic trees and psychedelic colored Navajo patterned carpet.”

Disney's Contemporary Resort Mary Blair mural study, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort room, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort room, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort lobby, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort lobby, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort lobby, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort bag, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort conference room, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort ballroom, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort beauty salon, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort disco, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort Top of the World, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort Top of the World, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort fine dining, 1971

Disney's Contemporary Resort volleyball, 1971

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Dave Willardson, detail, Chiquita Banana Girl, 1977

On my first day at art school, a student two years ahead told me emphatically, “You need to know how to airbrush.” As freshmen, we used colored pencils and gouache. In the junior level studio, they all used the airbrush. The sound of the spraying and chug of the motor was often interrupted with, “sonofabitch!” I was frequently concerned that my career would never happen because I couldn’t use an airbrush.

For those of you who only know the spray paint can symbol in Photoshop®, an airbrush is a machine that is like a fancy can of spray paint. A compressor runs a stream of air through a nozzle that has paint. To make an image, you mask off the areas you don’t want painted, and smoothly spray. Then you take off that mask and make another one. The airbrush sounds easy. I’m sure you may be thinking, “so what, I can use spray paint.” But it clogs, splatters, your masks pull off other paint, and you shout “sonofabitch!” a lot.

My inability to use the tool only makes my admiration for the masters of airbrush greater. Digital perfection and high-definition may be in vogue today, but I think it’s time to celebrate this great work. It was a southern California art form that screams Venice Beach, roller-skating, Xanadu, Sunset Strip, and palm trees. And even better, the guys who were the airbrush kings, such as Charlie White, were the most laid-back, down-to-earth, and just plain nice people I’ve ever known.

Dave Willardson, West magazine, 1971

Peter Palombi, poster, 1972

Dave Willardson, American Graffiti, 1973

Peter Lloyd, Kansas, 1975

Charles White, Star Wars, 1976

Charles White, Business Man's Lunch, 1976

Dave Willardson, Rolling Stone, 1976

Peter Palombi, Suburban Hooker, 1976

Tim Nikosey, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, 1978

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