I'm working on a course for Lynda.com about self promotion for designers. As I've been called a media whore for twenty years, this seemed appropriate. One of the points I make in the chapter about identity is that your logo should be neutral and simple. I'm not a fan of the designer or design firm identities that have scottie dog icons and name like "Cutsie Pie Dezigns". There's something about the "z" and confusion over design being a noun or verb with the "s" that doesn't communicate "hire me to rebrand your Fortune 500 corporation."
For many years, I maintained a simple wordmark at AdamsMorioka. But then, something went horribly awry when I moved on and began Burning Settlers Cabin. I've broken my own rule of a simple wordmark and made not one, but many complex identities. Why have one logo when you can have thirty? So I've made multiple limited edition posters, business cards, letterhead, and postcards. I never give them to anyone because I forget.
I realize that the common element is the name. It serves as the anchor. The forms change, but follow the same concepts of reference and appropriation. I also realized I wasn't IBM and could give myself more latitude. I started with one mark, then added three more and planned to make that a small library in a flexible logo system. But like a bag of potato chips, I continue to reach back in and add more.
The most recent series is based on film subtitles. According to my theory about a simple wordmark for a designer, this is way wrong. However, rules are made to be broken, and if you're going to do something wrong, go all the way. My next plan is to create a website for a terrible design firm and name it Cutsie Pie Dezigns.
The Film Series Business Cards
I admit I'm a chump for crappy photos. It's a 4K world and everyone wants to see every pore on a subject's face. Sharper, sharper, SHARPER! seems to be the battle cry. But like most execution issues this can be the cover for a really sucky concept. "What do you mean there was no plot? Didn't the Golden Gate Bridge look totally real when it was hit by the tsunami?"
There is something about poor quality black and white image that speaks to authenticity. The image is so sad there must be a good idea in there. Fuck the Draft is one of my favorites, and here you have a choice to order one and have another sent to several choices including Mrs. Lady Bird Johnson, Mrs. Shirley Temple Black, and Madame Ngo Dinh Nhu.
I also enjoy this page from a typography book that equates typefaces with personalities and architecture at the time of its development. The message here, regardless of the mug shot quality photos, is that Johann Goethe liked Italienne, Karl Marx couldn't get enough Clarendon, and Madame Curie insisted on Akzidenz-Grotesk. Could be true, what do I know?
These images also talk to memory and carry emotional resonance that is often lost with high-definition ultra sharp iamges. The next time you are handed a gritty and sad black and white photo to use, don't be angry. Embrace the badness. Love the anti-sharp.
Over a year ago, I began talking with Nik Hafermaas about a graduate program in graphic design at ArtCenter. The undergraduate program had been through a remarkable revitalization and metamorphosis, and the time was right to apply the same thinking and ArtCenter's stellar reputation and network to a masters degree.
I've spent over two decades looking at portfolios from recent MFA grads from other schools. While they were almost all impressive and conceptually thorough, I saw a disconnect with the professional world. Projects were personal and unique, but were often so removed from applicable design I wondered if the designer would be terribly bored leading a branding campaign.
In 2011, ArtCenter embarked on a new course "to learn to create, and influence change". The Graphic Design MFA program embraces new ideas, innovation, and technology, while maintaining a connection to the profession here and now. We can explore the "C" word that everyone runs from, craft: typography, form, content, and the artifact. And we had the physical and intellectual resources to be the leader in leadership and entrepreneurial thinking.
What was truly unexpected was the reception the philosophy of innovation in the real world for real people resonated. Very quickly, several of the profession's leaders signed on as Advisory Board and Visiting faculty. This connection to the field and practice is critical as they will help guide the program, injecting ideas and wisdom based on their professional, rather than purely academic, experience.
Today the site for the ArtCenter Graphic Design Graduate (MGx) program is live and we are building an amazing space with a national American furniture company. I'm excited to serve as the Director of the program, providing designers with the skills and tools to not just succeed, but be the next generation of leaders.
Like most people, I like order. I prefer my desk to be neat and my books arranged correctly. I have recurring nightmares about a house with an incredibly messy hidden room. Consequently, I'm a sucker for Swiss design. It's that rational golden rectangle that is used relentlessly. I am in awe of the designer who was able to make everything sync so precisely. It must take days to map out every tiny detail to fit into the mathematically rigid grid absolutely perfectly.
Often, when I'm asked, "Sean, just how do you use the golden rectangle? Do I shove everything into it? What if my page size isn't A4?" I suggest that the designer use the golden rectangle as a loose guide. Drop it down, turn it on it's side, see what works best for you. Then adjust the layout so it relatively aligns to the grid. I know someone in Switzerland just threw themselves in front of a train after hearing that, but what else can we do in America with out hideous 8-1/2 x 11 page size?
In my view it's better to try to walk the straight and narrow with the golden section, even if you don't hit it perfectly. It's better than working willy nilly all over the place as if a squirrel was making layout decisions. Now some post-modernist just threw themselves in front of a bus.
Otl Aicher, Rolf Müller, 1972
Rolf Müller, 1972
Gottschalk + Ash
E. + U. Hiestand
Every day I hike to the top of a hill in Griffith Park. I know this is very The Sound of Music, climbing a mountain in the fresh air and getting good exercise. I don't sing. There are other people hiking and that is scary.
I will admit, with some fear, that I actually like The Sound of Music. There are good lessons here: face life's problem and climb every mountain, ford every stream, and have confidence in yourself when no-one else will, and think about your favorite things like brown paper packages tied up with string when you are sad.
What works in the movie is not the story about singing children. Like the Baroness, I think they should be sent off to school. It's Christopher Plummer and Julie Andrews that keep it from slipping into too saccharine.
I saw a production on Broadway of the revival and it sucked big time. Without Christopher Plummer or Julie Andrews it was sooooo sweet. It made me want to do something really vile and repulsive after too get off some of the gooey and cloying acting. Plummer has a slightly sardonic and edgy tone that says, "I may discipline any one of you severely with no warning." Andrews also reads as kind and firm, but maybe a little nasty. That's what saves it and makes it work; that injection of the negative in the midst of all the goodness.
And there is that filthy language. I'm sure everyone already knows this, but it happens when Maria returns to the Abbey and meets with the Mother Superior. Before singing Climb Every Mountain, Mother Superior asks, "What is it you cunt face?" That nun had some anger issues and it seems rather passive aggressive to slip that in when pretending to be helpful.
And now, to swing to the other end of the Bauhaus philosophy, I recently found this piece designed by Ettore Sottsass in 1946. Typically, when Sottsass comes up in conversation (and yes, I'm that groovy and cosmopolitan, it happens all the time) I think about the Memphis design movement or the 1969 Olivetti Valentine typewriter. Sottsass designed this portfolio soon after being released from a Yugoslavian concentration camp and moving to Milan.
It's clear from this that his approach rejected the minimal and functional Bauhaus. He not only disregards a grid or sense of order, his use of imagery is promiscuous at the least. Victorian clip art, modernist photography, and hand-made forms compete with pieces of typography and magazine clippings. While it doesn't rely on melting clocks, the piece is related to the Surrealist movement, happening at the same time. The elements exist as disparate symbols in the unconscious, pieces of everyday life that combine in a dream.
I've had a special admiration for Sottsass since I learned that he took 1,780 photographs on a short trip to South America, and for years photographed every hotel room in which he had slept with a woman. He also wanted to publish a book consisting of pictures of walls. I would buy a book of photos of walls.
This is what I hate: I'm giving a lecture about Herbert Bayer and the Bauhaus and someone is sleeping. Not just nodding off here and there, but face down on the desk. First, if you're so tired you can't be interested in the Bauhaus, you should get medical attention. Second, I'd understand (sort of) if I were doing a lecture on the variations of black-letter typefaces, but the Bauhaus is filled with subversive behavior, radical shifts in thinking, World War I death and destruction, and Nazis marching into people's apartments and arresting them.
When someone sleeps through all of this, I'd like to (forgive the cursing here) smack the mother-fucking shit out of them. But we don't do that in polite society.
I compare this with a visit I made to the Bauhaus a couple of years ago with 12 of the most Cracker-Jack students I've known. For a designer, this was like returning to the source of all life. And these students were following an educational pedagogy based on the Bauhaus' approach. This, in extraordinarily simplified terms, the studio approach, working and making, using craft and design for industry.
Of course, rather than ending our visit with an espresso and pastries, we honored the Bauhaus students with beer. Oddly, everyone managed to stay awake through the entire journey.
I've been cleaning out books lately. There are many duplicates and books I'll never read. I tried donating them to Goodwill, but they don't accept books. I considered making a pile of books on the driveway, setting them on fire, and yelling "burn, hateful Catcher in the Rye Satan book," But my neighbors already are wary of me so I didn't.
One of the books hidden behind another book was Walt Disney World and Epcot Center, 1987. I'll forgive the Cooper Black on the cover because the interior is so happy. The Epcot Center section is filled with images of people enjoying a creepy robot, watching belly-dancers, shopping for caftans, and watching marching Minute Men. I like the star filter, wide angle lens photos of the China Pavilion and American Adventure. I wish my iPhone had that filter.
In comparison, my photographs of Epcot (below) seem to be of another place. Mine are typically empty of people, details of signs, and vacant walkways. If the book had my images rather than the happy photos, people would expect either wonderful solitude or suicide.
“When did you realize you had gone from being a designer to being a personality?” one person asked me at the AIGA conference in New Orleans last week. Someone else said, “I can’t believe I’m talking with you. You’re a celebrity.” Good so far, but then added, “You should be a game show host.” April Greiman addressed me as the “Bob Barker of graphic design” repeatedly. Somewhere along the line I wanted to make a t-shirt that read, “I’m actually a designer. I am more than my hair.”
We all make our own beds. Hosting Command X is one of my greatest joys. Working with these seven young designers and seeing their amazing bravery is unbelievably satisfying. I’m not giving that up even if the world decides I am well known only for being perky onscreen. I know seeing me onstage doing this reinforces the “game show host” persona. If that’s the price to work with the Command X superstars, I’ll pay it.
But, at my core, I’m a designer. I’d rather work on a complex issue and find a smart solution than host the $25,000 Pyramid. I need to figure out how Michael Bierut walked this tightrope. If it were up to me, he’d have Charlie Rose’s job, and I still consider him one of our greatest designers.
I think it’s the hair. I can’t do anything about that. It just happens by itself wanting to be game show or newscaster hair. Maybe I’ll cut it super short, and then people will say, “Oh, that Sean Adams, boy he's fugly, but yeah, isn’t he a graphic designer?”