Life Nature Library, The Desert, 1961

Years ago, there was a wonderful school supply store in Los Angeles. It didn’t have an inventory of fine new textbooks, cute brand new classroom decorations, or specialty learning tools. This was the warehouse of the misfit supplies. This is bad if you want to teach children up to date information, but wonderful if you prefer to live in the past. Noreen bought a huge roll up wall map of the world with all the nations in 1958. We found old textbooks, cursive lettering wall charts, and diagrams of evolution from the late 1960s. There were no prices on anything, which proved to be a bonus. When we were checking out, the cashier looked at our cart of old stuff and said, “Hmm, what about $20.00 for everything?” Pretty nifty.

I especially coveted a collection of Life Nature Library books. These are the books that explain all types of scientific information in simple terms. For me, this is good. But, it’s the design that is the high point. The books are clear and simple. They are almost industrial in their functionality. This is brutalism in publication design. They are elegant in their minimalism. Nobody was trying to show every design skill they had all on one page. Even the charts are miraculously un-designed. This isn’t about laziness. It’s about restraint.

The Desert, 1961

The Desert, 1961

The Desert, 1961

The Earth, 1962

The Earth, 1962

The Earth, 1962

The Earth, 1962

The Earth, 1962

Life Nature books

The Earth, 1962

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Lately, you may have noticed a longer time between postings here. Yes, of course, I’ve been busy. A new term at Art Center just began; I’m working on a new book, several time intensive projects, and heading to the Dice conference tomorrow to speak. Nevertheless, I’ve been busy for years. The saying, “If you want something done, ask a busy person,” applies to me. The issue is graphic design. I spend all day with it. I teach, write, and yammer on about it. Lately, when I think about posting something I look at possible design pieces and think, “I am so over this.” Don’t worry. It’s a passing phase, and I’m bound to find some design I’m inspired by soon.

To escape typography, I watched Doctor Zhivago, Lawrence of Arabia, and Ryan’s Daughter again recently. They are all remarkable. If you haven’t seen these, they aren’t what you think. Yes, Doctor Zhivago and Ryan’s Daughter are love stories. But they are played out on such a vast scale against epic times. And, they are extraordinarily and exquisitely designed.  David Lean’s vision is clear and refined. Julie Christie (who looks remarkably like Paula Scher) is the most beautiful woman who ever lived. The Panavision cinemascope and color is unbelievable. These are big, big, big movies. This is what a movie is supposed to look like.

I admit, there are some aspects that didn’t age well. Everyone’s makeup in Doctor Zhivago is a little heavy and runs toward a groovy 1965 dark eyes, light lips look. As T. E. Lawrence, Peter O’Toole captures a complex and troubled character, but he should have said “no,” to the third application of mascara.

Finally, there is a scene in Ryan’s Daughter that is my favorite in any film. It’s only a moment, when Sarah Miles lies on the forest ground and looks up. The camera points up to the tree’s canopy. There is no music, only the sound of the rustling leaves and creaking of the branches as they barely move in the wind.

David Lean, Lawrence of Arabia, 1962

David Lean, Lawrence of Arabia, 1962

Julie Christie, Doctor Zhivago, 1965

David Lean, Doctor Zhivago, 1965

David Lean, Ryan's Daughter, 1970

David Lean, Ryan's Daughter, 1970

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I'm going to the bathroom to slit my wrists for some excitement

I like to think of the 1950s and early 60s as some kind of wonderful “Pleasantville” experience. I imagine I’d wear my letterman’s jacket, do well in school, and come home in time for cookies, milk, and an early bedtime. It would all be so well ordered and clear. Recently, I found a box of slides at my grandparents’ house. I sent it out to be digitized and was rather alarmed when I looked at them on screen. They must have been taken around 1963. There is an image of President Kennedy’s funeral on the television. Some of the photos are at my great grandparents’ anniversary party. Others are at an unknown social event.

The upside is the television tray usage. I still have those TV trays. I use them at home with family, but didn’t realize they were appropriate for a party. Now I see how handy they can be. The downside is the subtext in every image of restrained frustration. Nobody looks comfortable. Everyone looks like they could use a stiff martini. I imagine the polite chatter, “Bob, how’s your golf game these days,” “Betty, I loved the coffee cake,” “Could you be more proud of Sherman, valedictorian?” But I’ve seen enough movies to know that everyone goes home drinks too much, cries, and screams. I hope. Otherwise there’s a whole lot o’ suppressed issues here.

This is a glimpse into the reality of the late 1950s. There was no room for differences or individuality. God forbid someone was African-American, Asian, gay, or just a little odd. Somehow this seems obvious on an episode of American Experience, but these slides made it real for me. It clarified why, several years later, my parents dropped out and moved to the Haight. And why there was so much tension between my parents and my grandparents, and I was somewhere in the middle.

Russell and LaPrele Adams, 1962

Good TV tray use, 1962

This party is out of control!

Adams and Jeffs family, 1960

My Jeffs cousins, 1960

More bored and uptight white people, 1959

JFK funeral on TV, 1963

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The 41^st Annual of Advertising and Editorial Art & Design of the Art Director’s Club of New York is an incredibly long title. If I were faced with this, I would suggest making it longer by adding multiple adjectives as in, The Unbelievable 41^st Annual of Glorious and Mind-blowing Advertising and Kick-Ass Editorial Art & Design of the Grooviest Art Director’s Club of the Center of the Universe, New York. But, clearly, the editor in 1962 did not have the foresight and genius to do this. So it was shortened to a simple acronym, 41ADNY62. Which is okay if you like to read license plates.

Title aside, the book design is sublime. I have worked on many book projects, only to realize that I am shamelessly appropriating from this annual. If I were smart I would simply steal the design, claim it as my own, and deny and wrong doing. One of my downfalls is, unfortunately, a commitment to ethics. So I admire the book, and design something of my own. If you have no ethics, here it is, in all its beautiful Firmin Didot-esque glory.

Robert M. Smith, designer: 41ADNY62, title spread

Robert M. Smith, designer: 41ADNY62, detail

Robert M. Smith, designer: 41ADNY62, chapter divider

Robert M. Smith, designer: 41ADNY62, interior

Robert M. Smith, designer: 41ADNY62, detail

Robert M. Smith, designer: 41ADNY62, slipcase

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Hawaii's Greatest Hits, Best album design ever, 1968

A good friend of mine, the amazing designer Jim Cross, is a great aficionado of traditional Hawaiian music. Jim has impeccable taste. His taste in classic, authentic Hawaiian music is educated and refined. I, on the other hand, have plebian taste in many things. I’m just as happy at In-n-Out Burger as a 5 star steakhouse. My taste in Hawaiian music is no less low-end.

If you want to experience the truly relaxing Hawaiian sounds, check out Hawaii Calls. This was a program broadcast in front of the banyan tree at the Moana Hotel on Waikiki. On weekends, I tune the Pandora station to this and relax with rum based beverages. If you enjoy chanting, ukulele, drums, and the slack-key guitar (and who doesn’t), you’ll love this Hawaiian music. If you have a problem with the soothing sounds of the islands, buy the records for the covers alone. At least you will be anxious, mean, and angry while enjoying the album art.

Hawaii's Greatest Hits, liner notes, 1968

Lucien Hetu, Hawaiian Magic

Hawaii's Greatest Hits 2, 1979

Martin Denny, Hawaii, 1967

Elvis Presley, Blue Hawaii, 1962

Alfred Apaka, 1964

50 Guitars Visit Hawaii, 1962

Alfred Apaka's Greatest Hits, 1970

Aloha Hawaii, Lani McIntire, 1950

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