Evelyn Ackerman, Hot Summer Landscape, 1958

I’ve been accused of living in a bubble. Supposedly, the real world is very different than the one I inhabit. One of the issues with my bubble world is that I assume everyone knows the same things I do. Last week, one of my students told me she had read only ten books in her entire life. The week before someone told me they like old movies, especially Clueless. I assumed my Vertigo references and discussions about Ginsberg’s Howl made sense to everyone. A light bulb went off in my head, and I discovered that references I take for granted are not as universal as I thought. Of course, it’s a 2-way street. When someone asks if I like any new music, I say Thompson Twins.

Jerome and Evelyn Ackerman are remarkable artists. I presumed everyone knew their work. But, as I have learned, sometimes that isn’t true. The Ackermans are integral to the fabric of California craft. Since they opened Jenev Design Studio in 1952, they opened the door to the idea of craft combined with modernism. Their ability to swing from ceramics, wood, textiles, metal, and glass is remarkable. And across all these media, the sense of exuberance and joy is apparent. Bad design can sink under the weight of its own importance.

The Ackerman work is incredibly important. It inspired generations of artists in California as well as everyday people who wanted to dabble in craft. Yet, it never is self-important. The work always communicates the idea of the human hand. And it invites viewers to stop whatever they are doing and begin to create.

Many of these images are from one of my favorite sites, http://www.midcenturia.com.

Evelyn and Jerome Ackerman, 1949

Evelyn Ackerman, Stained Glass Hooked Rug, 1969

Evelyn Ackerman, Autumn Abstract, tapestry

Evelyn and Jerome Ackerman, Pennants, Autumn Abstract, mosaic panel, 1958

Evelyn Ackerman, Buildings, handwoven wool, 1964

Jerome Ackerman, Horse inlaid door pulls, 1959

Evelyn Ackerman, Launch Pad, wallhanging, 2 versions 1971

Evelyn and Jerome Ackerman, Signs of the Zodiac, detail, 1967

Left: Floral redwood door panel ca. 1960's; Center: Bird redwood door panel, ca. 1960's Right: Flower girl wall panel, 1962

Left: St. George and the Dragon wall panel, 1959; Center: Adam (part of a triptych of Adam & Eve); Right: Daniel and the Lion's Den, 1965

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Chermayeff and Geismar, Pan Am poster, 1971

The hardest thing to do as a designer is nothing. Not as in, “I’ll sit on the sofa and stare at the carpet.” What I am talking about here is the restraint to let something be what it is. One of the tenets of modernism is to be true to materials. Steel should look like steel. It shouldn’t be painted to simulate wood. The idea then is to let something be what it is.

The first thing I do as a designer is reach into my bag of tricks. I can put the image inside the typography, make a bright background, overprint a big yellow word, or create a grid of interesting colors. Fortunately, I move on to actually thinking and do something different (unless a big yellow word makes sense that day). Often, the subject matter is more than enough visual interest. Or it is complex conceptually and doesn’t need flying triangles to assist in the message.

When we worked on the reface of the Sundance Channel, we built a system that had one rule: use one typeface, Bob, in all caps, the same size, on a centerline horizon. Anything behind the type was fair game. This was a network about film and ideas, not graphic tricks. It worked great for about a year, and then someone got antsy and decided to add a colored box. Then the floodgates opened and the flying boxes and graphics ran back in.

When I look at Chermayeff and Geismar’s 1971 campaign for Pan Am, or Doyle Dane Bernbach’s 1964 campaign for Jamaica, I see how this restraint and faith in the subject works. Lou Danziger’s poster for UCLA Extension is genius in it’s obviousness and simplicity. It’s not easy to walk into a client’s office and say, “I don’t want to do anything. I just want to focus on the subject in the simplest way possible,” and then send an invoice. A great subject will always make a great solution, unless you get in the way.

Chermayeff and Geismar, Pan Am poster, 1971

Chermayeff and Geismar, Pan Am poster, 1971

Chermayeff and Geismar, Pan Am poster, 1971

Doyle Dane Bernbach, Jamaica Tourism Board ad, 1964

Doyle Dane Bernbach, Jamaica Tourism Board ad, 1964

Gan Hosaya, Yamaha poster, 1969

Ruedi Külling, Bic Pens ad, 1961

Paul Rand, IBM poster, 1982

William Golden, The Vice Presidency on CBS ad, 1950s

William Golden, The Vice Presidency on CBS ad, 1950s

Lou Danziger, UCLA Extension poster

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Hitchhiking sign, Berkeley Barb, San Francisco, May 1975

I’m pretty sure people are who they are when they are born. My parents were firmly entrenched in the counter-culture movement. I refused to wear jeans when I was 4 because they were what those “dirty people” wore. It sounds kind of prissy to me now. I liked grey flannel trousers like my grandfather’s. When I was 8, my mother started giving rides to hitchhiking hippies. “Mom,” I would plead, “This is illegal. They might be ax murderers.”

In particular, there was a hippie lesbian couple with three kids who were always hitchhiking on their way to Lake Tahoe or Truckee. Once a week, we’d see them standing near the entrance ramp and pick them up. I was sure they had kidnapped the kids, had dope in their bags, and probably committed countless other crimes. My mother insisted they weren’t ax murderers and I should be polite to everyone.

So I sat in the back of the station wagon with a peace sticker on the window, wearing my trousers and button down shirt, shocked by the free spirit of the hitchhiking family. I’m sure they thought my parents must have kidnapped me from an uptight square family.

East Village Other, New York, January 1971

Other Scenes, New York, September 1969

The East Village Other, July 1969

me and my sister Heather, 1971

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Richard Terpstra, Walt Disney World Florida t-shirt

You can’t tell if something is dark without also seeing something light. In the same way, it’s hard to know when something is bad, when it’s all you’ve known. When I was growing up, we moved constantly, as if my parents were on the run from the law. When I left home at 18, we’d moved 22 times on three continents. I didn’t realize this was bad until I was able to stay in one place for more than 18 months.

I had another realization like this last week. I was at Walt Disney World and saw someone wearing a completely groovy t-shirt with the original Walt Disney World 1971 logo. I assumed it was an old shirt until I found it in a store. Richard Terpstra designed the shirt this year. On a side note, Terpstra is a genius at creating new products that have a sense of history and never seem forced or bad replications. Then, I found more t-shirts that I loved. Yes, they all nod to the past and fall into a post-modern pastiche concept. Yes, they are ironic and something someone would wear at a coffee house in Brooklyn or spice store in Silverlake. But, I could wear them too. That’s a real accomplishment to create a product that can run the gamut from hard-core hipster to Fred MacMurray.

Now, why was this a realization? Because I’m not used to seeing something this well designed on my side of the country at Disneyland. I’m a huge fan of Kevin Kidney items, and own an amount of them others find “eccentric”. The other merchandise at Disneyland is, well, cheesy. I hear about the issue of annual passport holders not buying merchandise at Disneyland often. I’ve had an annual passport since 1984 and don’t buy t-shirts. But I’ve only seen the overwrought glittery hyper-cute Disneyland t-shirts.

The cat’s out of the bag for me. I’ve seen what is possible. Someone in Florida at Disney Park merchandising is doing something wonderful and exciting. They’re taking risks and designing for an audience other than the Housewives of Anaheim. Bravo (no pun intended).

Walt Disney World Epcot t-shirt

Walt Disney World Epcot t-shirt

Walt Disney World Sunshine Pavilion t-shirts

Walt Disney World Epcot t-shirt

Walt Disney World t-shirt

Richard Terpstra, WDW and DLP t-shirts

Kevin Kidney, Disneyland vintage logo shirt

Kevin Kidney, Walt Disney World ceramic cups

Walt Disney World Sunshine Pavilion Orange Bird cups

The extremely cool Mary Blair vase, Kevin Kidney

Disneyland t-shirt

Disneyland t-shirt

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The Angry Black South, 1962

Designers often ask me what I look for in a portfolio. I always look at typography. There are a million decisions and variables in type. If someone can manipulate the complex issues of legibility, form, scale, and meaning with combinations of 26 letters, and create something wonderful, they can probably manage any project. But what makes good typography? It’s not about choosing beautifully drawn typefaces (but that’s a big part), or setting everything at 4 point (some of us like to read the words). It isn’t about maintaining a rigid Swiss structure (but that’s a good place to start). It’s about making a dynamic, exciting, and meaningful experience.

I’ve seen solutions that are incredibly elegant, but make no sense. A refined cut of Didot is probably not needed for a poster about seal clubbing (the animals and blood, not the musician and nightclubs). I don’t like typography that’s just nice. There’s enough boring stuff to look at already. If the type is classical and elegant, it should be so beautiful that you want to throw up. If the subject, such as The Angry Black South needs simple communication, let it be just that: simple communication. I like to think of typography as pictures of words. Which makes the statement, A picture is worth a thousand words,” a very complex math problem.

Robert Indiana, A Day Book, 1972

Larry Ratzkin, Black Power : The Politics of Liberation, 1967

Roy Kuhlman, New French Writing, 1961

Roy Kuhlman, Krapp's Last Tape, 1960

Roy Kuhlman, Three Plays By Harold Pinter, 1960

Roy Kuhlman, Ping Pong, 1959

S. Neil Fujita, In Cold Blood, 1966

AdamsMorioka, Building Sex, 1995

Roy Kuhlman, Four Plays, 1958

Roy Kuhlman, Nadja

Roy Kuhlman, Revolutionary Notes, 1969

Robert Indiana, Kulcher No. 17., 1965

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