AdamsMorioka, 1999

Have you ever accidentally stolen something and felt like Lindsay Lohan or Winona Ryder? I’m not talking about jewelry, scarves, or children. This is about accidental design theft. It happens to everyone, myself included. I’ll finish a project, be quite pleased with it, and then months or years later find the original inspiration. Usually it’s a piece of design that I love, but have filed somewhere in my brain. My unconscious mind must be saying, “Remember that Alvin Lustig poster? Steal that.” Consciously, I simply presume I had a wonderful idea.

When a friend sends me an example of how they were ripped off, I usually tell them “Imitation is the best compliment.” Sometimes it’s obvious, a poster for an event in Alabama looks exactly like one by Marian Bantjes. Or, a student designs a poster for Vertigo and gives me Saul Bass’s poster. On my way to work, I pass a billboard for the band XX’s new album Coexist. It is remarkably similar to a poster we designed for the AIGA Capital Campaign in 1999. Now, I know an “X” is an “X”, and claiming I was copied is like claiming I own the golden section. I’ve decided to use it as an affirmation, that 13 years later, the original poster is super groovy.

The XX poster

The XX poster

AdamsMorioka, 1995

Good to Great, 2001

Alvin Lustig

AdamsMorioka

George Nelson

AdamsMorioka

Alexy Brodovitch

AdamsMorioka

Herbert Bayer

AdamsMorioka

Lou Danziger

AdamsMorioka

Lester Beall

AdamsMorioka

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Matthew Liebowitz, promotion, 1947

People often ask me, “Sean, what’s the secret with this whole graphic design thing?” Of course, there is no secret. Or if there is, nobody told me. I can say, however, that a big rule for me is contrast. There is no such thing as too bright, or too much contrast in design. I’m not big on de-saturated colors and soft contrast. Design should be bold. There’s an old saying about teaching a donkey. First you smack it in the head with a two by four, and then give it the message. Now, clearly, I don’t advocate donkey cruelty. But, design is the same. First, get the audience’s attention. Then tell them the story.

Red, white, and black are good choices for contrast and bold statements. I’ve used this combination many times and quite enjoyed it. The danger is looking like a Nazi. The Nazis were rather keen on black and red, so you need to be careful to not appear to be a Facist. Using a little bit of red and a little bit of black isn’t the same thing. Remember: donkey, two-by-four, and big.

Alvin Lustig, book cover, 1940s

Gustav Klustis, poster, 1928

Henry Wolf, Esquire magazine cover, 1955

Henry Wolf, Magazine spread, 1960s

Herbert Matter, Arts and Architecture magazine cover, 1947

AdamsMorioka, Frederator postcard

John Massey, Orchestra Poster, 1960s

Karel Vaca, film poster, 1964

Lester Beall, promotion, 1938

Paul rand, Art Direction magazine cover, 1939

Paul Rand, department store ad, 1947

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Greatest Show on Earth, M. Willson Disher

Call me out of touch, but I love books. I recall being told in college to “spend money on books, not pot.” Unfortunately, I was spending money on Top Ramen, not books nor pot. I’m not a book snob. I’m thrilled to find a copy of Tidewater Virginia as well as a first edition of To Kill a Mockingbird. While I spend many hours showing Paul Rand and Alvin Lustig jackets, I have a secret love for the jackets of the unknown. With titles such as Saphira and the Slave Girl, which sounds faintly lesbian-esque, how can you go wrong?

The New York Public Library has a remarkable digital collection of book jackets from 1926-1947. These aren’t chosen by a select group of designers for high design aesthetic value. Research Libraries typically remove dust jackets and discard them before shelving the books. From 1926-1947 anonymous librarians collected and saved jackets they found interesting. They range from unbelievably wonderful, Greatest Show on Earth, to the odd, Less Eminent Victorians. As a collection, the design trends and resources become clear. The lack of color during the World War II period is obvious. The minimal usage of photography shows, not a preference for illustration, but the issues with printing technologies at the time. As it was common for an illustrator to be hired to draw the cover jacket, much of the typography is hand-lettered in wonderful ways.

The books here have a subtext of personal care. Someone handled this artifact, chose the cover, and carefully stored it in a scrapbook. Perhaps it’s because my grandfather had a wonderful library, and my grandmother was never without a book, but these books all seem to have been loved.

Shown here is the first of a series on this subject. The book jackets images include the spine.

Victorian Panorama, Peter Quennell

Leigh Hunt, Edmund Blunden

Monty's New House, Hillary Stebbing

The New Book of Days, Eleanor Farjeon

Afternoon of a Pawnbroker, Kenneth Fearing

The Friend of Shelley, by H.J. Massingham

Less Eminent Victorians, R.D.

The Litany of Washington Street, Vachel Lindsay

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Bauhaus newsletter, 1929

Somehow by attrition, I have become the “go to” designer when color is involved. This amazes me because my color theory is pretty simple: everything works with everything. Just don’t be wimpy. I love hateful combinations such as almond, maroon, and teal. I’d make every project avocado, burnt orange, butter yellow, baby blue, and magenta if I could. But, oddly, I love black and white. It’s the color combination used the least. Everyone assumes it’s ubiquitous, so everything is full of color. When was the last time you saw a stark black and white ad, billboard, or television commercial? Color is an evil temptress; we attempt restrain, but are lured with the promise of excitement. Be brave. Try black and white. This isn’t black and white with a splash of orange. No. No splash. You must deny any additional color.

AdamsMorioka

Beverige Byrd Seay

Michael Bierut

unknown

unknown

Michael Vanderbyl

Tibor Kalman

Josef Muller Brockmann

Josef Muller Brockmann

Saul Steinberg

Sister Corita Kent

unkown

Marget Larsen

Paul Rand

Lou Danziger

Herbert Matter

Alvin Lustig

Michael Bierut

Herb Lubalin

AdamsMorioka

Michael Vanderbyl

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Alvin Lustig, American Crayon exhibition, 1954

I was once asked after a lecture, “How do you respond to the accusation that you are mining the past?” I should have talked about appropriation, pastiche, nostalgia, and using familiar forms to create a sense of reassurance. But did I? No, of course not. I said quickly, “Mining the past? I’d say raping the past.” This is one more example of my nitwittiness adding to the sense that we are shallow and stupid people spending their days surfing.

Years ago, we designed the signage program for all Old Navy stores. I was especially happy with the primary directional signage for the flagship stores. The sign was made with interchangeable disks that could be rearranged by a store manager. There was concern that children might try to climb it, but my idea of adding barbed wire fencing around it was dismissed.

Then I found an example of Alvin Lustig’s exhibition for American Crayon at the Aspen Design Conference. Damn that Alvin Lustig, he beat me to the lollipop idea. Lutsig’s environmental work is light and delicate. The signage for Northland Shopping Center is one of my favorite programs. Why don’t shopping centers still look like this? The signs are fresh, optimistic, and functional. They use three-dimensional space structurally. And they are not garish, desperately screaming, “Look at me! Look at me!” Now I need to be careful not to design a sign that has an asterisk symbol on the top of the poles. Wait, I think I have.

Alvin Lustig, Weiss Jewelry Beverly Hills, 1947

Alvin Lustig, Northland Shopping Center signage, 1954

Alvin Lustig, Northland Shopping Center signage, 1954

Alvin Lustig, Northland Shopping Center signage, 1954

AdamsMorioka, Old Navy signage, 2000

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