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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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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Jessica Hische,The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Barnes and Noble Classics, 2011

When I was in college, I rigorously adhered to neat and minimal aesthetics. “Sean,” Lorraine Wild said, “Try loosening up. Do something that isn’t polite.” Lou Danziger told me, “Do something ugly.” Since I couldn’t understand this, they suggested I take a year and study in the fine art department. Theoretically, this would lead to a creative epiphany and I would be flinging depressing paint colors around a room. It all started fine, and I made some big expressive paintings of Patsy Cline. On the next iteration, I added text to create an image/text narrative. Then I decided the image wasn’t necessary, so I painted only the text. Finally, I didn’t like the hand-made expressive quality of the text; it seemed forced. So I typeset the text in 8 point Bodoni and mounted it to the canvas. By the end of the year, I had come full circle and was creating minimal type driven work.

I am in awe of those who can work with complexity and decoration and maintain a sense of rigor. So often, this approach can lead to something sentimental and feel like an overwrought Get Well card. Like all good design, a sense of joy is critical. Jessica Hische’s covers for Barnes and Noble Classics are a great example of this. The intricacy of detail is countered by a clear sense of order. The result is something that has an emotional connection to the viewer. You may not have owned a worn copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but Jessica’s cover looks like the one you would have had next to your bed. The reality of something is never as important as our memory. These covers tap into our own narratives and remind us that books are treasured. I also appreciate that Jessica said I was like a “really cool Uncle,” as opposed to “my ancient grandfather.”

Jessica Hische, Barnes and Noble Classics, 2011

Jessica Hische, Wuthering Heights, Barnes and Noble Classics, 2011

Jessica Hische, Dracula, Barnes and Noble Classics, 2011

Jessica Hische, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Barnes and Noble Classics, 2011

Jessica Hische, Jane Eyre, Barnes and Noble Classics, 2011

Jessica Hische, Pride and Prejudice, Barnes and Noble Classics, 2011

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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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A.M. Cassandre, Dole Pineapple ad, 1938

There are not too many things in life that make me angry. I like to think I am fairly even. Those of you close to me can stop snickering. But, there are a couple of things that make me furious. I want to slug someone when I’m doing a lecture at school, and he or she is texting or working on the computer. I know they aren’t taking notes; they’re shopping or chatting with friends.  I hate people who drive with the seat so far forward that they are two inches from the steering wheel, and think 15 mph is too fast. And I really get mad when I suggest that a student takes time to look at the work of someone, and they don’t, and their project still sucks the next week.

When anyone is having trouble with shapes, I send them to look at A.M. Cassandre’s work. When I was in school, Lou Danziger did the same for me. I did take time to look and it was one of those epiphanic moments in life. A.M.Cassandre worked in Paris from the early 1920s until his death in 1968. His work took elements of Cubism, Futurism, Art Deco, and Bauhaus Modernism and molded them into a unique form. The posters look effortless and fluid, but they are held together with rigor and structure. He had a remarkable sense of scale. The small flock of birds at the waterline on the Normandie poster creates a heroic scale. His Dole Pineapple posters are as sensual as a Georgia O’Keefe painting. It is his sense of shape that is genius. Liquid and solid, effortless and exact, the shapes create harmony and balance. So, if I suggest looking at Cassandre, the subtext is “Your shapes are awful.”

Images from the Louis Danziger Collection

A.M. Cassandre, poster for SS Normandie, 1935

A.M. Cassandre, Dole Pineapple ad, 1938

A.M. Cassandre, poster for Pathé Records, 1932

A.M. Cassandre, poster for SS Statendam, 1928

A.M. Cassandre, poster for Dutch Industrial Exhibition, 1928

A.M. Cassandre, poster for Etoile du Nord, 1927

A.M. Cassandre, poster for Nord Express, 1927

A.M. Cassandre, grid structure for Nord Express, 1927

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