Will Burtin, Fortune magazine, detail, 1947

Sometimes, too much is not enough. This may seem contradictory to the typical badgering I do about minimalism. The point of minimalism is to use only what is needed and nothing more. And there are instances where quite a bit is needed. A few years ago I went to Hallmark in Kansas City to give a talk. On the tour of the headquarters, I saw the remarkable diorama Alexander Girard designed. Now, I typically, am not a big fan of cute Victorian paper dolls and tiny shoes. But in this context they sure looked good. Mary Blair was genius at combining multiple forms into a cohesive whole.

Alexander Girard, exhibition case, Hallmark headquarters

Mary Blair, mural design

That same skill is evident in a feature Will Burtin designed for Fortune magazine in 1947. This is why the Burtin spreads work: First, there is a clear and strong grid structure. The elements work proportionately with each other. Second, Burtin uses scale to create drama and pacing. The cigar Indian is huge, while the huckster person is small. There are tiny and huge elements. Third, the pages are not a sea of rectangles, or as we like to say, “do not make that look like the wonderful world of rectangles.” Images are silhouetted, odd shapes, or trompe l’oeil. And finally, the color and typography are simple, consistent, and minimal.

However, beware of the temptation here. As you can see, it can be easy to become promiscuous with imagery. You don not want to be a layout slut, adding as many varieties of images and shapes as possible. 

Will Burtin, Fortune magazine spread, 1947

Will Burtin, Fortune magazine spread, 1947

Will Burtin, Fortune magazine spread, 1947

Will Burtin, Fortune magazine spread, 1947

Will Burtin, Fortune magazine spread, 1947

Will Burtin, Fortune magazine spread, 1947

Will Burtin, Fortune magazine spread, 1947

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Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, kitchen, 1953

Years ago, I saw a documentary, 901: After 45 Years of Working. This documentary follows the archiving of the Eames studio, as its contents were packed for shipping to the Smithsonian, after Ray’s death. It’s incredible, of course. A lifetime of collecting is carefully organized in flat files and boxes. There are flat files filled with thimbles, another drawer of round shells, another with buttons, pieces of kimono fabric, spoons, pebbles, Victorian cards, and anything else you might consider collecting. After an hour of drawers, drawers and more drawers, and boxes of stuff, I found myself getting edgy. Yes, it’s incredible, but stop the archiving, get a Hefty bag.

I bought the new Alexander Girard book by Todd Oldham and Kiera Coffee. I expected a nice comprehensive publication of Girard’s work, not another catalogue of cute Girard blocks and merchandise. And it is exactly that: smart, comprehensive, beautiful, and well printed. The book is enormous. I felt sorry for the UPS dude. It’s almost as big as the coffee table, is 672 pages, and weighs 15 pounds. It is comprehensive and spectacular.

Girard’s house in Santa Fe is overwhelming. Here, more is not enough. The colors and textures are playful and exuberant. There isn’t a detail overlooked. It gave me permission to paint a mural in the hall, or put out every Mexican and Japanese folk art item I own. Like the Eames studio, there is a lot of stuff. And when there isn’t an object, he paints the surface to invoke a landscape. I was especially interested in the mural that looks exactly like It’s a Small World. Was it zeitgeist? Did Mary Blair visit and copy him? Did he copy from Mary Blair’s drawings? Who cares? It’s extraordinary.

Images from Alexander Girard, by Todd Oldham and Keira Coffee, and the Library of Congress

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, kitchen, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, kitchen, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, kitchen, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, kitchen, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, patio, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, drawing for mural, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, mural, 1953

Alexander Girard, Santa Fe house, mural, 1953

It's a Small World, Disneyland, 1964

Alexander Girard by Todd Oldham and Keira Coffee

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Mary Blair, detail, Thunder Mesa study, 1970

When you are a designer of any kind, interior, graphic, industrial, whatever, you receive really awful gifts. This sounds horrible and ungrateful. It’s the gifts your parents, grandparents, and cousins give you. We’ve all been in the situation when you’re given a lovely gift wrapped in the “cool” wrapping paper from the Container Store. When you discover it’s a remarkably over-designed swoopy lady-shaped wine corkscrew in lime green, you must express surprise and incredible happiness. It’s assumed that, as a designer, you must like the groovy designed things. I bypass this problem by telling my family to focus on gifts of cactus and American flags.

I did, however, receive one of my best gifts for my birthday this year. The Disney Gallery at Disneyland is holding an exhibition of Mary Blair. The studies for the lost attraction, Thunder Mesa, are truly genius. And the renderings for the Grand Canyon Concourse tiles are possibly the best color palette ever conceived. These two birthday gifts are now in my kitchen. I considered putting them downstairs in the rumpus room so they wouldn’t fade. That would be no fun. And that’s a bad path. Soon I will be closing all the blinds, draping furniture, and storing art in a dark space, like my grandparents.

Mary Blair, Thunder Mesa study, 1969

Mary Blair, detail, Grand Canyon Concourse study, 1969

Mary Blair, detail, Grand Canyon Concourse study, 1969

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Mary Blair, Grand Canyon Concourse, Walt Disney World, 1971

And now, an old classic revisited. When I visit Walt Disney World, I’m often trailed by security. Well, that actually happens most places. This is because I’m the odd person photographing the Exit sign very closely. The same is true when I visit the Contemporary Resort to shoot Mary Blair’s incredible Grand Canyon Concourse tile work. It moves me to tears that people will be sitting under it, and not notice it until I’m photographing it. “Whoa, well I’ll be, what the hell is that thar thingamajig? It sure is big.” I want to yell at them, “Look you nitwit. It’s right above you, it’s giant, it’s impossible to miss!” But I don’t because security is watching.

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watermelon/coral, baby blue, butter yellow, and fuschia— what's better?

This year, we signed a new lease on the office. Last year was so crappy that Noreen and I decided a mini-overhaul was due. We had the office repainted and replaced the green carpet that looked like a dental office. We’ve lived with the same pastel colors for 17 years, and it seemed like the right time to evolve. For me that meant leaving behind the world of 1955 and moving forward to 1967. Mary Blair’s color palette for How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying has always been a favorite of mine. So this became our jumping off point.

I was pleased that we were evolving into a more sophisticated palette until the building management reported back that they loved it because it looked like a Mexican restaurant. Fine by me, if we could get a liquor license I would gladly begin to serve Margaritas. I’m sure it would be more profitable than being a design firm. Hey, there’s an idea here. I’ll talk to Noreen about this tomorrow.

the view from my desk

a butterscotch wall and the grey carpet and Kris

avocado green and baby blue, welcome to our nightmare

baby blue and a poster shrine

a peek into the avocado green kitchen (it's too messy to show)

Noreen's own little corner

They say it's too bright.

How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Mary Blair color

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Mary Blair color

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