Sean Adams, AIGA Hampton Roads skate deck, 2012

I’m always surprised when someone says, “You guys are the quintessential southern California firm.” I don’t think of us this way. I like to think we’re a serious, intelligent, and dedicated crew, not pot smoking surf dudes and dudettes. We don’t help this reputation with our watermelon, spearmint, and butter yellow walls. And then there is the skateboard incident. Several years ago, Noreen was a judge for the British Design and Art Director’s competition. This is one of the most prestigious shows in the world and the judging is rigorous. The judges are pulled from around the world. I did it a couple of years after her, and slept for a week when I returned home.

Someone submitted a skateboard to the competition and Noreen’s jury was trying to decide if it should be included. “We need to ride it,” she said. This makes perfect sense to me. It might look good, but what if it doesn’t work. Unfortunately, this behavior is unheard of in polite British society. So Noreen’s ride around the room on the board drew gasps and shock. Perhaps the southern California idea isn’t wrong.

This week, I made two skateboard decks for AIGA Hampton Roads’ Shred show. I’m happy to do it and help out a great chapter. Of course, since I’m super square, my solutions are the dorkiest in the group. But, that’s good too. It makes everyone else look incredibly hip.

Sean Adams, AIGA Hampton Roads skate deck, 2012

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Matthew Leibowitz, General Dynamics, 1965

Noreen just took on the job of AIGA Los Angeles president for the second time. She served as president over a decade ago, and decided it was time to step back into the role. Of course, there were people who immediately claimed she was doing this for the fame and glory. And to those people I say, “(insert extremely offensive swearing here.)” If any glory is to be had, that happened on the first go-around. The second term is risk. She could just walk away and be remembered as a great president from the past.

As for fame, I don’t understand why anyone would put him or herself through that much work and stress for something so transitory. Over the years, we’ve been called media whores, PR hounds, and the Paris Hiltons of design. I prefer to think of us as the Donny and Marie of design, and just keep trying to make good work.

This is what I think about fame and design: famous designers are like famous dentists. There are famous dentists. I don’t know them. After all, we are designers, not George Clooney. Contrary to common thought, being famous does not translate into people handing you checks or offering sex (well, for some it does).

A couple of years ago at the Academy Awards, we sprinted along the red carpet to reach the Kodak Theater. It’s scary. There are lots of people yelling in the stands and lots of press taking photos. Normal people run from this. Actors wave to the crowd and encourage them, soaking up as much attention as possible. This wasn’t simply, “I love my fans.” It was a extreme version of “LOVE ME PLEASE!” I know designers can be needy, but not like that.

What’s important, the only thing that matters in the end is the work. Matthew Leibowitz is not one of the names design students regularly reference. There are no monographs or critical essays on his work. But, today, almost 40 years after he died, I still show his work as examples of great design. He pulled together a range of forms from minimal geometry to Victorian etching. There is a sense of Dada and Surrealism in his work. It always manages to walk that fine line of European modernism and American eclecticism.

I don’t know what Leibowitz thought about design celebrity. If he was applauded when he entered a room or ignored isn’t relevant. What is left is a remarkable body of inspiring work.

If you’d like to know more about Matthew Leibowitz visit some of these fine websites:

http://www.uartsgd.com/GD40/Leibowitz/MatthewLeibowitz.html

http://aqua-velvet.com/2010/09/matthew-liebowitz-general-dynamics-1965/

http://www.thisisdisplay.org/features/matthew_leibowitz_visual_translator/

http://library.rit.edu/gda/designer/matthew-leibowitz

Matthew Leibowitz, album cover

Matthew Leibowitz, paper promotion, 1968

Matthew Leibowitz, brochure cover, 1940s

Matthew Leibowitz, General Dynamics, 1965

Matthew Leibowitz, album cover, 1958

Matthew Leibowitz, General Dynamics, 1965

Matthew Leibowitz, Fortune magazine cover, 1947

Matthew Leibowitz, Philco book cover

Matthew Leibowitz, Philco book spread

Matthew Leibowitz, album cover, 1958

Donny and Marie Osmond

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Tomoko Miho, poster, 65 Bridges to New York, 1967.

Whenever Noreen and I have attended a conference together, or spoken together (which is rare), she is surrounded by a coterie of fans. Of course, I’m typically waving and shouting, “I’m over here!” She’s always excited to meet new people, but isn’t so good at hearing compliments. Hard to believe, but she’s rather humble. The one compliment she has the most trouble accepting is when a young Asian woman tells her that she is her hero. This happens often. If I were a young Asian woman, I would say the same thing. I understand the issue, being someone’s hero, or ideal is a lot of pressure. One wrong word, and, bam, it’s over.

I remind Noreen that she said the same thing when she was starting out to Tomoko Miho. Whenever I see the movie, Two For the Road, with Audrey Hepburn, I think about Tomoko Miho. In the 1960s, she and the remarkable Jim Miho spent half a year touring Europe in a silver Porsche. They visited designers and must have been the chicest people in every restaurant or little village.

Miho’s work is lucid, minimal, true to international style modernism, and speaks with clarity. But it also allows for spontaneity and the unexpected. In her words, she “Joins space and substance. It is that harmony that creates the ringing clarity of statement that we sense as an experience, as a meaningful whole, as a oneness-as good design.” And, of course, she was Noreen’s hero.

Tomoko Miho, poster Great Architecture in Chicago, 1967.

Tomoko Miho, early 1950s

Tomoko Miho, poster and symbol, Omniplan Architects, Dallas, 1971

Tomoko Miho, poster for Champion Paper, 1971

Tomoko Miho, poster, National Council of Architectural Registration Boards, 1978.

Tomoko Miho, poster National Air and Space Museum, 1976

Tomoko Miho, packaging design, Neiman Marcus, 1972

Audrey Hepburn, Two for the Road, 1967

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Saul Bass, Academy Award consideration, Some Like It Hot

When I was younger, I strongly believed in the ethos of compassion and help. As I’ve aged, this has worn away. Often, I now find myself muttering, “damned idiots, dammit, damn, damn.” It’s not particularly eloquent, but it’s my best. As an example, I am completely supportive of design for good, and positive social change. Design is a sharp tool and should be used to make a better world. I do not, however, believe design for commerce is bad and should be hidden away in shame. Too often, we can fall into the trap of only taking on events that promote design for good. But the subtext here is that the work for commerce is less relevant. This only communicates the idea that we are less worthy if we are not designing websites for recycled DIY bamboo huts. Nothing is less true.

As I’ve said, before, we have the chance to make life better for others with every project (assuming you are not designing neo-Nazi newsletters). If I do a job well, the client does better. The employees keep their jobs. They put braces on their kids’ teeth. The orthodontist can send his kids to college. This is no less positive than promoting social causes.

Saul Bass was a designer who understood the balance of design for good, commerce, and cultural change. When I am feeling especially cranky, I am reminded of Saul’s generous nature. On our first day in the studio back in 1994, the first phone call was from Saul. “Congratulations,” he said, and, “What can I do for you two?” He didn’t need to do this. But this encouragement gave us the confidence to plow through the most difficult times. If Saul Bass considered us worthy of a phone call, we couldn’t be that bad. Now, I try to do the same. I do this not because I feel honor-bound or think it will absolve me of previous crimes. That small act made a huge impact on Noreen and myself. So rather than worrying about designing only for Greenpeace, we try to help in smaller day-to-day ways.

Saul Bass, Academy Award consideration, Some Like It Hot

Saul Bass, Academy Award consideration, The Magnificent Seven

Saul Bass, Academy Award consideration, The Magnificent Seven

Saul Bass, poster, The Fireman's Ball

Saul Bass, poster, Grand Prix

Saul Bass, poster, Bunny Lake is Missing

Saul Bass, The San Francisco Film Festival

Saul Bass, poster, Advise & Consent

Saul Bass, poster, One Two Three

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Sean Adams

The UCLA Extension Masters of Design program was conceived and managed by InJu Sturgeon. InJu had the genius idea to elevate the utilitarian course catalogue covers working with some of the world’s best designers. Paul Rand designed the first cover in 1990. The program soon became the coveted assignment. Other designers including Saul Bass, Paula Scher, Woody Pirtle, Ivan Chermayeff, and Michael Bierut have tackled the same assignment: education, Los Angeles, the season, and extension. In 1998, we were honored to be asked to design our first cover. This was daunting, solving the same assignment as some of our heroes. Michael Vanderbyl was the encouraging voice for us, and convinced us to have fun. The series could easily have become a hodge-podge of crazed egos. But InJu’s remarkable skill handling designers consistently leads to some of the best work. When working with InJu, it is immediately clear that there is no room for diva-esque behavior. Hence my typical screaming, demanding, and abusive approach was not welcome. And I have never net anyone so adept at motivating me to do better.

Paul Rand

Noreen Morioka

Saul Bass

Michael Bierut

Sean Adams

Michael Vanderbyl

Noreen Morioka

Sean Adams

Ivan Chermayeff

Paula Scher

Woody Pirtle

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