I am now going to rant. After looking at many, many incoming portfolios for the ArtCenter graduate graphic design program, I cannot remain silent any longer. I will admit that the majority are excellent and some are truly stellar. There are unique visions, clear passion, and a wide range of points of view, which is wonderful. But once in awhile, there seem to be some very, very, very bad things happening in the world that I did not know about. I must now speak to save my sanity for the future.
I will begin with the most obvious. Spelling. Spell the name of the school you are applying to correctly. ArtCenter is not At Center. Los Angeles has a space between "Los" and "Angeles." Make sure you spell "Graphic Design" correctly on the opening slide.
Next, line length. What has happened? Where did the world go so wrong? How does one get through any design class with a line length that goes on and on and on? Please help the reader. It's humane and kind.
Hanging punctuation. Please.
Then, Century Gothic. WTF? It's not even Avant Garde, which should only be used in the most expert of hands. If you haven't mastered typography and worked for thirty years veer away from Avant-Garde. Stick with the classics such as Garamond, Univers, even Clarendon. I cannot unsee what I have seen. The endless line length typeset in Century Gothic, rife with spelling errors.
And finally, what's with the cats? There seems to be a current trend to illustrate cats. Not in a cool "I'm a schizophrenic" manner, or even a Margaret Keane groovy big eye cat. Just a cat. Sitting there. Perhaps it is a metaphor for something sexual and I'm missing the message.
Please don't misunderstand, reviewing portfolios is a great honor and typically inspiring and exciting. But then the eight-point Century Gothic running across the entire page below and ignoring all hanging punctuation. How can one ignore this? As Allen Ginsberg wrote, so saliently forseeing these issues:
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.