We're just about to start work on a project for the NLI. In preparation for this I dived head first, into their digitised archive – their online catalogue – of print material. They have loads of stuff archived and much more still to do. It was hard not to get distracted. So I did…get distracted I mean.
One of the first really interesting things I learned about the discipline of interpretive design was that it has principles – and I love a principle: fundamental, underlying, guiding ideas. The six principles of heritage interpretation were first expressed by Freeman Tilden who is basically the father of interpretive design. He is The Man.
A couple of weeks ago I delivered a lecture to first year IMD students, introducing them to the idea of art direction. When I was preparing it; trying to find ways to describe the art of art direction; one of Tilden's principles sprang to mind. All six go like this:
Number one is brilliant. In number two, the idea that interpretation is "revelation based on information" is equally powerful. But for the task at hand, number four jumped out. Paraphrasing somewhat, I concluded that "the chief aim of art direction is [in a way] to provoke".
Just for the record – and in reference to yesterday's post – I found what I was looking for on the marvellous Ordnance Survey Ireland website.
I mentioned a while back that I'm working in a studio that specialises in interpretive design. There aren't really that many specialists in the UK; in Northern Ireland, Tandem is the only one. I'm there for just a while and the specialism is new to me – but I have to say, it's very interesting work.
The discipline of interpretive design is, in itself, interesting and I'll say more about that another time. What's immediately interesting is the material it brings you into contact with – whether by chance or by design (pardon the pun).
Earlier today I was trying to find a map of Dublin, circa 1916. What I found was an online archive of historical maps of Ohio (there's a Dublin in Ohio) from the early part of the twentieth century.
If you click on these snippets of mappage you'll be able to scrutinise the beautiful details.
We were researching illustrators recently, for a project we might be working on. Can't say much about the actual project but it could be amazing. While I was digging around, I remembered Eyvind Earle.
Artist, author and illustrator, you might know Earle's work for Disney from around the 50s; he worked on background illustrations and styling for things like Sleeping Beauty.
Earle died in 2000 but he left behind a stunning legacy of artwork. You can see lots of it here and watch a revealing autobiographical video. I think it's his serigraphs (screen prints) that are the most remarkable. Astonishing work.
It was ages before I got around to buying Lars Müller's Lufthansa + Graphic Design – edition 05 from their A5 series. And I completely missed edition 06: HfG Ulm. Well, I wasn't going to make the same mistake with edition 07.
This is from the Lars Müller website:
This book is the first monograph dedicated to the designer Rolf Müller who is known above all for his design of the visual identity of the Munich Olympic Games in 1972. Shortly after graduating from the famous Ulm School of Design, his former professor Otl Aicher entrusted him with this work, which set new standards in international design. In parallel, he established his design firm Büro Rolf Müller in Munich.
On the basis of selected projects, the book attempts to sketch the mentality and methods of his design: For nearly four decades, the firm developed corporate identities, books, magazines and signage systems on the highest level. The firm’s projects include the visual identity of the City of Leverkusen, forged over several decades, and the magazine HQ High Quality for the company Heidelberger Druckmaschinen, of which 39 issues were published.
As a storyteller and system designer, Rolf Müller has left his mark on international design history with his work. His stance has had a decisive impact in shaping the way in which today’s communications designers view their profession.
It's as if I planned it. Following up the Avant Garde emblazoned presentation pack with Unit Editions simply marvellous compact version of their Herb Lubalin book. For a while, maybe five or so years back (maybe more) graphic design was all about Herb's most famous fonts, AG and semi-self-titles ITC Lubalin Graph. OK, that's a considerable exaggeration but the two fonts were pretty prominent for a while.
Way back in the mid-seventies it was the same. Good times for the International Type Corporation, co-founded by Lubalin at the beginning of that decade. The distinct thing about ITC was its house style. Even when re-issuing typefaces based on historical models, like Garamond, they imbued the design with a distinctly large x-height. Purists would argue that ITC Garamond is NOT Garamond. Controversial stuff.
The Unit Editions book is great; richly capturing the life and beautiful work of an important figure in typography and graphic design.
I'm immersed in heritage-related projects at the moment. It's really interesting. The studio I'm working in has two "interpretive planners", who know tons of history and that. They're fascinating. It's all quite different to what I'm used to but refreshingly so. Lots of challenges; I'm covering for a super-talented creative with a real passion for history – formidable shoes to fill. Anyway, I was reminded of this, from when I was…oooh, about knee high.
It was during this year that SAVE Britain's Heritage was created, "the most influential conservation group to have been established since William Morris founded the Society for the Protection of Ancient Beards", or something.
I think (think) that's me at the top. It's definitely my brother and my Gran. It could be a cousin but it makes sense that it's me. My brother again below, parking the van, just after my Dad jumped out, "Park the van son" (Dad couldn't drive).
I have a feeling that's my Gran and Grandad in the Herald coming off the ferry. Have no idea where they were going to or coming from. Partly because I wasn't born when these photos were taken and partly because even if I had been, I'd have been too young to remember.
I doubt you really want to hear any of this…But for the record, below you'll see my Mum, Dad and brother with Dad's Uncle Cyril and Aunty Vi – clearly before I was born again. Cyril and Vi were lovely; I have really warm, if somewhat distant, memories of visiting them in Sherborne St John, near Basingstoke (once I got being born out of the way). There was nothing in Sherborne St John except a Post Office. I think (once I'd got a bit of growing done) I was allowed to buy a Topic from there. The main thing I remember though is Great Aunty Vi; she had this amazing Hampshire accent.
I am very proud of the fact that I introduced her to the beef burger.
One of the really nice things I did when I was back at my Mum's, a couple of weeks ago, was to go through her slides. I was looking for photos of Dad – which I found – but I found some other great stuff too. No slide scanner to hand so I, rather crudely, used my digital compact and this Jumbo 22. The results are coming up next.
…Like I said, it's all about the inside really.
Last Friday saw me leaving Thought Collective, almost exactly three years after joining. It's been a good three years but the call of the wild has been growing strong within my soul. Friday 17th January 2014 saw me embarking on an eleven month odyssey to independent practice via a temporary position with Interpretive Design experts Tandem Design.
That day also saw me taking a long overdue excursion to see Titanic Belfast – Tandem were heavily involved in the visitor attraction so this was an R&D field trip. I could and probably should gush about it, it's a suitably immersive (pardon the pun) and moving experience, helped somewhat by me seeing it on my own (without the distraction of children).
These photos give nothing away. Although it's a stunning exterior it's the inside, the experience, that's the real star. If you can go, go.
This years Pentagram holiday book records the strange case of the wild dog that sued the manufacturing giant. The plaintiff, one W E Coyote, disgruntled by the poor performance of products purchased from the defendant, the Acme Company, sought damages for loss of income and personal injury suffered following the use of the afore mentioned items.
With supporting diagrammage and wit, it's a very funny little book. The text, by Ian Frazier, was originally published in The New Yorker in 1990 and re-purposed here with products designed by Daniel Weir and illustrated by Simon Denzel.
You can read more about it here.
Three weeks before he passed away, three weeks before Tuesday 31 December 2013, we all knew where Dad was heading. We didn't speak of it but we all knew. We kept it to ourselves. Not out of fear; not because voicing it made it any more real. But I do think I was protecting my Mum. She was almost certainly shielding me from that particular truth.
One week before, I asked Mum directly: just how serious WAS this? I felt it was time. From her reply, it was clear that she wasn't expecting him home. Infected, his chest was just one ailment tugging at his already tired body.
Recognising the inevitable, the imminent, was a good thing.
When I last saw my Dad, on Sunday 15 December, he was as frail as I'd ever seen him. He was suffering, he felt rotten, he was groaning and miserable. I fed him a little breakfast and then I just sat with him, holding his hand.
This was an unprecedented act of intimacy between Dad and I. And then, sensing he wanted me to, I prayed with him.
That was the closest we have ever been, the last time we were together. I don't say that to leave a cloud of sadness in the air (although that is perhaps, unavoidable). Far from it. I see that moment as a blessing; the memory of it brings only comfort. And a smile.
I've mentioned my Dad a few times before. Here, here and here.
It's his funeral today. RIP Dad.
Maybe I'm wrong but I suspect that, when it comes to The Designer's Republic, you may be either a lover or a hater. Perhaps you either embrace their self-indulgent creativity or repel against the pomposity of it all. What's the big idea? You could ask.
Al gave me this album the other week. Not a particlular fan of the artist, he lifted the sleeve just because of its cover. And snapped it up after realising its creators.
I'll be frank: I don't fall into the first TDR camp; I'm not a lover. But…now time has passed and their impact has proliferated; and as I've grown as a designer and come to understand the importance of the agitators on the business of graphic design as a whole; I can see this kind of work in a different light.
If you were to scrutinise this album sleeve you'd discover all sorts of self-indulgencies that have very little to do with the musician's work inside: Pantone references, units of measure, holes that interact with what lies beneath. You might say, distrations. Flagrant disrespect for the true purpose of the album sleeve which surely should reflect the musician's artistry, not the graphic designer's.
And yet I can't help feel the celebration of the sleeve as an artefact, especially now we're so many years on (this album was released in 1999) and the format has become a thing of the past*, makes for an exciting experience. I think, had I picked this sleeve up forteen years ago, it might have annoyed me; seeing it now it just makes me smile. It's of a time. It's more like art now, which is perhaps how it was always intended to be.
* I say this because although vinyl is, obviously, still made and sleeve art still laboured, the format's place in the world has changed.
[From July 2012]
My dad made this rabbet plane. It's for cutting rebates in wood. Rabbet/Rebate? I can't find any explanation but you have to wonder about that name? A dialectic thing? Or just because it's got that sticky-up bit and reminds you of a rabbit. Well, actually, it doesn't really does it? If it wasn't for the name, you wouldn't think, "looks like a rabbit that does" would you? I've had a dig around but no one on the internet seems to want to talk about it.
I suppose it doesn't matter really. What matters is that this beautiful piece of routed hardwood, with it's decades old construction marks and wear was used to carve grooves and recesses into machined wood. Say for, oh I don't know, perhaps for a glazing bar where it makes provision for the insertion of the pane of glass or to accommodate the edge of a cabinet's back panel or for a casement window jamb or for shiplap planking.
[Much later]
Oh, the word "rabbet" is from the Old French "rabbat" meaning "a recess into a wall".
