“If there’s ever a nuclear bomb that wipes out civilization, only two things would survive – cockroaches and advertising agencies.”

As for the bugs, they apparently can handle the blast and the high levels of radiation thanks to their hardy exoskeleton and cell makeup. They also don’t need much food or water to survive and can go weeks without eating.

As for ad agencies, well, those of us who have worked inside good ones know we can survive because we always find a way to be useful.

That said, these days I can’t venture to a website or an app without hearing about the demise of agencies.

Oh, sure, we do some dumb stuff like prioritizing real estate over talent (see the latest RTO mandates).

Or chasing trends instead of focusing on real ideas based on timeless human truths.

I could go on, but this piece is about the power of agencies.

One thing is that the best agencies provide a home for misfit talent. People who can be remarkably brilliant but can’t always be slotted neatly into a conventional org chart.

(By the way, as of today we have a generation of TikTok creator refugees on the street. Who’s going be smart enough to hire a bunch of these folks, train them and unleash them on brands?)

But I digress…

Agencies will also survive because they provide an evergreen, in-demand service to businesses.

Two, in fact. Perspective and Dreaming.

Perspective is both analytical and integrative. Agencies, being on the outside, can see things someone who’s running a business day-to-day on the inside cannot. And then agencies are quite good at connecting those things. “Connecting the dots,” as it were. And turning those dots into action.

Dreaming is the creative part. Good agencies use those misfit folks I mentioned above and focus them to combine truth, vision, and ambition to create something that isn’t obvious in the here and now.

This is the skill (and courage) to say “What if…” and then complete the sentence with an idea.

What if we helped Kraft sell more cheese by combining cheese and bread and grilling it? The Grilled Cheese Sandwich. (Agency: J Walter Thompson for Kraft, 1910)

What if we invited ourselves into every single romantic union and a couple’s life thereafter, by inspiring people to express their love and commitment to each other with a diamond? “A diamond is forever.” (NW Ayer for DeBeers, 1947

What if we got people to consider an efficient, economical, and quirky car instead of these giant gas guzzlers that prowl our streets and highways? Our philosophy could be: “Think Small.” (Agency: Doyle Dane Bernbach for VW, 1959)

What if we got people to drink more milk by highlighting a world without it? “Got Milk?” (Agency: Goodby, Silverstein for the CA Milk Processor Board, 1993)

What if we put a skincare brand on the map — for men? (Agency: Ogilvy for CeraVe, 2024)

I can go on and on with agency ideas like TBWA’s “Absolut” work, Fallon’s “BMW Films,” AMV’s The Economist, Chiat/Day’s multiple campaigns for Apple including “1984,” “Think Different,” and more recently TBWA\Media Arts Labs’ “Shot On iPhone,” as well as Ogilvy’s “Real Beauty” for Dove. And, of course, Wieden’s gold standard, “Just Do It” for Nike.

Agency notions that truly changed how we live. And created prodigious value for brands.

And yet, here we are in 2025, punishing agencies on fees. And on the agency side, we seem to be phoning it in. (Or maybe, more accurately, Zooming it in.)

Where is the ambition?

Where is the vision?

Where are the ideas?

The funny thing is, we’ve never had more tools that can help us, from AI to reams of consumer data at our fingertips to utterly efficient digital distribution.

And yet, we sit here as though a nuclear bomb has gone off and we don’t know what to do.

I know what I would do if I was leading a brand and had a product.

First, I’d step on that roach.

Then, I’d call the agency.

Rob Schwartz is the Chair of the TBWA New York Group and an executive coach who channels his creativity, experience and wisdom into helping others get where they want to be. This was originally posted on his Substack, RobSchwartzHelps, where he covers work, life, and creativity.

Header image courtesy of the author, created in Midjourney.

The post You Dropped a Bomb on Me appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

In both advertising and editorial design, great design cultivates the experience, ensuring that each detail is placed with intention. It is the unseen hand shaping perception, making messages not just seen, but felt, remembered, and cherished. Our jurors for the PRINT Award categories of Advertising and Editorial understand design’s power to seduce with story.

Taylor Le

Taylor Le is the creative director at The San Francisco Standard. Previously, she served as newsroom design director at the Los Angeles Times where she shaped visual experiences across print, digital, events, and social platforms. In her role, Le was responsible for leading and cultivating a team of 30 art directors and managers. Before joining The Times, Le’s projects at Medium, AFAR, The San Francisco Standard, and Pacific Standard saw her guiding the art departments through collaborations with multilevel stakeholders to improve processes and develop thoughtful branding and designs. Le is a 2024 Pulitzer Prize finalist and is a recipient of the National Magazine Award for feature photography.

Taylor’s favorite quote is:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Maya Angelou

Mike Nicholls

Mike Nicholls is an Oakland-based award-winning creative director, brand strategist, editorial designer, and visual artist using design as a tool for discovery, inspiration, and community building. He has translated ideas into visionary creative solutions with over 20 years of design experience and natural talent. Nicholls founded Umber, a media and editorial platform highlighting creative perspectives that matter, which has been recognized by AfroTech (Blavity), PRINT Magazine, San Francisco Chronicle, KQED, and Communication Arts.

Miller McCormick

Miller McCormick is a Los Angeles-based graphic designer and art director originally from Pittsburgh. He has worked with Ace Hotel, Apple, Chandelier Creative, Warner Records, The Andy Warhol Museum, and others. In 2023, McCormick founded General Purpose Spacesuit, a small creative studio with an emphasis on ideas, image-making, and visual identity. His artwork has been published in The New York Times.

Every PRINT Awards entry contributes to the ongoing evolution of print design. Whether you specialize in bold advertising layouts or elegant editorial compositions, your work has the potential to inspire others, setting new trends and influencing the next generation of designers.

The post Meet the 2025 PRINT Awards Jury for Advertising & Editorial appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

In 2022, we began this series with a discussion of the early underpinnings of fetal imagery, John and Barbara Willke (boosted by the moral majority) and their visual pro-life campaign, and later, the use of imagery by Ms Magazine in displaying the horrors of what outlawing abortion can do to women. These visual symbols set the stage for today’s rhetorical battles, where language—laden with fear and control—serves the same end.

In an Orwellian world, politics is where language goes to die. Political rhetoric faces the danger of being reduced to something ornamental; a shiny and hollow stand-in without substance. George Orwell was critical, but he was not a pure cynic. In his treatise, Politics and the English Language, he also lays out a set of rules for avoiding this trap. These include: no stale metaphors or jargon, short and precise words, and fresh speech—all admirable goals to aspire to, president or not. Orwell’s last rule for politicians, and I don’t use this term lightly, trumps the rest: “Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.” 

What Orwell was rallying against was not mere political correctness and overly complex words but rather language that conceals meaning, and its darker consequence: the corruption of thought. In this series, we’ve looked at symbols that act as shorthand for thought; images that short-circuit the reflective mind in favor of primal emotion. Today, we’ll look at how language does the same, and how it will continue to shape abortion rights in America.  

Trump uses language in a manner unheard from most politicians. His supporters applaud his apparent lack of pretension. He says what comes to mind. He digresses and repeats. He is long-winded and conversational, but not abstract and certainly not politically correct. His mood shifts as often does a teenage girl’s; he declares his contradictions with confidence and screams absolutisms into the all-consuming cybersphere. His opinions are often simply stated with elementary grammatical structures and vocabulary, i.e. “I love women,” never mind that the opinions themselves are difficult to follow, sometimes changing several times over the course of a few days, and aren’t followed by specific policies. He says his presidency will be “great for women.” In what way has a post-Roe America possibly been great for women? There’s no time to follow up because our drunk uncle has wandered off to grope the women he loves so much or ridicule “Tampon Tim.” 

But I won’t deny that he has captivated the world, fans and critics alike, for one reason: he demands attention because of the sheer peculiarity of his speech. It may be idiotic, but it is new. As evidenced by the election results, it is concrete, simplistic, and for half of America, freeing. Because people do think ugly thoughts, and if they want permission to let their misogynistic desire for control run wild, who better to validate them than the President? If they want to project their thoughts onto a President, who better than someone who changes their mind on a whim without consideration for the consequences? 

At a rally last year in Green Bay, Wisconsin, dressed in a neon orange vest, Trump expanded on his latest talking point. “I’ll protect them,” he said, “whether the women like it or not.” The crowds behind him cheered as they held up Trump Force 47 signs. This kind of speech around women is new; as Trump won over the voters he lost after the Dobbs decision in the summer of 2022 that inspired this series. Trump was initially proud of his hand in revoking Roe, and may still be though it’s difficult to tell where his true intentions lie. 

At the time, he called himself “the most pro-life president ever.” But since then, the shifting political climate around abortion, particularly amongst Republican women, has been well-documented. Non-religious Republican women are favoring abortion more than they ever have in the past, and religious women (in particular, evangelical) seem to be ambivalent now that abortion bans have been implemented in many states. While the procedure became politicized in the 1960s, it’s in recent years that we’ve seen Republicans diverge, primarily on the lines of sex and religion

And so, Trump slammed the breaks. He wavered on the Florida abortion ban, first supporting it, and then calling it too extreme. He has evaded questions on whether he would support a national abortion ban and during a town hall for female voters, called himself “the father of IVF,” presupposing that he gave birth to the idea. (That would actually be Dr. Patrick Steptoe and Sir Robert Edwards, the latter of whom won the Nobel Prize.) He repeated this phrase at a rally in Nebraska. His language leans eerily on that of family, isolationism, and control, and yet because of his casual, meandering style, it’s difficult for many to see. 

Linguist and cognitive scientist George Lakoff has written about how family models influence political discourse. He looks at what differentiates the way liberals and conservatives think and proposes the Strict Father model as an example aligned with the latter. In this model, moral righteousness justifies authority and discipline. The head of the family protects them from the dangers that lurk outside, as father knows best. In using the language of the family, Trump solidifies this idea in the minds of conservative voters.  

Linguists, psychologists, and political commentators have spent (billions of) hours and (billions of) words dissecting the speech patterns of Trump: Is he bored? Is he delusional? Is he experiencing cognitive decline? Is he smart? Is he a narcissist? 

As much as his linguist gymnastics result in pure confusion, they also allow voters to project their own ideas onto him. He could mean anything, and thus, for the average conservative or moderate voter, he means everything. Trump is the very definition of Orwell’s Big Brother or Lakoff’s Strict Father under the guise of an unrehearsed, no-bullshitter, in the eyes of his supporters. He throws around words like they mean nothing. For a country tiring of authority, this authoritarian—the very type of person they should abhor—has ironically, and smartly, taken advantage of the English language to make-believe, and as president, he’ll do whatever he wants with it.  

As will pro-life supporters, buoyed by his flip-flopping speech. Since the onslaught of state-based abortion restrictions post-Dobbs, the use of abortion medication has increased significantly. The latest data shows that now 60% of all abortions in the United States use this method. Last May, Louisiana successfully reclassified mifepristone and misoprostol, two key ingredients in medication abortions that have been FDA-approved since 2000, as “controlled dangerous substances.” Texas, Idaho, Kansas, and Missouri, are following suit. 

Fear-mongering through legal references to “abortion trafficking” and the “recruitment of minors” shifts public perception and diminishes the likelihood that doctors and pharmacists will prescribe abortion medication. It likens the pills to addictive narcotics. And as in the War on Drugs, this language invokes the same misogynistic, racist, and xenophobic views. American Life League makes the connection explicit, declaring that the “abortion pill cartel is alive and well.” 

Trump has, unsurprisingly, gone both ways. In response to whether he would direct the FDA to revoke access to mifepristone, Trump said, “Sure, you could do things that would supplement. Absolutely.” Although he later told Time Magazine an abortion pill ban would be highly unlikely, his pick of FDA head, Marty Makary, isn’t exactly reassuring. Makary has vocalized his opposition to abortion.

“Here I am,” declared Trump during his inauguration on Monday. Here we are, at the start of his second presidential term. There has been much predicted about the four years ahead of us. Some of the policy changes we may see happen in the first week. Over the course of these years, his speech will land upon the willing ears of those desperate to declare right from wrong, take control, and think in terms of binaries. 

Views are cyclical. We progress, and occasionally regress, though not all the way. As the next four years unfold, look for the signals amongst the Orwellian noise. And who knows? The next president is sure to surprise us.

Divya Mehra is a writer and artist. She teaches at NYU and Parsons and is currently at work on a novel.

Header image by the author.

Read The Semiotics of a Movement series:

Introducing a Visual Exploration of Reproductive Rights

Fetal Imagery and the Lure of the Unseen

How “Pro-Life” Became a Marketing Campaign

Picturing Life and Death: How Gerri Santoro Became a Symbol of Public Outrage

The post The Language of Abortion in Trump’s America appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

In 1995, New York magazine declared Martha Stewart the “Definitive American Woman of Our Time.” And, as the saying goes, sort of, behind every Definitive American Woman of Our Time is another Definitive American Woman of Our Time. And that’s today’s guest, designer Gael Towey.

But let’s back up. It’s 1982, and Martha Stewart, then known as the “domestic goddess” — or some other equally dismissive moniker — published her first book, Entertaining. It was a blockbuster success that was soon followed by a torrent of food, decorating, and lifestyle bestsellers.

In 1990, after a few years making books with the likes of Jackie Onassis, Irving Penn, Arthur Miller, and, yes, Martha Stewart, Towey and her Clarkson Potter colleague, Isolde Motley, were lured away by Stewart, who had struck a deal with Time Inc. to conceive and launch a new magazine.

Towey’s modest assignment? Define and create the Martha Stewart brand. Put a face to the name. From scratch. And then distill it across a rapidly expanding media and retail empire.

In the process, Stewart, Motley, and Towey redefined everything about not only women’s magazines, but the media industry itself — and spawned imitations from Oprah, Rachael, and even Rosie.

By the turn of the millennium, Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia, as it was rebranded in 1997, included seven magazines, multiple TV projects, a paint collection with Sherwin-Williams, a mail-order catalog, Martha by Mail, multimillion-dollar deals with retailers Kmart, Home Depot, and Macy’s, a line of crafts for Michael’s, a custom furniture brand with Bernhardt, and even more bestselling books. And the responsibility for the visual identity of all of it fell to Towey and her incredibly talented team. It was a massive job.

We talk to Towey about her early years in New Jersey, about being torn between two men (“Pierre” and Stephen), eating frog legs with Condé Nast’s notorious editorial director, Alexander Liberman, and, about how, when all is said and done, life is about making beautiful things with extraordinary people.

Read the full episode transcript here.

Print Is Dead (Long Live Print!) is a podcast about magazines and the people who made (and make) them. Magazines that combined thought-provoking attitudes and values with a distinctive look and feel, and cast a long and powerful shadow on American culture and public discourse. Hear stories and learn lessons from legendary designers, editors, writers, publishers, photographers, illustrators, photo editors, and more—stories and lessons that capture a magical history of innovation and inspiration, and that point the way forward. We’ll go deep into the lives and careers of this astonishingly talented group of creators, and tease out what these giants—past and present—have to teach the next generation of creators.

If you’re in the magazine business—if you’re in any business focused on content creation—this podcast is for you.

This episode is a special collaboration with The Spread and is made possible by PIDLLP sponsors Commercial Type, Mountain Gazette, and Freeport Press.

The team behind Print is Dead (Long Live Print!) also produces The Full Bleed, a podcast about the future of magazines and the magazines of the future.

The post Everyone is a Salesman | Gael Towey appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Under the banner Matter Projects, Griffith and partner Debra Johnson’s mission for the past 25 years has been to enable thinking designers to have the tools to grow. “What began as a design studio,” he writes, “has garnered national and international awards and recognition.” They have “assembled a collection of letterpress printing presses, tools and style for the continued collective liberation of our community, and words as our raw materials.”

Griffith is living my version of the design entrepreneur’s dream. He has the Matter store, press, studio. He is an activist when it comes to raising the level of intellectual rigor among his designer peers in Denver. Griffith lives and works by the mantra “Make things. Be. Relevant, Matter.”

He and Debra have organized a number of engaging seminars including “Liberalism-NeoLiberalism: Identity and the Path Forward,” “Beyond Left-Right Binaries” and one that I’ve been thinking about lately, “What is Human.”

Matter certainly matters to the audience it’s serving, and it is proving that reading and discussion definitely matter. “In a slightly more obvious way, we are happy to remind [people] that we are graphic designers, typographers, letterpress printers, writers, activists, creators, change-making-system-aware intellectuals,” he details. And currently, we need all that and more.

The post The Daily Heller: The Design Community and the Bookstore appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The totality of my possessions reflects the totality of my being. I am what I have.

Sartre wrote those words in Being and Nothingness in 1949. They are odd words for us to try to understand coming from one of the stalwarts of existential philosophy. How can my being…what I am…be reduced to the totality of the things I possess? Sartre must be signaling that the objects we curate, select, and gather in our lives must be more significant than we might expect from mere things.

What do we call the totality of our possessions? I mean, every single thing you own and have in your world. We don’t really have a simple term to capture that idea. George Carlin simply called this totality, “my stuff.”

I’m thinking about this idea in reference to both my forthcoming book, and to the recent tragic events we’ve watched unfolding in California. In the book, I try to understand the network of meaning about our lives that our objects collectively help us express.

What is the cohesive bond that holds these (hundreds? thousands?) of objects together and makes them “mine”? Are they all like the molecules in my body, coming together to form vital organs and functional components? Are some more critical than others to the “totality of my being?” Am I consciously aware of the role that each of the objects in my life plays in making up my being, or are some easily overlooked and underestimated while others are undeservedly elevated?

The force that holds my assemblage of objects together must be a powerful bond because the “mineness” of the objects is palpable; our species has evolved a wide range of ways for me to identify and protect my objects. We develop special relationships with many of them that infuses them with a power that we will risk our own lives to protect. Witness the stories of people who venture back into burning homes to “save” a treasured object from destruction, sometimes one with little or no extrinsic, or monetary value. On a small scale, we all know the protective feeling of seeing one of our objects even mistakenly picked up by another person… “No, no, wait: that’s my scarf…”

Now, imagine that whole collection of objects, Sartre’s totality of our possessions, disappearing in a moment.

The best estimates are that over 12,000 homes were totally destroyed since the California fires broke out on January 7. The latest census estimates are that 2.85 persons per household lived in those approximately 12,000 homes. That means that roughly 42,750 people were displaced by the fires. Conservatively, that means that probably 40,000 individuals experienced the disappearance of either a significant majority or the totality of their possessions.

How many objects disappeared? That’s an impossible number to estimate with any degree of confidence. How many objects would you have lost if you were one of those 40,000 people? How many books, shoes, shirts? How many kitchen utensils? Photographs? Sofas, lamps, TVs? Everything. The totality of your possessions…

Is it unrealistic to imagine that every one of those 40,000 people lost, on average, 500 objects? I know my tally would have been much higher. But let’s stick with 500. That’s a combined total of 20 million objects lost by these individuals…a staggering number, ranging from running shoes to Keith Haring paintings.

Does losing those objects signal the loss of “the totality of their being” for each of those 40,000 people?

In one sense, obviously not; each of them is still alive. So, something of their being persists.

We have heard a lot of people expressing an understandable sentiment: “we were lucky; no one was killed or injured in our household.” At least 25 people were not so lucky. And we all nod and find ways to contribute to the efforts to provide aid and comfort to the victims.

But, what has been lost?

I find myself in the odd position of thinking about those 20 million objects. Well, not the objects, exactly, but the effects of the losses on the thousands of individual identities that the objects bolstered. Because the objects we accrue over a lifetime are not randomly chosen bits of matter; they are selected to help us accomplish something in our lives. They meant something to us…sometimes something trivial, sometimes something poignant…and we enrolled them as allies, elements in our journey to fulfill the needs, wants, desires, wishes, and dreams that energize our lives.

The carefully curated curio cabinet that was the home for the results of a lifetime of searching for just the right figurine to complete an irreproducible collection…and which provided a special feeling of prideful accomplishment for the collector. What about the cherished family heirlooms passed along for generations in the hope that our inspiring, stalwart (sometimes hilarious or absurd!) predecessors would not be forgotten? The trivial bits of ephemera that meant nothing to anybody else but evoked choked-back tears in a youngster. All gone.

Is it sacrilegious to consider the “spirits” of those objects in moments like these? Our culture is notoriously pragmatic on this count. The objects were, after all, just inanimate things…collections of atoms. Some of them had great monetary value but others were simply trinkets picked up along the way.

But when we think of the shock (the trauma) of the loss of those 20 million things, it’s obvious that many of them had been infused with the stuff of life and can never be replaced. They were characters in the ongoing life stories of the 40,000 or so individuals who cherished them in widely varying degrees…some will never be thought of again; some will never be forgotten.

Those 40,000 people are already gathering new things. New objects will present opportunities for new “plot twists” in life stories. Many of those who have experienced these losses will attempt to reconstruct their lives in thematically similar ways, reconstructing their lives with the “assistance” of new objects that express the same needs, wants, desires, wishes, and dreams, the same lifestyles. Others will use this milestone to alter their life direction by eschewing old object-relationships and forming new ones that better express a new moment in their lives; a new style of life.

All who have been affected will experience some form of de-attachment from the lost objects. Some of these things, like an amputee’s phantom limb, will remain palpable and painful in their absence. Others will simply slip away, maybe swept up in a secret wave of being relieved of a responsibility that had become burdensome.

Each object will contribute some element to the ongoing drama that fire victims are constructing. Recovery from an event like this is a deeply creative challenge that will establish a “before/after” moment in each affected individual’s life. Given all that, we should expect to see a wide range of methods for people to re-establish “the totality of their being” and redefine themselves in terms of the possessions they now have and the ones they seek to acquire. Life stories that were settled into established patterns will be rewritten in unforeseeable ways.

Again, poet Muriel Rukeyser’s words ring true: “The universe is made of stories, not atoms.”

Tom Guarriello is a psychologist, consultant, and founding faculty member of the Masters in Branding program at New York’s School of Visual Arts. He’s spent over a decade teaching psychology-based courses like The Meaning of Branded Objects, as well as leading Honors and Thesis projects. He’s spearheaded two podcasts, BrandBox and RoboPsych, the accompanying podcast for his eponymous website on the psychology of human-robot interaction. This essay was originally posted on Guarriello’s Substack, My Favorite Things.

Header image by André Lopes, Unsplash+

The post My Favorite Things: Reflecting on Loss After the Devastation of Fire appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The sketches and printed works hang as if they are family members in the home of the thousands of subscribers who anxiously await each weekly issue. Although the gallery space is tight, it is so well-designed that the visitor never feels cramped; there is a lot to see and much to read. After spending a very satisfying Saturday afternoon at L’Alliance New York, I asked Mouly to tell us about the scope and highlights of the show.

Header photograph from the Jan. 21 opening (back row, left to right): Jenny Kroik, Barry Blitt, Ricardo Siri (Liniers), Ed Steed, Mark Ulriksen, Art Spiegelman, Kadir Nelson, Ed Sorel, Peter de Sève, Gracie Lynne Haynes, Victoria Tentler-Krylov, John Cuneo. Front row: Jorge Colombo, Françoise Mouly, Tatyana Franck, Rodolphe Lachat, Gayle Kabaker. Photo credit: Rebecca Greenfield. Installation photos: Leila Abazine, courtesy L’Alliance: New York.

How did the exhibition come to be held at the L’Alliance New York?
The idea emerged through conversations with Rodolph Lachat, editor of my book Blown Covers at Abrams. I had visited L’Alliance New York recently for their Sempé exhibit and was struck by Tatyana’s extraordinary energy in animating the space. I had also attended their animation festival featuring Lorenzo Mattotti, a frequent New Yorker cover artist. With the magazine’s centennial approaching, L’Alliance proved the perfect venue—they were eager to explore The New Yorker‘s history and to highlight my career as the Franco-American art editor over the past 32 years.

With the exception of early New Yorker artists Rea Irvin and Peter Arno’s sketch-to-finish works, all the covers shown were assigned by you. So, what criteria did you use to select the covers in the show?
Since we had this unique opportunity to show the artistic process, we first reached out to artists who still create physical originals—an increasingly rare practice as more artists work digitally. Once we assembled these pieces, natural sections and an order emerged that allowed us to tell the story of The New Yorker cover across its 100-year history, with particular focus on my tenure.

The Rea Irvin and Peter Arno pieces come from my personal collection. My husband, Art Spiegelman, discovered the Irvin at an auction for just $50, while the Arno sketch was a gift from his granddaughter. Most other artists featured in the show represent the new generation I brought to the magazine, who have since become part of its canonical roster.

It was lovely to see Ed Sorel’s covers paired with the late Bruce McCall’s.
The exhibition offers multiple points of entry. A digital wall, Malika Favre’s poster-sized images on the staircase, Christoph Niemann’s work that bridges wall and floor, a vitrine displaying original printing plates, and four variations on Eustace Tilley—all of which help ease visitors into the show. Then, the core of the show begins: the pairing of Bruce McCall’s paintings with Ed Sorel’s drawings allows viewers to focus on each artist’s distinct voice. Having Ed Sorel, now 95, at the opening was particularly meaningful. His 30-year-old drawing of New York as the Tower of Babel even includes L’Alliance New York in the image—a serendipitous connection that made the venue feel predestined.

It was fun to watch the attendees and listen to their comments. Most were familiar with what they saw. Others were unpacking the meaning of the art. What is your hope for the exhibition?
I am proud of having given so many different artists in that room their first break—almost everyone in the show—and opening up those august gates. But what I’m truly proud of is the range of their approaches. My mission as art editor has been to assemble a diverse roster of artists, each working at the height of their powers, rather than establishing a predictable “New Yorker style.” I think that has been my greatest accomplishment. 

When I was assigning covers for The New York Times Book Review, I’d limit the size of the original art. I was surprised to see how large Kadir Nelson paints, and just as breathtaking is Chris Ware’s blue pencil sketch art. How did you feel about seeing the entire show of originals and printed covers before your very eyes?
I’ll put it in the words of New Yorker artist Mark Ulriksen, who said it well: “I was blown away by how small McCall worked with all his glorious lettering and different fonts he painted. I loved seeing how large Kadir works, how Maira [Kalman] has loose borders, how Ana Juan uses acrylic and colored pencil and that [Ian] Falconer used charcoal. It was also cool to see the line drawings for the digital artists and it was only when we went again the next day that I saw the videos of Christoph [Neimann] and Hockney.”

The post The Daily Heller: ‘New Yorker’ Covers, Illuminated appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

How? It remains utterly unreal.

At night, we wrap our temporary throw blankets around our knees. We pull the small kidney-shaped coffee table toward us. We heat the temporary kettle to 165 degrees. The temporary kettle keeps the water warm for when we want it after dinner, scraping up off the temporary couch to go fill two mugs with orange pekoe. We sit back down and let the television go bright again, sipping liquid that’s just the right amount of: Oh that’s hot.

*

In the mornings, a woman walks by the front window of our temporary housing — I always look out, and she always looks in.

We have a flurry of plants in our windows, every green living thing saved from the fire now gathered in one place, trying to make it on new, less light. The woman has headphones sandwiched over her ears.

“Get a dog, am I right?” J intones and we both laugh because he knows that’s what I’m always looking for.

Once, I saw a puppy so fresh that I rushed out of the temporary front door and down the temporary front steps. The puppy was so excited it did a small backflip on its way to greet me.

The puppy makes me smile, a real one, not temporary.

*

More time.

More money.

More travel.

More sleep.

More space — in the house, calendar, mind.

I am listening to a friend list all of the reasons his girlfriend now has to not get another dog after hers passed away eight months ago. I don’t know the girlfriend but I do know she went through an awful breakup before she met my friend. I know the girlfriend’s breakup was the kind where you huddle alone at night in your bed and cry into the dog’s soft scruff while holding on for dear life.

The list of reasons against a dog is not untrue but I suspect it is not really the girlfriend’s list. It is my friend’s list that she has adopted instead of another dog because she hopes to hold onto him.

It all makes sense — but then again, does it?

*

Why?

Don’t you already have a dog?

Is this a good time?

Really?

Everyone scrolls through the litter of ten puppies I know by heart and says they all look the same while I couldn’t disagree more.

To everyone, we just laugh and shrug.

I do not explain that sometimes when life tells me something I don’t want to hear, I have to say something back. No one wants to hear it, but I’ll tell them anyway.

*

“Some people seemingly get married and buy a house, get a house plant or a puppy or a kitten or even a child and life is all these steps they take, one after another, on they go…”

I am talking to a friend in the park in the soft hold of a sweet autumn. I shrug.

“You’re meant for a different way,” she tells me and I feel so much weariness that it makes me laugh and shake my head.

I don’t think she’s wrong and I don’t even think that a different way means there won’t be a husband and a house and a plant and, and, and, it’s just — it’s exhausting. A wasp comes then and tangles at our hair and we move to another bench. A pack of three beagles walks by and one has eyes rimmed with dark exactly the way a teen on the train had it — kohl black and creased and thick as if pressed on with a fingertip.

*

The day we collect the puppy we have named Ukee we stop sleeping. Ukee is curly-coated and almost exactly eight pounds. He pounces on everything.

Now, it is very hard to get any work done. Everything is nipped at the edges. There’s a lot of urine. We toss the toy back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. We try to slip the teeth of the buttercomb through the mats of puppy hair. The bank account creaks with late-night orders made in a daze.

There are a lot of questions. How did we forget to order training treats? Why is this bag of kibble only available in the Jupiter size? How many rocks can one puppy eat? Did you brush his teeth? How should we clip his nails? Should his belly be this color? When will you be done with your emails? Can you help me with him? Did you see where he’s gone?

The routine of an impossible three months shreds beneath Ukee’s little puppy teeth. The tea we worked so hard to depend on sits cold in the mug that’s rattling on the table because Ukee’s paws are up on it.

I don’t take a sip of the tea for hours. When I finally do, the orange pekoe is over-steeped and icy. I drain the whole mug. There is the life that arrives unbidden but there is also the life you choose. And, oh, how good it is to choose your own way.

*

I’m Wondering is a monthly column where I ask and then answer a question. More than anything, I hope that as I continue to wonder, it will open all of us up to paths we can’t imagine now but feel called to by a question that won’t let us go.

Amy Lin lives in Calgary, Canada where there are two seasons: winter and road construction. She completed her MFA at Warren Wilson College and holds BAs in English Literature and Education. Her work has been published in places such as Ploughshares and she has been awarded residencies from Yaddo and Casa Comala. She writes the Substack At The Bottom Of Everything where she wonders: how do we live with anything? HERE AFTER is her first book.

Header image courtesy of the author.

The post I’m Wondering: Has Your Tea Gone Cold? appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Welcome to the DesignThinkers Podcast! Join host and RGD President Nicola Hamilton as she digs into the archives of the DesignThinkers conference, reconnecting with past speakers about their talks and ideas that have shaped Canada’s largest graphic design conference. Follow the RGD on Instagram @rgdcanada or visit them at rgd.ca. Purchase tickets to the upcoming DesignThinkers conference at designthinkers.com.

The post DesignThinkers Podcast: Min Lew appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

While our minds may be on the year ahead of us, I wanted to take some time out to spotlight my favorite studio-made gifts from 2024 that truly stand out.

Tavern’s House Lambrusco

To celebrate their second year in business, Tavern created a limited edition sparkling red Lambrusco, Tavern House Wine, for clients and close agency friends. This follows their first-anniversary project, Tavern Beer, a design created to showcase the team’s capabilities and attract beer clients. Their wine takes inspiration from dive bars, Italian American social clubs, and red sauce joints, a nod to the studio’s love for food, drinks, and hospitality. “Since the beginning, taverns have shaped our agency’s identity,” said Mike Perry, founder and chief creative officer. “Drawing influence from the White Horse Tavern in Newport, Rhode Island, the oldest running tavern in the U.S. For this project, we imagined the kind of house wine an old-school Italian American establishment would serve, blending history with our signature creative approach.”

The Century Schoolbook wordmark—a timeless nod —pairs with Minuet, a vintage wine label typeface, and Grilli Type Standard comes in for contrast. Hidden details include vintage seals and stamp overlays that evoke some of the team’s favorite beer labels. The label’s horses resemble chess knights to symbolize Tavern’s two years in business, and repeat in the wax-dipped top, hand-stamped, horse insignia. The Tavern team has created a story and experience that extends well beyond the bottle. The patinaed brass glorifier, which doubles as an ashtray, and a membership card to the studio’s imaginary tavern are theatrical and playful nods to a bygone era. Perry said, “Ultimately, this project is as much about celebrating our clients as it is about indulging our own passion for design, storytelling, and handcrafted details.”

If Only Creative’s Bespoke Salsa

If Only Creative, a Chicana-led creative agency, has always championed collaboration and community at its core. This ethos came to life in their recent partnership with celebrated Chicano chef Jacob Croom of pop-up and supper club My Friend Fernando to develop two custom salsas for existing and potential clients. From the recipe itself to the packaging, this collaboration reflects their shared passion for uplifting culture, storytelling, and artistry. By blending Jacob’s culinary expertise with If Only Creative’s design vision, they’ve created a product that is as authentic and bold as the communities they serve.

“This partnership also marks an exciting moment for the agency,” said If Only Creative’s founder, Marisa Dunning-Sanchez, “as Jacob Croom will officially join If Only Creative as a food partner for our private dinner, El Otro Lado, in 2025.” This announcement underscores the agency’s commitment to bridging creative and culinary worlds, forging relationships that amplify voices within communities of color. Together, they aim to push boundaries, bringing new ideas and flavors to life while celebrating the rich heritage of Chicano culture.

As an agency rooted in food and beverage, If Only Creative consistently prioritizes supporting POC-owned businesses. This collaboration is more than just a product launch—it’s a celebration of heritage, innovation, and the power of collaboration.

Wedge’s Staff Meal Recipes

Speaking of food, pull up a seat to STAFF MEAL: 12 Recipes from the creative directors, designers, and team at Wedge. Born out of a shared love for cooking, gathering, and all things food that comes from the best of hospitality, each recipe comes with a personal anecdote. “From Justin’s Tartare de Boeuf to Alon’s Korean Stew to Cap’s Cookies, there’s something sweet and savory for everyone,” said Sarah Di Domenico, Wedge’s co-founder and chief creative officer.

Bon Appétit!

Stout’s Holiday Cards

Every year, Stout creates a special set of holiday cards for clients and friends of the studio—a cherished tradition that brings delight and creative expression. Each edition takes on a fresh approach, shaped by intentional constraints such as dimensions and a defined color palette.

Over the years, Stout’s designs have ranged from intricate illustrations to bold, experimental concepts. This year, however, the studio embraced a different philosophy: simplicity and elegance. “Inspired by the timeless themes of Peace, Love, and Joy, the 2024 holiday cards embody a refined minimalism, allowing the message to take center stage,” said designer Brigitte La.

CENTER’s Circle C Blanket

Each year, the CENTER team creates a special item of custom merch as a gift for clients and collaborators. “Though we’ve had plenty of requests to sell these items,” said Alex Center, founder and chief creative officer, “we prefer to keep them exclusive—reserved for our close-knit “friends and family.”

For this annual winter tradition, the team has designed everything from sweatshirts and beanies to water bottles and t-shirts. For 2024, instead of something to wear, they created something to snuggle with and keep you warm during the winter chill.

The 2024 CENTER Blanket is a bold design in orange, blue, black, and taupe, featuring a clever twist on the studio’s Circle C logo. It’s not your average branded merch though. Up close, it’s an abstract pattern, worthy of a permanent spot on your couch or favorite chair.

The color palette is a nod to the studio’s signature couch and tables. The blankets are modeled and photographed by the team—the familiar faces that bring the studio to life show us exactly how to rock the blanket with style.

High Tide’s Palmy Candle

The inspiration behind High Tide‘s annual gift was to create an object that paid homage to our longstanding brand symbol and mascot (whom we affectionately refer to as Palmy). “High Tide recently celebrated its 15-year anniversary,” says Danny Miller, founder and creative director. “So it felt right to commemorate the moment with a physical manifestation of our brand symbol that people could enjoy as a candle or simply put up on their bookshelves.”

With a minimal and straightforward studio identity, Palmy was born out of the team’s desire to represent the more fun, laid-back side of High Tide. The anthropomorphic palm also speaks to the studio’s origin story: Miller was on a surf trip in Costa Rica during the studio’s inception, and the name materialized in between long days of surfing.

Transport’s Brass Oil Lamps

Merry and bright? It takes a village.

Partnering with industrial designer Joe Doucet, Transport New York designed brass paraffin oil lamps to embody warm wishes for bright holidays. What is less obvious is the time and effort it took to make their idea a reality, something they started in 2023. Development, prototyping, and applying the team’s signature attention to detail took, well, a bit longer.

But it was worth it. The team always thinks big, and the gift invites the recipient to think big about what they can do together.

Vintage Danish inspiration was only one point in the team’s collaborative effort, down to the group packing and shipping party. “For us, it was a project in bringing Transport’s esprit de corps to life,” said Andy Gray, Transport’s founder and creative director. “It’s a sentiment we were sure to share in our message to recipients.”

Clever Creative’s Signature Scent

As Clever Creative approaches its 20th anniversary, the team wanted the studio’s recent brand refresh to culminate in a meaningful, sensory-driven experience. This special mailer serves as the final touchpoint of that journey—a way to reflect on the studio’s roots while looking ahead to the future.

What better way to celebrate than by creating a signature scent? “With Bonfire, we sought to deepen our brand’s connection by engaging all five senses crafting an experience that lingers long after the first impression,” said Shannon Gabor, founder. More than just a fragrance, Bonfire embodies the warmth, creativity, and spirit that have defined Clever Creative for two decades—a truly memorable and immersive way to share their story with clients and collaborators.

ThoughtMatter

Persistence: More than a drink, it’s our stance: creativity over complacency.

Thought Matter

Crafted as a provocative toast to resilience, ThoughtMatter created zero-proof kombucha to be a reminder that while power can falter, the potential to rebuild with thought and purpose, never does.

Timed for delivery intentionally between Inauguration Day and Presidents’ Day, Thought Matter sent a message about what’s at stake for progress: a possibility only when we dare to break and build with purpose, not perfection. Says the studio, “This year’s gift is a declaration of the strength in our partnerships and the enduring power of creative collaboration,” said Jessie McGuire, managing partner.

The post Agency End-of-Year Gifts We’re Still Admiring a Month into 2025 appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

This book is a testament to the micro details of art and science, function and aesthetics melding together. Pastoureau’s text is spirited and filled with ideas. “The history of pink,” he writes, “is an uncertain and tumultuous one, difficult to trace because for so long this color seemed elusive, fragile, ephemeral, and as resistant to analysis as to synthesis.” Being the latest volume in his investigations into the colors blue, green, black, yellow and white, his “plan” is to go chronological. He looks at color not only in artistic terms but from scientific, social and religious values.

Pink was not always called “pink.” From the 16th through the 18th centuries, many names were ascribed to the hue. For instance, “the adjective roseus sometimes describes beautiful female skin,” he writes, “pleasing to look at or touch, but its value is more affective than chromatic.”

Pink ribbons also had a special meaning during this time. A pink ribbon is the most prized possession of an unrequited lover who dies by suicide and leaves a note to be buried with it on his person. Likewise, Jean-Jacques Rousseau writes how pink, because of its paleness, is a truer symbol of love than “excessive artificial red.”

Pink provided a “newfound joie de vivre” in clothing after the dark years of the Plague. However, as Pastoureau explains, the color actually preceded that pandemic, so “it is not clear that this color was considered particularly cheerful or comforting at the time.” Yet whatever its ultimate symbolism, pink was admired and remained so.

And yet, pink also signified femininity as well as identity. The infamous inverted pink triangle used by the Nazis to brand those in concentration camps gave a dark significance to the faded rose color.

Pastoureau concludes his study with a view toward popular culture and fashion. He reproduces the famous photograph of a smiling President John F. Kennedy beside Jackie Kennedy at the Dallas airport only moments before his assassination. Jackie was wearing the pink Chanel suit that became iconic as blood-splattered evidence of the death of Camelot.

I was unaware of Pastoureau’s books and his passion for mixing color history, anthropology and sociology. What makes color is not only eye-brain mechanisms—”It is society,” he concludes, “with its definitions, classifications, laws and practices, often different from those of science.” After reading Pink: The History of a Color, I will never look at swatches the same way.

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The post The Daily Heller: How Did Pink Become a Color? appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

India’s underground queer magazines transformed resistance into an art form, quietly asserting a truth long buried yet unbreakable. These publications, birthed from necessity and defiance, speak not only to the LGBTQ+ community but also to India’s shifting identity and visual culture. They are a testament to the fact that India’s relationship with LGBTQ+ identities is far more nuanced than the image of homophobia typically associated with it.

Despite the false narratives portrayed by the Modi government and modern-day stigmas, historical Indian art and texts tell a different story. Temple carvings, cultural traditions, and even ancient manuscripts reflect an acceptance, even celebration, of queer identities. However, British colonialism imposed a rigid Victorian morality on Indian society, codified by Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, which criminalized same-sex relationships. This colonial-era law fueled taboos that persist today. In the face of this repression, the early 2000s saw the quiet emergence of underground queer magazines. These publications represented both a rejection of colonial influence and a reassertion of India’s original diversity in sexual and gender expression.

India’s underground queer magazines were revolutionary despite their limited reach. Publications such as Samraat, Astitva, and Gay Bombay bypassed societal norms with a subversive and careful design. Inspired by India’s rich cultural heritage, such as the intricate, erotic carvings of the Khajuraho temples, these zines celebrated queerness through subtle but unmistakable references. The groundbreaking Bombay Dost — India’s first registered LGBTQ+ magazine founded by Ashok Row Kavi in 1990, emerged as an icon. Originally circulated discreetly, wrapped in brown paper, and distributed by word of mouth, the magazine provided a sanctuary—offering a candid space for discussing taboo topics like sex and romance. Over time, Bombay Dost built an essential network for queer expression in India, and its commercialization helped expand its reach, eventually becoming available in bookstores and online and more openly reaching upper-class audiences who sought connection.

Resiliency through graphic design in these magazines became an act of quiet rebellion and necessary caution. Each creative decision had to consider not only the readers but also the potential scrutiny from outsiders. Design choices thus served as tools for both subtle visibility and self-protection.

Left: Masala Mix Double Issue Cover, Bombay Dost Volume 5, No 2 & 3 (1996); Right: A Poster of Maddox’’s Solo Drag Performance

Coded Imagery

Visuals in these magazines became their own language. Illustrations employed symbolic imagery, like intertwined hands or muted rainbows, to convey queerness without explicitly stating it. Coded visuals were not a mere aesthetic choice; they allowed creators to sidestep censorship and to reach readers on a deeper, resonant level.

Typography as Resistance

The type choices were not neutral. Often bold and unconventional, the chosen fonts captured a sense of urgency, rebellion, or empowerment. The typography became a statement, challenging traditional design norms and capturing the daring spirit of the movement it represented.

Monochromatic Aesthetics

Due to budget constraints and limited access to color printing, many publications relied on monochromatic designs, often black and white. The starkness of the magazines’ visuals added a layer of underground, grassroots nature.

Left: Akshay Khanna’ ’s Opinion on Homosexuality, Bombay Dost cover, Volume 4 No 1 (1995); Right: Bollywood actors offering their opinions on homosexuality, Bombay Dost, Vol 5 No 2 & 3 (1996)

The impact of Bombay Dost stretched far beyond Indian borders. Row Kavi, the editor-in-chief of the magazine, recounts receiving letters from readers across Afghanistan, Dubai, and Iran, evidence of a hunger for connection that transcended national and cultural boundaries. Letters flooded into the magazine’s Khush Khat (Happy Letters) section from around the world, including neighboring Pakistan and various Central Asian republics, each voice resonating with the shared human desire for recognition and support.

These magazines contributed significantly to India’s design and cultural landscape. They were more than community bulletins; they became sites of experimentation where new typographic styles, symbolic color schemes, and innovative visual metaphors flourished and paved the way for new forms of self-expression that continue to influence contemporary designers and artists. Although the magazines are no longer in business, the legacy of these underground publications lives on. Today, the medium has largely transitioned to digital, but the message and impact remain potent, representing a significant chapter in both LGBTQ+ activism and Indian visual culture.

Jyothi Hiremath is a New York-based architect with a background in design writing, editorial, and communications. Currently pursuing a master’s in design research at the School of Visual Arts, she has nearly two years of experience at Epistle, South Asia’s leading consultancy for architecture, design, and product communications. Jyothi’s passions blend design research, trend analysis, human behavior, social impact, and storytelling.

The post Underground Ink: A Short History of India’s Queer Magazines appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Retro sports design and anything inspired by a robust soccer kit collection are going to catch my eye, so I reached out to learn more. Bever’s responses to my questions are below (lightly edited for length and clarity).

I was initially drawn to your work because I am an avid football fan and player with an affinity for retro soccer aesthetics. What’s your own personal relationship with football? Why are you compelled to blend football aesthetics into your portraiture work?

I grew up playing and watching football. My dad is in the army, and we moved around a lot. Football was a way to make friends, even if I couldn’t speak the language. You don’t need to share fluency in a language to play a game of football.

My dad is a huge football fan, and my mum is massively into her art. Over time, I have seen aspects of football and art in my pictures. Their influence has become more and more evident in portraits. I didn’t realize it until friends and family pointed it out in pictures I took years ago.

When you hit your 20s, nostalgia usually becomes a big influence on your work; it’s lovely to incorporate what made you happy as a child into your work. Football and art are happy reminders from my childhood; it could be a specific football shirt or painting, and it always makes me smile.

If you choose to shoot things that you are genuinely interested in, you’ll naturally spend all your time doing so. My work hasn’t felt like work; I’ve just been showing off my football shirt collection! I’ve been taking one to three people’s portraits for years. It’s a way to relax.

Where did your initial idea to recreate classic contemporary artworks as football-inspired portraits come from? How did you develop that concept?

I’ve always loved taking portraits, but wasn’t completely satisfied with them. Selfishly, I decided to show off my football shirt collection within my portraits. I then never knew how to compose people properly, so I thought that making subjects mirror compositions would be fun. From there, it all became a game where I would try and match shirts, subjects, and paintings. Sometimes, I hit the jackpot, and an artist has painted a singular subject numerous times, and that subject matches the person I’m shooting. That makes my life much easier.

I couldn’t think of anything worse than taking pictures of things that I’m not interested in.

But again, my dad likes football, and my mum likes art. My dad taking my brother and me to football games and my mum taking us to galleries, ended up rubbing off on me. I’m also incredibly stubborn, so I couldn’t think of anything worse than taking pictures of things that I’m not interested in. Following trends can be great temporarily, but in the long run, you’ve just spent your career copying other people’s passions.

Can you share more about your portraiture process? Where do you typically find the source images that you recreate with your own photographs? How do you then conceive of your recreations?

I get influence from a fair few places. Art accounts on various social media platforms are a big one. I buy galleries and art books from charity shops that are filled with paintings. They’re cheaper than going to exhibitions, and I don’t have to leave my flat to look at paintings.

I’m sure many hipster photographers will spend hours discussing how their identity and emotions affect how they take pictures; however, I just think, ‘That looks nice.’ Then I take the photo.

I trust my belly a lot and try various things, as long as I like them and get a good belly feeling out of them. I’m sure many hipster photographers will spend hours discussing how their identity and emotions affect how they take pictures; however, I just think, “That looks nice.” Then I take the photo. I wouldn’t overthink it; you’ll hurt your brain.

I see that you’re taking most of your portraits at your flat in London. What’s your studio set-up like? Technically speaking, what sort of cameras and types of film are you using?

It’s incredibly DIY— I shoot in the corner of my bedroom. I buy all my backdrops cheaply; I use one big light and a Mamiya RZ67. I’ve been shooting portraits on the same camera for ten years. I always have Radio 2 on, as there’s nothing worse than shooting someone in silence. Then, I only take one shot per shirt. That way I am never spending hours deciding which picture is better.

I never understand why people will shoot four to five rolls for the sake of two pictures. It’s just a JPEG.

I couldn’t think of anything worse than renting out a studio, having a million cameras, and having a million people at the studio churning through rolls and rolls of film. That’s just bonkers from a financial point of view. I never understand why people will shoot four to five rolls for the sake of two pictures. It’s just a JPEG.

What does your typical portrait session entail? Who are you photographing? What sort of instruction do you give them?

It’s a variety of people: friends, friends of friends, people from model agencies, and even family members. Couples can be from all walks of life. As long as they aren’t picky about wearing various shirts, I’m game if they’re easy to get on with. That’s why friends of friends are great; I know I won’t feel like chucking them out of the flat after one photo.

With instructions, I organize everything beforehand so that when they arrive, there isn’t any faffing around. I take one picture per shirt and copy the painting’s composition. I don’t enjoy wasting people’s time.

I also tell people to blink a lot before taking the picture, as if their eyes are open for too long; it makes them look like they’re crying in the photo. Having your portrait taken by me is not that emotional.

The post Photographer Lou Bever Uses His Soccer Kit Collection to Reimagine Classic Art appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Eric Segal is the co-founder of X&O, an expert network built to get to bigger ideas faster. He is the former chief creative officer at Anomaly, Grey, and McCann and has contributed to 5 Top Ten Super Bowl Ads, “the best commercial in the world,” according to CBS, and “one of the most effective and innovative uses of our platform,” according to Facebook.

What is the thing you like doing most in the world?

Wow. Coming strong out of the gate. I’m searching for something really profound here but what comes to mind is as basic as it gets. Sharing a great meal with friends. Especially if it’s a meal I cooked for them. Eating and drinking. Good food. Good company. That’s the stuff.

What is the first memory you have of being creative?

When I was five or six, in day camp, there was a drawing contest. I created this purple dragon that I named The Duesseldorf. (For some reason I had heard that John Denver’s real name was John Duesseldorf, and even though I had no idea who John Denver was, it sounded ridiculous and made up and something I should repurpose). I remember loving the feeling of impressing my counselors and bunkmates. And at the end of the summer, I was awarded the most artistic camper. (In hindsight, I imagine everyone got some sort of award, though back then we weren’t as participation trophy crazy.) That idea of creating something other people appreciated, something they thought they couldn’t also do – it stuck with me. I had this new sense of self that definitely set me on a path.

What is your biggest regret?

This one is easy for me. I played drums all through grade school and high school. But I never played in a band. I don’t think I had the guts for some reason. I can’t put my finger on why but it still drives me nuts today. I think about it regularly. So why am I still not in a band, you follow up? Great fucking question.

How have you gotten over heartbreak?

Music. That and the whole ‘time heals all wounds’ thing. I brood. And sometimes you just gotta wait for the sting of whatever it is to gradually grow less frequent. But music always helps. Finding that one song that was somehow written for you, for that very moment and that very ache. I remember the first time I really felt unrequited love in 5th grade. Stacey ripped my heart in two. And I wore out the tape listening to “Sweet Child of Mine” over and over again. I guess her hair reminded me of a warm safe place.

What makes you cry?

A lot. Gotta admit I like a good cry. I think I inherited it from my dad. He was a tough fucker. But then we used to catch him reaching a finger up behind his glasses to wipe a tear from the corner of his eyes during a sappy commercial. For me, any scene in a movie where that unbreakable bond between characters is on full display, especially between brothers or a parent and child crushes me. I recently bawled my eyes out on a plane watching the movie Iron Claw. Luckily, no one was sitting next to me. I was a puddle. EDIT: Also just cried last night at Wild Robot.

How long does the pride and joy of accomplishing something last for you?

Unfortunately, it fades pretty quickly. I wish I could relish that pride and sense of accomplishment longer but I move on fast and am always looking for the next win and challenge. This drive has served me well in my career and brought success but I stew in the losses much longer than I revel in the victories.

Do you believe in an afterlife, and if so, what does that look like to you?

Sort of. I think that when we die, all our energy, our soul, gets dispersed and goes into the creation of new things. I think this speaks to the idea of past lives as well and why we, those who feel in tune with them, only remember bits and pieces or flashes of recognition. Maybe it literally is just a part of you. I very much believe in kindred spirits and the idea that bits of us have been intertwined and connected for longer than we know.

What do you hate most about yourself?

Hate is a strong word. I have a pretty healthy relationship with myself but I do want to try and work on how much I stew in a loss or misstep. See question six. Those moments can take me down or spiral, and I’ll think about the loss much more than I should, and probably well past after everyone involved has moved on.

What do you love most about yourself?

My optimism and strong sense of conviction.

What is your absolute favorite meal?

This is the hardest question of the bunch. Damn. Ordering lunch feels like one of the toughest decisions in my life. I can make a decision on buying a new house easier than choosing my next meal. But my favorite right now, as I type out an answer, would have to be fried chicken with all the fixins. But as soon as I hit send on this, I’ll probably have buyer’s remorse.

The post What Matters to Eric Segal appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

A beautifully designed book can bring a story to life, crafting an experience that engages not just the eyes but the hands, the heart, and the imagination. Annual report design can transform dry data into a vibrant narrative, weaving numbers and stories together in a garden of typography, color, and visuals. A memorable brochure or catalog design is just that, memorable, not just informing but inspiring consideration, opportunity, or action.

Our 2025 PRINT Awards jury for these categories also creates memorable work for their clients and motivates their teams to push the boundaries of design.

Alex Lin

Alex Lin is the Owner of Studio Lin, a NYC-based graphic design practice established in 2012. Studio Lin focuses on long-term collaborations where graphic design can have a meaningful impact both locally and internationally. Many of their clients are engaged with art and design, so projects are often more collaborative than commissioned. Lin holds an MFA from Yale.

Dora Drimalas

Dora Drimalas is the co-founder and executive creative director of Hybrid Design and also the co-founder of Super7. Drimalas extensive background in brand strategy and graphic design has allowed her to work intimately on projects with some of the largest brands in the world, such as Nike, Sonos, The North Face, Rapha, Pinterest, Google, Apple, Samsung, Mohawk Fine Paper, Steelcase, TED Conferences, Lego, AT+T, Verizon and Starwood Hotels. Her desire to create the most innovative work possible brings her to the intersections of design, content, and culture within multiple mediums, always looking for new answers.

Pablo Delcan

Pablo Delcan is an award-winning Spanish graphic designer and visual artist based in upstate New York. A regular contributor to The New York Times, he created Prompt-Brush 1.0, a non-AI generative image model, and teaches design and AI tools at the School of Visual Arts.

Visit us at printawards.co to learn more about these jurors and all of our amazing design leaders who are part of the 2025 PRINT Awards jury.

Our regular rate ends today! There’s still time to enter your book covers, full book designs, brochures, or catalogs, as well as your work in 28 categories with the lowest rate of the season.

The post Meet the PRINT Awards Jury for Book Design, Annual Reports, Brochures & Catalogs appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Since I failed my chemistry and physical science courses in school, I asked Franco to give me a detailed remedial accounting of his fascinating work in short bits that I could understand. Thank you, Kobi, for your patience.

Please explain your experiments—and tell me how you would define Molecular Typography.
I first encountered the [term] “molecular typography” while randomly surfing the internet. The search led me to a short video titled “Understanding Molecular Typography,” which documented a lecture by the American designer and artist Woody Leslie. Leslie presents a book by the philologist and scholar H.F. Henderson, which argues that the letters of the Latin alphabet are based on a molecular structure, meaning each letter is composed of a combination of several atoms. Henderson suggests that future research in other languages would yield additional atoms or new insights, potentially catalyzing a revolution in this field. “Understanding Molecular Typography” was later revealed to be an artistic project, a figment of Leslie’s imagination. Nevertheless, I became enchanted by the speculative process of thinking about a Hebrew alphabet composed of similar yet different “atoms.” I embarked on a journey—an experimental, pseudo-scientific study based on the assumption that the Hebrew letters indeed had a molecular structure. I sought to explore how this assumption could be applied to the Hebrew alphabet, Hebrew words, and the Hebrew language.

The molecular principles are straightforward: a limited number of atoms, or basic shapes, connect to one another through electromagnetic attraction, forming all the letters of the alphabet. Leslie based his study on the Futura typeface (1927), designed by Paul Renner, and broke it down into seven atoms. In my laboratory, I chose to work with the Va’ad typeface (2005), which I developed based on letters designed by Ze’ev Raban (1890–1970), one of the pioneers of Israeli art in the mid-20th century. The Va’ad typeface was deconstructed into six variously sized atoms, designed on the basis of a square grid and tagged with the Latin letters: square=D, horizontal rectangle=E, short vertical rectangle=J, long vertical rectangle=I, parallelogram tilted to the right=K, and parallelogram tilted to the left=V. Each letter in the Latin and Hebrew alphabets is composed of combinations of two to 11 atoms. The combinations of atoms that make up the letters are arranged as though composing a chemical formula. In this way, the first Hebrew letter, Aleph—composed of four squares, a short vertical rectangle, a parallelogram tilted to the right, and a parallelogram tilted to the left—is represented by the formula D4JKV. Each atom is surrounded by a fixed electric charge that causes an electromagnetic interaction. The combination of atoms into letters parallels the combination of letters into words. The atoms are 3D units, and their combination forms letters or 3D signs.

The work that comes from your experiments addresses the legibility, accessibility and emotional qualities of type. Would you say this is an accurate description?
Yes, that is indeed an accurate description. The Molecular Typography Laboratory is a speculative research project that explores experimental typography along the axes of function versus aesthetics and content versus form. It includes a series of tests—a system of “games” for which I determine the rules, set the game board, and decide on the players. The tests present the results of each game. Using a method that combines several basic shapes, the Hebrew and Latin alphabets were constructed, resulting in the design of a typeface. The project presents visual, conceptual and potential structural applications for this typeface.

In his essay “Word-Covenant,” Ori Drumer, cultural critic and psychotherapist, says: “In Franco’s laboratory, letters function as an extension of the researcher’s body. The artist’s book and the accompanying research project provoke further thought, curiosity and imagination, and their exploration is accompanied by a desire to decipher and name the letter images functioning as body parts. Franco presents a unique visual language, a spectacle of complex relations with the letters, which he puts to various uses. Removed from their familiar context, in which they function as signs, the letters are subjected to unusual typographic processes, so that they become images charged with meaning. For Franco, the letters are not only morphological signs, while the laboratory under­mines the arbitrary character of the sign. Franco plays with the conventional linguistic mechanism that arbitrarily ties together sign, signifier and signified, undoing the connection between letter and representation to create a personal interpretation and a new structural logic that is highly personal. The result is a private, symbolic typography, which nevertheless has meaning and content in the actual world.”

Your work, as I understand it, is at the nexus of type and poetry. How would you describe your process?
It can definitely be said that poetry, or the use of poetry, appears quite frequently in the project. My research has been deeply influenced by the creative activity and self-imposed writing constraints formulated by the members of the OuLiPo group—a circle of mostly French writers, poets and mathematicians founded in 1960. The group’s purpose was to create new literary structures and models by imposing various constraints or algorithms. “Necessity is the mother of invention,” or, in the words of group member Georges Perec, it functions as “a machine for stories.” Existing literary forms, such as the lipogram and palindrome, as well as new forms invented by the group, were largely based on mathematical equations. This reliance on constraint initially appeared to be a spectacular tool, but in fact, it stemmed from the belief that linguistic constraints liberate consciousness and give rise to new and original ideas.

The use of linguistic templates such as the anagram, palindrome and pangram accelerates a form’s capacity to add to verbal content, camouflage it, and act as crude visual matter. My own tests have examined the formal, aesthetic and symmetrical appearance of letters and words, in the spirit of post-structuralist interpretation, which views the text as a weave of interrelated signs in an expanding network of meanings. Derrida himself noted the etymological connection between “text” and “texture,” conceiving of a text whose materiality resembles that of a cloth. Another source of inspiration was the Symbolist poets of the 19th century, including Arthur Rimbaud, who sought to apply rules to madness and ascribe colors to letters, and Stéphane Mallarmé, whose poem A Throw of Dice Will Never Abolish Chance (1897) promoted the use of unique typography and a visual approach to writing, followed by poets and artists such as Guillaume Apollinaire.

In her essay “The Nexus between Typography and Poetics,” Dr. Batsheva Goldman-Ida, a curator and scholar, says: “A playful spirit is felt throughout Franco’s project, in which the stringent rules provide a framework for artistic expression … [it] also enables the reader to view the typography as an artform in the sense of Gaston Bachelard, who speaks of the ‘wholly unexpected nature of the new image’ at the cusp of the moment, ‘in a state of emergence, in which life becomes manifest through its vivacity.’ Bachelard adds: ‘The poetic image is an emergence from language, it is always a little above the language of signification.’ In this respect, Franco’s project is a work of poetry.”

This is heady stuff. Tell me, what boundaries are you attempting to cross?
I have been teaching graphic and typographic design for over two decades. Over the years, I have increasingly focused on typographic research, specifically developing courses that examine the boundaries of the discipline—from its commercial and practical aspects to its experimental and research-oriented side. In my course Experimental Typography, I ask students to invent a method for various tests of the alphabet system. In subsequent stages, students are required to refine this method for different media and disciplines, essentially creating an imaginary world in which their system of rules has foundation and justification.

I developed this same methodology in my laboratory. As mentioned, when I began working on the project, I started from very basic foundations. Each letter received a formula based on the atoms that constitute it. However, this principle can be creatively refined in countless directions. As I continued to invent tests, the molecular world grew. Very quickly, I realized that I was creating a world that is truly boundless. I didn’t know that I would suddenly realize that if the atoms are based on a square grid, it would be possible to quantify and measure the number of squares in each letter. And if the grid is 3D, I could “weigh” each letter and essentially develop a system of molecular gematria, a traditional Jewish system of assigning numerical values to letters (numerology), where there is a “weight” for each letter, word or paragraph. I was then able to develop a gematria calculator capable of producing a list of synonyms with the same formula and weight. If I had not continued to let my imagination soar and realized that I could create anything I could think of, I would not have reached the understanding that, although atoms attract each other with electro-magnetic force, in the molecular world, I could cancel this force and create a situation in which, contrary to the laws of nature, minus could connect with minus and plus with plus. At this stage, I identified two Hebrew alphabet systems: binary and nonbinary, and essentially concluded that every word in the Hebrew language exists on a gender spectrum between binary and nonbinary.

The rhizomatic character of the study, which branched out as it expanded from one test to the next, enabled me to leap from one theme to another, employing a strategy that could continue operating as long as I was interested in pursuing it.

Code plays a large role in your work. How so?
Code and programming are indeed prominently reflected in the research. As noted, every letter in the Hebrew and Latin alphabets is composed of combinations of two to 11 atoms, which are arranged like a chemical formula. A digital catalyst developed in the laboratory creates different 3D variations for the formula pertaining to each letter of the alphabet. The result is a generative system of letters characterized by the identical features of a visual DNA. The catalyst also enables a perspectival, 3D view of each letter and of different combinations derived from the formula.

The 2D tests led to a system that independently rotates the atoms composing each letter. The rotations were examined according to three parameters: the angle of rotation, its centering, and the number of repetitions (the replications of the rotated atom). As a result, the visual form of each letter is deconstructed into fragments. The larger the angle of rotation, the more it impacts the letter’s legibility and our ability to identify it. Additional tests isolated the atoms in the formula, enlarging each according to different proportions. Later, I examined the transformation of a given atom’s size during use. With the typing of each character, certain atoms grew by 5%, a generative change that led to the chipping of the letter and impacted its legibility. The website I created for the project allows, unlike the book, the inclusion of videos and generative tests. In the future, I plan to add interactive interfaces to the website.

In his essay “From Word to Code,” Prof. Arch. Eran Neuman, dean of the Faculty of the Arts, Tel Aviv University, says: “… the moment a letter is encoded, it can be given various visual expressions. In this sense, the letters are no different than animal species or humans, who share a similar genetic code despite their diverse appearances. The letters in Franco’s typeface all share basic building blocks, yet each possesses a different form, and diverse visual expressions of the same letter are similarly based on the same code. … Franco’s move from visual typefaces to code-based typefaces thus also reflects the current post-humanist age, in which the perception of ideas exceeds the limits of the gaze, of hearing or of touch, whose sensory input is required in making contact with the world. His typography, which goes beyond the design of typefaces, partakes of a digital universe in which texts are not written only by means of let­ters, and in which the meaning of different concepts is elucidated by deciphering a code.”

How will the typefaces that have been designed under the umbrella of Molecular Typography be used in a pragmatic manner?
The project is indeed based on the design of an alphabetic system, initially in Hebrew and later in Latin. However, as noted, the design of the letters emerged from formal constraints. The typefaces were not designed as reading typefaces or even as display typefaces. While aesthetic decisions were, of course, made, they were confined to the use of the six “atoms” alone, resulting in a highly raw and elemental letterform system. The Hebrew typeface, which was designed first, follows horizontal proportions. When I decided to create a Latin version, I was compelled to rotate the letterforms into a vertical orientation. As a result, the two languages are designed with distinct proportions and do not conform to the conventional definition of a bilingual typeface. Additionally, I have not yet attempted to design a lowercase version of the Latin alphabet. In the project, I use the typefaces in various ways, primarily leveraging the architectural potential of each letter to deconstruct and reconstruct them into an infinite number of appearances based on the same atomic formula. However, I do not foresee any pragmatic use for these typefaces beyond this project.

The post The Daily Heller: Did You Know That Letters Are Composed of Atoms? appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Check out the full series as it unfolds.

Go backstage on the Two Craigs website to see how the pair translate the prompt through photography and illustration.

Tight

“I wanted to create a brutalist sculpture using two blocks of steel inside a C clamp. I always found tools to be very inspirational when creating still life photographs.
I was also inspired by Walker Evans B&W photographic series of individual tools he created over a century ago.

Craig Cutler

Adjectives are tough. I have to represent a certain feeling. I initially thought of things like a tight situation of tightening a bolt. It’s kind of mechanical. I pulled on a surgical glove as they are always too tight. Sure enough, if I didn’t put it on all the way, it exaggerated the tightness. It was fun to draw with colored pencils—a homage to Craig’s red hand (#28).

Craig Frazier

Follow along with PRINT, at 2craigs.com, or on Instagram.

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In the face of utter devastation, a heartening silver lining has been the outpouring of people doing their part to support those who have lost so much. Pasadena native Barkev is one of these Angelenos, who has used his product line through his brand Merch Motel as a platform to raise funds. Barkev launched Merch Motel as a means of paying homage to and preserving historic signage and architecture in and around Los Angeles through pins, key chains, magnets, apparel, and more. I’ve been a fan of his work for years and was not surprised to see he had designed a collection of Altadena products as a way of giving back to a community decimated by the Eaton fire.

Read on to learn more about Barkev’s personal connection to Altadena, and how he’s helping a community in crisis. (Interview lighted edited for length and clarity).

As a retro-LA enthusiast, I would imagine that the loss and devastation across the city caused by the wildfires is particularly painful for you. Can you share any reflections on what it’s been like processing this tragedy?

It was very difficult to process the destruction of thousands of structures caused by the wildfires. Practically overnight, we lost so much of our heritage and culture. The impact was felt by people from all walks of life, permanently changing the neighborhoods we cherish. It was devastating to know that historic properties were being destroyed one after another; it felt never-ending. Family homes, community traditions, legacy businesses, and historic architecture all disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Family homes, community traditions, legacy businesses and historic architecture all disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

I’ve always been an advocate for preservation, from the smallest details to the largest buildings. Altadena was filled with incredible historic sites, it was nice to know that so many properties were landmarked, ensuring they wouldn’t be at risk of alteration or demolition. Altadena respects its heritage, and I appreciate that so much. 

What’s your own personal relationship with Altadena?

I grew up in Pasadena, it’s right next door to Altadena. I often visit Altadena to see friends and family who live and work there. I grew up going to school in Altadena and admiring their Christmas displays. Altadena feels like an extension of my home.

What makes Altadena so special? What’s your favorite part about the neighborhood/community?

The neighborhoods in Altadena are one-of-a-kind, rich with history and architecture. I’ve spent hours driving around just to appreciate its beauty. The structures in Altadena are a level of craftsmanship that can’t really be replicated today. The old homes blend in with the natural landscape filled with tall old trees; the people and animals live in harmony.

How would you describe the Altadena aesthetic and what makes it so compelling?

It’s hard to describe how Altadena makes you feel. Walking through the neighborhoods felt like stepping into a fairytale. It’s a dreamy place to be. 

Can you share more about Merch Motel’s fundraiser to raise funds for those affected by the Eaton Fire and the Sahag Mesrob school? How did you decide on the designs you created for those collections?

While hearing about (and seeing) so many properties destroyed, I dedicated some time to research to then showcase these sites online. I felt it was important to respect and honor these places that we lost. I showcased contemporary and vintage photographs along with information about the history of these properties. I also shared photos I took in Altadena from the last few years; I always try to document the places I admire. 

Through Merch Motel, I document historic sites and collaborate with businesses, organizations, museums, and non-profits to create products honoring their legacy. I knew I wanted to do something special for Altadena, so I worked on a collection of products to help raise funds. The collection is inspired by the feeling of Altadena, a charming world that’s hidden within Los Angeles. Some of the designs incorporate archival material; it’s an homage to this beautiful place.

100% of the profits will be donated to those affected by the Eaton Fire.

Why is the Sahag Mesrob school specifically so near and dear to you? 

I actually attended Sahag Mesrob as a kid. I have always been fascinated by this campus. Always! In 2022, I reached out to the school and asked if I could tour the campus and document its architectural details. I am so grateful they allowed me to do this. I couldn’t believe how many original details were still intact.

The building was originally a home, built in the 1910s. Isn’t that so fascinating? An old mansion converted into a school! I absolutely loved it. It was also surrounded by several historic homes and beautiful trees, creating such a special environment and community. I never imagined it would all be gone. 

It’s important to support and appreciate all that we have, while we still have it!

Can you share any other ways people can show their support for historic LA right now?
I always recommend visiting historic sites, businesses, restaurants, and museums when you can. I have digital maps available on my website that highlight some of these places. These are the places that make our cities so unique and beautiful. It’s what gives it its culture and character. It’s important to support and appreciate all that we have, while we still have it!

The post Merch Motel Launches Altadena Collection with Proceeds Going to Those Affected by the Fires appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Manifest Destiny is rad.

In the epilogue of Elijah Wald’s book Dylan Goes Electric—an excellent chronicle of the pivotal moment when the folk music ethos transformed into the rock epoch, as portrayed in the film A Complete Unknown—the author notes inn 1965 there was “a clash of two dreams … the democratic communitarian ideal of a society of equals working together for the common good, and the romantic libertarian ideal of the free individual unburdened by the constraints of rules and custom.” I bought into that interpretation and was hoping it would be the norm for some time to come. Well, it came and went.

Last week I saw the aged leader of the United States sitting behind a grand table in a large D.C. sports arena. The WWE couldn’t have accomplished the stagecraft any better. Before a ceremonial dais, bathed in divine light, Trump tagged dozens of executive orders and decrees instantly expunging many critical progressive-era programs with the broad fever-line strokes of his branded fat-head Sharpie. I was gobsmacked by the obvious truth that progress doesn’t last forever.

Aquarians are on the verge of aging out, and we are being led into the new era of disenlightenment by a false prophet (and fake Village Person), whose forever-young narcissistic personality disorder has been normalized as a merry MAGA band of post-Boomer disciples spreads his mantra that “America First” is über cool. Meanwhile, the all-too-overt self-interested support of Gen X and Millennial tech oligarchs are standing in line enabling Trump to make whatever it is he really wants to make great again.

So, I wondered what the pioneer hippie diehards of m-m-my-my generation have evolved into, and I asked Midjourney—the current AI iteration—to visualize “what’s become of an Aged Age of Aquarius in 2025”. Thanks to Todd Carroll, this is what the computer keyboard prompt spit out. Wavy Gravy would be proud.

The post The Daily Heller: The Twilight of the Aged of Aquarius appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Concept design calls on the creative ability to visualize ideas and abstract concepts in unique and impactful ways, to think beyond the obvious, and to see connections others might overlook. Great conceptual designers embrace exploration. They experiment with unconventional materials, techniques, or approaches, and welcome feedback as part of refining their ideas.

This year, we couldn’t be more excited to welcome our jury members to experience and evaluate the entries in concept design. These visionaries are from all over the world and the US. They bring a commitment to challenging norms and established perspectives as well as artistic talent and critical thinking, creating projects that not only look good but also spark thought and emotion.

Leo Fidjeland, Linnea Våglund, and Filips Staņislavskis

Spanning the globe, from Riga, Latvia, and Malmö, Sweden to Dharamshala, India, the team from Nonhuman Nonsense is a research-driven art and design collective working in the realm of social dreaming and world-making. Their projects engage with the nonhuman: animals, objects, ecology, technology, and the spaces between and beyond categories. Nonsense is an antidote to “common sense” – and the team uses it to embrace paradoxical stories, exploring the ethical and metaphysical layers of our relationship with the (nonhuman) world. Leo Fidjeland, Linnea Våglund, and Filips Staņislavskis create contradictory scenarios and propositions, borrowing ideas from fields such as science, computing, law, and mythology. Nonhuman Nonsense enjoys curiosity, cherishes compassion, and recognizes that separating the human from the nonhuman is nonsense.

Sarah Williams

Sarah Williams is the co-CEO and creative leader for Beardwood&Co, an independent, woman, and queer-owned branding agency based in New York City that illuminates possibilities to amplify brand growth. With a focus on big, creative ideas made to thrive in the real world, Williams and team partner with clients to achieve brilliant outcomes without the egos or silos often found in the agency world. She has led creative for global brands including Westin, Pottery Barn, Danone, Hello Products, and the nation’s largest affordable housing non-profit, Enterprise Community Partners.

Branding and design is a field that requires you to embrace constant learning — whether it’s adapting to new technology, new ways of leading and managing, or envisioning how people experience brands. A learning mindset is required at all times.

Sarah Williams

In addition to leading Beardwood&Co, Williams serves as the president of AIGA NY (2024-2026). She has served on the volunteer board for the past three years supporting their mission of “Championing the Future of Design for All” through organizing and hosting community-based events.

Candace Solola

Candace Solola is an award-winning brand designer and a partner and creative director at SO Dsgn, a Chicago-based brand design and product innovation studio that specializes in elevating brands through meaningful, story-driven design.

Candace with SO Dsgn’s sketch exploration for Runnly and custom packaging design for YouTube’s 2023 end-of-year gifting program.

With a previous background as design director at Landor & Fitch, Solola brings extensive experience in brand building that spans across industries. Her passion for brands, combined with her entrepreneurial spirit, inspired her to partner with her husband Rotimi Solola, to build SO Dsgn into a dynamic design consulting practice. In her role at SO Dsgn, Solola is committed to creating visually captivating brands, telling meaningful stories, sharing new perspectives, and contributing to the Chicago design community.

Visit us at printawards.co to learn more about these jurors and all of our amazing design leaders who are part of the 2025 PRINT Awards jury.

Our regular rate has been extended to January 28, so there’s still time to enter your concept design or your work in 28 categories with the lowest rate of the season.

The post Meet the 2025 PRINT Awards Jury for Concept Design appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

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If in 1965 I had two million freshly minted, crisp green-backs, I would have had the honor of presenting this epochal artist with the dough to fund his film. But when Fred Mogubgub (1928–1989) was making revolutionary quick-cut, limited animation commercials and films (hard to find and all but forgotten today), I was a tyke with $10 in the bank. I was only 15 when I saw this painted sign for the first time and wondered “what is a Mogubgub?” I met him years after he created this billboard. He was then producing quirky opening and closing sequences for TV shows like Tom Chapin’s “Make A Wish”.

When I met Fred in 1970, making his own brand of psychedelic-surrealist comics at The East Village Other, the name Mogubgub sounded to me like a melodic nonsense word or a rare insect rather than an avant garde artist. So what was he doing during the 1960s? Fred Mogubgub was a filmmaker, animator, painter and cartoonist who partnered with Pablo Ferro in two animation studios—Ferro Mogubgub Lew, then Ferro Mogubgub Schwartz— before starting his own studio. As noted on Cartoon Brew: Mogubgub “was an important part of New York’s indie animation scene in the 1960s and 1970s.” His films are exemplary examples of pop art in motion. He was also creator of The Pop Show from the late 1960s, a quick-cut parade of pop icons, featuring “a pre-Playboy, pre-N. O. W. Gloria Steinem” slugging down odd-ball hi-balls.

Mogubgub’s TV work was known for its staccato jump-cuts—an assemblage of cartoons and photographs that instantly flashed across the screen. He made work for Ford, Coca-Cola and Life Savers. He admitted that his subject matter derived from “American objects which stick out from the clichés you get drilled into you in school.” He was given the slogan, “Have you ever heard anyone say ‘no’ to a Life Saver?” by the Beech-Nut people and made a pop commercial. A marketing survey reported that the public recalled this commercial with its raw graphic effects more often than conventional ads.

However, he wanted out of the commercial business. He had film and painting in his sights. Mogubgub’s best known film, Enter Hamlet, was commissioned by The School of Visual Arts: It was Maurice Evans’ elegaic reading of Hamlet’s soliloquy poised against pop graphics. Each word is represented by a drawing, each scene cut to the word.

He was naturally drawn to and most welcome at the East Village Other, in a loft above the Fillmore East on Second Avenue and 6th Street. Routinely, he would arrive late on paste-up night usually stoned, proceed to a lamp-lit corner where he’d draw his stream-of-consciousness work. Like the cover below, he liked to print in two split fountain inks often using hard-to-read yellow; he’d finish a few minutes before the art was sent off to Druss printers in Long Island. There were no proofs. Serendipity was the goal.

One night at a paste-up session, he invited the staff to help him throw all his expensive camera equipment into the Hudson River early the next morning. He said he was forever finished with making film (although in 1979 he worked on an incredible sequence in R.O. Blechman’s epic animate feature “A Soldier’s Tale”). I oversleep and never knew for certain whether he did it or not. I do know that he was working on a two-story high painting for which he had to cut a hole in the ceiling of his loft. Whether the painting (created in square sections) was ever completed, I do not know.

What I do know, is that he deserves a museum retrospective if his artwork did not meet the same reputed fate as did his cameras. Mogubgub died in 1989 at 61.

If you prefer a slightly higher-quality version, go here.

The post The Daily Heller: Why Didn’t Someone Give Fred Mogubgub Two Million Dollars? A Reprise appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Clearly, we’re scrambling to understand the implications of a change so big and so fast we can barely wrap our heads around it.

Before we get into how we got here, and what the consequences of AI will be for branding and design, it’s important to start with one grounding idea:

The inherent value of creativity is that it is an expression of the human condition.

Branding and design are creative outputs. Creativity gives voice to the human experience, emotions, struggles, aspirations, stories. It helps us create connection and empathy. It helps us process life’s complexity and meaning. It helps us create cultures and a sense of belonging to them. It helps us solve problems and adapt to new challenges.

Creativity is one of the things that makes us human, and we should never forget that.

Now, how did we get here?

AI Shouldn’t Be a Total Surprise

Stanley Kubrik’s 2001: A Space Odyssey—a creative masterpiece of a film released in 1968, based on a book released a few months earlier authored by Arthur C. Clarke—anticipated this moment. Spoiler alert, the film is Clarke and Kubrik’s way of processing the potential impacts of advanced technologies like AI on humanity. Set mostly in space, the film actually begins in prehistoric times to make its main point: that humans have always had the disturbing tendency to turn technological tools into weapons for self-defense, self-advancement, dominance, and destruction.

Fifty-two years later, it’s easy to see how ChatGPT’s release in 2022 puts us on a path where HAL 9000, the conversational AI with “emotional intelligence” trusted with literally keeping the movie’s astronaut protagonists alive, is not such a crazy idea. Add it to a growing list of predictions the movie made, which, ironically, mostly started materializing after the year 2001: space stations as habitats (2000), predictive algorithms (2000s), video calling (2003), tablet computers (2010), voice-controlled interfaces (2011), virtual assistants and multimodal communication (2011), smart homes and centralized systems (2014), artificial intelligence (2016), autonomous systems (2016), human-machine relationships (2016), reusable spacecraft (2015), augmented reality & advanced interfaces (2016), AI-powered diagnostics (2018), space tourism (2021). Yet to materialize: cryosleep, artificial gravity in rotating space habitats, fully autonomous spacecraft decision-making systems with advanced general AI and emotional intelligence (like HAL, the villain of the movie).

I won’t get into the philosophical, ethical, and existential considerations of a HAL 9000-like situation. I’m just hoping we can learn the fundamental lesson most sci-fi movies try to teach us: Yes, we’re brilliant at inventing technology and we’re great at seeing the upside. We’re less great at seeing or dealing with its potential harms.

But I will take a look at how all of this is affecting branding and design, a domain I’m much more comfortable grappling with than the survival of the human race as we know it.

Confronting Reality in An Increasingly Artificial World

First, a confession: I use AI regularly as a research assistant. It’s exciting. The access to information is intoxicating. The computing power is mindblowing. The research capabilities are astounding. It would have taken me forever to compile the list of technologies predicted by Clarke and Kubrik without ChatGPT to conveniently fetch that for me. AI tools are great at finding things that exist—much better than a simple Google search. They’re great at synthesizing them, organizing them, and adjusting to every request you throw at them. They’re great assistants. But my experience of them so far is that they aren’t great “creators.” As 2001 foreshadowed, they are also prone to errors in judgment and embedded with the same biases and flaws as the humans who created them.

So how is the broader creative sector experiencing these tools? Warning: These numbers are going to feel like a gut punch. According to recently published research in the Harvard Business Review: “After the introduction of ChatGPT, there was a 21% decrease in the weekly number of posts in automation-prone jobs compared to manual-intensive jobs. Writing jobs were affected the most (30.37% decrease), followed by software, app, and web development (20.62%) and engineering (10.42%). A similar magnitude of decline in demand was observed after the introduction of popular image-generating AI tools (including Midjourney, Stable Diffusion, and DALL-E 2) were introduced. Within a year of introducing image-generating AI tools, demand for graphic design and 3D modeling freelancers decreased by 17.01%. Additionally, we noticed that over time, there were no signs of demand rebounding, revealing a growing trend of job replacement.”

Uh Oh, Is Creativity Dead?

If you’re like me, your heart sank to the floor as you read those numbers. You probably had some feelings of guilt, too: “Oh shit, I use ChatGPT all the time. Am I digging my own grave?”

There’s no denying that the employment landscape in creative industries will continue changing as AI evolves. As the HBR article highlights, the shift has already begun and it will only accelerate. The changes ahead will be significant. Some roles will evolve, others may disappear, and new opportunities will emerge. It’s a realignment, much like the ones brought on by the advent of Photoshop or the rise of the internet—but bigger. Rejecting a technology that is becoming omnipresent around us is not a winning strategy. The key to thriving in this transition is in quickly identifying what parts of the creative process are replaceable or “automation-prone,” which are harder to replace, and which new roles can now emerge.

AI and Branding

As we integrate these technologies into branding and design, a critical question arises: Can AI ever replace the human strategy, creativity, and authenticity that make brands meaningful?

I’m no futurist, but based on my experience, the answer is a resounding no. While AI can help streamline tasks and amplify our abilities, it cannot replace the uniquely human elements of collaboration, instinct, unpredictability, empathy, and ethical responsibility. As one of our clients, Nick Fabiani, Creative Lead at the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, puts it: “At the end of the day, my take on AI is anything that is worth time for someone to consume—any piece of written media, visual media that is worth someone engaging with and trying to get meaning from—is worth the time for a human to create it.”

Why the Human Element Matters

People want to feel ownership over the ideas they help shape. They want to be part of something bigger, and they want their values to shine through in the work. AI might assist in the execution, but it can’t replace the emotional intelligence, intuition, and cultural awareness that define truly impactful branding. Even if it was possible to create a facsimile of emotional intelligence, how would it be believable without real experience to back it up?

The process of collaboration and co-creation is central to building brands that resonate.

As Harvard Business Review points out, “AI is shifting the focus of work away from predictive tasks to those requiring human judgment and decision-making.” AI excels at speed and efficiency. It can crunch data, predict trends based on patterns, and attempt to generate (more like regurgitate) creative outputs. But the content it generates is only as interesting as the prompts that guide it and the human editing that makes it fresh, surprising, and authentic. Outputs aside, branding and design are not just about the deliverables—they’re about the journey of getting there. As Fabiani notes, “How we get there, how we arrive at it, is the important part, really. So that’s sort of where I draw the line on AI—how do you replace actual human experience?”

Preparing Creative Leaders for an AI-Augmented World

As AI takes on more technical and repetitive tasks, the next generation of creative leaders must be equipped with new skills. It’s no longer enough to just master design software or write compelling copy. Creative leaders need to know when to prioritize intentional, values-driven work over the speed and quantity enabled by AI. We must think critically and holistically about our work: who it’s for, why it matters, and how it brings people together. But beyond that, we have to focus on the thing that will never be replaceable: human-to-human relationships. Brands are ultimately about the humans behind them: humans who need to feel listened to, guided, validated, represented, dignified, motivated, inspired, driven by purpose and meaning.

AI as a Tool, Not a Replacement

AI has become an indispensable assistant in creative work. It can accelerate and enhance workflows. But it should always remain just that—an assistant. It is not a replacement for the creative processes that connect people to ideas and to each other. Humans must stay in the decision-making seat, driving the strategy and meaning behind the work.

The most successful brands are not built on efficiency alone but on meaning and resonance. AI can help us get there faster, but it’s the human experience that makes the destination worthwhile.

This essay is by Deroy Peraza, partner at Hyperakt, a purpose-driven design and innovation studio that elevates human dignity and ignites curiosity. Originally posted in the newsletter, Insights by Hyperakt.

Header iIllustration by Merit Myers.

The post AI Won’t (Completely) Replace Us appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

One of the most compelling ideas from this thought-provoking episode centers on control—how we perceive our own health and judge others, assuming people have more control over their health outcomes than they really do. This theme cuts to the heart of the obesity debate: are we excusing unhealthy habits, or are we acknowledging that the issue is far more complex than we originally thought?

Inspiration for this episode came from this op-ed in The New York Times: Are We Thinking About Obesity All Wrong?

Welcome to Breaking the Code! Behavioral science is a cornerstone of modern marketing practice, but much of what passes itself off as behavioral science is just bs. Good social science gives us the insights and roadmap we need to change behavior, but bad social science just muddies the water and tarnishes the social sciences. As behavior change is a core objective of marketing, getting behavioral science right is crucial. Listen in as hosts Brad Davidson, PhD and Sonika Garcia, MPH, Medical Anthropology Strategists at Havas Health, sound off on what is, and isn’t, good social science, from a variety of disciplines covering new topics every podcast.

Learn more on LinkedIn and Spotify.

The post Do GLP-1s Change the Meaning of “Obesity”? appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Twain’s folksy persona and witty writings had broad populist appeal, and he is now seen as an American classic with a long-lasting influence. If the frigid weather is getting your goat, bask in the warmth of a little Twain—starting with some of the items from the show, which was curated by Susan Jaffe Tane (who loaned 90% of the material), Gabriel Mckee and Julie Carlsen.

The post The Daily Heller: And the Mark Twain Award Goes to … appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The attack lasted between five and ten minutes, in which the Koachi brothers also killed police officer Ahmed Merabet while fleeing the scene. An intense search ensued, and the attackers would eventually hole up in a print shop before dying in a subsequent shootout.

Chérif and Saïd Kouachi were explicit in their motivations for their heinous act of terrorism. Their bloodlust was inspired by Charlie Hebdo’s publication of cartoons seen as disparaging and blasphemous of Islam and the prophet Muhammad. The Kouachis said they were directed by al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP), a Yemen-based militant group considered a terrorist organization by the United States, Canada, Australia, the United Nations, and Saudi Arabia, among others.

Charlie Hebdo was no stranger to violent retaliation. Its offices were firebombed, and its website was hacked in November 2011, presumably in response to issue 1011, when it renamed the publication “Charia Hebdo,” a reference to Sharia law, and featured a cover depicting Muhammad.

The brutal and bloody act of terrorism galvanized the L’Hexagone and the rest of the Western world. Not only had the AQAP-directed brothers fired upon Charlie Hedbo, but they had also taken aim at satire itself, a beloved and longstanding form of expression in France, dating back centuries to the days of court jesters with permission to mock the king and others in power. Satirical works mocking the French aristocracy would play a significant role during the French Revolution, with Charlie Hebdo keeping the irreverent and sharp-tongued tradition alive in modern times.

As a show of solidarity, the French took to the streets in the aftermath of the Charlie Hedbo murders and a related attack in a nearby Hypercacher kosher supermarket. Millions took to the streets throughout France, with thousands more in cities abroad. “Je suis Charlie,” French for “I am Charlie,” became a slogan expressing support for the freedom of expression and the press, borne out of a simple graphic designer Joachim Roncin created in response to the tragic events that happened five minutes away from his home.

While the brutal attack targeted Charlie Hedbo specifically, the world saw it as an affront to the notions of free expression, an unencumbered press speaking truth to power, and liberty itself. These are values nations like France and the United States view as paramount and necessary to preserve an often fragile democratic republic, or at least pay a lot of lip service to.

But has the Esprit de Charlie waned in the ten years since those horrific acts of terror? Are cartoonists and journalists like those at Charlie Hedbo still free or safe to ply their satirical craft to shine a light on the actions of those in positions of power and influence? Should it even matter to those devoted to the role of journalist? 

Satire has a virtue that has helped us to go through these tragic years: optimism. If you want to laugh, it’s because you want to live. Laughter, irony, and caricature are expressions of optimism. Whatever happens, dramatic or happy, the urge to laugh will never disappear.

Laurent “Riss” Sourisseau, editor, Charlie Hebdo

Not at Charlie Hebdo. Ten years on, the staff at the weekly newspaper hasn’t stopped being just as acerbic in its critique of those with influence and power, including Islamic fundamentalists and far-right politicians. They commemorated the tenth anniversary of the fatal attacks with a special edition sporting a cover depicting a grinning reader sitting atop a rifle similar to those used by the Kouachi brothers with a headline exclaiming, “Indestructible!”

“Today, Charlie Hebdo’s values, such as humor, satire, freedom of expression, ecology, secularism, and feminism, to name a few, have never been so challenged,” writes Charlie Hebdo editor Laurent “Riss” Sourisseau, who survived the attack. “Perhaps it is because renewed obscurantist forces are threatening democracy itself. Satire has a virtue that has helped us to go through these tragic years: optimism. If you want to laugh, it’s because you want to live. Laughter, irony, and caricature are expressions of optimism. Whatever happens, dramatic or happy, the urge to laugh will never disappear.”

Who are some of those “obscurantist forces” today? In the United States, billionaires like Jeff Bezos, Dr. Patrick Soon-Shiong, Elon Musk, and Mark Zuckerberg. These men—because, of course, they’re men—own some of the most prominent newspapers in the country or the largest social media platforms, and they aren’t shy of exerting editorial influence and control to further their financial interests and political ideologies.

The Washington Post, owned by Amazon and Blue Origin founder and weak IRL imitation of Lex Luthor, Jeff Bezos, recently killed a piece by Pulitzer-prize-winning cartoonist Anna Telnaes. The cartoon depicted billionaires Bezos, Musk, Soon-Shiong, Sam Altman (OpenAI CEO), and Mickey Mouse (representing Disney/ABC) making an offering to a yuge statute of Donald Trump. Telnaes’ cartoon is a commentary on the recent pilgrimages to Mar-a-Lago by these billionaires to ingratiate themselves with the incoming president, presumably because their firms have lucrative government contracts they’d like to keep and are acquainted with the capricious and vindictive nature of The Donald.

Telnaes resigned from her position at The Washington Post, a newspaper that adopted the slogan “A Democracy Dies In Darkness.” The resignation follows the newspaper’s decision not to endorse a presidential candidate in the 2024 election. Publisher William Lewis said the decision, less than two weeks from Election Day, was a “return to the newspaper’s roots.” However, it’s hard to see this as anything other than a capitulation to Trump, at least for the troves of angry readers who canceled their subscriptions.

It’s hard to imagine the current iteration of the The Post having the metaphorical cojones to go after President Trump in the spirit it went after Tricky Dick.

There was a time when The Washington Post stood up to presidents overstepping the law through investigative reporting by Bob Woodward, Carl Bernstein, and others. They did so despite the risk of retaliation by the Nixon administration. Ultimately, the courage and dogged reporting informed the public of the Watergate Scandal and played a significant role in the toppling of a corrupt president.

It’s hard to imagine the current iteration of The Post having the metaphorical cojones to go after President Trump in the spirit it went after Tricky Dick.

Los Angeles Times billionaire owner Patrick Soon-Shiong also prevented its editorial board from endorsing a presidential candidate. Like The Post’s move to stifle a Harris endorsement, this move was seen as an abdication of the press’s role in informing the public when many felt American democracy was vulnerable.

It isn’t just legacy media bending the knee out of presumably financial interests to Trump. Since taking over Twitter—I will never call it “X” because that’s a stupid rebrand—Musk has actively manipulated the algorithm to prioritize his musings and other posts aligning with his ideology, seized user handles for his interests, and removed blue checkmarks from people who say mean things he doesn’t like, including calling into question his gaming prowess.

Subscribers canceling their Washington Post and LAT subscriptions, users migrating to Blue Sky from Twitter, and cartoonists and editors resigning in protest show that the piles of cash billionaire publishers can’t snuff out the fire in journalists devoted to speaking the truth despite the real risk of retaliation from the incoming administration and its rich bootlickers. Nor has the appetite for that journalism and criticism been Ozempic’d from the public.

Now, more than ever, je suis Charlie, indeed.

Rudy Sanchez is a writer and product marketing consultant based in Southern California. Once described by a friend as her “technology life coach,” he is a techie and avid lifelong gamer. When he’s not writing or helping clients improve their products, Rudy is playing Rocket League, running laps in Gran Turismo, or deep into a YouTube rabbit hole.

The post Ten Years After the ‘Charlie Hebdo’ Attack, Are We Still Charlie? appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Welcome to the DesignThinkers Podcast! Join host and RGD President Nicola Hamilton as she digs into the archives of the DesignThinkers conference, reconnecting with past speakers about their talks and ideas that have shaped Canada’s largest graphic design conference. Follow the RGD on Instagram @rgdcanada or visit them at rgd.ca. Purchase tickets to the upcoming DesignThinkers conference at designthinkers.com.

The post DesignThinkers Podcast: Greg Hoffman appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Feiffer’s art (and writing) was what made me want to become a cartoonist—a goal I never attained, even though as a student I was enrolled in Harvey Kurtzman’s SVA comics class. Nonetheless, I briefly drew panel-less cartoons because Feiffer did. I delved into my neuroses for content because Feiffer did. But I never mastered his acerbic genius of mixing drawing and world-weary angst. I did, however, get to know Feiffer, and edited his abundant work with him for the book. As a perk I got to meet some luminaries, including Shelley Duvall and Robin Williams, after Feiffer’s screenplay for Popeye was released. I also had the good fortune of spending time at his Martha’s Vineyard home, an epicenter for some of his extraordinary circle of friends from art, theater, film, journalism and politics.

Feiffer had a rich, creative and amazing personal life, with the usual ups and downs that make a humorist, playwright, novelist and screenplay author so good at capturing the inner and outer depths of troubled yet symbolically autobiographical characters.

Before he passed, Jules was working on an autobiographical graphic memoir, which he described in our interview this past fall. As a bookend, I’m republishing the 2010 review I did of his first autobiography.

Backing Into Forward: A Memoir
By Jules Feiffer (Nan Talese / Doubleday)

I have known Jules Feiffer, the cartoonist, playwright, screenwriter and novelist, for 25 years. Even before that, starting when I was a 10-year-old wanna-be cartoonist, I dreamed of doing work like him (and did so for a few years). So it came as quite a big surprise—in fact, a shock—when I read in his splendid 400-plus-page memoir that his cousin was Roy Cohn, the legal counsel and chief inquisitor for the notorious red-baiter, Senator Joseph McCarthy.

How could that fact not have come up in conversations, especially since Feiffer knew I was fascinated with McCarthyism, and I co-authored a book called Red Scared? What’s more, for lefties and liberals there was no more nefarious person from the ’50s, when he wielded the power to ruin lives, through the ’80s, when he was a denizen of Studio 54. Roy Cohn was the devil.

That revelation is one of the things that makes this hefty book a real page-turner. This one small tidbit, combined with many other candid tidbits, insights and confessions gives those of us who know him and those who just know his work—and those who never sampled his brilliance before (which is unlikely since his work has touched so many lives)—an inspiring portrait of one of the most important satirists of the second half of the 20th century.

Memoirs can sometimes be an overgrown jungle, forcing a reader to plod and meander through heavy underbrush of chronological recollections, both meaningful and trivial. Feiffer’s book, sprinkled throughout with cartoons and photos, moves swiftly through his childhood formative career years and current life at 80 (believe me, he’s no 80-year-old that you or I can imagine). Though logically and rhythmically arranged, this book is not doggedly tied to a timeline.

Along the way, we learn that much of his insightful humor and intense social consciousness was formed by complicated relationships with his domineering Jewish mother, Rhoda (a failed aspiring dress designer, who made exquisite drawings, and also emasculated his father, Dave); a Stalinist sister, Mimi (as dogmatic about politics as they came); and ultimately friendships with the likes of director Mike Nichols (who directed, among other things, Feiffer’s paradigm-shifting coming-of-age film Carnal Knowledge), actor/director Alan Arkin (who directed his first politically charged play “Little Murders”) and a slew of other New York intellectuals, entertainers and artists—some of the best fly-on-the-wall-ism in the book. 

The memoir works on four levels. The first is the requisite spewing of pent-up interfamily resentments. But rather than voyeuristically listening in on Feiffer at one of his psychotherapy sessions, his anger is cut with humor and pathos in a voice that accentuates the pain while accepting the inevitability of where it all led. The second is a professional biography (expressed with wit and humanity) that examines the evolution of the Feiffer style and methodology—his passion for comics (he worked for Will Eisner for three early years). He also makes clear the risk he took in the development of his brand of psychoanalytic, self-deprecating humor that was unique in the ’50s. It was championed by Feiffer, Mike Nichols and Elaine May, Philip Roth and Lenny Bruce, and gave way to Woody Allen. The third level is how politics became an over-arching concern given the tenor of the anti-Communist fear (which makes having Roy Cohen even more tragically absurd, owing to Feiffer’s left-wing and early anti-Vietnam stances). Then the fourth, the part I found the most moving given the tenor of his ’60s-era cartoons (which professed a kind of fear and hatred of women), was the utter love and warmth he has for his wife and children. Indeed, at her own request, Feiffer’s second wife, writer-comedienne Jenny Allen [he later married Joan Holden] is barely mentioned in the book, except by way of loving explanation for why he respected her wishes.

What a great memoir does is reveal those shared personal or professional traits that contribute to a better understanding of why the reader cares about the author in the first place. I used to think that Feiffer’s cartoons—and later his plays—echoed my own life, or at least the neurotic parts of it. This book is often a mirror—not in a narcissistic way, but in a “yes, this is indeed why I have admired Feiffer’s work for much of my life—and continue to do so” way.

The post The Daily Heller: Jules Feiffer Dies—But His Wit, Satire and Wisdom Will Long Be Remembered appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Matt van Leeuwen is a graphic designer in New York with a love for typography and a keen eye for color, his work spans a 20-year career of making bold and iconic work in New York and The Netherlands. He and I recently found ourselves in an animated discussion about the color red—its influence, its meaning, its everywhere-ness.

Try naming ten blue or yellow brands off the top of your head. It’s not as easy as it is with red.

Matt van Leeuwen

The color red is ubiquitous in the world of brands. “Consider this: Ferrari and Coca-Cola. Louboutin and McDonald’s. Prada and Heinz. Red moves seamlessly between luxury and accessibility. It’s a color that brands across the spectrum trust to make an impact,” says van Leeuwen. Countless others appear across all industries: Adobe, Netflix, Target, Lego, UniQlo, Marvel, Levi’s, YouTube, Pinterest, and RedNote (a newcomer hoping to welcome people migrating from TikTok). Somewhere between 20% to 30% of Interbrand’s Best Global Brands incorporate red into their identities. “Try naming ten blue or yellow brands off the top of your head,” van Leeuwen continues. “It’s not as easy as it is with red.”

This ubiquity isn’t accidental. Red commands attention like no other color. Thanks to its long wavelength, it’s one of the most visible hues on the spectrum, second only to yellow. So, it makes an obvious choice for brands wanting to cut through the visual noise of our consumerist lives. That visibility is also why stop signs, fire trucks, and sirens are red. It’s a color designed to make you stop, look, and pay attention. This visibility extends beyond physical warnings. In language, red is used to convey caution and danger: being “in the red” signals financial trouble, and a “red flag” warns of impending issues. Red is fire, blood, and in some cases, poison. It taps into primal instincts, evoking both fear and urgency.

Red’s dominance is rooted in both history and human psychology. Anthropologists Russell Hill and Robert Barton’s 2005 research suggests that, across nature, red is tied to aggression, dominance, and heightened testosterone levels. In the animal kingdom, flushed skin and vibrant red displays signal readiness to fight or mate. Applied to humans, wearing red can subconsciously prime individuals to feel more aggressive and dominant, making it a natural choice for sports teams—and political movements. The red MAGA cap wasn’t just a branding choice; it was a psychological trigger. Imagine that cap in blue—it simply wouldn’t have had the same impact.

This cultural duality underscores red’s remarkable versatility as a symbol, capable of embodying both hope and hostility depending on context.

“Historically, red has been the color of revolution. During the French Revolution, red caps and flags symbolized popular revolt. In 1917, the Russian Revolution solidified red as the color of socialism and communism. For Americans during the Cold War, red wasn’t just a color—it was the enemy,” he says, continuing, “The term ‘Red Scare’ captured the nation’s fear of social ideologies. Maps painted the Soviet Union red, embedding the color deeply into the national psyche as a symbol of danger. Yet today, that symbolism has flipped. Red now symbolizes Republican, and Trump has taken it a step further, commandeering the color red to brand his own movement.”

This shift isn’t just political; it’s profoundly visual. In design history, red was beloved by early 20th-century modernists like Kandinsky, Lissitzky, and Malevich for its bold, disruptive energy. Kandinsky even reserved the central square of his three elementary shapes for red, acknowledging its commanding presence. Red has always been the color of change, of defiance. It’s no wonder it has become the face of modern populism.

But it’s important to recognize that red carries a different significance and meaning in other cultures. In Eastern cultures, red is a symbol of luck, joy, and prosperity. It adorns wedding dresses, envelopes gifted during the Lunar New Year, and temple decorations. It represents vitality and celebration—a stark contrast to the West, where red often signals danger, aggression, or defiance. This cultural duality underscores red’s remarkable versatility as a symbol, capable of embodying both hope and hostility depending on context.

“Western association of political red with Republicans is a relatively recent development. It wasn’t always this way,” says van Leeuwen. “In 1976, NBC’s John Chancellor introduced the first color-coded electoral map, lighting up Democratic states in red and Republican ones in blue. It wasn’t until the chaotic 2000 election that networks standardized red for Republicans and blue for Democrats, etching this visual language into the political landscape. Before that, the colors were interchangeable.”

Populist politics demand a populist color, and red delivers.

As we watch this new wave of red rise, we wonder whether we’re witnessing branding at its most elemental. Trump’s campaign, wrapped in red, taps into centuries of symbolism—revolution, power, defiance. Like the biggest global brands, it’s designed to provoke and polarize, to be both loved and hated. Populist politics demand a populist color, and red delivers.

The question now is how we respond. Will brands pivot away from red to avoid unintended associations? Or will they double down, embracing its boldness despite its political baggage? Perhaps, like every revolution, this one will force us to rethink our symbols.

In design, as in politics, every color choice carries weight. But red? Red carries history, emotion, and power. It remains the ultimate provocateur—bold, commanding, and impossible to ignore.

And that’s why red will always matter.

The post Red: The Color of Power, Passion, and Populism appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

To create the slab version, Caneso didn’t just slap serifs onto Hoss Round. While that might have worked in the lighter styles, he says for the heavier styles, “I had to rethink how the mass was distributed.” So, he had to completely redraw every form.

Caneso explained his process for the updates:

Fresh Eyes: “With a few years between this new version and the original, I made some thoughtful modifications with a fresh eyes approach to the character set.”

Visual Requirements: “I added serifs to the mix, which meant rethinking how the mass was distributed, especially in the heaviest weights.” You can see this play out in the vertical strokes of the uppercase Ultra-weight letterforms, the reduction of the crossbars (to accommodate the serifs) in the A and H, and additional fine-tuning of the C, G, and S.

Technical Difficulties: “To make the font work in variable font format many characters needed some production tweaks to make them compatible across the full weight spectrum.”

Unnecessary Alterations: I always give myself the freedom to deviate from my original ideas if an opportunity presents itself.

As for how Caneso sees Hoss Round Slab’s potential uses, he says that the original Hoss Round family has been used in everything from music festival branding to the packaging of ‘adult’ toys.

I try not to get too caught up in how I think a font should be used. The best part of releasing a typeface into the world is not being able to control how others use it.

Mark Caneso

Hoss Round Slab is available in 14 styles (seven weights and italics), with 850 glyphs, supporting more languages than the original family (200+ Latin-based languages, including Vietnamese) and additional numerals sets.

PSTL is the type arm of Caneso’s design practice, pprwrk studio, a hub for original retail fonts and experimenting with letterforms for custom client work. Caneso has graced PRINT’s Type Tuesday column with typefaces such as Decoy (2021), Snug (2023), Panel (2023), and Skew (2024).

The post A Slab Sibling for Hoss Round that Balances the Bulk appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

As a journalist, sometimes your curiosity gets the best of you.

… Which is how I find myself in a chilly remote forest in Finland, on a press trip to see how the company Metsä makes its fresh fiber paper products. Which, in theory, might sound ultimately boring, were it not for what I’d heard about Metsä over the years: that they take sustainable production to innovative and elaborate, if not intense, heights. That they oversee a homegrown regenerative forestry program focused on native trees and biodiversity. That they produce the most coated white kraftliners globally using 90% fossil-free energy—with a goal to achieve zero CO₂ in all their mills by the end of 2030, not unlike their massive future-forward complex in the town of Äänekoski, which produces 2.4 times as much energy as it consumes, and is entirely free of fossil fuels. That this is all being done in the private sector.

Collectively, it’s a remarkable operation on its own. But the real reason I’m here today is because I want to find out why.

Why would a company go to such lengths to make the elemental stuff we use in our daily lives, from cereal boxes to snack packs to all manner of paperboard in between?!

The Forest

It’s starkly quiet, but the forest thrums with life. The air is crisp, earthy; birds migrate overhead; and Metsä Group’s Leading Nature Expert, Timo Lehesvirta, bends down to pick up a Boletus edulis (porcini) mushroom. He notes that it is highly sought after by foragers for various culinary uses, but plops it on a stump; such prized fungi are, after all, a natural byproduct of the company’s approach to the forests it helps manage (more on that in a moment).

Right now we’re in Kirkniemi, Lohja, in Southern Finland—but we might as well be anywhere in the country. “Metsä,” aptly, translates to forest. More than 75% of Finland’s land area is covered by forests, and, according to the government, those forests are predominately owned by private individuals. 

Thus, as Maija Pohjakallio, VP, Climate and Circular Economy for Metsä Group, told us shortly before heading into the woodlands, “What makes us unique is that our parent company is Metsäliitto Cooperative, which is owned by over 90,000 Finnish forest owners. … It’s very common in everybody’s family. Everybody has at least relatives who own forests.”

To underscore a point: Metsä does not own all of these forests. The members and owners of the co-op since its founding in 1947 do, and Metsä works with them. Finland has three major forest industry companies, but Metsä is the only one that operates on a co-op system. Moreover, the $6.28 billion company at large is divided into different units that use the fruits of those forests for a wide swath of applications—Metsä Board handles paperboard; Metsä Forest covers wood supply and forest services; Metsä Wood creates … wood products; Metsä Fibre handles pulp and sawn timber; and Metsä Tissue produces tissue and grease-proof papers.

It all goes back to those stoic birches swaying tentatively before me in the cold—and Metsä’s regenerative strategies, which reps for the company say represent a more holistic view on forestry. Timo Lehesvirta joined Metsä in 2022 in a completely new role for the co-op. A biologist by training, a couple of decades ago he believed his kind would play a key role in sustainability initiatives on business teams—but that never really happened, aside from a few colleagues. 

As he would detail to me later, “I saw an opportunity to influence. Metsä Group is one of the most important forest companies globally, and sustainability has been high on its agenda. I wanted to offer my own input and readiness to make concrete changes.”

Globally, tree plantations account for 45% of planted forests—and around half of them are composed of trees from other parts of the world, leading to the loss of native species and biodiversity. “In … exotic tree species plantations, the starting point is to destroy the original ecosystem,” Lehesvirta says. “You just remove it.”

He adds that the practice is becoming more and more common in Europe, but Metsä was ready to challenge itself beyond existing government legislation and directives. In a follow-up interview, he noted, “There is [the] old joke: What’s the difference between public-sector strategy and private-sector strategy? And the answer is that private sector strategies will be implemented.” Per Lehesvirta, Metsä Group was the first to launch a regenerative forestry initiative, and in doing so the term was used to brand the company’s strategies to halt biodiversity loss. 

So, what, exactly, makes forestry regenerative? A lot: Metsä uses only five native tree species commercially out of Finland’s 30. Every tree felled is replaced by four new ones. The company uses a soil inverting process it developed to foster seedling growth. The stump of a cut tree is left in the forest, where it decays and plays a role in fostering other life—like, say, mushrooms. Decaying and dead trees are retained as habitats. As Lehesvirta detailed to me later, “We want to be in a leadership position in the systemic change to maintain and enhance the biodiversity and ecosystem services such as pollination, water [quality] and carbon sink as well as recreational values.”

Still: Why go to these lengths, when other companies would simply slash the budget by slashing and burning?

He is blunt that this is not a nature conservation program. The goal, ultimately, is to increase the value of owners-members’ forests in the long term, for the good of all. 

“It’s quite pragmatic,” he says. “And then we come to the question, what kind of forests do you transfer to the next generation?”

Pohjakallio, meanwhile, notes that there is a limit to what people can produce without plantations, on their own land. 

“Our strategy is to get more out of less,” she says. “We have to respect the boundaries.”

As an American, in a global world of C-suites and greed politics, it’s a somewhat shocking thing to hear. And it’s as refreshing as it is vexing.

The Mill

About four hours north of that particular forest sits the town of Äänekoski—and Metsä’s Äänekoski bioproduct mill, dubbed “the largest investment in the history of the Finnish forest industry.” It opened in 2017 at a cost of around $1.25 billion. As we snake our way through the industrial site, partially excavated mountains of tan wood chips rise out of the ground in organic contrast to steel and brick.

The mill is an ecosystem of its own, providing a central nexus for any given use of a tree—of which the entire tree is used. And it’s seemingly seamless: Trees arrive via trucks and trains. Logs become sawn timber and plywood; smaller bits of the tree are used to create pulp and bioproducts; the bark, branches, and top, meanwhile, are used for renewable energy. When it comes to creating the company’s signature paperboard, the trees are debarked and chipped, and are then made into pulp fiber by Metsä Fibre—a boon to the on-site Metsä Board, which benefits from a direct, secure, and consistent supply chain.

“We know exactly what kind of pulp we get here, because everything is in our own hands,” Metsä Board Communications Manager Ritva Mönkäre told me later. “I think that’s our advantage.”

Inside the plant, we don Sievi Viper safety shoes, slash-proof gloves, helmets, and other assorted gear, and proceed through a steaming 106.5 decibel labyrinth of pipes and machinery. We emerge at the head of a mammoth machine, a whirring, seemingly endless column that produces paperboard at up to 800 meters per minute. There’s warming, folding, pressing, drying, and beyond—and at the culmination, hulking spools emerge. 

From an industrial standpoint, to see it happening in real-time is always a bit miraculous, no matter how many times you witness the sum of thousands and thousands of parts and millions of engineering decisions operating in symphony to produce one single outcome. But the truly wondrous thing is perhaps the one that is happening all around us in Äänekoski. 

Again: This entire mill site does not use any fossil fuels. Every single bit of energy it needs is created from its operation. 

“That’s circular chemistry,” Maija Pohjakallio said the day before. “Even the emissions can be utilized as raw material.”

For instance, the sulfuric gas that results from the pulping process is captured and utilized to make sulfuric acid, which is used for the mill’s tall oil. (There’s a plant on-site for the sulfuric acid, too—which is the first of its kind, according to Metsä.)

On the whole, as I noted at the outset, the entire operation creates more energy than it needs—2.4 times as much, the excess of which is sold to the national grid. 

Still: Why? Why go to these lengths? Yes, there are governmental body mandates and targets—and reps for Metsä have sent me lists of the company’s adherence to various standards, and their sustainability benchmarks at large. But at the center of such operations is usually a wildly passionate and charged individual with utter conviction for what they’re doing. But here, it’s business as usual. Straightforward. I take Mönkäre aside after we leave the mill and fish for quotes, for clues. 

When it comes to sustainability, “It’s just part of everything that we do,” she says.

The Future

What does any of this have to do with PRINT, print, or design? Well, to steal from Paul Rand, everything. 

“Our paperboards are high quality, but they are found in people’s everyday lives—not only in luxurious end uses but, for example, in cereals, pasta, biscuits, tea as well as pharmaceutical packaging end uses,” Ritva Mönkäre detailed to me later.

At Metsä’s Excellence Center on-site in Äänekoski—decked out in clean Nordic design, and featuring perhaps the most beautiful coat hangers I’ve ever seen—you can get hands-on with mockups of some of those end uses … but not the real ones. Paper buyers tend to be cagey about their clients. But the one thing Metsä can discuss is that Crumbl Cookies boxes are largely on their board. In recent years, Metsä Board’s growth has been fastest in the U.S.—and there’s a good chance that if you haven’t laid hands on one of their products yet, you are very likely to in the near future. 

Ultimately, the boxes on display here aren’t just for show. Clients get a value add in the form of this R&D hub for innovation, experimentation, and packaging solutions—which is totally free of charge to them. There’s a VR grocery store simulator trained on eye movements and consumer behavior. There’s prototyping, material analysis, and computer-aided engineering to optimize designs and help clients achieve a pack’s lightest—and thus more socially responsible—form. 

“Metsä Board has a process that with less amounts of raw materials, you can make paperboard that functions as well, or even better, than a thicker one,” Maija Pohjakallio noted the previous day. “Small lightweighting can make a big, big difference.”

To wit: As she further detailed, Metsä Board’s folding boxboard output is 200 million a day; if the board were 1% lighter, that would increase production by 2 million units without the use of any additional natural resources.

I ponder: If you’re just going by government standards … why even make that calculation?

Why convince people to make the little plastic window on their snacks smaller?

Why even build this building at all?

*

I’m back at home. 

But I still don’t know. I went to Finland, and I never really found out what I was seeking in the first place.

I schedule a Zoom interview with Timo Lehesvirta. It’s odd to see him on screen, divorced from the serene forest where he seemed uniquely at home.

I ask again, in so many words: Why do you and Metsä go to these lengths? 

They want to showcase their methods—and the fact that business is ultimately best when you’re exiting fossil fuels. “We want to proudly demonstrate our solution,” he says.

He’s even-keeled, as he was in Kirkniemi, as many Finns generally are. It could be the language barrier or cultural differences between us, sure. But I like to think this is the reason I’ve been unable to solicit a fiery, zealous quote from anyone: At its most elemental, this is fairly straightforward stuff. It’s logical. It’s obvious. Who would not want to live in this world?

It’s all wildly over the top. But it’s also the future. Or at least it should be.

The post Finding the Future of Packaging, in Finland appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Benji Wiedemann is the co-founder and executive creative director at Wiedemann Lampe, a London-based brand and business consultancy.

What is the thing you like doing most in the world?

As a ‘creative’ by profession my answer might seem a bit flat, but the thing I like doing most in the world (apart from spending time with my two boys) is creating. Not necessarily designing, but creating: starting with nothing and ending with something. The act of creating is such a positive force and driver for transformation that can be channelled into absolutely anything we do – whether I’m cooking a dish with only the scraps I find in the back of our fridge or finding myself stacking stones on a beach to create a miniature sculpture park. Creating fills me with a sense of purpose in life, but more importantly, it brings me incredible joy.

What is the first memory you have of being creative?

My first memory of being creative is more of being co-creative with my dad. When I was growing up he worked a lot to provide for us. He seemed to work all hours of the day, seven days a week. So we got to spend relatively little time together. But occasionally if he hadn’t left for work yet, we’d sit together at the breakfast table. I’d ask him to draw for me and he would fill my white A4 sheets with anything I’d ask for. From underwater scenes filled with sharks and octopuses (it’s actually not ‘octopi’ as I thought – I had to google that one) to complete safari scenes with lions and elephants. He always included his own made-up creatures too.

I was spellbound by how all these drawings just spilled out of his mind, through his pen, and onto the page. I’d take these papers filled up with black key lines to kindergarten and would spend the day colouring them in.

These moments of shared creativity helped my dad and I to stay close when he wasn’t able to be present. To this day I love that creativity is a force to bring people together, as cliché as I know that sounds. It’s no coincidence that one of my favourite aspects of work is being able to bring all these brilliant creative minds together under one objective and see where the journey takes us.

What is your biggest regret?

They say that the things you regret most in life are the things you don’t do. This idea has always haunted me – so much so that whenever I am uncertain about whether to do something or not, I tend to do it. Whatever the outcome, you learn from the experience – good, bad, or ugly. But saying that, recently I was on a ladder painting my living room ceiling. When I decided to step backwards off the ladder I trod barefooted with full force onto our large, bulbous cactus. This I regretted. Instantly.

How have you gotten over heartbreak?

Easy – I haven’t. But I don’t see that as a bad thing. Experiences like heartbreak shape who you are as a person. For better or for worse, you aren’t the same person again. There’s a real skill in finding positivity and growth in these moments of pain. I’m not sure I have fully succeeded in doing this yet, but I’m getting there…

And then there’s always Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie.

What makes you cry?

This is a tough one – there’s too much to list here. I’m quite an emotionally governed being, so I get affected by the state of the world easily, and often. And since becoming a father this emotional sensitivity appears to have only been heightened.

How long does the pride and joy of accomplishing something last for you?

Increasingly less and less. I’m more interested in the things that I haven’t accomplished yet, rather than dwell on the things that I have.

Do you believe in an afterlife, and if so, what does that look like to you?

I do believe in an afterlife. It looks like this:

Our body gets absorbed into the earth and contributes to the growth of something new.
Our actions, values and beliefs that have guided us throughout life get absorbed into a shared social consciousness.

And that’s about it.

The time that we have on this planet is finite, which makes it so precious. I guess that’s why I have chosen to focus my professional life on culture – to help define the values and knowledge we choose to share with the next generation.

What do you hate most about yourself?

I’ve worked to reframe the vocabulary I use to think and talk about myself, and after about 45 years I can now proudly say that I don’t hate anything about myself. But, since you’ve asked, IF there was one thing that would be up there, it would have to be self-doubt.

What do you love most about yourself?

In line with my previous answer, I’d have to say the thing that I value most about myself is… my self-doubt! Doubt is a powerful tool for questioning and interrogating my thoughts and decisions, ensuring all my actions are done from a place of unity, authenticity, and integrity.

And I like my hands.

What is your absolute favorite meal?

My absolute favorite meal is Laksa (a spicy noodle dish from Malaysia), specifically from Apium Noodle Bar in London. It’s number 29A on their menu, or it was, as – heartbreakingly – the place closed about ten years ago. I loved it so much I started documenting the dish each time I ate it. I have hundreds of photos, so although I can’t sample it again, I can at least still revisit all those precious memories of times we spent together.

The post What Matters to Benji Wiedemann appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Who came up with the concept, and how did this unique exhibition come to be at The Church?
The concept came from Eric Fischl, artist and co-founder of The Church. He was inspired by the film California Typewriter, in which Hanks is featured among a community of typewriter enthusiasts in and around LA, then reached out through a mutual friend to Tom Hanks. We felt it was the perfect next iteration of our annual exhibitions that focus on material culture through the lens of whimsy and innovation. Simon as the designer of the show also came through Eric, as the two do tai chi together in Shelter Island. The companion exhibition, Some Odes: Sam Messer with Paul Auster, Eleanor Gaver, Denis Johnson and Sharon Olds, was organized by me.

Did Hanks and Doonan curate the 35 typewriters together?
Only Tom curated that selection of works on view. We’re not entirely sure how and why he selected these particular objects from his 300+. There is a strong sense of chronology, and as well we shared with him our typical approach to material culture, which is to focus on form, innovation and whimsy (rather than historicity or scholarship, by contrast … though each work in the show was meticulously researched by our team).

Where does Hanks keep his treasures?
They are kept in California. We shipped the 35 of them in custom boxes that were designed by an LA–based typewriter specialist that Tom’s office introduced us to, the Typewriter Connection.

Where are the vintage typewriter posters from?
There are two types of vintage posters shown. First, there are four actual vintage Olivetti posters, dated from 1968 through the early 1990s, that were lent by the great designer Mirko Ilic. As well, there are reproductions at large scale from the history of 20th-century typewriter advertising; these images were selected by Simon and then sourced in-house for reproduction permission and then printed using commercial vinyl printing companies.  

Are there any plans for expanding or doing some more venues after the show ends at The Church?
We hope so! Nothing to announce yet, but we are attempting to get this show out there.

The post The Daily Heller: Who Knew Tom Hanks Rescued Typewriters appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Did you miss our conversation with Jon Key? Register here to watch the recording of this thought-provoking of the PRINT Book Club.

“The [design] canon is exclusionary,” as Jon Key says, so the impetus for his research for Black, Queer, & Untold came from what “echoed from the silence.” Key admits that as a queer, Black designer, the book was born as a selfish project—to see what he could bring up for himself.

I can’t tell you my future, so I’ll tell you my past.

Jon Key

And, oh what treasures he surfaced! Key tells the story through his search for lost, forgotten, and ignored artifacts of Black, queer design history, a process he calls both personal and pedagogical. “This represents me and it’s also something I can learn from.”

Our discussion with Key wound from the depth of his research to a discussion of some of the people and objects he uncovered during the four years of writing and compiling this book. Key talked about his search for the origin of the word “gay,” to the first Black gay design he ever saw. Key also touched on his personal history, as a child in an art-encouraged household (even if it came with a little “glitter trauma”) and his initial want to go to Georgetown to study psychology.

Being a designer is a visual expression of [psychology] in many ways. Working with clients, digging into ‘why.’

Jon Key

And, of course, we also discussed Key’s partner in life and work, Wael Morcos, and the work they do at their award-winning Brooklyn studio, Morcos Key.

Register here to watch the recording and buy your copy of Black, Queer, & Untold: A New Archive of Designers, Artists, and Trailblazers.

Header: screenshot from PRINT Book Club with Jon Key (top left), Steven Heller (top right), and Debbie Millman (bottom).

The post ‘Echoes From the Silence,’ Book Club Recap with Jon Key appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Check out the full series as it unfolds.

Go backstage on the Two Craigs website to see how the pair translate the prompt through photography and illustration.

Fruit

“When we started this project, we both agreed that the format would be a 4×5 proportion. I have spent much of my career shooting with 8×10 and 4×5 view cameras so l thought this word was appropriate to introduce that camera to the party.

My idea was to use the actual 4×5 film’s edge as a creative tool that would contain the lemons. Once the image was shot I sent the film off to The Icon Film Lab to process and create a drum scan.

The film’s edge is just as important if not more than the actual objects in the image.” – Craig Cutler

Follow along with PRINT, at 2craigs.com, or on Instagram.

The post Two Craigs: 33/52 appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Millions of us interact with PepsiCo brands every day, be it an afternoon treat, city billboard, delivery truck, or live event. But less know that there is a diverse, talented design team (the team at PepsiCo likes to call them unicorns) behind the brands, guiding their visual storytelling and creating moments of joy.

Across 18 international cities, PepsiCo’s designers are united by an approach to creating products and experiences that are both empathetic and strategic. The diverse team includes experts in branding, structural packaging, experiences, equipment, digital design, innovation and more—three of whom have joined the PRINT Awards this year as jury members. As one of the first major corporations to unite these design disciplines into a single team, PepsiCo Design + Innovation is founded on creativity and driven by collaboration.

The designers on this vibrant team have the opportunity to shape iconic brands and create new ones all while infusing their diverse perspectives and local cultures into work that reaches millions of people. Collaboration is at the heart of all of their work, whether with teams across Pepsi or with leading figures in fashion, sports, and culture, like Law Roach, Serena Williams, Caitlin Clark, and more.

Left: The team in Shanghai designed a spirited, multi-sensory experience called BBLz. It’s a singular summer immersion featuring an interactive pavilion, vibrant colors, and engaging events. Right: The team in Shanghai designed a spirited, multi-sensory experience called BBLz. It’s a singular summer immersion featuring an interactive pavilion, vibrant colors, and engaging events.

Left: The designers worked with Mz. Icar, an anonymous interdisciplinary arts collective composed primarily of Black women, to create a holographic Doritos bag. Right: The playful new visual identity the team created for Mirinda puts boldness at the forefront to celebrate those who aren’t afraid to stand out. The redesign features flexible, impactful design that honors creativity.

The PRINT Awards is excited to work with the design unicorns at PepsiCo. If you think you could be a unicorn, learn more about PepsiCo Design & Innovation and open roles here.

The post PepsiCo Design + Innovation Calls on Design Unicorns Everywhere appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I am having a very difficult time writing this tribute to my friend and colleague Véronique Vienne, who died of stomach cancer last week at the age of 82. There was only one Véronique and it is utterly impossible for me to unpack and repackage her into a neat obituary. A professional biography does not do her justice. Suffice to say she was an art director, teacher, essayist, biographer and critic—an intensely knowledgeable and thoughtful one, whose intelligence engulfed her like a fine silk cape everywhere she’d go. When she taught in the SVA MFA Design program, she’d bring students into her intellectual universe as if through a hypnotic force. She had Mary Astor beauty, an accent that could melt butter, and wit that cut through any resistance. She spoke assuredly about counter cultures and movements—especially the Situationists, who were among her faves—and their impact on our mainstream, not as pedantic historical chronologies, but in a conversational manner that opened her students to a profound dose of enlightenment.

I cannot recall how or where we met. I just remember asking her to teach after being put into one of those VV trances. It was not an out-of-body experience but more like a wave of fresh wisdom had washed over me as we spoke. She proposed to teach a class of old and new swirling ideas that would result in tangible outcomes. It wasn’t theory, per se, but rather a kind of cultural philosophy and design history that wove strands of social engagement with entrepreneurial activity to bring students up to speed on how their own design acts and objects had consequences that could alter behavior.

I always happily anticipated the night that VV came to teach, and she was always at least 30 minutes early so we could simply talk about different kinds of personal and general things. She was easy to confide in, critical but not judgmental. It was during one of those moments before class that I asked her to collaborate with me on the first book of five that we did together. These were completely joyful experiences. VV brought a weary-of-cliche attitude to everything we did. I’d create an initial concept and outline of what a book like Citizen Designer or 100 Ideas That Changed Graphic Design should contain, and she would choose where her contributions—essays, interviews, assignments—would fit in. They were usually unexpected. She’d go abstract where I’d go formal; she’d go to the edge where I’d slide into the center. Soon I began to think in Vienne-eze, leaning toward directions of design history and practice that I had thought too arcane. She had injected her intellect like grout into the empty spaces of my brain.

VV was always amused by how I recruited collaborators, a process to which she was subjected. She wrote in a profile of me (titled “Steven Heller Needs You” in Graphis 378), “For each title he would propose to a publisher, he had a co-author in mind—a colleague, a former student, a friend in the business, or a designer whose work he particularly admired. He’d call beforehand and pitch his ideas to him or her. At first the person would refuse, but Heller would be insistent.”

I was deeply appreciative and moved that she wrote it, as she had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few years earlier. To recently see that it is the only example of her writing on her own website is an indescribable sensation.

As for Parkinson’s. I was diagnosed with it, too. While we shared many ideas about things that mattered to each of us, now we shared a disease. Prior to her diagnosis, VV and I frequently would interview each other via email, both planned and impromptu, published as intros to our books or speculative for some reason or another. We would throw out questions in a round robin fashion and we gave ourselves a few hours to a day for a reply—and then we’d ask the other a follow-up query. When I learned about her PD, I suggested we do one of these email conversations. She agreed. I started the volley but she led the way. Her depth of self-insight was so much deeper than mine; I felt invigorated just keeping up. After we concluded, I said it was too good not to share with a few confidants, and sent a copy to Tom Bodkin at The New York Times. He said it should be published, and sent it to an editor of the “Well” section. With a few edits, it was printed on the same day I had my regular PD exam at the hospital. I was so proud it worked out, but happier all the more because VV was content with our penultimate collaboration.

A few months later I started a new book with my SVA colleague Molly Heintz, The Education of a Design Writer, which comes out this spring. I hadn’t heard from VV during that time and hoped that nothing was amiss. Eventually, she emailed and we scheduled a Zoom call. She looked great and sounded good, despite complaints of certain Parkinsonian symptoms. I hesitated to ask her my No. 1 question: Would she write something for the new book? I expected the answer would be no. I got neither yes or no, and let it be. Two months later I received a beautifully composed essay titled “Good Design at Its Worst,” a gem—perfect Vienne. Not a single edit was needed. In light of her later illness, it is a treasured gift.

On Nov. 14, I received this email (excerpted):

In the last three months, I have had my share of worries, health wise.

I was exhausted and assaulted with various miseries, thinking that it was due to Parkinson’s (the end of the PD honeymoon as they call it). But it turned out to be peritoneal cancer. … I am starting an aggressive treatment of chemo next week, and hopeful it will stop this particular train wreck on its tracks.

I am supposed to be a fighter, right? That’s what everyone reminds me of. I am cast by my entourage of friends and loved ones as a role model—easier said than done! But I’ll try to oblige.

Nothing would cheer me more than getting news from your side of PD—and your side of the Atlantic. How are you recovering from the shock of the elections? How is your health? Are you writing? Any new exciting projects? Will the book for which I contributed the … piece be published soon? What sort of involvement are you keeping with SVA? Etc, etc.

Give my love to Louise.
Your little French friend,
Véronique

I don’t think she’d mind that I shared some of that email. It shows her resilience and sense of humor in the face of, well, shit!

The mission of her entire class at SVA, put simply, came down to an essential discipline: Literacy. I’m taking the following excerpt out of context, but the meaning is not altered. She wrote in the Graphis article:

“Today, literacy is considered the most reliable indicator of a person’s chances of survival. Over the 12 years of follow-up, readers experience a 20% reduction in risk of mortality compared to non-readers. In other words, today, those who own a library card will live longer than those who don’t. … Your level of literacy is your destiny.”

Given the veracity of that statement, VV should have lived until 100. With all she’s left behind, I have no doubt that she will.

The post The Daily Heller: Véronique Vienne Was One of a Kind appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.

And there’s no question the former Robert Zimmerman of Hibbing, Minnesota did a magnificent job of creating the artist, Bob Dylan.

But there were some pieces to the “Dylan myth” that he found.

He found music on the radio when he was quite young. He discovered the guitar. He unearthed the poets from Rimbaud to Kerouac. He found Woody Guthrie, Suze Rotolo, and Joan Baez.

And all the while he was finding things, he was also creating.

It strikes me that “finding yourself” and “creating yourself” is not binary.

It’s not either/or.

I suggest it’s both. Indeed, I see it as a process.

First, you find some things you are drawn to. Pay attention, now. What do you like? What do you like to do?

You then start to store up these ideas and actions and they become encoded in your brain. And once you have these pieces, you start to put them together in the puzzle that becomes…you.

The process?

From hunting and gathering to making.

From searching to creating.

And from creating to being.

As Dylan sings: “May you build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung.”

Who are you?

It begins with what have you been finding.

Rob Schwartz is the Chair of the TBWA New York Group and an executive coach who channels his creativity, experience and wisdom into helping others get where they want to be. This was originally posted on his Substack, RobSchwartzHelps, where he covers work, life, and creativity.

Header image: Benoît Deschasaux for Unsplash+; photo of album cover courtesy of the author

The post Find Yourself or Create Yourself? appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

What we unleashed was a point of view about the future that took the form of a magazine. The magazine was the vessel, but the magazine wasn’t the point. The message was the point.

In the summer of 1995, host Patrick Mitchell got an offer he couldn’t refuse. It came from this episode’s guests, Alan Webber and Bill Taylor, the founding editors of Fast Company, widely acknowledged as one of the magazine industry’s great success stories.

Their vision for the magazine was an exercise in thinking different. “Nothing we did hewed to the conventional wisdom of magazine-making. Our founders came from politics and activism, born in the ivy halls of Harvard. Our HQ was far from the center of the magazine world, in Boston’s North End—“leave the pages, take the cannolis.” And Fast Company was not a part of the five families of magazine publishing. It wouldn’t have worked if it was.

Mitchell was one of the first people Webber and Taylor hired, and as the magazine’s founding art director, he could tell Fast Company was going to be big. And it was big. Huge, in fact. Shortly after its launch, a typical issue of the magazine routinely topped out at almost 400 pages. They had to get up to speed, and fast.

Its mission was big, too. Webber and Taylor’s plan sounded simple: to offer rules for radicals that would be inspiring and instructive; to encourage their audience to think bigger about what they might achieve for their companies and themselves, and to provide tools to help us all succeed in work … and in life. Their mantra: Work is personal.

The effect, however, was even bigger. The magazine was a blockbuster hit, winning ASME awards for General Excellence and Design. It was Ad Age’s 1995 Launch of the Year. Webber and Taylor were named Adweek’s editors of the year in 1999. It even spawned its own reader-generated social network, the Company of Friends, that counted over 40,000 members worldwide. And it brought together an extraordinary team of creatives who, to this day, carry on the mission in their own way—including the founders.

Nearly thirty years after the launch of the magazine, Alan Webber is currently serving his second term as the mayor of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Bill Taylor is the best-selling author of Mavericks at Work, among other books, and continues to lead the conversation on transforming business.

Mitchell often said that Fast Company was the one that would ruin all future jobs. It was a moment in time that he and his colleagues will treasure forever. He shares that story with us today.

Print Is Dead (Long Live Print!) is a podcast about magazines and the people who made (and make) them. Magazines that combined thought-provoking attitudes and values with a distinctive look and feel, and cast a long and powerful shadow on American culture and public discourse. Hear stories and learn lessons from legendary designers, editors, writers, publishers, photographers, illustrators, photo editors, and more—stories and lessons that capture a magical history of innovation and inspiration, and that point the way forward. We’ll go deep into the lives and careers of this astonishingly talented group of creators, and tease out what these giants—past and present—have to teach the next generation of creators.

If you’re in the magazine business—if you’re in any business focused on content creation—this podcast is for you.

This episode is made possible by PIDLLP sponsors Commercial Type, Mountain Gazette, and Freeport Press.

The team behind Print is Dead (Long Live Print!) also produces The Full Bleed, a podcast about the future of magazines and the magazines of the future. Check out their newest podcast, The Next Page.

The post The Brand Called Us | Alan Webber and Bill Taylor appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The last time I interviewed you and Ivan, I believe, was during your 50th anniversary as a partnership. How does it feel to be working so many decades—now almost seven, if my math serves me well?
It has been 67 years since Robert Brownjohn, Ivan Chermayeff and I first formed our initial “design office.” We purposely wanted our little firm to be seen more as an architect’s “office” than as an individual designer’s “studio.” (This was a time when “graphic design” was a little understood term.)

From the beginning we viewed design as a “problem-solving” endeavor, believing that once we could define “the problem,” we could then employ whatever elements were most appropriate to “solving the problem” in a creative and memorable way.

At 93 you are one of the last great Midcentury Modern American designers. It’s a good time to take stock of what’s happened in design over these years. How do you think shifts in technology have impacted the creative practice?
I know that to most people, it seems crazy to still be “working” at 93. But it does strike me that many of my contemporaries in creative fields, those that have been healthy enough to make it this far, also continue to design, draw, paint or whatever it is that they have been doing for a lifetime.

Being part of a “design office” of 15 people, developing graphic identities for major organizations throughout the world, is of course different from continuing to be creative in your own personal studio. In my case, while I am continually frustrated by some of the digital world, especially Adobe Illustrator, significant shifts in technology have made continuing to work much more doable. We do have a physical office, but since the pandemic it is only occupied two days a week. Otherwise, everyone is working on a shared server, we continually converse and analyze design concepts on Zoom, and I almost always work from my studio at home. We even have some full-time design staff members who live and work (on New York time) as far away as Beijing, and fully participate in all aspects of our design projects. Additionally, new technologies and the internet have made it possible for people anywhere in the world to contact us, and at least 50% of our projects are for clients outside the U.S.

Looking back at your own work, are you pleased?
Certainly today the world and the times have changed, the technology is radically different, the options available to designers have greatly expanded, but I still believe in [our] original concept, though it does seem harder to pull off in these times of visual overload.

When you began, and throughout your career, you’ve done many of the creative and strategic tasks now ascribed to branding. What do you call your practice?
Twenty years ago, recognizing the realities of age (and New York real estate), Ivan and I decided to considerably limit the kinds of projects we wanted to undertake in the future, and consequently greatly reduce the size of our office. A number of our partners and associates then separately formed a new firm to concentrate on exhibition design and architectural graphics. Ivan and I chose to concentrate on developing graphic identities. We rented a small new office and brought with us a young design intern recently graduated from Cooper Union named Sagi Haviv. Over the ensuing years Sagi proved to be an exceptional talent, both as a designer and as a leader. Ten years later we made him an equal partner. Upon Ivan’s death in 2017, Sagi took on an even greater role and today he really leads our entire practice.

You were deeply involved in conceiving the identity for the U.S. Bicentennial. Tell me what you did?
For many years Ivan Chermayeff and I and our team were the designers or co-designers of a number of significant projects to represent the United States. Among these were the official United States pavilions at Expo ’67 in Montreal and Expo ’70 in Osaka, Japan. Other exhibition designs focused on specific historic issues such as the original Kennedy Presidential Library, a new museum on the history of the Statue of Liberty, and all the original exhibits for the new Immigration Museum at Ellis Island.

One such project that was widely seen was the design of the logo for the U.S. Bicentennial in 1976. That mark was used to identify events, celebrations and commemorations throughout the country. It appeared on promotions for local, regional and national projects, and on merchandise and objects ranging from a postage stamp to a large NASA structure on Mars.

What will be designed differently than the 200th?
50 years later, we were asked to design the graphic identity for the United States Semiquincentennial (!), the 250th anniversary celebration of the nation in 2026. Since the actual name is impossible to remember or pronounce, we decided to focus on the number 250, and to do so in a way that conveyed not only the national colors but also a spirit of celebration. The design was inspired by the idea of ribbons, since ribbons are commonly used to signify a wide variety of events, causes and celebrations. This will all become more evident in the next year or so, presuming we still have a recognizable country!

The post The Daily Heller: Tom Geismar on 67 Years and the Number 250 appeared first on PRINT Magazine.