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.

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.

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.

“For whatever reason, I can’t explain it, my hands want to make tiny sweaters,” Steiner recently told Darren Scala in an interview on his YouTube channel, D. Thomas Miniatures. “My hands want to make tiny sweaters, that’s all there is to it.”

Instead of denying her passion, Steiner has embraced this urge, using sewing needles and thread to make doll-sized knitted items. The moment I came upon her work, I simply had to learn more about her path to small-scale stitching and her ethos around handcraft and miniatures at large (no pun intended). Her responses to my questions are below, edited lightly for clarity and length.

So, miniature knitting! How did you first get involved in such a niche art form? 

I’ve enjoyed knitting for many years, but it’s only since “shrinking” it that I’ve realized how long I’ve wanted to do it in miniature. A friend reminded me that I made her small sweaters as Christmas ornaments, years ago, and recently I also uncovered some pictures I had saved back in 2007 (and since completely forgotten) of some miniature knitting someone had shared online. So it’s always captivated my attention, but I didn’t get into it seriously until the pandemic when I started building dollhouses and allowed myself to freely experiment with all things miniature.

Was there a certain miniature sweater you knitted that served as a sort of a-ha! moment in terms of your practice? 

My “ah-ha moment” happened with thread rather than a particular sweater design, but yes, the first sweater I made with that thread is the one I treasure as “the moment it all clicked.”  

With this thread, I felt fluent, like I could make anything I wanted.

I was practicing knitting as small as I could, and it was okay, but not great. I was trying out all the threads that are commonly available, which are mostly mercerized, rather slippery commercial threads. But then I found a different thread, a small-batch artisanal hand-dyed cotton indigo thread from Japan, and suddenly in that thread it was like something came together, it felt like all my effort was unlocked. With this thread, I felt fluent, like I could make anything I wanted.

From that point on, I couldn’t stop, each project led directly into the next one—and I also knew better how to look at all threads differently, because once I had experienced that fluency, I knew what to look for in my materials. I still use a lot of different kinds of thread from Japan; Japanese culture has a different approach to textiles and handcrafting, and the materials reflect that.

I have somewhat of a fascination with miniatures myself, and I know I’m far from alone in that. I’ve covered other miniatures artists such as Tatsuya Tanaka, Kieran Wright, Danielle McGurran, and Jane Housham, but miniature knitting is new to me. What is it about the world of miniatures that you think draws people in?

That’s such a great list! I’ll tell you, we’re not alone in this. I recently taught a class on miniatures in art history, and it’s so much fun to see that artists through all periods of history and all around the world, from so many disparate cultures, have had similar practices of taking objects common in their world and shrinking them to small scale. From ancient Egyptian tomb models to tiny early Roman glass vessels, Japanese netsuke carving, or pre-Colombian Mexican miniatures, it seems like a core creative instinct to make things tiny when we can. It really subverts our experience of the world. I think it’s in part because it alters, for a moment, our own experience of our human-sized bodies; a tiny thing makes us feel gargantuan in comparison, just as enormous things (the Grand Canyon, or big experiential artwork we can immerse ourselves in, like Kusama’s Infinity Rooms) make us feel small. Miniatures change our physical experience of ourselves, and that is irresistible.

Miniatures change our physical experience of ourselves, and that is irresistible.

I get such a laugh out of this factor with my sweaters. I like to hand a sweater to people rather than just talk about them because invariably what people want is to put their fingers inside them, like a puppet. People of all ages, from children on up, everyone wants this. They always want to try to “wear” the sweater on the only body part that will fit. Many ask, “May I?” and I always say “yes” because it thrills me how similar we all are, and makes me marvel at how powerful this response is that these little scraps of knitting provoke in people. People are simply compelled.

I watched your interview on D. Thomas MiniVersity, in which you talk broadly about a love of handcraft. Can you elaborate on what it is about handcraft specifically that you love so much?

Handcrafted objects hold human connections. They’re so warm and rich in comparison to manufactured products. They have soul. As an example, I love handmade pottery, and most of my mugs are handmade, many of them by people I know personally. Whenever I drink coffee or tea, I picture those individuals, I name them when choosing the mug from the shelf, and I put my hands directly where their hands were when they formed the piece on the wheel, and it feels so grounding and connective; they made something useful to me, something incorporated into my daily life for years afterward, and it makes my life feel stitched into a larger community, in both literal and figurative ways. 

Creative minds, by definition, are thriving, so living with handmade craft is reveling in the output of other people’s best selves, their strongest, most healthy, flourishing, creative energy.

I love to put on mittens made personally for me, stitch by stitch, or earrings that are one-of-a-kind and there’s some story behind them, or to touch the handmade quilt from someone long gone. Living with handcrafts feels like being surrounded by other people’s care and appreciation. And creativity is healthy! Creative minds, by definition, are thriving, so living with handmade craft is reveling in the output of other people’s best selves, their strongest, most healthy, flourishing, creative energy.

In that same interview, you say, “I’m eager to learn and I’m eager to share it. An artist once told me, ‘Share everything that you know because with more information we all do better and advance things further forward,’ and I really believe in that ethos.” What has the teaching side of miniature knitting brought to you as an artist?

I find teaching incredibly gratifying, for several reasons. One, I get so much enjoyment from knitting, it’s like sharing light, when you see it bring more light and enjoyment to someone else. It also connects me with like-minded people who care about things I care about.

I get so much enjoyment from knitting, it’s like sharing light, when you see it bring more light and enjoyment to someone else.

But also, I admit I often feel creatively “behind,” like I got started too late, or I work too slowly, or my hands can’t possibly keep up with all the ideas in my mind. Hand knitting is a slow process, especially in mini, it doesn’t “scale” and can’t be sped up, every single stitch takes the time that it takes, and my personal creative “to do list” is so long, it can at times feel really overwhelming. That’s my personal artistic anxiety. My worry is that I can’t make things fast enough; I’m never going to achieve all the things I aspire to. But whenever I can teach someone else to knit or crochet, it calms that anxiety, because even though that person is not likely to help me knit my specific ideas or my own personal project list, I find it comforting to know that they’re going to knit something, something wonderful of their own, and even if I can never finish all the projects I want to make, if I convert a few more people to the craft, then illogical as it probably is, I believe we’ll collectively all be able to make “enough,” whatever that means.

Can you share more about your experience as an IGMA artisan? What’s that community like, and how have you been involved?

I have so loved my experience with IGMA. It’s a community of people ultimately brought together by a common love of learning, and I can’t think of a better connection with others than that. 

I got involved initially because, through social media, I saw the projects people were making at Guild School, in Castine, Maine, and I realized I was jealous of them. Jealousy is an ugly emotion and I try to listen to it whenever it raises its head; it’s trying to tell us something, so I admitted to myself that, yes, I wanted what they were having. 

So I invested in that part of myself that was capable of that jealousy, and I went to Guild School. That was in 2023, and it was like knitting with that indigo cotton thread all over again— once I experienced it, it felt intuitively right and I wanted more. I applied for the designation of “Artisan” with the guild that fall (and was accepted). I took my husband with me back to Castine in 2024, and plan on going again this year. Now I’m hopeful I’ll be able to teach in the future, too. 

How do you decide on which existing sweaters you see out in the world that you want to replicate in a miniature version? What makes a sweater compelling to you in that way?

Right now, I’m working on a series, “iconic knits in miniature,” and for that, I’m looking specifically for pieces of knitting that tell broader cultural stories. I’m making miniature patterns of items from pop culture, film, and fashion history—many of them are popularly recognizable like the Princess Diana “Black Sheep Sweater” or the Pendleton sweater that The Dude character wears in the movie The Big Lebowski, or the striped socks the Wicked Witch of the East is wearing when the house falls on her in The Wizard of Oz.

I’m trying to pay homage to the way that a mundane, simple thing like a sweater can contain broader social and cultural meaning.

But I also look for knitting that is historically significant to the history of textile arts, like the tromp l’oeil “Bow Knot Sweater” that Elsa Schiaparelli designed. I’m working on some socks now that are based on the oldest scraps of knitting found by archaeologists in Egypt. I’m trying to pay homage to the way that a mundane, simple thing like a sweater can contain broader social and cultural meaning.

What are some of your miniature knits that you’re proudest of and why? 

Two easy favorites: the Elsa Schiaparelli “Bow Knot Sweater,” because I’ve always loved that design, and though it’s been knocked off many times over the last hundred years, the original is made with an interesting technique, Armenian colorwork. The designer had to bring in Armenian knitters to teach her studio knitters how to do it this way, and it changes the resulting fabric (with bits of black thread appearing in the white areas and bits of white appearing in the black, a heathered effect.) So I had to shrink down not only the design, but also that technique, and I’m proud of doing that.

I’d say that overall, my biggest goal is to make the knitwear in miniature that I myself would most like to wear if I were 5.5 inches tall— comfortable, well-fitted, and fully functional in spite of the small size. This is the same standard I apply to my miniatures, and if I were magically shrunk down, the bow-knot sweater is the first sweater I would reach for.

My other favorite is the Princess Diana sweater, designed by Sally Muir and Joanna Osborne because it’s a fun design. The first draft made me giggle the whole way through because the sheep are funny, it felt wonderful to make it, and I knew that people would recognize it. But I still wasn’t prepared for how deeply it resonated with the public: my miniature version now belongs to the KSB Miniatures Collection in Kentucky, in the Spencer house, the dollhouse recreation of the childhood home of Lady Diana Spencer.

Handcrafted work, fashion, and miniatures all create such powerful connections, and I love working at the intersection of these things.

What I love most is hearing other people’s stories of recognition and connection with the sweater. I had my own association with Princess Diana wearing that sweater back in the 1980s, but I didn’t realize how many other people had strong feelings about it. That sweater being published and publicly accessible has given me access to all those stories in return, and I love how far that resonates. That’s the core of the “iconic knits” project: that a tiny sweater can spark so much feeling and remembrance. It always comes back to connections and that feeling of connectedness with a larger world. Handcrafted work, fashion, and miniatures all create such powerful connections, and I love working at the intersection of these things.

The post Miniature Knitter Julie Steiner Reimagines Iconic Sweaters in Itty Bitty Form appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I had forgotten about having contributed to the book, but was happy I had the good sense to agree to do it a few years back. MXWX is an exciting collection by this key figure from LA’s rock epoch. For those who don’t know, in 1980 he directed many of the first music videos; his editorial illustration appeared in most national magazines; he was a founding partner of various design groups, including Art Attack (1975), Neo Plastics (1980) and Brains (1994); he served as art director at Virgin Records (1992) and Warner Music (2001).

To celebrate his forthcoming publication, below is the text that I wrote for MXWX, alongside an interview with Haggerty.

It was the late 1960s. I had the good fortune to be mixed up with some bad fortune but in the good sense of the word. I was the art director of a few underground newspapers. I had the good sense to take advantage of the times while it was good to be bad. One of the good things about working on the bad underground porn weekly called SCREW, was that I could ask good, indeed great, artists and designers to work with me. By employing good illustration I could have these wonderful artists make me look good. But enough about me. Let’s get to Mick Haggerty.

I badly wanted him to work on SCREW. So, as was my habit, whenever I saw some printed or unprinted work that struck my fancy, I’d write a letter on SCREW letterhead, suggesting (actually begging in a nuanced grovel) that the recipient do a cover or two. Do enough covers in a year and an artist could put a down payment on a inflatable sex doll. Do only one or two and an artist could tell their friends (or not, as the case may be) that they’d done one or two SCREW covers (status?), and take them out for a moderately priced dinner on the fee they received.

At that time in the late 1960s/early 1970s, we had no immediate forms of communication, especially from New York to London, other than Telex (which SCREW could not afford) or Special Delivery (which SCREW could not afford). So regular airmail was the best. A letter to Mick took two weeks to arrive, and depending on how keen he was on answering, it could take a minimum of two weeks for the return post. It was always a gamble. I’d usually give up hope if I didn’t hear anything back for three or four months—sometimes a year. I don’t recall how long it took for Mick to respond. But respond he did. And not just in a letter saying “are you kidding me?” or “I have more self-respect than to work for your rag” or “may you stew in the hell of your own making.” He agreed to do a cover and sent along a sketch, too. I didn’t even look at the sketch before sending back my airmail response: “Do it.” The result is in this very volume.

That is pretty much my memory of our interaction. I feel we met at some point, but no records exist. But I know without doubt that I continued to follow his work. And the piece of his I still adore (which my filmmaker son, now 30, fell in love with too) is Mondrian Mickey. This image of a lopsided DeStjil grid painting pouring primary color paint onto the floor in the form (and color) of a Mickey Mouse melt is the most hilariously genius commentary on the marriage of fine and popular art ever produced in the 20th century. Take that, Mr. Warhol.

When Mick asked me to write this essay, in addition to my own story, I took the opportunity to ask him about his (well, it is his book!). And the first question I had to ask was about Mondrian Mickey.

Seems to me that your most familiar work is the Mondrian melting into Mickey Mouse. What do you believe is your most iconic work? 
Yes, Mickey Mondrian is it. I’ve spent my whole life on that wall between those two.

Is there an origin story?
It was done for Takenobu Igarashi at Idea Magazine … at the time I was fascinated by the plasticity of objects, and was making lots of drawings that showed extreme movement and transformation. (Pablo and George get a lot of well-deserved credit for deconstructing form in space, but the comic strip was invented a decade before Cubism, and those artists never get a look in). I of course considered Piet Mondrian the High Priest, the king of black outline and flat color, but the cultural appropriation of his work allowed me to also see him in a more kitschy, style king context. Looking through sketchbooks of that time I made many drawings of his paintings, some with lots of handles on transforming them into furniture, and even as melting swiss cheese. Once you melt and tilt the work, what else would it become?

Perhaps the work resonates with other graphic artists because it gets to the heart of the simple alchemy and reinvention that’s possible in our daily trade manipulating the same old well-worn images. For me it defines the exact spot I spent my life.

Since, I’m now in interview mode, when did you begin to publish?  
When I dropped out of college in 1972 I made a cold call on Island Records Office in London, hoping to be given a Bob Marley or even a ska cover. It was a few floors in a converted row house where all the employees sat together around a large white table covered in telephones, and after being invited in, and they had all looked though my portfolio, someone just said, “Give him Rosie?” I was of course happy to get my first job but too embarrassed to tell anyone I knew that I was doing a Fairport Convention “folkie” cover! Many years later I worked with Richard Thompson and he got good laugh out of it.

I recall, and my recollection is proven in this book, a lot of music design. Was music your initial focus?
Music was everything that mattered to me then. When I saw Bob Seidemann’s cover for Blind Faith, the earth shifted on its axis. That art somehow married to the power of music meant perhaps we could change the world. I always felt the best work had its own soundtrack. The Stenberg Brothers, arguably the first and the best [Soviet Russian Constructivist] graphic designers, made work that just screams. I was always drawn to images like that.

What was the illustration scene, world or milieu like when you started out?
I was trained in England as a graphic designer by purists in the Swiss mode like Anthony Froshaug. (He once cried in front of our class after confessing to having mixed Baskerville with Gill Sans on the same page.) I never picked up a pencil without a ruler, and drawing was viewed as a highly suspect activity. I had to travel 6,00 miles to L.A. and lock my door to even dare to attempt it. My impulse was to highly refine my drawings to remove any trace of the fact that I couldn’t draw. When I arrived on the West Coast, the favored style was airbrushed images that made everything look like shiny inflated balloons just begging to be burst.

You draw so damn well. Still, you have many styles. Why? And which approach is your preferred or favorite?
I am always driven by whatever the job at hand seems to require in order to be successful, and I try to confound people’s expectations. I always turned down any job where the client started by saying, “we want something like that drawing you did for …” My first love of course is flat colors inside black lines, reductive, impactful … perfect.

Many of these images were created prior to the computer. Was intricacy a fetish for you?
Most of them are way before digital vector tools, just ink on board, and yes, I broke into a cold sweat after making the perfect line. 

The Donald Trump image seems so out of stylistic place. Why?
It seems the perfect style to me. Gilbert Stuart’s famous painting of George Washington, the man who claimed “I couldn’t tell a lie.”

Speaking of guys with orange hair, how did the association with David Bowie come about?
United Artists Records called me in to work on Derek Boshier’s photograph for the cover of Let’s Dance, and it just grew from there. David and I were the same age and grew up just miles from each other. From the start it just felt comfortable; we had a good laugh whenever we got together.

There is everything from cartoon realism to abstract “adventurism” (my quotes) in your work. What triggers which approach?
I love “abstract adventurism” … not sure exactly what it means but sounds like me and I can’t wait to use it!

As my final question, given all you’ve done, is there another aesthetic transformation in the works?
There is only aesthetic transformation, isn’t there?

The post The Daily Heller: Mick Haggerty’s Multiple Personality Illustration 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: Gail Anderson appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“In a nutshell, our business started because we wanted to create the Blackest antiques store ever.”

Jannah Handy and Kiyanna Stewart’s love story is inextricably intertwined with the origin of their Brooklyn antique shop, Blk Mkt Vintage. The couple met while working on a college campus in the Student Affairs department, as a side hustle in vintage sourcing developed and bonded them together. In time, Blk Mkt Vintage was born, largely in response to filling a void. The pair saw a need for preserving and making accessible vintage objects that tell Black stories, so they began doing that passion-filled work. Now, just over a decade since the founding of Blk Mkt Vintage, they’ve published a book of the same name to document and share their mission even further.

The book’s introduction illustrates the couple’s side hustle turned passion:

“This book is the physical manifestation of our love for one another and for this history… We’ve been thinking about this book for almost a decade and knew that when the time came, we would write a book that placed us, two Black queer women from Brooklyn at the center, as a means to show how Black folks have been doing the work of archiving, collecting, and preserving for as long as we’ve existed. That our business, while doing important and fulfilling work, is the product of and response to generations of Black folks’ intimate relationship to memory work.”

Below, Handy and Stewart elaborate on their journey and drive. (Responses lightly edited for length and clarity.)

What is it about collecting and selling vintage items that excite you so much? Can you describe the feeling of finding an item that needs to come home with you?

What excites us the most is really twofold. First, for us, it’s all about the thrill of the hunt. Seeking out items that tell nuanced stories of Black history is akin to being on a treasure hunt. From Thailand to Amsterdam to Cuba, and more, no matter where we go, we are always on the hunt.

Seeking out items that tell nuanced stories of Black history is akin to being on a treasure hunt.

On the flip side, we started our business not only to collect but also to make available and accessible the items and stories we unearth. The “finding” is awesome, but the “sharing” allows our work to serve as a pebble in a pond and cause ripples that impact across wide swaths and along the time continuum.

Outside of the dopamine hit that occurs when hunting, the feeling is guttural. Sometimes there is language behind it and other times there isn’t. Having been in this industry for a decade we have come up with some questions we consider to make sure the vintage high doesn’t cloud our judgment completely:

• Have we seen the item before?
• Can we walk away from it?
• Do we need it?
• Does it serve a function?

As Black collectors, do you feel an added sense of responsibility or pressure to make sure critical elements of your heritage and culture aren’t lost? Can you share more about how your identities inform how and why you are in this industry?

We 100% feel that our work comes from a sense of duty, a sense of preservation of our collective American history. In the Introduction of the book, we tell a story about an encounter with vintage NAACP parade float signs that reinforce the fact that we save items from ending up in the landfill. 

We decided that it wasn’t up to someone else to amass the collection we wished we saw, it was up to us and Blk Mkt Vintage was born. 

Sparing the dramatics and hyperbole, we often are the last chance for items before they are discarded. This sense of duty was ingrained in us at the outset of our Blk Mkt journey 10 years ago, as we started this business out of a very personal need to be “seen,” As two Black, queer women, we rarely came across artifacts or ephemera that told our story or the stories of our ancestors who shared our identities. Digging through countless estate sales, flea markets, antique stores, and auctions, we had to tirelessly search for representation of ourselves. We decided that it wasn’t up to someone else to amass the collection we wished we saw; it was up to us and Blk Mkt Vintage was born.

What is the community of Black vintage sellers and collectors like, and how does it feel being a part of that? How does this work, in particular, bring you all together?

One aspect of the book process that was most rewarding was the opportunity to pass the mic and chop it up with our comrades in arms— fellow Black folks in the vintage industry. From collectors who have been with us since our e-commerce days on Etsy.com in 2015, to new collaborators we’ve met in our picking travels. 

The world of Black vintage is very robust and varied, a point driven home in our book in chapter X. Our conversations were not merely preaching to the choir; we were able to hear from world-renown artists who use vintage Black ephemera to inform their practice. A creator who examines the hood through the lens of mid-century architecture and design, and a collector who inherited his grandmother’s collection of 1960s Soul Publications, a Black music periodical that she started with her late husband.

There are countless points of entry in the vintage industry and just hearing how others came to the space might spark your own entry. 

Is there a particular item in your collection that most accurately represents your mission at BLK MKT Vintage, and/or why you got into this game in the first place?

Part of our weekly routine is frequenting early morning, outdoor vintage flea markets. Having been in this field for a while, we are regulars and have become friends or friendly with the other vendors and dealers who frequent the markets. One morning an older white woman, likely in her 80s, approached Jannah and said, “You buy Black stuff, right? Come to my car.” 

We’d only seen this woman at the market, never spoken or made a deal. Being that we were in public (and Jannah had a considerable size advantage), with some trepidation, Jannah followed her to her trunk and was shocked at what she saw. An original 1960s, large format photograph of Muhammad Ali (Cassisus Clay at the time of the photo) and his first wife that had noticeable singe marks around the edges. The woman explained that the photo was salvaged from the photographer’s studio that burned down. She had heard from another vendor that we buy Black antiques so she sought Jannah out. This story, photograph, and interaction all encapsulate the mission of Blk Mkt Vintage. If we were never looking, we would not have found.

Our story and approach is so much more than the physical object, it’s about the stories, the people and the serendipity that sometimes happens in a 80-year-old, white woman’s trunk! 

Our story and approach is so much more than the physical object, it’s about the stories, the people and the serendipity that sometimes happens in a 80-year-old, white woman’s trunk!

How does it feel to put a book together that encapsulates your work? What aspect of the book are you proudest of?

Even though the book has been out for three months now, it’s all still very surreal. Ten years ago, when dreaming up what our vintage hobby (at the time) could grow into, we knew a book was in the plans. We wanted to canonize or memorialize our work, approach, and community that we have engaged with for over a decade. On the most basic level, we wrote this book to be found. As pickers, we have collected, sold, and seen thousands of books in hundreds of collections. In five, 20, or 100 years in the future, we want our book to be found and explored in a completely new context.

We are proudest of this book being completed— it was no easy feat! We are proud that a dream we had 10 years ago came true through hard work, grit, and perseverance. At the end of the day, Blk Mkt Vintage is a love letter to Black people and Black history, and through this book, a lot more people can share that love.

The post Blk Mkt Vintage Documents its Mission to Preserve and Share Black History in New Book appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I am proudly in the category of those smitten with Gerner’s way of seeing the world. To learn more about how that point of view came to be and is executed, I reached out. His responses to my questions are below, lightly edited for length and clarity. 

Can you give some insight into your creative journey, and how that’s led you to where you are today?

I grew up in the east of France, accompanied in my artistic research by my father, a drawing and art history teacher, and by my mother, a lexicographer. I benefited from an environment made of many images and books. I was a student at the Nancy School of Art from 1988 to 1993, where I participated in graphic design, drawing, engraving, and screen printing workshops.

After that, I moved to Paris, and very quickly began to make many drawings for the press and for children’s publishing. Then I lived for a year in New York, where I was able to meet many artists—cartoonists, sculptors, painters—explore the contemporary art world, and meet art directors of the New Yorker and the New York Times.

Back in France, where I lived successively in Paris and Lille, I continued my work in publishing by making experimental comic book projects. Following this work, I was invited to exhibit in the Anne Barrault Gallery, a contemporary art gallery in Paris. Since 2004, I have been making many exhibition projects in partnership with the Anne Barrault Gallery and others, along with art centers and contemporary art museums. My book projects can become exhibition projects, and vice versa.

How did you develop your unique illustration style?

I believe that my graphic writing comes from both the codes of graphic design and the pictorial references of illustration and visual arts. I grew up with books. My relationship with the image is always done according to the criteria of print. I examine images to understand their narrative and technical principles.

Simplicity is complex and sometimes allows multiple readings.

I sometimes work by covering; I apply ink or paint to synthesize my drawing forms in a way that gets closer to a principle of the graphic alphabet. Simple and abstract forms associated with each other, construct figurative representations. But simplicity is complex and sometimes allows multiple readings.

What illustrators and artists have been most inspiring to you in your own practice? What other influences have helped shape you and your artist point of view?

During my childhood and apprenticeship, I was heavily influenced by my father’s vision and drawings. He was very critical and always had a very fair opinion. His own graphic writing was close to contemporaries like Saul Steinberg or Tomi Ungerer. I still appreciate many cartoonists from that period, but I am more influenced today by artists who work in fields far removed from drawing, press cartoons, or publishing. 

I am very sensitive to the work of certain artists like Ellsworth Kelly, and On Kawara, and more generally to contemporary art. I am also interested in architecture, typography, archaeology, forms of contemporary literature, and even botany. 

What is it about birds and dogs that you find particularly compelling to draw?

The idea of ​​making a series of bird drawings came through color: it was about experimenting with the infinite compositions and superpositions of colored lines. Since my childhood, I have always drawn birds: two lines for the beak, two lines for the legs, and in the middle of the body, then the tail and wings can be placed in a certain disorder.

Dogs stood out to me for their sculptural and abstract character. Any mass of hair with a nose, and possibly two points for the eyes could be similar to a dog. It was, therefore, more a question of working on silhouettes and textures.

These two types of animals made it possible to build a series and, therefore, to work on a principle of variation. Through their shapes or colors, they are also very graphic animals.

What’s your typical process like for drawing a dog?

Drawing a dog is a bit like drawing a piece of clothing, a mossy texture, or a furry shape. Any abstract shape composed of a principle of lines can lead to the representation of a dog. It is one of the only animal species with so many variations of breeds, with such specific defining characteristics and gaits. It’s a very rich field of experimentation and discovery for a drawer. 

Sometimes I discover a new dog and draw it immediately. Other times, I invent a shape that will lead me to an imaginary dog. Today, I don’t necessarily know which dogs are real or imaginary among all of those I have drawn.

What are your main tools for your practice? What sorts of pens, markers, pencils, paper, etc. do you use?

For my series of color drawings, I use felt-tip pens with pigmented Indian ink (Faber-Castell Pitt Artist Pen brush). For other drawings, often done with black lines, my favorite tool is a brush dipped in black Indian ink (Talens Indian ink).

Making simple and direct drawings of animals, in black or very colorful lines, without narrative captions, seems to me perhaps to participate in a universal understanding.

Why do you think your illustrations have resonated so strongly with the masses?

Making simple and direct drawings of animals, in black or very colorful lines, without narrative captions, seems to me perhaps to participate in a universal understanding. But this is only part of my work. Many other drawings are more complex and more experimental in their forms and, therefore probably more confidential. I like to work both for different audiences, for printed editions, or for wall exhibitions.

The post Jochen Gerner Uses Whimsical Simplicity to Bring his Animal Illustrations to Life appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The loathsome act known as witch-hunting continues in today’s vernacular as a shorthand for immoral and extra-legal hounding of persons suspected of some broken social more. It Happened in Salem (Creative Editions), with its cinematic noir-sounding title, is a book about the past for the present, smartly written by Jonah Winter for middle-grade students, with elegant illustrations by Brad Holland.

The subject of witchcraft is perfect for Holland’s blend of emotional intensity and human sensitivity brought out in gesture and color—and he tells us more about the process below.

Creative Editions is known as a children’s book publisher that has released books on difficult subjects, including the Holocaust, and now the Salem witch-hunts. It is difficult to think of the trials as being easily explained to children. How did you feel about the tone of the manuscript when you first read it?
Well, the first thing to dispel is the assumption most people make that witchcraft trials were common in colonial times. They weren’t. Of course, there were incidents where people were tried and hanged as witches—it was a holdover from the country’s Old World heritage. But the events that made witch-hunting so infamous actually occurred only during a period of about 18 months, and mostly in and around Salem. So, I think the author presents that accurately. It was a local epidemic of mass hysteria that ran its course and then, when it threatened to harm some prominent people, was suddenly shut down.

The manuscript and your illustrations do not hide the injustice and corruption of the period but vividly reference the continuing comparisons to the present.
Well, yes; in fact, my first thought was that the country had gone through something similar during the children’s daycare scandals of the 1980s. All that hysteria that started on the afternoon talk shows about how children’s preschool centers were hotbeds of satanic abuse—with crazy charges that people were slaughtering kittens and summoning the devil or flying through the air like witches. Innocent people lost their jobs and reputations; a bunch of them went to prison. And then suddenly, just like the Salem hysteria, the craziness ran its course and, with a few exceptions, the media dropped the whole thing as if it had never happened. I thought at the time that it was just like the Salem witch hunts, except that it went on for nearly a decade and was far more widespread—and it wasn’t happening in some colonial dark age, either.

Your images are so perfectly suited to the original Salem, with a decidedly timeless quality. Did you know what you wanted to paint from the outset?
Well, yeah, sort of. To begin with, I was determined not to give the story any kind of spooky glamor, the way movies often did. There were never any real witches, after all, so this was a cautionary tale, not a Halloween story. Back in high school, I had read all of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short stories, so I had a definite background of that era to draw on. And I did start by researching the subject. I found photos online of Salem’s so-called witch houses, and paintings and reconstructions of colonial interiors. I even found articles about the spot in the woods where archaeologists think the hangings took place. But with the exception of historical dress, I thought too many period details might make the story seem like something that happened a long time ago and couldn’t happen again. That’s why in several paintings I just showed the figures against neutral backgrounds. I thought it might make it easier for readers to identify with.

Did you create the images with kids in mind or were you directed in that direction?
No, the pictures were all my ideas and the publishers didn’t ask me to change a thing. The only issue they ever did raise was whether we should show the hangings. They were obviously concerned that that might be too upsetting for kids—and in the beginning, I had wondered about that myself. But ultimately, I concluded that kids these days probably see images in movies and video games that are a lot more violent—more grotesque even—than the matter-of-fact way I was showing what had actually happened. So, I decided to just trust my instincts and do what I thought would tell the story honestly. The publishers were totally supportive, and I was very grateful. I worked throughout with the art director Rita Marshall, and she was terrific.   

The images have an age-neutral quality, in the sense that very young kids might not get it, but mid-range kids who can read on their own or have parents who will read to them, are they your target audience?
Well, my own thinking is based on my background. When I was a little kid, I used to go with my dad on Friday nights to the local soda fountain where we’d get the latest issues of Life, Look and Collier’s magazines. Then we’d go home and he’d read the articles to me and encourage me to follow along. My mother would come by and say, “Walt, you can’t read things like that to a kid,” and dad would just say, “hell, you can read anything to a kid.” So while there are a lot of things that I wouldn’t normally bring up to a child—you have to have some common sense—in general, I tend not to talk down to them. I know that a lot of what you tell a kid will go in one ear and out the other. But if something they don’t understand really makes an impression on them, I trust that it’ll stick in their heads until something in their experience causes a light bulb to go off. In the end, I think it’s okay to let kids wonder what some things mean. It’s like buying clothes for them to grow into.

The hanging of a condemned witch is the most indelible painting of all …
Well, it’s certainly the one that gave me the most trouble. I’ve lost track of how many pencil sketches I did for it. And there were two painted versions that I worked on for days and threw out. But then I started over and finally hit on this one. The text on the facing page was about how many people had been hanged. So at one point, I had an image of several people dangling from a tree. And even in this version, I once had five. But then, suddenly on impulse, I just painted them all out but one. Then I redesigned the tree into a kind of an X on the page, with the figure of the woman at the intersection of the X. It was a sort of design solution to keep the image simple. And it seems to make the picture more moving. I don’t think I could have thought that out in the beginning though. It’s just that as I worked on it, it kind of worked itself out.

Also, I cannot get the slave girl — both text and image — out of my head. It is, well, so surprisingly serene.
Yes, I think that’s really my favorite painting from the book. And it’s based on a real person, too, except that nobody knows what the woman actually looked like. According to legend, her name was Tituba and she was the first person to be accused of witchcraft. Originally from Barbados, she had been brought to Salem as a household slave by the town minister, Samuel Parris. It was his young daughter and niece who first accused her. In the beginning, she denied the charge, but finally confessed—allegedly after being beaten—and to save herself, began telling preposterous stories that implicated two other women as witches. That’s how the mass hysteria began. It lasted for about a year and a half. Tituba was imprisoned for the whole time but was never tried, and when they finally released her, she disappears from history.

What other images do you feel have the most impact amid all the powerful ones herein?
I think the strongest picture is the last one, the little girl cherishing the voodoo doll. It began when I was doing research for the way kids dressed in those days. I kept finding old daguerreotypes of little girls holding a beloved doll. Apparently, that was a cliche of early photography. So that immediately gave me the idea for the painting. I researched voodoo dolls and used bits and pieces from several of them. And then I decided to make the girl so young and innocent-looking that her expression wouldn’t be much different from what you’d expect from a dog or a cat. The idea of poisoning and weaponizing a little kid’s mind is so obviously evil that, to me, that was the real story behind the story of the Salem witch hunts.

Do you think that an audience that has never known about the Salem trials will accept this knowledge?
Well, I suspect that like most things in life, different people will get different things out of it.

I have to admit, although I have knowledge of the trials since elementary school, and grew up hearing about modern witch hunts for Reds and fellow travelers, your book has reinforced my trepidation of these things happening again. Did it have a similar effect on you?
Well, imagine how much more damage they could have done in Salem if they had had the internet, social media and artificial intelligence to work with. They could have turned what was essentially a local scandal into a global one. Which brings us up to today. Unfortunately, the one thing you can learn from history is that most people never learn from it. Human nature is pretty intractable, so things that happened once upon a time are always likely to happen again. I suppose that’s why we need cautionary tales.

The post The Daily Heller: Witch Hunts in Olde Salem, MA appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Vimeo, the pioneer of high-definition video sharing, sought a brand identity as innovative as its platform. The result is a dynamic design system where resolution isn’t merely a visual detail but a central, functional element.

Uncommon’s approach involved creating traditional brand components — logo, color palette, and typography — but with a twist: they employed generative tools to modulate the resolution of these elements. This concept was vividly brought to life during REFRAME, Vimeo’s inaugural video innovation conference.

In the lead-up to the event, outdoor media installations showcased posters with resolutions that varied based on their proximity to the venue. Distant locations featured low-resolution images, which progressively sharpened to ultra-high-definition as one approached the event site. This clever use of resolution not only mirrored the evolution of video technology but also engaged audiences in a playful, interactive narrative. Fascinated by this activation, I reached out to Nils Leonard, Uncommon Creative Studio’s co-founder. Our conversation is as follows (lightly edited for length and clarity).

How does incorporating ‘resolution’ as a core element of the design system challenge traditional branding conventions?

Without knowing it, we all often work within confines we don’t question. There are the common and accepted tenets of design systems: logo, typography, colour, layout, etc., but when we approached this project with true innovation in mind, we really asked ourselves how we might challenge the very nature of a design system rather than begin a process inside of it. We landed on a very simple insight, which is that if Vimeo were the original video innovator then surely our design had to represent that in an innovative way. Rather than try to create something within the existing framework of a design system, we sought to redefine the system itself. The task then became working out how the system might be able to play with resolution in an additive and remarkable way and how it might feature in the storytelling for the event and the brand itself.

We loved the idea that media could work like vision, or like resolution itself – that the closer you got to the venue, the sharper and more hi res the executions would get.

The proximity-based resolution concept for outdoor media is unconventional. What inspired your approach, and how did you ensure it would resonate with audiences attending REFRAME?

We loved the idea that media could work like vision, or like resolution itself – that the closer you got to the venue, the sharper and more hi res the executions would get. It was the perfect canvas for the resolution part of the identity to play in and was a game we felt the Reframe audience would enjoy as they made their way to the event. Once we had created the various executions using the generative web-based tool we developed, the task was then to plot the media along the routes to the venue we knew the audience would take. Some careful planning and media scouting took place, then we ensured each execution occurred in the right place for the overall effect to be felt. We weren’t worried about the lower resolution executions making little sense to people as we knew the repetition of the media and the buzz around the event would land the idea through the media mix and the noise around the idea. It was fun, though, seeing completely indecipherable posters around town. They were strangely beautiful and simple in comparison to overloaded and messaging-saturated posters. A little like Vimeo, nothing tried too hard: the overall experience was premium, simple, remarkable.

How did the partnership between Vimeo’s in-house design team and Uncommon Creative Studio influence the project’s outcome?

Dan and the excellent team at Vimeo really understood and shared the vision of the idea from the first moment. Of course, the identity had to work hard inside the venue and across all of the event’s touchpoints (including beautiful merchandise, publishing, and the myriad screens and media present). But we all recognised the power of the idea behind the branding to further reinforce Vimeo’s credentials as the original video innovator to everyone that came across the identity and the event. The project was a balance of pragmatism and trust as we went about the task. The design practice within Uncommon always strives for the work to have a deeper story, a more famous narrative, and something that could become a reference point – the team at Vimeo had desired an idea like this from the start and the partnership flourished in this shared ambition.

How do you anticipate the resolution-based design system will impact audience perception and engagement during the REFRAME festival? How does this approach align with Vimeo’s broader goals? And how did you approach crafting a visual narrative that embodies the evolution of video in the 21st century?

Whether new or old, branding always has conventional tasks to fulfill. The approach here was to satisfy those needs, but go further finding a narrative in how we branded the event to create deeper conversations around Vimeo and its place in the world. This role is usually reserved for internal comms or marketing tasks, but we saw the opportunity for the body language of the brand to say something that most marketing couldn’t: If the simple design of our event is this innovative, the brand must live and breathe this commitment to the future of video in every aspect. More than answering a brief, this work asks a question, where else could video go? What else could it do? What else could be a screen? Magic in design can exist in more than a clever logo or the beauty of a typeface. What you make can be magical, but so can how you make [it].

What is the potential for applying the resolution-centric design concept beyond REFRAME? How might this approach influence future branding strategies for Vimeo or other platforms in the digital space?

Vimeo is a true innovator, whether through our partnership or in countless other ways, they will never stop showcasing the power of video to challenge, change, and improve our work and lives. We look forward to asking the questions inside this work of other media, environments, and opportunities as the studio moves forward.

Dan Brooks, Vimeo’s VP of creative & brand, remarked, “For REFRAME, our first video innovation conference, it was great to partner with Uncommon, a studio who embodies inventive thinking and design. It was a great collaboration between Vimeo’s in-house design and production team, a bold, flexible design system with a core idea around ‘resolution’ at the center.”

This approach not only reinforces Vimeo’s identity as a leader in video innovation but also exemplifies how design can transcend aesthetics to become an experiential journey.

The post Uncommon’s REFRAME Identity for Vimeo Challenges Design Norms Through Resolution appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

While some teams in other women’s professional sports leagues are upping their branding games as well—with clubs like Angel City FC and the San Diego Wave setting the bar in the NWSL— there is still ample room for growth (and investment) across the industry.

The newly launched Professional Women’s Hockey League, for example, unveiled its six inaugural franchises last September, each of whom has puzzlingly rudimentary logos and even worse wordmarks all in drastic need of some TLC.

And lest we forget the shambolic brand rollout of BOS Nation FC of the NWSL. TooManyBalls.com might be gone, but it will live on in infamy forever.

The WNBA continues to set and elevate the standard for women’s sports branding in the US, with franchises like the NY Liberty leading the charge. After diving headfirst into the mania surrounding the NY Liberty’s mascot, Ellie the Elephant, this past WNBA season, I had the pleasure of speaking directly with the Liberty’s chief brand officer, Shana Stephenson, about the brilliance of Ellie.

Since then, I’ve continued thinking about the state of branding in women’s sports, and the nuances of branding professional women’s sports teams versus their male counterparts, and once again sought out Stephenson for her expert insights. I also reached out to sports branding professional and graphic designer Britt Davis for commentary, who has worked with the likes of the WNBA, NBA, NFL, MLS, MLB, New Balance, ESPN, and collegiate teams through LCKR ROOM and B.CRTV Brands.

Stephenson and Davis’s thoughtful responses to my questions are below, lightly edited for clarity and length.

How important is the branding of a women’s sports team to their ultimate success on the court or field? One might think that only the players and their performance matter, but can you elaborate on how a franchise’s total package affects how a team plays?

SS: It’s essential to create a strong brand identity and an impactful platform to generate visibility, build a strong fan base, and connect with your players. Not only will you see the best basketball at New York Liberty games, but we are incredibly deliberate in ensuring fans will see the best fan experience as well.

The New York Liberty has been intentional in how we cultivate our fan base, and simultaneously bringing our brand identity to life through the in-arena atmosphere and experience at Barclays Center. We’ve designed our home venue to be an immersive, cultural experience, and our fans take it a step further by bringing the energy game after game, helping motivate, hype up, and create excitement for the players.

It’s no coincidence the Liberty just won our first WNBA championship in franchise history— this was always part of our long-term vision.

We’ve elevated our mascot, Ellie the Elephant, in unimaginable ways, hosted A-List celebrities and influencers from all different industries to sit courtside and perform at our games, and now we’re seeing an increase in media presence, fans, and attendance. We’re seeing everything come together so serendipitously, and it’s no coincidence that the Liberty just won our first WNBA championship in franchise history— this was always part of our long-term vision.

BD: Branding plays a pivotal role in shaping the overall experience, not just for the players, but for the fans as well. It’s the spark that fuels excitement, energy, and emotion, creating a dynamic atmosphere that resonates with both sides. This connection sets the tone for unforgettable moments that forge lasting bonds between fans and teams— bonds that solidify loyalty and passion. 

For me, these moments are the heartbeat of creative assets, from taglines to merchandise, inspiring everything fans wear and share to proudly express their unwavering support.

How do you see branding for a women’s sports franchise different from branding for a men’s franchise? What aspects are the same?

SS: The WNBA and many professional women’s sports teams and leagues are newer to the industry, leaving room to push creative boundaries and build something truly unique and authentic to the market. That growth opportunity can allow women’s sports teams to capture attention in uncrowded spaces and help brands meaningfully engage with some of the most diverse and loyal fans in sports.

One way the Liberty has pushed a creative boundary is through the team’s Xbox partnership. We created a custom gaming-inspired basketball court to celebrate the launch of one of the year’s most-anticipated video games. Our mascot Ellie is another example of how our team has pushed creative boundaries, with our fresh take on this part of a team’s branding, we’ve not only helped attract new audiences, but we’ve also created opportunities for new brand partnerships with Nike, Bumble, Lyft, and others.

WNBA players understand their role in growing the game, so they’re more accessible. They also speak out about women being undervalued and underrepresented in society overall and understand the value of using their platform to be vocal about social issues.

An aspect of branding that is the same for both women’s and men’s sports franchises is highlighting the elite athletes who are the heart of our team and the face of our league. This is something we are incredibly intentional about so that our players get the name recognition they have earned and deserve.

I’d also add that WNBA players understand their role in growing the game, so they’re more accessible. They also speak out about women being undervalued and underrepresented in society overall and understand the value of using their platform to be vocal about social issues.

BD: Having worked on both men’s and women’s sports projects, I approach them with the same level of intention and research-driven creativity. The process is fundamentally the same— understanding the team’s vision and goals and crafting a brand that speaks to the heart of the sport. 

That said, during the exploration phase, teams might highlight specific visuals or tones they want to emphasize or avoid in order to keep the focus on the game itself. I respect this direction, but I also believe there are unique ways to celebrate and elevate women’s sports beyond just the brand identity. From compelling storytelling to amplifying fan voices, there are countless ways to showcase what makes women’s sports so meaningful. As a woman working in the sports design space, I can’t help but feel an extra sense of excitement when I see the branding of women’s franchises making its way into the spotlight on my timeline.

There are unique ways to celebrate and elevate women’s sports beyond just the brand identity. From compelling storytelling to amplifying fan voices, there are countless ways to showcase what makes women’s sports so meaningful.

Which women’s sports franchises stand out to you for their successful branding? What elements of their branding set them apart and have fueled their rise to the top? 

BD: This is a tough one! The teams that truly stand out to me are the ones that deeply integrate into local culture, creating a genuine connection with their communities. Teams that tap into the nostalgia of a rich legacy and long-standing presence also leave a lasting impression. In terms of digital content and blending lifestyle-driven elements like retail, I’ve really enjoyed what teams like the Las Vegas Aces, NY Liberty, and Atlanta Dream have done. Their city-inspired branding and mascots have made them fun to follow over the past few seasons. 

I also have to give a shoutout to Team USA Women’s Soccer and Basketball— these athletes bring such incredible energy and personality, and the content surrounding them is both entertaining and empowering.

What strides have been made in women’s sports in general, and women’s sports branding specifically, since you’ve been involved in the industry? In what ways is there still room for growth?

SS: We’re in the midst of an explosion of popularity for women’s sports, which has opened new avenues of growth in the industry. In 2024, experts predicted that for the first time, women’s elite sports—like the WNBA—would generate over $1 billion in revenue, which would be a 300% increase from just three years ago in 2021.

In the WNBA specifically, the Liberty’s successful 2024 championship run was part of a WNBA playoffs which saw a 142% increase in viewership compared to 2023. And Game 5 of the WNBA Finals, when the Liberty won their first-ever championship, was the most-viewed WNBA Finals game in 25 years, with ESPN broadcast viewership peaking at 3.3 million.

A key business focus for our team over the past few years has been to increase brand visibility through broadcast viewership and unique brand partnerships. This year, the Liberty signed a broadcast deal with FOX5 in New York, bringing Liberty games to 7.5 million households across the Tri-State area, and we also launched our first direct-to-consumer streaming platform, Liberty Live, further increasing accessibility by bringing games directly to our fans.

A unique advantage of being a women-led franchise is that we are able to create new sponsorship categories and opportunities. We’ve collaborated with notable brands—many of which are new to sports and/or new to the WNBA—spanning fashion, beauty, health, and everything in between. In every partnership, we prioritize working with brands that share our core values, commitment to player benefit, and the larger narrative we are pursuing as an organization. Off-White, Hero Cosmetics, NYX Cosmetics, and RMA Network are just a few examples of some of our recent, successful partnerships.

Our strategic approach is working. The Liberty has continued to break barriers and set new records—from viewership, attendance, merchandise sales, social media engagement and more—numbers are up across all areas of the business, but there’s more to be done. We must continue the momentum and build on the foundation we’ve created in order to achieve long-term, lasting success for women’s sports overall.

Numbers are up across all areas of the business, but there’s more to be done.

BD: In recent years, it’s been exciting to see the growing coverage and visibility of women’s sports. This increased attention not only sparks greater interest in the sports themselves but also opens up more opportunities for creativity within the space. With more eyes on their teams, we’ve seen a wave of intentional outreach to creatives—especially women-owned agencies and independent creators—to help shape brand identities and retail collections. There’s also been a push to develop community programs that introduce young girls to sports, fostering deeper connections and experiences. As the space continues to evolve, I’m excited to see even more innovation around key campaign moments, like schedule releases, and how these moments further strengthen fan engagement.

The post Enter the Golden Age of Branding in Professional Women’s Sports appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

While human society is being transformed by information technology, contemporary sewing technology is based on the same functionality as in the late 18th century, including the fundamental dependency on human dexterity and tactility.

Juliet Seger, founder of the fashion brand HUMAN TOUCH in Berlin, wrote this at the top of her dissertation for her master’s at the University of Edinburgh in 2020. Seger was studying sustainability design at the time when she first developed what would eventually become HUMAN TOUCH. “Today, and for the foreseeable future, every garment is and will involve sewing by human hands.”

With this concept at its core, HUMAN TOUCH visualizes the human labor inherent to the production of clothing. Seger and her business partner, Christina Albrecht, up-cycle everyday, quotidian clothing items, like workwear slacks and T-shirts, with their fingers covered in ink. In doing so, HUMAN TOUCH makes visible the invisible human hand behind our clothes and the fashion industry at large.

Having previously presented their line of up-cycled pieces, remedy, at last year’s Berlin Fashion Week, Seger and Albrecht are now gearing up for BFW 2025 with pop-ups on January 30 and February 2 that will feature their new collection. I was able to chat with Seger recently about all things HUMAN TOUCH, from her initial idea of paint-sewing, to the sewing performances she developed to bolster the brand’s message. Our conversation is below, edited lightly for clarity and length.

Can you walk me through the genesis of HUMAN TOUCH?

I was at The University of Edinburgh for a master’s, it was called Design for Change, which is basically a sustainability design program. The incentive was to do theoretical work but then also a design output that would match the academic research. So that was the original prompt: to think about a visual counterpart to the theoretical research I had done. The starting point in terms of the theory was that I’m a trained tailor. Before my degree, I did a three-year vocational training to become an industrial tailor. 

Especially during the pandemic, there were a lot of themes of 3D printing, everything digital, everything automated—Do we even need humans?—that kind of stuff. I read that there was an equivalent in the fashion production industry, automating the sewing processes. From a tailoring standpoint, I was curious: How does that technology actually work? I couldn’t wrap my head around it, and when I did research into what the status of the automation was, I realized that there was a lot of ideation and experimental things, but there wasn’t really anything at the production stage that was actually feasible to use, even in the next few decades.

At the same time, there are these special characteristics of the fashion industry, like the floppy material, the silhouettes that always change, the fabrics and the surfaces that always change. Also, human labor is still so much cheaper than building and implementing one big machine that will replace a larger segment. To me, that was such an a-ha! moment. It’s so specific to the fashion industry and in opposition to others. I wanted to look further into that, and then find a way to visualize this Eureka moment to other people.

The original idea was to just do one trial. But then I was interested in trying different products, and I was quite surprised by the feedback; a lot of people were quite interested. So it just didn’t stop after I finished my degree. 

After identifying these themes you wanted to convey in your work, how did the idea of sewing with ink on your hands first come to you?

It was during the pandemic when there wasn’t much going on. I was going to the park for a run with my partner, who was the only one I could talk through these things with properly. I remember the moment of being like, I wonder if there’s a way to just make that visible. I don’t know where exactly it came from, it just sparked in my head, but it was like, I wonder if I could put ink on my hands. Then, quite luckily, the first textile paint that I tried out worked marvelously. 

What kind of paint do you use?

It’s textile paint, which means that we use it primarily on natural fibers or cellulose-based fibers that we then cure afterwards, or basically heat the garment, and the paint gets fixed to the fiber. It’s like any kind of textile print you might have on a T-shirt. It’s acrylic, water-based paint. 

It took me a minute to get the guts to admit, No, this is actually what I want to do every day.

How did you first get into tailoring and sewing?

I started sewing when I was 13 or 14. I was just changing some garments I didn’t like, or I wanted a very specific Carnivals costume or Halloween costume and couldn’t find it, so I started making it. Then I came across some sewing magazines and began spending my time after school making my own stuff. I did a bit of a detour studying politics briefly after high school, but I quit that after a year to do my tailoring training; the fashion industry was the less responsible, riskier, creative industry. It took me a minute to get the guts to admit, No, this is actually what I want to do every day. So that brought me to the tailoring training, which then led me to a bachelor’s in Clothing Technology. From there, I wanted to expand a bit and do something that wasn’t just focused on fashion, and that’s why I went into the sustainable design master’s. 

That’s such a common trajectory: being a creative kid, but then feeling that when it comes to a career, you have to do something more “practical,” and then realizing you’re still that creative kid in your soul. 

I believe that if you have a passion for something, you’ll make it work; you’ll be successful in some way or the other. You’ll find a way to create a job or find a job that’s linked to what you love. I remember people saying, “Well, what are you going to do studying tailoring? Are going to be a tailor? Nobody earns money being a tailor.” But I think if you enjoy what you’re doing, it’ll automatically lead you to all kinds of good stuff.

I believe that if you have a passion for something, you’ll make it work; you’ll be successful in some way or the other.

What does the HUMAN TOUCH studio space and production setup consist of? 

We’re still quite a small team; at the core, it’s me and my business partner, Christina, and then we have some freelance tailors who work with us, and then an intern here and there, but it’s really mostly Christina and myself. We have a studio in Berlin. It’s a loft industrial building and we have one segment of one floor. 

I would call it a rather small design studio. We have all of the basic setups: a cutting table and several machines, and we do everything there. It’s important to us to keep it close to us. On the one hand, it’s difficult to outsource to factories because they don’t want their machines to get dirty. And because Christina and I are both trained tailors, we like to have this production side of it really near us. 

How did you and Christina become creative partners? 

We go way back. We’ve known each other since we were teenagers in our hometown, and we sort of lost track of each other for a few years, and then came back together here in Berlin as friends. We realized every time we hung out, we would very passionately and dramatically talk about tailoring and fashion. Then, a year ago, we proposed to each other to be business partners. By coincidence, on the same coffee date, I asked her to consult on a project, and she suggested jumping in on HUMAN TOUCH.

Can you tell me more about the live sewing/performance art aspect of HUMAN TOUCH?

The paint-sewing performances came from the idea that the process is quite striking to look at and draws people in. So it was originally a small extra I did at some pop-ups and some art and design festivals. Then, from a business perspective, it’s a way to continue to work and expand the project, beyond being so product-focused. So it’s still in this fashion world, but it’s not like we have to make and sell physical products. The performance is another way to spread this, and that was something we were interested in.

We had a couple of smaller performances and then a few bigger ones during Berlin Fashion Week in February last year, which somehow got quite a big crowd. It’s cool because we adapt it to the occasion. So we can talk to people while we’re doing it, or if we want it to be more like an actual performance we can be positioned away. It’s linked to these paint-sewing videos we’ve been doing, and a couple of those went viral. It underlines the idea that it’s quite a striking visual. 

It makes perfect sense that because the production process is so central to what you’re creating, people would want to get a peek behind the curtain. 

I think most times when people do see someone sewing they see the person, the machine, the setting, the studio, but they don’t actually look at the hands. So it offers a different perspective. 

What was the decision-making around the look and design of the HUMAN TOUCH garments? Why do you only use black ink on white, and white ink on black, for example?

We started with black and white, both fabric and paint, just because they’re the simplest; as soon as you introduce a color of paint, it automatically has a different connotation. Red, for example, comes with the symbolism of blood. So, to keep it very simple, at the moment we’re sticking with black and white. 

The starting point for the choice of styles, silhouettes, and products was to use everyday products that are everywhere around us, like a simple pair of denim jeans, a menswear shirt, or just a T-shirt. We ventured a bit into beige tones and blue jeans, again, more classic wardrobe staple items. Then, here and there, we sprinkle in special pieces that are maybe a bit more experimentally fitted, more drapey, or unusual. The idea is to keep the silhouette simple because the paint design is quite messy, so we need the product to still be legible.  

What’s next for HUMAN TOUCH?

We’re currently planning our next presentations for Berlin Fashion Week at the end of January and beginning of February. We’re planning what we want to do and at what scale, and especially what the spirit of the event should be. We’re also working on a full collection of mainline pieces that are not up-cycled but are fully made in-house. So far, we have a couple of those mainline pieces, but the items we sell are mostly up-cycled.

The post HUMAN TOUCH Makes Visible the Invisible Hands that Sew our Clothes appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Rinsky’s book is a stylish and crotchety ode to this fascinating group of individuals (which I’ll eventually be a member of—if I’m not already) gathered under an extra-large chuppah. This includes the New York “Schlub”; the “Tough Guy” with James Caan bravado who takes meetings in the shvitz; and the highly irritable “Grumpy Intellectual” on the deli circuit, among others.

In this interview, Rinsky (below, right) explains why he has volunteered as an OJM chronicler-advocate, and the extent of OJM’s individual and collective impact on Greater New York.

OK, the first question is: nu? Why’d you do something that on the surface is the old Jewish stereotype? And what is nu or new about this book that makes Old Jewish Men interesting and funny?
Nu right back atcha. First of all, thanks for taking an interest in my book. As Woody Allen would say: (cough, hack, clears throat) OK, what’s nu about this book that isn’t ONLY playing on the stereotypes? Well, I’m not sure if there’s anything nu exactly in my material. I think it’s the way it’s been presented that is fresh. Not to toot my own sphincter, before Old Jewish Men I don’t think there were these distinct (mostly pointless) categories and archetypes. Not surprisingly, no one ever thought to categorize an already niche category of man. If there is anything nu, and again, I don’t think there is, perhaps it’s the extremely deep specificity of this one joke. But again, this is just doubling down on the minutiae of what makes a certain kind of man. For example, what does a Tough Jew have in his breast pocket that a Soft La OJM does not? Ya know? And then you can kinda just keep going. This material has limbs that can stretch. Where do they shop? Where do they sit? Where do they shit? The more specific it is, the more minute, the funnier and less cheap. If the book wasn’t ultra specific it would be cheap propaganda. But only a real nudnik could get their hands as dirty as the writer of The Old Jewish Men’s Guide to Eating, Sleeping and Futzing Around.

I would think that people of your generation—like mine, and even my first-generation Bronx-born parents—would avoid OJM like some biblical pestilence that hit the Pharaoh. Is this revenge or ironic fondness for the fakakta schlubs in your own life?
Hmmm. To see it as revenge is interesting … revenge against whom? My future self? The Jews? My father? If anything the project is preparatory … it’s gearing up for the inevitable next phase of life. I can’t explain exactly why I’m drawn to old men, but I am. There are levels to it, and my shrink can tell you more than I probably can (FYI, my dad is a shrink), but I don’t feel that it’s revenge. Self-loathing? Who knows. Probably? I think if you find the book hateful or malicious, then you’ve found something in the writing that I don’t necessarily feel. Or at least I’m not conscious of it. The project amuses me, both the videos and the writing. I don’t think it’s deeply meaningful work, but there’s value in being amusing. “Curb Your Enthusiasm” is amusing, wouldn’t you say? In its best moments, HIGHLY amusing is how I would describe the book. Most of the writing is meant to be nothing more than a halfway serious philosophy about a late stage in the game; a fun handbook to navigate a time in life where one should be able to fully relax and pass gas freely, without spousal judgement, guilt, or a deep loss of corpulent sexiness.

This is a book filled with overt schtick, but lots of nuances emerge as well. What are your favorite parts of the book—the lore, the myths, the helpful hints—and, in general, the OJM aesthetic?
It is a lot of schtick, whatever that means. I’m so lost in this OJM universe that I might not even recognize what’s real and what’s schtick anymore. However, when it comes to schtick, good schtick is based in reality—and there’s a LOT of reality in the OJM-a-verse. Luckily, I’ve learned how to stretch and bend it. If it bends it’s funny, if it breaks it’s not funny, right? If you’re asking me what my favorite part of the book is I would say the illustrations and then the short story. I think Dick Carroll is a fantastic cartoonist and a bit of a mind reader. Luckily for me, we barely have to do much back and forth. We’ve been trading pictures of Old Jewish Men for almost 10 years now, long before anyone was offering a book deal. I feel very lucky to work with someone I admire so much. His work, I mean. Not him as a person—hope you’re reading this, Dick.

As I read the book, I recalled the very popular Preppy Handbook from 1980. In fact, there are various books where cultural characterizations are showcased. Do you think, as Baby Boomers and Millennials are getting older (and in my case, decrepit), that it is time to face our fates?
I owe a lot to the Preppy Handbook. It was definitely the biggest influence, visually, for my book. We happen to have the same publisher, but it’s no coincidence. Workman (now owned by Hachette) saw another Preppy Handbook in OJM and pursued. As anti-OJM as this is, I believe that one should face the inevitable with optimism and curiosity. Without those things, you might as well just blow your brains out. I believe in celebrating people, their oddities and specificities. The more peculiar their lives, the more there is to think and write about. I was lucky enough to stumble upon a diverse, practically infinite generation of men as a subject. There’s seemingly no end in sight. To answer your question, yes, I think we should all face our fates, but with grace. Fuck, I sound like a Christian.

How is your OJM message being communicated?
Up until now OJM has only had one podcast, and it sort of petered out and failed. In fact, I think we only had one true fan—your son. But we’re currently working on building a talkshow that will air in a few weeks.

Are you surprised by the success of your OJM brand?
Extremely. I never thought we could get this thing off the ground—not really. I knew there was a select few who would be into this “cause,” and those people found me early. But the mainstream-ness of OJM is confusing. Obviously I love that it’s popular, but only in today’s media landscape could something as narrow take off the way it has. A large reason, and I’m sure you can relate to this, is because Old Jewish Men are more or less proprietary of New York. For whatever reason when you hear Old Jewish Men you don’t think of Jerusalem or Paris or even Boca, but New York. And anything that’s quintessential New York is automatically cool.

I once had an idea (a bad idea, as it turned out) for a book on one of those timely demographic genres. How do you feel about feeding a hunger for ethnic ridicule?
I’ve done some touring for this book—mostly in the tri-state and a few talks in the Midwest, and one thing I’ve found is that Old Jewish Men don’t connect me with the book. They feel that they themselves own it. I don’t even need to show up to do these talks anymore; they’re more than happy to do it without me. So I’m feeding a demographic of hungry men. Good to be of service. Finally, I have a use and I no longer need to travel. I can finally just stay home and pick my belly button.

Can a gentile be an OJM?
I guess the question is, do you need to be Jewish to be Jewish anymore? Or do you need to be Jewish to be an OJM? I’m no rabbi, but my answer is yes: A non-Jew can be an OJM, but it sure helps to be Jewish. Bitching comes naturally to us, but I find that a lot of my non-Jewish friends have this OJM-ness coursing through them, some even more than I do. It’s my damn optimistic spirit. Maybe I’m a Protestant at heart. But in all seriousness I believe that the Jews are an optimistic people. Without it we’d be history.

How long before you become an OJM? Or does this full-time job as advocate for OJM give you a get-out-of-the-ghetto-free card?
I’m certainly a future OJM, but my hairline is going fast. I’m fine with being an advocate, but now that I’m 35 I’ve moved into a more advanced medical category; no longer a young buck in the 22–34 medical class, I’m now perched in the 35–44 bracket. I think a lot more than I used to about my hemoglobin A1C.

The post The Daily Heller: How to Become an Old Jewish Man (Even if You’re Not Jewish) appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Meehan has mastered the art of revealing the beauty in the old, rusted, and decaying. Through a meticulous process she’s developed that manually replicates the CMYK inkjet printing process, Meehan reimagines old signs with layer after layer of water color ink and care. “There’s something entrancing about directing the flow of ink as it settles on textured paper,” she writes on her process. “It allows me to capture intricate details and maintain a hint of wild spontaneity.”

When I came upon Meehan’s work, I leapt at the opportunity to learn more about her and her practice— for obvious reasons. Her work is like catnip to me, and I needed to dig deeper into the artist behind these watercolor layers. Meehan’s thoughtful responses to my questions about her background and process are below.

Where are you from and where are you currently based?

I’m a tumbleweed. I spent my childhood in Santa Fe, NM. My formative teens and twenties were used up kicking around North Carolina. Then I had a small stint working for a design firm in Seattle. After a series of untimely family tragedies, I’ve found myself in the small midwestern town of Urbana, IL where I’ve been for the last few years. 

What’s your art background? Can you give a bit of insight into your creative journey that’s led you to where you are today?

Keeping with the tumbleweed theme, my creative journey has been anything but linear. I dropped out of art school twice. A couple of years were spent as a tattoo apprentice. Then I went to fine woodworking school and got a job as a furniture prototype shop manager. But there was no creative freedom, so I went back to school (again) and ended up with a BFA in Scenic Design for Theatre and Film. Then I realized I really didn’t like working in the theatre or in film. So I talked my way into the graphic design field. After absolutely bombing out trying to work in-house for corporate businesses, I started a freelance design, branding, and illustration business in 2013, which I still operate today. All along I’ve maintained an ongoing practice of making my own drawings, paintings, sculptures, paper models, etc. 

How would you describe your personal artistic aesthetic in your own words?

It’s funny, a lot of my freelance work involves working with companies to help them establish their visual brand aesthetic and develop the language to clearly talk about it. But I have a hard time doing that with my own projects. The body of work I’ve focused on for the last three and a half years does have a clear aesthetic through-line, though. If pressed, I suppose I’d maybe say it’s something like: “Pop Impressionist Architecturally Drafted Semi-Realistic Kinda Comic Found Object Portraits.”

Something concise and catchy like that.   

As far back as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the look and feel of mid-20th century design. Its bold color palettes, sharp compositions, and visual optimism have always lured me in.

Where did your fascination with old neon signs originate? Is there a particular sign you remember that started you off on this path?

I don’t know where exactly the fascination began; maybe it was growing up in close proximity to Route 66. As far back as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the look and feel of mid-20th century design. Its bold color palettes, sharp compositions, and visual optimism have always lured me in. Though I know better, a part of me is a sucker for its false promise that everything will be ok. Nothing tells that lie better than mid-century product packaging and signage design. 

What is it about old neon signs that you find compelling enough to want to replicate, with what is clearly a lot of love and care?

While I love mid-century design for all the reasons above, I also love to see it in decay. It says, “This sign was built to last. It survived globalization. It’s outlasted whoever might have originally bothered to keep it maintained. It may be rusted and busted, but it’s still here.” I find that longevity comforting, and I feel compelled to pay homage to it. 

 One reason I studied Scenic Design is because I love the story behind the story. When the actors are removed from the stage, the set can still be its own character, whispering hints of its own life. The same is true with old signs. Wear and tear can tell their own story. I love the mystery of that. I get lost in imagining the lifespan of an old sign and the locale it marks. Broken bulbs, bullet holes, patches, and water stains all send my imagination spinning to wonder, “What happened here?”

Wear and tear can tell their own story. I love the mystery of that. I get lost in imagining the lifespan of an old sign and the locale it marks.

So many old signs started out as expertly designed and engineered objects of mass communication. As a chosen subject matter, they give me a head start to create something visually engaging and relatable. It’s honestly a bit lazy on my part. The original designers and builders did the hard work. The sign itself is an object of beauty and intrigue. I’m just shining a light on it with my ink portraits. 

Though I don’t only paint neon signs, they are a focus. By calling attention to some of these relics, I hope to also raise awareness that neon bending is a rare art and skill that needs to be cherished and protected from extinction. Cheap ugly LEDs are quickly replacing the few remaining neon signs that are left, and the skilled neon benders who are still working are getting cut out of the unique and amazing work they should be doing. It’s a disheartening result of late-stage capitalism that really gets me down. In my branding work, I’ve had the opportunity to advocate for using real neon on several restaurant buildout projects, and was even able to participate in the design of a couple of large scale neon signs for clients, which is gratifying.

By calling attention to some of these relics, I hope to also raise awareness that neon bending is a rare art and skill that needs to be cherished and protected from extinction.

What’s your typical process for recreating a sign? What materials do you use? About how long does one reproduction take? 

I work from photo references, either those I’ve taken, or those borrowed from friends. Each sign portrait starts by laying down a detailed pencil outline. Then I build up the image in four layers of transparent ink: cyan, magenta, yellow which are mixed with water and brushed on like a typical watercolor,  and then black outlines, applied with a dip pen. My process is a riff on the typical CMYK inkjet printing process.

I usually make a high resolution scan of each color layer as I finish it, so I can later create animations of the colors building up. I try to show my process from different perspectives on my Instagram feed. I post timelapse reels, and short form stories showing each piece coming together. Each piece takes me ~20-30 hours (including all the post production reel-making).

This forces me to embrace imperfection, and to try to be highly present at all times. It’s become a kind of meditation for me, even more than something I consider “art.” It’s a practice; a habit I don’t want to break.

In my job as a designer, I spend a lot of time in the digital world, with my finger on the delete button, doing and undoing. What drew me to working with inks is that there is no ‘undo’. Every choice is permanent. Not only are the inks indelible, they are semi-transparent. Unlike acrylics or oils, there is nowhere to hide if I fumble. This forces me to embrace imperfection, and to try to be highly present at all times. It’s become a kind of meditation for me, even more than something I consider “art.” It’s a practice; a habit I don’t want to break. 

What message are you trying to convey with your work? What experience do you hope viewers of your pieces have when looking at them?

A day spent roaming the aisles of a junk shop or cruising the deserted main street of a small town is a day well spent to me. There’s value in taking time out to observe and imagine. I hope my work encourages people to slow down and ponder the details of their surroundings; to consider the hidden history of the ordinary places and objects they pass everyday.

I hope my work encourages people to slow down and ponder the details of their surroundings; to consider the hidden history of the ordinary places and objects they pass everyday.

Additionally, I’d like to be an example to younger artists (and those who are just out of practice) to not dismiss the importance of working with real materials. Pick up that brush, that pencil, that clay, that needle and thread, and go for it. It’s so easy to talk yourself out of spending time on creative pursuits, or to just dive into the world of digital creation, never getting your hands dirty. If you are fortunate to have access to them, working with real tangible materials is a priceless experience. 

Do you have a favorite old sign that you’ve recreated?

On my work table right now, I’m chipping away at my 50th sign portrait. Looking back on all 50, I truly love them all equally. But, the very first sign portrait I did has to be my favorite. It was of an old Sealtest Ice Cream sign, completed in April 2021. It’s the one where I first proved out my 4 color layer process. When I was working on it, something clicked that said, “Do this. Keep going. Do more.” And, almost 4 years later, I’m still following those orders.

The post Katy V. Meehan Preserves the Past One Layer of Water Color Ink at a Time appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Pablo Delcan, graphic designer

“I want these drawings to get rougher, still communicating something but in a more direct way, more child-like.”

Pablo Delcan’s Non-A.I. Art Generator Goes Viral

Fleat, graffiti artist

The art is in the experience of execution—finding the hole in the fence, trekking up the 49 flights, bracing yourself against the windy gloom with the paint can in your hand.

A Tower of Graffiti Takes Center Stage in Downtown LA

Katie Buckley, graphic designer/illustrator

“Emerald asked me to do the Saltburn titles because, I quote, ‘I’d like it to feel like the crazy lady in the attic, scratching at the rafters.’ How could I resist that brief?”

Going Mad in the Attic: The Process Behind the ‘Saltburn’ Title Sequence

Sienna Martz, fiber artist

“I would like to do as much as I can to prevent items from going into landfills, but it’s also through my artistic activism that I can spark dialog, be a catalyst for cultural transformation, and inspire more sustainable thinking and conscious consumerism.“

Fiber Artist Sienna Martz Takes a Stand Against Tradition with Secondhand Materials

Rob Baird, chief creative officer

Many negative connotations swirl around agency life, fueled by horror stories about overworked employees and domineering CEOs, grind culture, and capitulation to the capitalist machine. But it doesn’t have to be this way.

In Austin, Preacher Reimagines What a Small Agency Can Be

Andy Saunders, car artist

“Passion and creation at this level is something so few will ever be lucky enough to experience.“

Andy Saunders Creates Custom Cars Beyond Your Wildest Dreams

Justin Torres, Na Kim, Gretchen Achilles on the Blackouts book design

Blackouts by Justin Torres stuns with brown text on cream paper and text matched page by page with illustrations and photos expressing an annihilated, distorted, and ghosted history.

Bringing the Making of “Blackouts” to Light

Craig Frazier, illustrator

“Every sketch I make is an experience of seeing something and understanding it better. I have far more unsuccessful sketches than successful ones, but they are not mutually exclusive. You must turn over rocks until you find what you are looking for.“

Stop, Look & Think: Get “Drawn” into Craig Frazier’s Illustrations

Cj Hendry, artist

“I love the vivacity of Las Vegas and the duality of the desert together. I hope this exhibition sparks joy, connection, and a sense of wonder for everyone who dives into the experience.“

Cj Hendry Makes a Splash in the Desert with ‘Public Pool’

Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr., letterpress artist

“How do I separate my skin from the rest of my body? It’s just the nature of the beast that I am.“

Letterpress Printer Amos Kennedy Jr. Makes Art As Statement

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The post PRINT Year in Review: Artists & Designers, in Their Own Words appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Having mastered the art of graphic props and setting the gold standard for the industry, the Dublin-based Atkins recently decided to explore a new avenue: the wonderful world of children’s books.

Released in October and available now for the Christmas season, Atkins’ first-ever children’s book, Letters from the North Pole, is geared toward kids yet engaging for readers of all ages, due to her signature level of craft and keen design eye. The interactive hardcover book features gold foil embossing on the front cover, and five letters from Santa Claus inside that children are meant to pull out from envelop-pages to read and enjoy.

The concept of the book is perfectly suited for Atkins’ skillsets as a graphic prop designer, specifically tapping into her ability to make props for the letters from Santa. Atkins also has a background in writing, having previously published a book of poems and then a book about her practice as a prop designer, Fake Love Letters, Forged Telegrams, and Prison Escape Maps, in 2020.

In this way, Atkins was precisely the person to envision and execute Letters from the North Pole. I spoke to Atkins to learn more about her background in prop design for film, how that informed her experience of writing and designing this book, and to glean more intimate details about the book itself. Our conversation is below, lightly edited for clarity and length.

As a sign painter myself, I’d love to hear more about the influence of sign painting on your work as a prop designer. You recently posted a lesson you’ve imparted at design conferences on your Instagram, which read: “How I stopped designing like a designer and started thinking like a mediocre sign painter in the rain.” Can you share more about this? 

I always think that one day, when I quit my job, I’m going to retrain as a sign painter. The reality is, I’m not a sign painter at all. I’m not really good at any one thing, I’m a little bit good at lots of different things. I copy sign painters, I copy lettering artists, I copy old typewriters. So much of my work in film is about being able to imitate a certain look, but not necessarily about being an expert in that area. I would love to do sign painting properly, but I never have done, actually. 

I love making lettering for film sets. The way I do it for film is I draw the lettering, either hand lettering or using type, and then I will hand those drawings over to professional sign painters, and then they paint it for me. Because I’ve done so much of that, I’ve really fallen in love with sign painting. 

A lot of the time, you don’t actually want it to look like it was painted by the best sign painter in town. It’s supposed to often look like it was painted by the guy who owns the shop or the person who’s made a handmade poster and stuck it up on the street. A lot of this stuff is supposed to look like it’s come from the vernacular rather than from professional experts. That’s really fun because you can play with that. You can do things that are supposed to look a little bit naïve and homemade, but they’re still supposed to feel pretty. We’re designing things for film, and you’re asking an audience to sit down in front of the cinema screen for two hours, so you want things to have a certain aesthetic appeal to them as well.

It’s like your work reflects the off-screen characters, who may not be visible in the film but still make up the movie’s universe. The character is only present through how you’ve portrayed their sign. That’s such a deep-seated layer of the details that go into a movie. 

You have to get into character for everything you make. Most of those things you’re making are not for characters in the movie. It’s for the people who own the shops in the background of the movie, the chemists who put the labels on their old poison bottles, that kind of thing.

Why did you want to go from this world of film graphic design to that of children’s books? 

I’ve been interested in children’s books for a long, long time because I loved them as a child, but also because we read so many of them now in the house with my two little kids— they’re three and eight. 

I had always been interested in making a children’s book, but I’m not an illustrator, I’m a graphic designer and a writer. It had never really occurred to me to make my own children’s book, but then Magic Cat came to me with this idea they’d had about a book about letters to Santa Claus, and they asked me if I would design the letters that Santa writes. Of course, that’s totally up my street because it’s the kind of thing I do for film all the time, so I was immediately interested. 

It also happened to be last year during the writers’ strike, so there wasn’t a lot of shooting going on, and I wasn’t on a movie at all for the first time in ages. So I had loads of time, and I really wanted to write the book as well, so that’s how it ended up coming about. I wrote the book and designed all the props and graphic bits and pieces, and then worked with the illustrator Fia Tobig who drew all of the beautiful pictures of the children.

What was the writing aspect of the book like for you? Was that also uncharted waters?

I have written quite a lot over the years in a kind of personal way. I wrote a book of non-fiction about graphic design in film a few years ago, and years and years ago, I wrote a personal blog and some poetry— I had a couple of poems published a decade ago. So, in a small sense, I had written quite a bit before, but I had never written for children, so that was a first. 

It was really fun because I had to write in Santa’s voice, and I decided that Santa Claus would always write in rhyme. So then I had to write rhyme in verse as well, which was a good, tricky experience.

Each of the children in the book has a different voice too, in how you’ve written their letters to Santa. 

I suppose I have experience in that from film work. When you make props in a movie, nobody is really writing the content for you. Sometimes, you can take a little bit from the script, but a lot of the time, graphic designers making film props have to create that content themselves. So I have written fake love letters, telegrams, little notes that characters have to pass between each other; all that stuff needs to be written. I had always really enjoyed that, I love writing content for things. 

You mentioned that you read all the time to your children, and grew up loving children’s books. What are some of your favorite titles and authors that maybe inspired you for elements of Letters from the North Pole? 

I drew heavily from Janet and Allan Ahlberg who wrote countless books. They wrote a book called The Jolly Postman, which this book borrows from quite a lot because it has all the pull-out letters. I always loved reading those books as a kid, and I read them now to my kids as well, because I love reading books that rhyme, and I think the kids love it as well. There’s just something really lovely about this wholly unexpected rhyme at the end of a sentence. 

I love Benji Davies books: The Storm Whale, all the Bizzy Bear books. I read loads and loads of Shirley Hughes as a kid, and, again, I read all of those books to my kids now. But those books are all quite old now, they’re like, 40 years old.

There’s something so beautiful about how children’s books can be so timeless because so many important themes and lessons about life in many children’s books transcend generations. I also love how the physical copies of the books we read as children we can read to our kids one day. We pass them down as a sort of heirloom. 

Absolutely, I did want to write something that felt timeless. I don’t think I was overly conscious of it, but certainly, all the books that we love here in the house feel timeless. 

Life has changed drastically for kids over the years, but certain bigger-picture ideas, like being a good person, that are often reflected in children’s books, remain the same. I think Santa is timeless, and the idea of sending letters to the North Pole is timeless. 

I really wanted to make a book that was like an introduction to Santa Claus, that kind of went back to basics. We only know so much about Santa. When I was a kid, I started questioning his existence, like, How does he get around the world in one night? Don’t his reindeer get tired? If I stay up late will I meet him? I remember my mother always had the same answer for me. She always said, “There’ve been a lot of books about Santa Claus, there’ve been a lot of songs written about Santa Claus, but the truth is, nobody knows what Santa looks like, because nobody has ever seen Santa in real life.” 

That was what I needed to keep the magic alive, it was the not knowing. So with the book, I really wanted to do that; to give the kids that are reading it just enough information so that they’d be hooked into the mystery of it all. When the kids ask the questions in the book, Santa just deftly bats away the questions with these answers. I think that sometimes the less you say, the more magic it is.

I think the rhyming is part of that too. There’s just something sort of magical about rhyming, in a way, and that ties into the Santa mystique you’ve created with his character.

When I was little, my grandfather used to write me letters; he typed them on his typewriter, and they always rhymed. Rhyming makes it more magical somehow. I suppose it’s a cover-up, too, isn’t it? Santa is actually just your parents, but if they make it a little more whimsical it’s less likely you’ll be like, Hang on a minute, that’s you!

I know your film graphic design work, a lot of the process involves tons of historical research; looking at old artifacts and archives to accurately recreate them. What kind of research went into the designed elements for this book, especially in terms of the letters, their postage, and the diagrams for the toys illustrated in them?

I went looking for loads of old vintage letters. At first, I was going to write Santa’s letters as handwriting, so I was looking for a kind of handwriting style that would feel like it came from this elderly gentleman in the North Pole, but it also had to be legible for children to be able to read it. In the end, I settled on a typewriter instead, because it felt right to me that Santa would have his own typewriter, and it also made it super legible. 

You get those ideas by looking at real things. I have a collection of old letters that I’ve found or bought over the years, and I’ll go through my boxes of stuff, and I’ll cherry-pick all the little bits that make sense. Handwriting varies so much from different people and different times. One of the things we run up against in film is legibility, because older handwriting, cursive handwriting, is actually very difficult to read now. I did do some handwriting in the book for the envelopes. I made that handwriting quite calligraphic and fancy for the envelopes that Santa had addressed to the kids. That felt like a good place to do it because there isn’t too much text there that needs to be read. 

Each of the gifts that the children are asking for in their letters to Santa are so unique, clever, and fun. How did you come up with those? 

I wanted them to be inventions that children think up. The children were going to think of their own toy invention that they wanted Santa to put into production in his workshop for them. So things like a detective’s briefcase that’s full of disguises, and a teddy cam, and fake nose and glasses so that kids could start their own private investigator business, a robot who tidies your bedroom— you couldn’t make a book like this without a bedroom-tidying robot, because that must be one of the most useful things you could have as a child.

The toy ideas in concept are so much more interesting than a doll or a football, but they also make for much more visually compelling illustrations. All of the diagrams and figures are so detailed and rich. The toy ideas invite much more exciting visual representation and exploration. 

Yeah, I wanted them to be inventions that Santa would then have to get one of his industrious elves in his workshop to draw up, and he would have to make a proper technical drawing of this invention, like a blueprint. 

These toy inventions and their production definitely add to that sense of magic you’re trying to capture throughout the book. They have a sort of magical realism to them. 

Exactly. When I first started coming up with this idea, I thought that the children would do drawings of their invention, but then it just felt more fun if the kids had the idea, and Santa had them drawn up. I thought that that would help spark the reason for imagination. I’m hoping that when a kid is reading this book, they’ll start thinking, Oh, what would I invent? If I was going to ask Santa to put something into production, what would I want?

When I was writing and designing this book, I was constantly thinking of the child that it was being read to, and what the kid would like, and what kind of drawings the kids would like, what kinds of toys they would like to think about.

Can you point to a favorite design detail or easter egg in the book that you’re particularly proud of? 

When I first started designing the book, one of the things that I was really thinking about was not wanting to give away too much about Santa to keep the mystery alive. So I decided that we wouldn’t show Santa in the book at all, except for in the postage stamps. Santa is someone who often appears on postage stamps, especially vintage ones, so I think it’s kind of nice that he’s just there on the stamps. I thought that was a nice way to show him without really showing him. It just keeps him that little bit enigmatic. You don’t actually see him anywhere else in the book until the very last page when you see him silhouetted in the doorway of the workshop, and then on the vignette you see him flying off in the distance with his reindeer. 

When working in film, you’re really just working to a script. You’re making everything that’s required of the film script. There is room for creativity there as well, you have to film in the gaps a lot of the time, but this felt very different to me. I had to think in a much more creative way for this, and it felt much more personal as well. 

The post Graphic Prop Designer Annie Atkins Takes her Talents to the World of Children’s Books appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The Northhampton, MA-based artist is set to release their third collection of poems this coming March, provocatively entitled Big Money Porno Mommy. With a title like that, one needs an equally compelling cover, which Weiss was able to not only envision but also bring to life.

“Big Money Porno Mommy is about power and desire. It’s about pornography and my choice to not become a mother. It’s about the male gaze and how it’s wielded. It’s about all of these things in the context of my body, which happens to be a fat body,” Weiss penned in a piece they wrote reflecting on the book and its cover. “The physical forms of those we love and lust after—even the bodies we idealize—they’re all kind of ridiculous when you get close enough.”

The cover of Big Money Porno Mommy encapsulates this playfulness, capturing both the grotesque and the organic beauty inherent to the human body. The ability to harmonize two ideas that might initially seem at odds with one another is central to Weiss’ practice as a poet and something they were keen on evoking in their book’s cover.

“I needed the flesh to be forefront. I wanted to evoke fatness and nudeness but without a silhouette—fatness as the text itself. Many people have instinctive reactions to the form of a fat body. I wanted this cover to elicit a reaction, but rather than othering the form, and projecting whatever preconceived notions about fatness they may have onto my book, I wanted to bring the audience in.”

After seeing the cover of Big Money Porno Mommy and reading Weiss’s initial thoughts on their process, I was eager to talk to the artist. My Q&A with Weiss, in which I dig even deeper into their process and their reconciliation of clashing concepts, is transcribed below.

(Edited lightly for clarity and length.)

The physical forms of those we love and lust after—even the bodies we idealize—they’re all kind of ridiculous when you get close enough.

Catherine Weiss

What’s your process typically like for writing your poems?

When I think about writing poems, I try to see if a poem can do more than one thing at a time. It’s hard to write a poem that’s just about one thing, I have found. When I sit down to write a poem, I have two ideas, and then maybe the third thing that comes out of it is the poem. So when I was thinking about designing this cover, I was similarly interested in having more than one idea. 

The cover is so striking. What was your thought process behind that design?

I was also interested in having the typography contain this fleshiness, so you get the information from what the words literally say, but I also wanted the typography to give information as well. Having the title literally embodied in flesh was one way to do that. Then layering the little details of specificity onto the letters, like, Is there a belly button? Is that a tuft of hair? Things that would both hopefully draw someone in to look, and also be a little bit like, Ooh, do I want to look at this? To have that push and pull. 

The typography definitely captures that two-things-at-once idea you’re going for. It’s pretty grotesque, but simultaneously warm and pillowy and even comforting which complicates that initial disgust. At what point in the writing process did you design the cover? 

Once I had about half of the poems, I said, Okay, well, this is a collection. This is going to be something. And I had the title, and I kept writing poems to keep adding, so that’s when I started brainstorming what the cover would possibly look like. I kept coming back to this idea of flesh letters and fat rolls. An early iteration looked more like Sharpie on my stomach, and I thought about having a photograph instead of doing it digitally. But at a certain point I realized I needed to learn the software to make my vision happen. 

One of the things about writing the poems and designing the cover is that I got to spend a lot of time with both of them. I got to spend a ton of time with this cover. I kept iterating and putting it in a drawer and then coming back to it as more poems got written.  

Can you speak about that technical side of things in terms of the cover? What software did you use? What was your design process like? 

This is created in Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop. Illustrator has a very simple tool that allows you to blow up text or other shapes to inflate them in this faux 3D space. Once I realized that tool was pretty simple and I could play with it by adding skin texture, I spent a lot of time finding the right skin texture to make it look as gross as possible. 

I also spent a lot of time trying to figure out what the shape of the letters was going to be, because I wanted it to be legible. The first iteration was much more blocky and the letters were separated from each other, so it looked a little bit more like someone had been chopped up. That wasn’t quite right and that was also much harder to read. 

I didn’t really spend much time sketching but iterating in the software. How far can I distort this letter pattern to make it legible and also to get the effect that I’m looking for? 

What was your thought process behind the colors of the cover, particularly the magenta-to-orange gradient background behind the flesh-toned lettering? 

Until quite late in the process, I had a different background entirely. For a long time, it was a comforter, pillowcase sort of texture. Ultimately I didn’t stick with that because it was just a stock photo that didn’t really interact with the weight of the letters, and it was taking attention away from the letters themselves. 

I wanted the cover as a whole to pop, so I knew I wanted something bright and cheerful, and I just love pink and orange. It’s been a color combination that I’ve been drawn to. Also, this is my third full-length collection, so I kept in mind my previous collection which was sort of a green. So, I thought, What do I want these books lined up on a shelf to look like? 

Now that the poems and cover are all done and dusted, what would you say you’re proudest of with what you’ve created? 

I think letting myself sit with the uncomfortable. Even with the cover, being able to forefront the discomfort while not giving up the joy that is found in this collection. 

This collection has a series of poems called “The Phone Sex Poem,” and they tell a story about a bad relationship and a boyfriend who was addicted to phone sex. They’re about the ramifications that it had on my life, and the reverberations going forward in terms of my relationship to sex and desire. 

On the face of it, that was a really hard thing to write about. I’d been aware that I’d been choosing not to write about it for several books, and I think it was really important for me to find an entry point that was playful in order to talk about a difficult subject. I think I found a balance that not only isn’t a bummer to read, but I also feel comfortable putting out into the world and telling my story in a way that feels holistic and worthwhile.

Look for Big Money Porno Mommy by Catherine Weiss on shelves in March 2025.

The post Catherine Weiss Embraces Discomfort in Their Book of Poems, ‘Big Money Porno Mommy’ appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

We’re at this great nexus of being able to return focus to the book as an object, as a form of expression, and figuring out ways to do that so that it’s relevant to a contemporary audience.

Arion Press has been manually printing books on centuries-old equipment in San Francisco for 50 years, yet they are currently embarking upon a new beginning. The last vertically integrated bookmaker in the country, Arion Press was established in 1974 and has most recently been housed in San Francisco’s Presidio neighborhood. They officially opened their new doors in the Fort Mason Center for Arts & Culture in October—after moving over 49 tons of antique equipment—and will soon be releasing their second title of the year, Fables of Aesop.

Arion Press is composed of a production team of six people, split between three departments: the foundry, the press room, and the book bindery. They also work with local bookbinder John Demerritt, and have an additional seven employees on the administrative side of things who spearhead development and programming. Arion Press’s lead printer and creative director, Blake Riley, was hired back in 2001 originally as one of the imprint’s first apprentices. I recently spoke with Riley on the occasion of all of this excitement, to learn more about the history of Arion Press, Fables of Aesop, and keeping the art of bookmaking alive.

(Lightly edited for clarity and length.)

Take me back to the origin of Arion Press. How did it all begin? 

We trace our lineage back in San Francisco to the late teens when Edwin and Robert Grabhorn came out from Indiana. Curiously, Edwin had been primarily a printer of music scores, which is a very niche, phenomenal process that has fallen entirely by the wayside at this point. They set up shop in San Francisco in the late teens and established the Grabhorn Press, which became one of the premier American fine press operations for decades, through the 60s. After Edwin passed away, the younger brother, Robert, ultimately went into partnership with Andrew Hoyem. When Robert died, Andrew founded Arion as an imprint in 1974, which is why we’re claiming this year as our 50th anniversary celebration. 

I know you started out at Arion Press as an apprentice. Can you tell me a bit more about the apprenticeship program? 

With maybe only one exception, everyone who works in production here has come up through this apprenticeship program. It’s ongoing and is considered a fundamental part of the activity that happens here. 

This is one of those professions or trades that is especially unique because it relies very heavily on this oral transmission of skills. There is a certain amount of book learning you can do around this; you can learn technique by reading repair manuals and that kind of thing. But to really have a sense for the sounds of the presses and to be able to see how hands work in relation to bring it all together, there’s no way to simulate that experience. So the apprenticeships became really instrumental in that.

By now, we’ve easily had over three dozen apprentices. Obviously, not all of them have stayed, some of them have gone on to work in other areas of the book arts or for other book arts organizations, or to teach, some of them have moved on altogether, but it actually has proven to be a very successful, robust lifeline for the press and for letterpress printing as a whole. 

I think a lot of other old trades and handcrafts are similar. I’m a sign painter, and I took a two-year sign painting course at LA Trade Tech College that’s not an apprenticeship per se, but it does replicate certain aspects of what an apprenticeship would offer. I learned from two sign painters who’ve been doing it for decades and who took the course themselves. The knowledge that they have is invaluable, and so much of it is just in their heads, so you really have to be in the room with them for two years in order to even scrape the surface of understanding sign painting.

A lot of it, too, is that the people who have that knowledge aren’t natural-born teachers, so there’s a lot that they don’t have words for. Or until a certain problem arises, it wouldn’t occur to them to explain the fix, or how you go about creating a fix for a problem that’s never arisen, that kind of thing. There’s a lot of that kind of knowledge that gets transferred by osmosis. 

What’s your favorite aspect of what you and your team do at Arion Press? 

Writ large, what’s most exciting about the work is that it’s such a dynamic moment to be involved with the book because it’s going through these radical changes. There’s this interesting division that’s occurred between knowledge and information. When people say, the web is going to be the death knell of the book! it’s really the opposite. What the web has done quite brilliantly is wrangle information and remove all of that encyclopedic burden from the book, which frees it up to do all of these other things. Meanwhile, the technologies for construction and manufacturing are changing so quickly that they are offering these wild new opportunities for ways in which books can actually physically be constructed. So we’re at this great nexus of being able to return focus to the book as an object, as a form of expression, and figuring out ways to do that so that it’s relevant to a contemporary audience.

What the web has done, quite brilliantly, is wrangle information and remove all of that encyclopedic burden from the book, which frees it up to do all of these other things.

Part of that is incorporating new technologies, and figuring out how the book can embrace those. That’s the most exciting thing for us: this project of invention and discovery. What that means in the day-to-day that is especially motivating is that it requires this incredible collaboration between all of the creative people who are involved in a project. That’s the artists within the publishing program, then working with the book binders and the guys in the foundry, and being able to coordinate everyone’s expertise to bring them into alignment with the concept for the project, and hopefully ending up with something that surprises everybody. It’s almost always the case that we never know where we’re going to end up, because the process is so organic.

I’m mesmerized by the ancient printing equipment and techniques you all have preserved and use to create your books. What’s it like working with such special and historic machinery day in and day out? 

A significant portion of the type collection here, which is the largest standing collection of metal type outside of the Smithsonian Institution, goes back to San Francisco printers at the end of the 19th century. Plus, ours is still employed; it’s still making books and printing words; it’s not just a research collection. The collection began to be compiled by the Grabhorns, who were great collectors. All of that adds up to what has been described as this irreplaceable cultural treasure designation that we were bestowed.

When working with the historic type collection, we may have a certain design in mind or a certain look for the typography, but when we go to the case it may turn out that we only have a partial alphabet of that particular typeface. So there are instances like that that arise daily where we have to pivot and devise a new solution based on all of the physical realities and constraints of working with 100-year-old equipment. That really leads to this ongoing, continuous conversation and evolution of every project where one thing leads to the next so that by the time we end up with the book finished and bound, it’s something that no one really could have anticipated. There’s a real excitement, joy, and delight associated with that. 

What’s it like keeping an old press and these antique technologies thriving within the context of San Francisco, a place dominated by big tech and digital innovation? 

The most facile metaphor for it is the interplay and relationship between radio and television, and the ways in which television actually ended up leading to the renaissance of radio that we’ve seen in the last couple of decades. We are by no means tech-averse. The monotype casters, for example, which were invented at the tail end of the Industrial Revolution in the 1890s, were the first word processors; they were cutting-edge technology for their day. So when the foundry was set up here in the Bay Area in 1915, it was cutting-edge technology. 

We are by no means tech-averse.

Originally, the monotypes were a two-part system where there was a paper tape that was punched on a hydraulic keyboard, and then that tape was fed onto the typecaster. But then the paper tape became complicated for various reasons, and about 15 years ago this beautiful digital interface was engineered that replaced that whole process. So now what we have is this 21st-century digital interface connected to the 19th-century caster that allows us to download a text from anything that’s in the public domain, format it, and convert it to be cast. It was this beautiful way, much like television and radio, that the new technology has moved in and helped buoy the old one. 

Another example that came up recently was when we worked on the Edgar Allen Poe collection. In the process of building that project, we stumbled upon this pile of bricks that had been rescued when NYU demolished Poe’s house in lower Manhattan. Unbeknownst to anyone, they moved in and raised the house, but it seems as if perhaps a mea culpa, they preserved the bricks. So all of a sudden we had these bricks, and there was this question of how we could incorporate them somehow into the book and enliven the experience that much more. What we ended up doing with them was working with a colleague of ours here in the Bay, John Sullivan, who had gotten into paper making and 3D printing. He created 3D molds into which we could grind the bricks down like a mortar and pestle and use the brick dust as a pigmentation in the pulp paper, and then we packed the molds. We ended up creating these three-dimensional cameos of Poe’s visage, and those were then embedded in the covers of the books. The paper-making is relatively ancient, but being able to create these cameos was made possible by technology only available within the last ten years. 

We’re really invested in that exploring, in breaking down the barrier between those two things and helping ensure that it’s a two-way communication from the digital to the analog, and from the analog back to the digital. They all happily coexist. 

Can you tell me more about Arion Press’s 50th anniversary celebration this year, and the Fables of Aesop collection you’re releasing as part of the milestone? 

We wanted to create something that would appropriately commemorate the press at this inflection point, while also accommodating the move. A year and a half ago, we didn’t exactly know what the move would entail other than it would happen within a six-month period and be completely disruptive and unpredictable. So we had to design a project that could somehow be modular and flexible enough to absorb this unexpected future. 

Those two things came together in Aesop. It seemed appropriate not only for its longstanding role in the history of printing— I came across one comment that said, second to the Bible, Aesop’s fables is the most printed work in the Western world. This makes a lot of sense because, for various historical and technical reasons, the fables lent themselves to the capacities and technologies of the day once moveable type was created. This is in part because of their brevity, but especially because of how visual they’ve always been. That allowed for this incredibly rich body of work to be created around them, and constantly reinvented. 

As I began to dive into the history of Aesop’s fables primarily at the Huntington Library, one thing that rose to the surface was how these morals that we’ve all grown up with and maybe have even been used to affect our behavior one way or another, have evolved over time. Once we got a bead on that, the project became very interesting because there was an opportunity to approach this in a way that’s relevant to the 21st century; what do these morals look like now? 

Also, because the morals are each self-contained in their way structurally, that allowed us the freedom that we needed to treat them individually. We could be printing each individual folio, which is how we will be presenting them, so that if production was interrupted, we could finish that one folio, pack it aside, move the operation, and pick up with the next folio. It also separated the binding from the printing. Typically when we finish the printing of a book, we have another three months of hand book-binding before the book can be released. But issuing it in a box as a collection of individual folios gave us the elbow room we needed. 

So we had this splashy box and these morals, and both of those things were the anchors for the project. That’s what led us to invite Kiki Smith as the primary visual artist to create a sculptural multiple to define the experience of the box, and to invite Daniel Handler (whom you might know as Lemony Snicket) to reinterpret the morals. We then began to invite other artists that we had worked with in the past to each choose one fable to interpret and create one print that we would print here in the shop by traditional letterpress relief printing techniques. We ended up with 15 artists with Kiki being the 16th, and 41 fables. 

The project allowed us to celebrate our community, it gave us a way to make a statement relevant to a contemporary audience, it gave us the flexibility to dance around the move, and it promised to be a lot of fun in the process.

Featured image above: Nick Bruno/Courtesy of Arion Press

The post Arion Press Keeps the Art of Bookmaking Alive While Looking to the Future appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Today a new Disney+ documentary debuts that captures that explosive, epic fusion of music and joy: Beatles ’64, produced by Martin Scorsese and directed by David Tedeschi. The trailer (below) sends pulsating shots of fountain-of-youth-like energy coursing through my body and soul, triggering forgotten, imagined and indelible recollections, like standing outside the Plaza (and the Warwick in 1965) engulfed by shrieking, sobbing “bridge and tunnel” fans trying to get the attention of George, John, Paul and Ringo.

The modest main and end title sequences and graphics throughout Beatles ’64 were created by Randy Balsmeyer’s Big Film Design. As founder and creative director, he has produced unforgettable 20th- and 21st-century film titles for Spike Lee, the Coen brothers and other directors. Since February he’s been working in Brooklyn as VFX Supervisor on Lee’s latest feature, Highest 2 Lowest, with Denzel Washington and Jeffrey Wright (a reimagining of the ’63 Kurosawa classic High and Low). For the past four years, Balsmeyer has called Thailand home, and plans to return there in February.

Wishing I were in his Beatles shoes, I plied him on what it was like to work on this document of such a pivotal era in pop history … and what he’s doing now.

The poster and title are so perfect for Beatles ’64.
Actually, the poster design is from Apple/Disney marketing. The actual film title is below. I pitched many wild and flamboyant ideas for the main title, several quite similar to the poster, but ultimately David and Marty opted for something simple and “period appropriate.”

How closely did you work with Tedeschi and Scorcese?
I worked pretty closely with David and the brilliant editor, Mariah Rehmet. I did not work directly with Marty on this one. Interestingly, even though I was in New York for most of post-production, we all worked remotely on this project. I finally met the post crew in person Sunday night at the premiere. Disney hosted an amazing screening and reception at their brand-new NY HQ downtown in Hudson Square. We were the first film to screen in their theater, and the first event to be held in the new space! Just as an indicator of how much Disney is behind the film, Bob Iger, Disney’s CEO, came to personally introduce the film. A Q&A after the screening with Marty and Dave was moderated by Ethan Hawke.

Have you done other concert film tiles before?
I previously worked with David and Marty on Rolling Thunder Revue (2019), the film about Bob Dylan’s 1976 concert tour. For that film Marty was director and David was the editor. 

Is there a secret sauce—a recipe—for making films like this one so tantalizing?
The only “secret sauce” is having a group of creative people guided by a central vision (Marty) who combine their talents in a way that is truly greater than the sum of the parts. It was a fascinating process to watch the film evolve over a fairly short period of time. Because it really is a snapshot in time: Just this two weeks in February ’64, the trick was to expand on the newly discovered Maysles footage, without straying too far from the essence of the Beatles’ first visit to America. This was an awesome group that really clicked!

The post The Daily Heller: It Was 60 Years Ago Today … appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Conceived and designed by Bob Ciano, MacWeeney’s longtime friend and art director, At Wit’s End: Cartoonists of The New Yorker is an elegantly designed showcase. An implied question, rhetorically raised by Emma Allen in the foreword—”What makes someone a New Yorker cartoonist, when as this book demonstrates, they work so differently, think so differently, see the world so differently, and draw so differently?”—is not definitively answered, but comes down to one commonality: making people laugh.

I asked MacWeeney and Maslin to talk more about the process and decisions in creating their book, a unique document that pays homage to some of the older (and a few deceased) masters, transitional pioneers and the latest wave of artists. And for those who wonder whether or not the cartoonists resemble their art, you can judge for yourself.

I am presuming that At Wit’s End was triggered by Alen’s photographs that include some principal cartoonists who have passed away, and with them a certain sense of humor. How, indeed, was this project conceived?
MacWeeney: Bob Ciano, my longtime friend and art director of Esquire magazine in 1978, loved The New Yorker, cartoons and wondered what the invisible faces looked like behind them. His curiosity got the better of him and he assigned me to photograph five cartoonists for the magazine to make a good story for Esquire and answer his curiosity. Each cartoonist was a surprise, different, somewhat eccentric and a lot of pleasure to photograph. (Gahan Wilson, Jack Zeigler, George Price, Ed Fisher and Sam Gross.) [They were] enthusiastic about the photographs, but we never saw their publication in Esquire as Bob left working for the magazine soon afterwards. 

What else inspired you to photograph New Yorker cartoonists (and how long did it take to amass this portfolio of images)?
MacWeeney: In 2014, The New Yorker assigned me to photograph eight cartoonists for the cartoon issue of the magazine. The cartoonists were partly my choice and those of the magazine’s, and that was the impetus for me to really get going again.

But, the idea of a book of cartoonists really began then in Bob’s and my mind, too. Bob was the instigator from the start. He pushed the idea and me forward for many years to come. I approached The New Yorker several times over the next years to propose publishing monthly a cartoonist portrait in the magazine; this was before it had published photography at all, and to reveal its hidden assets and identity of the mysterious cartoonists …

With a few notable exceptions, many of the cartoonists in this book are post–Lee Lorenz (cartoon editor from 1973–1993). What determined who you covered?
Maslin: Alen already had photographed 20 or so cartoonists by the time I was brought into the project in 2018. The magic number was 50 for the book (we ended up having 52). I’m not sure if we knew we were looking for a representation of eras ([executive editors] Ross, Shawn, Gottlieb, Brown and Remnick), but we managed to include cartoonists who came into the magazine from 1929 up to the present. We had numerous discussions about who should be considered, but in the end it was Alen’s call. He was the one going out into the field. There were several cartoonists we wanted to include but, alas, geography got in the way.

I had expected a few more of the older generation (you include the late George Price, for instance). Was this even possible?
Maslin: The larger number of photos were taken in the past six years. By that time, the older generation had thinned out considerably. By the time the book was underway, we counted ourselves very fortunate to get Dana Fradon, who was the last cartoonist brought in during the Harold Ross era. 

The gag cartoon, which is the focus of the book, once played a key role in many periodicals. Did your motivation come, in part, from the possible extinction of this once-ubiquitous artform?
Maslin: That wasn’t on my mind. As someone who loves the magazine’s history, I saw this as an opportunity to put in book form an extended yearbook of sorts. I only wish there had been books like this decades ago.

Who decided on the cartoonists that are featured?
MacWeeney: I selected photographing the cartoonists I most enjoyed, with suggestions from Bob and Michael, but some cartoonists lived too far away and my travel was restricted by expense. Sadly, there was a number of very eminent cartoonists not in the book. In recent years it seems from The New Yorker secret source has emerged a flurry of fresh-minted cartoonists’ drawings appearing weekly.

There was a mutual agreement to make the book reflect the surprising differences in our subjects and be unpredictable. I used the same camera for the 46 years it took me to photograph 52 portraits.

Was there logic behind which pair of cartoons were selected to represent each artist?
MacWeeney: I approached Michael as a cartoonist and historian of The New Yorker cartoonists about 2016; he helped enormously, introducing me and contacting our subjects for the book.

Michael and I selected the cartoons together [by] Zooming several times, and naturally it was a very enjoyable activity and fun to share doing.

I originally conceived the book to have only a single black-and-white portrait of each subject, with a sample cartoon and bio on other pages, really to keep some mystery about the cartoonist revealed only by a single image.

Bob thought otherwise about it and in consideration of the book’s layout to integrate the profiles Michael would write and include a sample of one or two cartoons for each subject.

Was there anyone who decided not to be your book?
MacWeeney: One cartoonist chose not to be in the book, disappointingly, and [was] very much missed: Sam Gross, my best cartoonist portrait.

Who decided on the title, which is a tip of the hat to the book Wit’s End: Days and Nights at the Algonquin Round Table?
MacWeeney: We were talking about what could be a good title when Bob came to the rescue with “At Wit’s End.”

The post The Daily Heller: ‘New Yorker’ Cartoonists Finally Show Their Faces appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Released earlier this month, the gorgeous photo book continues themes Cohen has already mined for years through Advanced Style, in regards to aging with vitality and how important love and connection are at any point in one’s life. As a lifelong animal lover, Cohen wanted to show how pets bring an added dimension of joy and beauty to his vivacious subjects’ worlds.

When I interviewed Cohen for PRINT two years ago, he mentioned Advanced Pets was in the works, and since then I’ve been eager to connect with Cohen again upon its completion. My conversation with the always generous Cohen about Advanced Pets is transcribed below.

(Lightly edited for clarity and length.)

Where did your idea for Advanced Pets originate? 

The common theme throughout my work is love and connection. Whether it’s personal expression which creates connection with other people, or, like in my last book, actual relationships between people, that kind of connection is key to growing older with vitality. I’ve been examining different ways that people stay vital throughout their lives. 

I’ve also loved animals my whole life; I’m a vegan and have had dogs since I was a little boy, so I thought it would be interesting to explore the relationships between the women that I photograph and their own animal companions. Then, because of COVID, I noticed that people got even closer to their animals, and I thought it would be a great time to really explore that. Also, as you get older, oftentimes, unfortunately, a lot of your friends aren’t around anymore, so pets and animals become your companions, company, friends, and family, especially when you’re in isolation.

Can you share more about your love of animals, the dogs you grew up with, your current dog, Vinnie, and how those connections helped fuel this book?

Dogs have been hugely important in my life— animals of all kinds have been, but mostly dogs. I’ve always liked to express myself differently than other people and dress up, and I gravitated toward things that maybe other kids didn’t (antiques, old music); I just always felt a little different. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, and I couldn’t wait to come home to the dogs in my life who were my friends, comforted me, and provided fun and joy. 

Throughout our lives, oftentimes people have difficulties connecting with other people or feeling seen or understood. In talking to the ladies and just in my own experience, my dogs have always understood and accepted me without judgment, and I think that’s a very special relationship to have, where it’s just pure love; I see that with the people I featured in this book, too. My dog, Vinnie, is my best friend, and I’ve noticed that same thing with the women that I photograph; how close these relationships are, and how they’re like our family members. They teach us so much about patience and care and provide so much at the same time. 

So much of what you’re saying resonates with me. I’m a single woman who has a lot of close friends, close relationships, and love in my life, but there’s nothing quite like the relationship I have with my cat, Joan Cusack. I’ve had her as long as I’ve lived in LA, about eight years, so she’s this embodiment of my life in LA, in a way, too. It’s hard to put into words. 

Exactly! It is hard to put into words! 

That’s why I think looking to the medium of photography, as you have, is the only way to come close to capturing that connection. 

Our pets are the closest things we have to us. These relationships are so intimate, in terms of the time we spend with them. Some of the ladies say that their pets see them in all their different stages, like as they’re trying on different outfits. Our pets see us in all these different ways that are so different from how other humans see us. 

Our pets see us in all these different ways that are so different from how other humans see us. 

Pets are (seemingly) incapable of judgment, and they see us so clearly in ways that a lot of humans can’t. I think that’s so special, especially for people like the women you’re photographing, who are so distinct and opinionated and unapologetically themselves. Animals, in particular, can accept those qualities in ways that maybe some of the greater public has a mental block about. 

The ladies are sort of outsiders, in a way, because of how they dress. Especially years ago. In their time and even now, they really were rebellious in the way that they were presenting themselves. 

On the photography side of things, how did you go about conceptualizing the photoshoots for the book? What was that process and experience like, especially working with animals as your subjects? 

My work is always a mix of street style and shoots that I do on location in people’s personal spaces or near their homes. For these photos, it was really about spending time to feel the connection between each animal and their person, and then also making space for the animal to be comfortable. 

Each one was very different. It was very similar to my process for making my last book, Advanced Love because I didn’t want to force a specific type of interaction or connection. Also, the animals obviously act differently when I’m there versus when I’m not there. It was always just about trying to capture a moment and love between a person and their pet.

When I was in Florida on a ranch with Sandra and Lucy, for example, cows don’t sit still, so it was a lot of walking around the ranch. Eventually, Lucy sat down, and then Sandra sat down next to her and she started singing to her. In that moment I was able to get my photo.

What about the fashion and styling side of things for the photoshoots? 

I told people to dress their most festive and to really celebrate advanced style. 

Your Advanced Style photos have always been so visually rich, due to the styling of these women and their energy and attitudes. Can you speak to the aesthetic power of pets, and how adding that dimension to your photos elevated them even further?  

When someone is holding their animal, all dressed up, it’s almost like they become a part of them. And through that, their pet becomes a part of what they’re trying to communicate visually. 

I’ve always loved photographs of people and their pets. I have this book called Elegance by the Seeberger brothers who were shooting socialites and rich people on the streets in the 1920s and 30s, and I loved seeing the women all dressed up in their vintage clothing with their dogs. There was this one photo of a woman dressed up in polka dots with her Dalmatian, and that was sort of an inspiration for me. 

There’s a picture of a woman named Rory and her dog Elsa in the book, and they have this connection that is a soul connection. She’s this very fashionable woman in New York and carrying her dog becomes part of the way she’s presenting herself to the world. These women are so visual, so their dogs are part of that. 

Of all of the women and their pets you photographed, is there one photo or pair that you think best encapsulates the Advanced Pets project? 

There are several, but Linda and Lil Buddy embody this project. Linda’s a very dear friend of mine who lives on an island in the northwest, and in spending time with her and Lil Buddy, I saw how their relationship is very similar to how I feel about animals.

I remember being in her garden, and she was holding Lil Buddy with the sun shining down in her arms, and she was just in complete bliss in her garden holding her baby. That was a very special moment of seeing that intimate connection, where the joy was emanating from them and I was able to capture it. That was the embodiment of the project for me. 

Usually I’m just establishing relationships with humans, but now I have all these new animal friends to be connected to.

What has been the most rewarding part of the Advanced Pet process?

It was great to not only get to know new women but also, these animals. Usually, I’m just establishing relationships with humans, but now I have all these new animal friends to be connected to.

In my last book, I was showing that you can find love at any age, and this book is also showing that. My friend Jackie in the book, is in her 70s and was never a dog person until she met Betty, who has brought so much more dimension to her life that she never even knew was possible. I think that’s also a special theme of this project: the possibility that you can have love and connection at any age. 

Header image: Valerie von Sobel

The post Ari Seth Cohen’s New Book Explores Aging with Vitality and Our Pets appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I grew up with a New York Yankees super fan as a father, who listened to every inning of every game on a hand-held transistor radio pressed up against his ear. The soothing sound of legendary commentator Roger Sterling’s voice is central in the soundtrack of my childhood, crackling through our kitchen and living room airwaves, accompanied by my dad’s whoops and groans.

My dad normalized listening to sporting events on the radio, but I never thought much of it. Recently, however, I came upon the evocative work of the Spanish artist Cassandra Constant, who’s spent much of her art practice contemplating this very concept. In Constant’s hometown of Madrid, the sport they’re listening to on the radio isn’t baseball, but fútbol, which is a much faster-paced and frenetic sport. Constant began to consider how listeners to soccer games on the radio visualized what they were hearing, and took this questioning to her sketch pad.

Since this initial curiosity, Constant has illustrated over 250 soccer games she’s listened to in full. With just pencil and paper, she rapidly sketches the play-by-play relayed to her from the radio, creating a rich world of fútbol frenzy in her finished drawings. Enthralled by her work, I reached out to learn more about her action-packed process.

What’s your personal relationship to soccer? Have you always been a football fan? What team do you support?

I am, first and foremost, an artist who loves movement and color… and football! I was born and brought up in Spain, and here soccer is part of daily life— on the news, the teams, players, scores, watching games on television, or listening to them on the radio.

Growing up, we watched football as a family. My brother supported one team, Real Madrid CF, so of course I had to support the other main Madrid team. That was a long time ago. Following my first art show, a famous footballer (who plays on my brother’s team) bought a painting of mine through one of the chief curators of the Prado Museum. I instantly changed teams to support my new collector!

I would get into a taxi, and the driver would be listening to a match on the radio and I wondered: How does he know where the ball is? 

When and why did you first start drawing football games as you listened to them? What inspired that idea?

As an artist, you have to observe and ask questions and be curious. Often I would get into a taxi, and the driver would be listening to a match on the radio and I wondered: How does he know where the ball is? 

Many years later, I bumped into an old friend in Rio de Janeiro who was a technician for a Spanish radio station and they were covering Real Madrid CF in one of the international competitions. We talked about transmission, how the match was relayed back home, the importance of narrators and commentators, communication and imagination, and how radio illustrates the scene.

Very much an experimentalist, I started putting down some ideas to “illustrate” the radio, beginning with football matches! Drawing soccer players on large pieces of paper, trying soft-ground etching on metal plates and collages, cutting out footballers from newspapers, and also drawing straight onto smooth canvases. But the narration and commentary and the match go very fast! Each game is two 45-minute halves, and there was a lot to capture. So eventually, I settled for A3 size (approx. 11×16 inches), smooth, white paper, using all kinds of writing materials, from black ballpoint pens, Bic blue biros, and now a variety of graphite pencils. I continue to experiment!

How often do you draw games? How many have you drawn so far?

I used to only draw football matches occasionally, and closer to the final stages of competitions: national leagues, European football, and World Cups. Now I find myself drawing all sorts of matches, from those between big rival teams to lesser-known ones.

I now draw, on average, a match a week. I have drawn over 250 matches.

Can you describe your game drawing process? What’s your set-up like as you listen to them on the radio? How have you developed the visual language you use to interpret the games?

Once I know which game I want to draw, set up starts about an hour before the match begins. I usually listen to the top Spanish radio station for sports, but also Talksport and BBC5 Live. I find out who’s in the initial starting teams, and write the names on paper so I know who’s going to be running in which direction!

Then I get an A3 size paper and quickly note down the competition, stadium, teams, name of referee, roughly draw club emblems, an outline of the pitch, goalposts, and the benches. I turn the paper upside down, the match starts, and we’re off! It’s fast, there are passes from left to right, back towards the goals, long balls, players whose names I cannot grasp, the kits, and what colors the goalkeepers are wearing, and I am grateful when I hear it’s a throw-in, a corner, offside, foul, yellow card; that’s when I start getting an idea of what’s happening! 

There are goals, injuries, red cards (occasionally), players come off the pitch, and new ones come on. Depending on the radio station, this can be interspersed with advertisements, calling of winning lottery numbers, the number of people in the stadium, football gossip, transfer news, VIPS in the stands, what players have just had a baby, endless statistics, and records broken— you get the picture. I love it! There’s a rhythm and it’s all very intense!

I think playing football is really difficult! It involves so many components, organization, and strategies, from players, coaches, medical practitioners, nutritionists, PRs, designers, and more to plenty of staff to manage it all. There are many more aspects I have yet to explore!

Why have you decided to keep your interpretation of the games to just pencil and paper, only using a red marker to indicate goals? What does that sketchy style bring to the way you portray the games?

The sketchy style is the result of “illustrating” a game, which takes place in less than two hours: fast, speedy, energetic, dynamic, and intense, trying to capture as much as possible. I assure you, I end up exhausted!

I’m not sure whether I should continue to outline the goals scored in red. Maybe that’s one of those questions I can ask on social media: Better in red or not? What do you think?

I feel I am contributing something to art and to football. Sharing the experience means a lot to me.

Are you surprised by the public reception of your game sketches? How has the success of your work felt?

I’m not really sure how many people have seen my drawings. What I can tell you is that when people first see them, they seem perplexed and not too sure what they are looking at. But when they realize, or when I explain it to them, they love the concept. This makes me happy, as I feel I am contributing something to art and to football. Sharing the experience means a lot to me.

I have had many enquiries about the drawings and had conversations with fans from different clubs, which I find very enriching. I am interested in the histories and values of these clubs. 

At the moment, I am in the process of setting up a website offering a selection of matches which I hope will be ready later in November.

Header image: 2022 World Cup Final; Argentina vs. France

The post Cassandra Constant Visualizes Soccer Game Radio Broadcasts with Pencil and Paper appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Collage has been the subject of so many art books and scholarly treatises that the publication of more is barely met with any degree of excitement today. However, excitement is an apt response to the current volume Fragmentary Forms: A New History of Collage by Freya Gowrley (Princeton University Press). It is new and deep in its exploration of the “mode” (Gowrley states, “In this book collage is neither a medium nor genre, but a mode; a means of processing the world as it was encountered by individuals across cultures and geographies, who subsequently produced a creative response to that experience”). Throughout the text she explores its range from religious to folk to avant garde approaches—from anonymous Victorians to Faith Ringgold’s African American quilts—and a bit of DIY.

Below, Gowrley, a scholar and the author of Domestic Spaces in Britain, 1750–1849, talks to me about the origins of the “mode” in its spiritual and rebellious manifestations (with a pinch of AI too).

You say that most histories posit the Cubist papier collé as the invention of collage. What do you propose?
I think any statement of a definitive moment of invention is going to inevitably misrepresent a more complex reality, so I probably wouldn’t propose a single alternative for when collage was “invented.” I guess I’d propose multiple instances of creation, whether using paper, or found objects, or whatever, as contributing practices which culminate in the kind of form we recognize as collage today.

Religion has a hand in collage. What was the reason for pictorial assemblages?
The relationship between collage and the expression of devotion is absolutely at the heart of the book. This manifests in both the romantic and religious senses of the term, and we see manifestations of the latter from early Christianity onwards. As we see later on, this kind of collage becomes associated with rituals of religious devotion, such as pilgrimage, as part of which you might acquire images and relics associated with saints. Likewise, relics become a vital part of the liturgical furniture in the medieval period, so we see the emergence of a whole religious visual culture predicated on the display of these goods subsumed within elaborate and often very costly compositions.

How was collage perceived in painting? Was it an opportunity to fit many narratives into one frame?
One of the things that really fascinated me about this way of approaching collage as a form was the opportunity to bring multiple forms of visual and material culture from across distinct periods into dialogue. Still-life painting, in particular, has a really clear relationship with later papier collé, as the recent MET exhibition Cubism and the Trompe L’Oeil really reinforced. The show brought together Cubist works with early modern painting in this beautiful juxtaposition. As a painterly mode, the collagic absolutely encourages the presentation of multiple narratives, but also multiple moments, multiple perspectives, multiple ways of seeing, something which is absolutely echoed in later work.

Is there a fundamental distinction between collage and assemblage?
The traditional answer here would be to stress a distinction between the “flat” and the “fat,” that is, between the two-dimensional and the three-dimensional. I can absolutely see this as being an important way of distinguishing between forms, but for me, I’m interested in how these forms are united by a shared mode of creation through the various acts that combination encompasses. Both collage and assemblage are united by a series of material and visual gestures that include acquisition, selection and arrangement, and those are the compelling relations between these modes to me.

Hannah Hoch is one of my collage heroes. What made her work modern?
Hoch is actually super interesting in that she’s often cited as being directly inspired by earlier modes of the fragmentary, specifically homemade photomontages, so I actually wouldn’t emphasize too strong a distinction between her work and that which preceded it. Nevertheless, what I think makes her work so distinctly of its period is her presentation of the modern feminine subject. Using images from contemporary women’s magazines, Hoch is literally reconstituting what it is to be a woman at a time when the contours of this were shifting and being redrawn. It’s that perfect culmination of art and the time and place in which it was made.

You suggest that collage is a woman’s language of art. How so?
Here, I’m drawing heavily on Miriam Schapiro and Melissa Meyer’s essay, published in the 1970s, titled “Waste Not, Want Not: An Inquiry Into What Women Saved and Assembled — Femmage.” This is an absolutely foundational text within the feminist art movement, and it’s one that strongly shaped my thinking about how the various kinds of crafts and art-making women engaged in throughout history might be thought of not only as a distinctively feminine mode, but one that stretches across time. I wouldn’t say that collage is necessarily a woman’s language of art, but I would say that it’s one that folk who have often been excluded from mainstream art history engaged in, and that’s significant.

Can you explain what a “collage intervention” is? With punk, collage appeared to be vernacular. Was there something other than a DIY aesthetic at work?
I think what is crucial in punk collage is the end to which that DIY aesthetic is employed, namely in the interrogation of the socio-cultural hegemony, whether that is thematically or in its mode of representation. The work of Linder Sterling really emphasizes this to me—her work doesn’t necessarily have a DIY aesthetic (no more than all collage does), but her work is employed by bands like the Buzzcocks precisely because in skewers the mores of the day in its subject and attitude. On Sterling’s cover of the single Orgasm Addict, for example, we see a nude woman, her head replaced with an iron, whose objectification is rendered in a literal form in her collage.

Where is collage situated in the continuum of art today?
This is a difficult question that I try to address in the conclusion. There are undoubtedly more collagists than ever before. As a form it continues to be highly accessible and so there is an implicit equitability in its undertaking. Thanks to the work of craftivists and socially engaged artists, it continues to be a power tool for critique. But what does the future of collage look like? I guess in order to answer this question, I’d say we should look to the past, and the mutability and transmedial vitality that collage has always had. The development of increasingly sophisticated AI generators will inevitably affect these forms, as it will across all genres of art, but I think this will only be one more transformation in a form that has such a long and varied history.

The post The Daily Heller: The College of Collage appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

But what if I told you it didn’t have to be this way?

Armin Vit and Bryony Gomez-Palacio, the charming pair behind the Indiana-based graphic design firm UnderConsideration LLC and beloved design blog Brand New, are on a mission to reclaim conference culture and are succeeding with carefully considered flying colors. I had the privilege of attending their most recent event in October, the Brand New Conference in Salt Lake City, UT, which was infused with a familial sense of warmth and thoughtfulness.

The two-day affair was held at the glorious Abravanel Hall and featured an eclectic line-up of speakers from various corners of the design industry. Some standouts for me included Ragged Edge‘s Max Ottignon, Dhiya Choudary formerly of Magic Spoon, Violaine Orsoni and Jérémy Schneider of Studio Violaine & Jérémy, and Andy Pearson of Liquid Death. The multi-dimensional diversity of the panelists made for a rich presentation of perspectives and experiences for the 600 or so of us in the audience, with maestros Vit and Gomez-Palacio setting the tone in between.

Hand-dyed programs, T-shirts, and tote bags, a truck turned into an all-blue photo booth, a design book swap station, and a handful of design-related games peppering the lobby, were just a few of the inviting details infused into the conference. At the end of the event, I found myself reflecting just as much upon the display of Vit and Gomez-Palacio’s prowess as conference facilitators as I was the pearls of design wisdom shared by each of the speakers. I reached out to the duo afterward for more insights into their process and what went into the event. Vit and Gomez-Palacio’s thoughtful responses are below.

Every aspect of BNC24 felt so carefully considered and thoughtful. Can you shed some light on your thought process for these considerations? What’s your overarching mission for BNC, and what tone are you trying to set for attendees?

The overall goal is to create the experience we would like to have at someone else’s conference. We’ve been to our share of conferences, and have experienced things that work and things that don’t work, so we try to have as little discrepancy as possible in all of the various interactions our audience has, whether in person or online, all delivered with as much attention to detail and craft as possible. 

We even choose our outfits based on each year’s color palette.

We are not perfect at it by any means, but we try to take care of as many things as possible. We want people to feel like they are entering a mini universe where all parts are connected and add up to the overall experience of being in the same building for more than ten hours each day for two days straight to make it more enjoyable and memorable. We even choose our outfits based on each year’s color palette, and our audience really appreciates how hard we commit to making each year distinct. 

Our biggest fear is becoming repetitive because we have so many people that come year after year, we never want them to feel like they are getting the exact same experience over and over.

I know that this was the first year BNC didn’t have sponsors. Can you share a bit more about that decision? How did the conference feel different this year than in the past by not having sponsors? 

First off, we have to say how appreciative we are of our past sponsors as they provided a financial boost that was integral to being able to develop and grow the conference, but our main struggle with having sponsors is that there were two very different experiences during the event: one inside the auditorium with the speakers, and one outside in the lobby with the sponsors, and the two were not particularly in sync. We felt that we could integrate those two experiences in a more memorable and relevant way for our audience. 

We left a lot of money on the table—like, A LOT—but we are lucky that we have an audience that shows up for the event so we felt comfortable risking profit in favor of a more curated experience. The energy in the lobby this year was amazing and the one goal we had, based on feedback we have received over the years, was to provide more opportunities for attendees to interact with each other and have shared moments of joy and design nerdiness to make it easier to strike up new conversations. 

We are also stubbornly independent and want to do things our own way with as little outside influence.

We are also stubbornly independent and want to do things our own way with as little outside influence as possible so this move puts us in a position where we are in total control of the results, good or bad. So far, first year, it’s been all good.

How do you curate the speakers for the conference? What do you hope to achieve when developing the presenter line-up?

We keep an ongoing list all year long of people that catch our attention, whether they were featured on Brand New (the blog), whether we ran unto their profile on LinkedIn, or whether doom scrolling on social media paid off and we saw someone’s work that we hadn’t seen before. Usually in November or December, we make an initial cut of that list to make sure we have diversity in every aspect of the word: race, gender, location, specialty, age, types of clients, styles of design, experience level, anything that will make it feel like each of the 20 speakers we have on stage has something different to offer. 

We want to create opportunities. There is nothing we love more than to have a first-time speaker being as nervous as they’ve ever been right before presenting and then being awesome on stage.

Our goal is to portray the breadth of possibilities of what one can be and do in the branding industry. We don’t try to be all things to all audience members with every single speaker, but, as a sum of all the presentations, we want everyone to be able to take at least one thing back from each presenter. We try to also provide a mix of designers and firms people have heard of along with others that none or few have heard of. We are never looking only for seasoned speakers who have done this a million times; one because that’s just boring and, two, because they’ve already gotten enough opportunities. We want to create opportunities. There is nothing we love more than to have a first-time speaker being as nervous as they’ve ever been right before presenting and then being awesome on stage.

This isn’t Adobe Max or TED and we love that it NEVER feels like a super slick corporate event. 

Now that BNC 2024 is in your rear-view mirror, what are you proudest of about this year’s conference? 

Seeing people interact with all the weird stuff we came up with for the lobby to replace the sponsor booths and swag. We spent a lot of time thinking about what these things could be and how we could bring them to life within our budget and means, which means some things were rough around the edges but that’s part of what we love about doing this ourselves and with tight budgets… we are putting our skin in the game and we are not aiming to make everything pitch-perfect and flawless. This isn’t Adobe Max or TED and we love that it NEVER feels like a super slick corporate event. 

Digressing though… our biggest pride every year is seeing new speakers get the opportunity to explore this side of themselves—folks like Eleazar Ruiz or Dhiya Choudary or the duos behind M — N Associates and Violaine & Jérémy—and realize how much they have to offer others. Equally fulfilling is the insane amount of work that our volunteers put in the day before the event and the days of the event. They leave with huge smiles on their faces and new friendships. It sounds cheesy but it really is quite something.

The post The Brand New Conference Reclaims Conference Culture with Warmth and Joy appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“When I dreamed up this idea, there was no place for Muslims of a left-leaning political ideology to engage in critical discourse about the world we live in and how we want it to look different,” she says, noting that there were indeed magazines focusing on Black Muslim identity like Sapelo Square, or gender identity, like altMuslimah—but nothing broadly focused on the left side of the political spectrum. “Islam informs so much of my political values, and I knew the same was true for others. I saw that magazines such as Jewish Currents had created this space to critically reflect on community and politics, and I thought that was so needed in the American Muslim community.”

Ahmed partnered with creative director Arsh Raziuddin—former AD of The Atlantic and The New York Times’ Opinion section, and former creative director of Bon Appétit—and Acacia was born online and semi-annually in print.

Its first issue released earlier this year, covering a broad spectrum of politics and culture, with fiction, poetry and art to boot: In “The Myth of Bodily Autonomy,” Natalia Latif explored the impact of the overturning of Roe v. Wade and the Muslim response; Sarah Aziza penned an essay on growing up the child of a Palestinian Muslim father and an American Christian mother; Shamira Ibrahim documented the use and impact of “Arab scales” in Western music; Mariam Rahmani and Lamya H discussed Hijab Butch Blues: A Memoir.

The latest issue, released this month, meanwhile, focuses on Palestine. There’s Sanya Mansoor’s “Fury at the Ballot Box”; Matene Toure’s interview with scholar Zoé Samudzi on the historical use of the word genocide; Maira Khwaja’s look at torture, from Guantanamo to Gaza; a profile of poet Mosab Abu Toha.

Underscoring it all: Raziuddin’s deft design and art direction, supplemented by visual contributions from some of the industry’s best creatives. 

Below, Ahmed and Raziuddin tell us more about the publication, which is further building out a community through sold-out launches and other events. 

Tell us about the need for a publication like this today.
Ahmed: It’s no secret that Muslim-, Arab- and Palestinian-allied journalists are being censored in mainstream media, especially in the last year. We think in light of that censorship, it’s more critical than ever that Muslim voices have a platform to report honestly about the state of our world. 

Raziuddin: This kind of censorship seeps into the world of art, affecting what stories we can share visually and how they are commissioned. It’s important to involve Muslim artists and photographers in a wide range of topics, so we aren’t limited to narratives of war, pain, and exoticism.

Arsh, at what point did you get involved? How did the two of you first connect?
Raziuddin: Hira and I had a meet-cute in an elevator. We were both going to another literary magazine party and introduced ourselves. I asked if she was a writer and she said she’s starting a lefty Muslim magazine. The rest was history. 

Tell us about the significance of the name Acacia, and how it represents your overall mission.
Ahmed: Our name is a reference to the acacia tree (Vachellia seyal). It’s generally thought to be a tree under which Prophet Muhammad and early followers of Islam sought respite and prayed. In that same tradition, Acacia is a gathering place.

Raziuddin: I imagine the tree taking on various forms, adapting alongside different letters, abstracting itself into varied versions as the magazine evolves.

What made you decide to launch Acacia in print?
Ahmed: Publishing a print edition allows us to build a tangible and enduring legacy of American Muslim political, cultural and artistic production. The internet may seem like forever, but everything on it is ultimately ephemeral. Because most of us don’t own the platforms that host our data, apart from some commendable archival efforts, we have limited tools to preserve our stories for future generations.

We hope that years from now, the back issues of Acacia will tell the story of what it meant to be a Muslim in America during critical political and cultural moments. 

Hira Ahmed

Tell us a bit about the editorial breakdown/architecture of the magazine, and how it’s arranged.
Raziuddin: Acacia is broken down into different sections, similar but not necessarily dependent on the front, middle, and back of a book, like a traditional magazine. We have a mix of personal essays, reported essays, feature stories, interviews, poetry, and a photo essay.

How have you selected the issue themes so far?
Ahmed: Our first issue was finalized before Oct. 7, 2023. In some ways, that feels like a different world, and the American Muslim community is certainly in a very different place since the beginning of the genocide. But in the pre-Oct. 7th world, we wanted to tell stories that were affecting us intra-communally. Our cover story “Navigating Culture Wars” from the first issue really captures that effort. It was about rising homophobia in the American Muslim community and specifically an open letter penned by prominent American Muslim imams condemning queerness. I think it resonated with readers because it was something everyone was talking about in the group chat, but, prior to Acacia, there was no space to formally unpack and analyze the subject matter of that story. 

The second issue is about Palestine. The genocide has been an all-consuming issue for American Muslims in the past year. It’s hard to imagine how that isn’t the case for everyone. As the genocide worsens, Gaza moves further back into the pages of newspapers. It’s a real shame. 

What has been your approach to the stories within? You have assembled such a powerful collection across a broad swath.
Ahmed: We are lucky that such incredible writers want to work with us! There is no shortage of talent in our communities and it’s been such an honor to be able to highlight that. A lot of writers are already thinking about the issues we discuss in the magazine, and we provide a home for that writing. Other times, as fans of certain writers, we will commission pieces that we think our readers would want to read. We have a brilliant group of editors who commission pieces and we deliberate together about what makes it into the issue. 

What are your favorite pieces that you’ve run to date?
Raziuddin: It’s hard to pick just one favorite, but I really loved Shamira Ibrahim’s piece on the Arab Scale from Issue 1, and Matene Toure’s interview on genocide in the latest issue. Amir Hamja’s portrait of Noura Erakat in this second issue was absolutely stunning and complemented her interview perfectly.

What has been the most challenging part of the whole endeavor so far?
Ahmed: It’s a logistically large undertaking.

Raziuddin: Especially with a small team, we’re really breaking new ground. There aren’t many folks doing what we’re doing in this way, and we’re creating our own path.

Tell us about the look you set out to achieve through the design.
Raziuddin: I want to strike the right balance between showcasing our community’s artwork and styles that we cherish, while also embracing a modern editorial language and design system. It’s a tricky line to walk.

Tell us a bit about the first two covers.
Raziuddin: In our inaugural issue, we were so lucky to feature Cassi Namoda as our cover artist. Her work is so beautiful—steeped in history and rich with narrative. Sad Man With Roses (awaits his beloved), 2020, captures a tender, poetic quality that was a perfect fit for our first cover. …

For our second cover, we were honored to feature a photograph by Taysir Batniji, a gifted Palestinian artist born in Gaza. His photo essay, Fathers, carries a haunting depth. Each image tells a story of lineage and family, echoing profound themes of loss and memory. It captures what we leave behind in times of war and genocide, highlighting how we, as a community, navigate and reshape our history. This issue confronts the ongoing devastation in Palestine and its broader impact on the Muslim world, while also addressing the rising tide of Islamophobia. We’re thankful for the artists who help us uncover and share the truth through their work. This series was captured back in 2006, many years before Oct. 7, 2023. 

Overall, what has the reception been like so far?
Ahmed: We’ve been really moved by the response. There’s nothing more rewarding than having a journalist or a fellow reader express gratitude for Acacia. My favorite anecdote is when we heard from a college student that he was going to cite one of our stories in his senior thesis. 

Raziuddin: A friend shared that a young Muslim girl, a budding artist, cried when she held the magazine. It made me cry!

Editor’s Note: PRINT Magazine is committed to publishing a diversity of opinions.

The post Meet ‘Acacia’, a New Print Magazine for the Muslim Left 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: Debbie Millman appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

These are some of the questions UK-based graphic designer Conor Foran found himself asking, spurred by his own journey with stammering. This reflection led to his development of the Dysfluent Mono typeface along with his wider project, Dysfluent, in 2017.

Through art, design, and curation, Dysfluent intersects the lived experience of dysfluency with creativity, activism, and social justice. Through Dysfluent, Foran collaborates with people who stammer, artists, speech therapists, academics, activists, organizations, and allies. One component of the Dysfluent project is an independent magazine of the same name, that explores the lived experience of stammering. Designed by Foran, the publication deploys the Dysfluent Mono typeface throughout its eye-catching and thoughtful pages, that visually portray the sounds, rhythms, patterns, and experiences of a stammer.

Foran has released two issues of the magazine, with a third currently in production. A digital version of issues one and two are available through Dysfluent’s online shop, with a hard copy of issue two distributed in the UK, Europe, Asia, and North America by Antenne Books.

More than a magazine, Foran has created a movement. Using his skills as a graphic designer and keen editorial design eye, through Dysfluent, Foran has helped cultivate a community centered around celebration and reclamation for those who stutter.

Stammering pride contends that verbal diversity is rich with meaning in its own right, and deserves to exist outside of a clinical lens of needing to be “fixed” or “cured.” 

Today, October 22nd, marks International Stuttering Awareness Day, a moment dedicated to sharing information about the realities of stuttering more widely and honoring the stuttering community at large. We’re thrilled to highlight Dysfluent and Foran’s work as part of the international celebration. Foran answered a few of my questions about the Dysfluent story below, including reflections on his editorial design, developing the Stammering Pride flag, and what he has planned next for the project.

Can you describe Dysfluent and its mission? What are you hoping to accomplish with Dysfluent?

Dysfluent is a collaborative and creative practice about stammering, a speech disability (also known as stuttering). Through art and design, it intersects the lived experience of dysfluency with creativity, activism, and social justice. So far, it has produced a stammering font, a magazine, a stammering pride flag, and, most recently, a billboard for Whitney Museum’s 2024 Biennial in New York City.

Dysfluent is led by me, Conor Foran. I collaborate with people who stammer, artists, speech therapists, academics, activists, organizations, and allies from around the world to contribute to a growing stuttering culture based around pride. Stammering pride contends that verbal diversity is rich with meaning in its own right and deserves to exist outside of a clinical lens of needing to be “fixed” or “cured.”

What’s the origin story of Dysfluent? How did the idea for a magazine reflecting the stammering community come about?

Dysfluent as a project happened very much organically, as I investigated my relationship with my own speech. While I am a proud person who stammers now, I wasn’t back in 2017 when I started creating the Dysfluent Mono typeface and magazine in college. Looking back, the project was a form of self-therapy that I still practice today. 

My experience with speech therapy was limited, and I wasn’t part of the stammering community as I am now. When creating content for the magazine, I met another person who stammers for the first time. What was an intensely personal project naturally evolved into a community-facing one. I’m very grateful to the stammering community that has embraced all the Dysfluent projects, from everyday people who stammer and parents of kids who stammer, to academics and therapists. 

The typeface is used in the magazine to proudly represent the voice of the interviewees. The magazine explores the lived experience of stammering through interviews and essays, facilitating contrasting and challenging views. It has published two issues so far. 

When it comes to the design of the magazine (and your beautiful website, merch, flag, etc.) can you speak to some of the visual choices you made to reflect stammering and how those were developed?

The typeface Dysfluent Mono is based on the three kinds of stammering: repetitions, prolongations, and blocks. I made special letterforms that repeat parts of themselves until they form the actual character, as well as characters that stretch their forms. Blocks are represented as multiple spaces. While ideas of stammering pride didn’t really exist when I created the typeface, looking back, the approach I took was very pride-coded. I interpreted my speech as forming over time, rather than being fragmented or broken. To consider stammering or dysfluency as not the antithesis of fluency is still a radical idea for a lot of people. 

To consider stammering or dysfluency as not the antithesis of fluency is still a radical idea for a lot of people.

For Issue 2 two, I asked how can a magazine itself stammer? The cover unfolds to reveal an inner dialogue amongst stammering letterforms. The issue’s title stammers across the spine. The “pull quotes” remain in their paragraphs, challenging the idea of the perfectly said phrase. Each interview is set in Dysfluent Mono. The expressive, typographic illustrations are inspired by the uniqueness of the interviewee’s voice. The magazine creatively questions society’s obsession with hyper-fluency, which leaves little room for organic moments in language.

Outside of the magazine, the typeface has been used in ZEIT and the “Stuttering Can Create Time” billboard for Whitney Museum’s 2024 Biennial with the collective People Who Stutter Create.

How have your skills as a graphic designer given you the power to make such an impact in stammering awareness?

My interest in typography in college laid the foundations for me to reconsider how my own voice could be represented in text. Making stammering visually beautiful, striking, and in some ways appealing empowers, me (and other people) to be proud of how I talk. I think it also speaks to a wider idea of what it means to be legible in both a linguistic and typographic sense. There is value to be found in visual and auditory dysfluency.

Making stammering visually beautiful, striking, and in some ways appealing empowers, me (and other people) to be proud of how I talk.

The medical model of needing to “fix” the stammer has dominated the stammering community up until a few years ago. As such, the graphic design of stammering only existed in clinical or organizational spaces. A lot of this visual design relies on tropes such as mouths, speech bubbles, and splintered, fractured, or broken typography.

There is now an emerging stuttering culture of visual art, design, music, poetry, and literature that explore the generative power of dysfluency by people who stammer, such as JJJJJerome Ellis, Willemijn Bolks, Paul Aston, and Jordan Scott. I consider my work in the stammering community to push past awareness and instead instill action. As the world becomes more and more accepting of difference, why shouldn’t stammering be included too?

I consider my work in the stammering community to push past awareness and instead instill action. As the world becomes more and more accepting of difference, why shouldn’t stammering be included too?

What was the development process of the Stammering Pride flag like? Can you unpack the design for me a bit?

The Making Waves flag was made by seven people who stammer from various countries: JJJJJerome Ellis, Kristel Kubart, Laura Lascău, Patrick Campbell, Paul Aston, Ramdeep Roman, and myself. We’ve titled it “a stammering pride flag” as it’s up to people who stammer if they identify with this design and approach we have taken. This flag is an invitation.

Water has long been associated with stammering and speech. We were eager to build upon work by the stammering community in a meaningful way, emphasizing that stuttering is as natural as whirling waves and calm creeks. The design visualizes three values: the sea-green symbolizes the existing community that has used this color for stuttering awareness since 2009; the wave motif symbolizes stammering as a natural, varied phenomenon; and the ultramarine symbolizes the progress and passion of the stuttering pride movement.

The flag has been flown by people all around the world. Kids who stammer and their parents have also responded to it so well, which has been a really amazing surprise!

What has been the biggest challenge you’ve faced with this project so far? What’s been the most rewarding aspect?

The biggest challenge I’ve faced is finding time to work on it! While I feel like I’ve produced a lot under the Dysfluent name, I still have so many ideas I want to develop. But because it’s a niche, there isn’t much money to be made, so it can be hard to devote time to the work.

My biggest reward has definitely been finding community. It still amazes me when I get an email or message from someone in a far-away country wanting to collaborate or just describing how Dysfluent represents them so well. The project also allows me to be a designer, artist, writer, facilitator… basically anything that needs to be done. While I enjoy being a generalist, it’s also taught me the importance of collaboration. 

What do you have planned next for Dysfluent?

The next Dysfluent-ism is an upcoming visual art exhibition in London, titled “Wouldn’t You Rather Talk Like Us?” with painter Paul Aston. It’s opening on November 29 and is supported by Arts Council England. The hand-made Making Waves flag will be on show in addition to some new work I can’t wait for people to see!

I’m also excited to start working on Issue 3 of the magazine next year. Overall, I’ll continue to position Dysfluent as a collaborative practice— forming alliances with people who stammer, therapists, and academics, to create work that both celebrates and challenges what we think about stammering.

The post Conor Foran Spreads Stammering Pride through ‘Dysfluent’ Magazine appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

A great title captures the spirit, psychology, mood, and inner-logic of the show in surprising, powerful ways. Something you feel, not something you necessarily know or understand. 

When season one of The White Lotus first aired on HBO in 2021, it quickly became the it show of the summer, with a scenery-chewing ensemble cast and incisive social commentary. But while many people were coming to the series for Jennifer Coolidge’s line reading and showrunner Mike White’s dark humor, they were staying for the show’s opening title sequence. Mike White worked with creative studio Plains of Yonder for the opening titles of both season one and season two of the hit show, each of which broke through the title sequence space and into mainstream culture.

Plains of Yonder is far from a one-hit wonder with The White Lotus, having designed equally impressive and impactful opening titles for other series as well, including seasons one and two of Amazon Studios’ The Rings of Power and Netflix’s The Decameron. The studio received two Emmy nominations in 2023 for Outstanding Main Title for Rings of Power and The White Lotus.

As an opening titles obsessive myself, I leapt at the opportunity to connect with Plains of Yonder Creative Directors Katrina Crawford and Mark Bashore to learn more about their process. Their responses to my questions are below.

What makes a successful opening title sequence?

For us, a great title captures the spirit, psychology, mood, and inner logic of the show in surprising, powerful ways. Something you feel, not something you necessarily know or understand. 

Building excitement and bringing viewers into the world of the show is also crucial. Main titles are unique in that if they hit the mark, they are watched repeatedly. We keep this in mind when creating. “Do I want to watch this again?” “Do I get something energetically or detail-wise with repeat viewing?”

Sometimes, a viewer sees a title and feels an immediate connection, as if an internal secret message has been sent, to the point that the viewer can say to themselves, “This feels like it was made exactly for me!” It actually does happen once in a blue moon, and we’re in the game for those moments. 

What’s your team’s typical development process for a given title sequence?

Each main title project is a puzzle, which can be solved in different ways. And like a puzzle, we start experimenting.  An idea can start with the psychology behind the show, music, emotions, or even a contextual component of the show, like a time period. 

We focus on mood, feeling, pace, and psychology way more than “design.”

We focus on mood, feeling, pace, and psychology way more than “design.” We try not to actually “design” any imagery until the idea is well set in our mind’s eye. 

I’m interested in your old-school approach and how you still mostly create your titles by hand. Why do you continue to use these processes? What do these techniques bring to a title sequence that is lost with more digital, modern-day alternatives?

More than old-school techniques, we are attracted to timelessness in work and titles that are concise in their concept. Each main title is so catered to the show, that it demands different techniques, pacing, and mood. We like the goal of keeping viewers less aware of the techniques used for creation, and more able to enjoy the feeling of a title. Truth be told, they are often more complicated to execute than meets the eye. 

Additionally, Plains of Yonder attracts a lot of makers! When we decided to use the phenomenon of Cymatics for Rings of Power season two, it was a dream come true for a lot of us. Getting to play with sand particles, physics, and robotic camera arms is a lot of fun! For The Decameron, we loved this puzzle of mixing super tech particle flow 3D with basically ink and paper. Perhaps it’s seeing the craft— the idea that our team sat down, often starting with something physical, with the audience in mind, and then attempted to make something just for them. Does that humanity show? Or perhaps it’s the joy we have in creating, but it draws people in. 

When we do create CG and technically complicated work, we oftentimes find ourselves engineering flaws back into the work, such as compositing feral live-action sand into the CG for Rings Of Power, or making rats in The Decameron rougher and choppier than when they were born in CG, including having them stray randomly from the pack. 

Can you share more about how you combined hand-drawn frame-by-frame animation with 3D/particle work in The Decameron title sequence? How and why did you land on this specific hybrid process?

Combining techniques that were born hundreds of years apart was hugely ambitious. It was a real leap of faith. We knew we wanted a sense of personality and cuteness, with a sense of “story,” so those required close-up shots of rats doing what rats do: scratching, going down holes, cuddling, scurrying around endlessly … and mating. Then, we wanted hundreds, or thousands of rats completing imagery and forming the hoard that represented the pestilence. We thought, “Maybe the rats are completely unaware of what they are making.” They are still behaving crazily and scurrying around, but what they form is epic and beautiful and highly metaphorical.  

It’s the combination of those two ideas that makes the title. The mundane mixing with the resplendent. The sacred mixing with the profane. You love the cute close-up rats, and you’re slightly terrified of the endless, ever-evolving, pervasive hoard.

We feel like we completed a bit of a magic trick in portraying pretty intense imagery and themes that have viewers smiling through it the whole time. It’s a show about the plague, but it’s also funny, so little scenes that have both darkness and levity were important. When the rats are forming a gravesite, we have them enter the scene in a campy way. They enter two by two to the gravesite like a somber funeral procession in time to the music. We had a lot of fun with the way they transition between scenes as well; having them back into a scene, pop up as a nipple, tumble, express confusion, and get sneezed out to form a new scene.

Why do you think The White Lotus title sequences have been such a massive hit, breaking through the open titles discourse and into the mainstream cultural consciousness?

It requires a show to break into the culture first. The title and the title music sort of act like a book cover or a great album cover used to do. The White Lotus titles (for both seasons) were simple in concept, but very deep in metaphor and meaning that can be appreciated by the viewer. The imagery, like the music, is simple but weird. It’s out of left field, but when the imagery and music combine it feels like they were destined to be together. 

Perhaps a more hidden reason the titles struck a chord is the wide range of emotions and themes hidden within them. There’s joy, sadness, lust, laziness, sex, jealousy, violence, death, and beyond, all portrayed in a way that is beautiful and pleasing to the eye.

It hits your heart, it hits your ears, and it hits your eyes…and they combine and detonate into a feeling that is way more powerful than the rational sum of the parts. 

What was it like working with The White Lotus team to land on the concept for those original titles?

For season one, we pitched several concepts to the showrunner Mike White, who chose one of our ideas around fictionalized beautiful wallpaper patterns embedded with hidden stories and darkening themes. 

From there, we were given a tremendous amount of freedom to design and edit as we saw best. Our original concept simply advanced for season two, incorporating more of the themes and capturing some of the imagery at a location that was shot for the show, and then creating the rest of the paintings. 

As you were working on it, did you have a feeling it would resonate so strongly with audiences or were you surprised by the response?

No. We are so focused on the show and making sure our titles laddered up to it that we don’t go there. We did, however, really like what we were making while we were making it. We knew that we had not seen anything like it on a TV title before, which is what we strive for. Sometimes, you have to just shut out the noise or any distractions with the uncontrollable landscapes of the entertainment industry and just say, “Let’s make something we think is great and that we would love to see,” and then release it out to sea in the hopes of delighting audiences. 

Is there a hidden gem or detail in either of The White Lotus titles that you’re particularly proud or fond of? 

We had a male naked statue for the Theo James character in the season two titles, which fit well. Then Katrina came up with the idea of a dog lifting his leg on the statue and it just became so much better. That synergy is fitting, as the character was both vain and aggressively marking his territory throughout the show— at least metaphorically. It’s commenting on toxic masculinity but in a playful, subtle way.

The scene in the season two titles with Jennifer Coolidge’s title depicting a leashed monkey and a blonde woman trapped in a tower was pretty deep. There are about ten things going on in that shot. We were happy with the idea of Jennifer’s credit picking up from season one, where there was a frolicking monkey in the jungle, and now that monkey is on a leash, albeit in a really nice place…or is it the lady in the tower that’s the metaphor? We like keeping the imagery in play for viewers to work out.

The post In Conversation with Plains of Yonder, Title Sequence Creators for ‘The White Lotus’ appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Tell me about the origins of this project.
For many years, I have investigated issues surrounding the loss of identity and privacy in the context of global monitoring of people and information. These issues have become increasingly relevant as technology continues to evolve and security concerns arise. The kinds of technology that are implemented for the sake of security often rely on the imaging of the human body and personal items. While maintaining public safety is an important concern, the introduction of physical security inspections, body scans and X-rays of personal possessions introduces an erosion of privacy. 

As an illegal immigrant, one exists in a constant state of uncertainty, inspiring the name “Incited” for the first project addressing immigration and privacy. This project begins with a tragedy: on Feb. 24, 2015, a cargo van carrying 54 illegal immigrants from various countries crashed near Leskovac, Serbia. “Incited” presents this accident from several perspectives, one of which is through animation using computer game technology. Viewers see a bird’s-eye view recreation of the event, emotionally distanced from it through augmented reality. This interactive AR experience allows the audience to visualize individuals inside the van, resembling an X-ray depiction. This concept extends to VR and printed installations on large glass surfaces, where transparency enables dual imagery, switching between normal and X-ray views based on the light source. Spending time in the gallery during late afternoons enhances the effect, revealing the full range from transparent to opaque imagery.

With the LEGO Immigration series, I am pushing this recreation concept further, bringing games and playing outside of the computer and technology.

At the core of my art projects is exploring empathy and reflection. The issues concerning immigration, security and privacy are complex and multifaceted. The individual must consider many angles and perspectives, but the discussion is not always approachable, or at least it hasn’t been until now. 

There is nothing more friendly, more approachable than the concept of play. While playing with LEGO bricks with my sons Maksim (17) and Toko (9), I realized that the LEGO building system is a perfect vehicle to tell a story that LEGO itself will likely never address. We had plenty of LEGO pieces, and with the help of my young apprentices, Maksim and Toko, I started a family business of building LEGO sets related to illegal immigration. In a fusion of the familiar and the unexpected, I decided to use LEGO brick as a medium for social commentary within the Immigration Series, made up of the sets “Human Trafficking,” “Border Wall,” “Migrant Boat” and “Migrant Raft.” Additional sets exploring stowaways, river crossings and semi-truck human trafficking scenarios are currently under construction. This project aims to address the issues of illegal immigration in a way that is accessible to the average person. While the Immigration Series depicts scenes of the peril, struggle and vulnerability that illegal immigrants face, it does so in a way that is meant to encourage interaction. Many of us grew up with these delightful building blocks. We understand them as vessels for wild ideas and creativity. This medium aims to transport the viewer to a child-like moment where they can imagine these issues in a learning environment without preconceived notions. With education at the heart of this project, adults and children alike are encouraged to engage with the complex issue of illegal immigration. While the idea may seem uncomfortable to some at first, it also teaches us not to be ignorant. Empathy, compassion and change only arise when we face hardship.  

At the forefront of all these projects is the effort to place us in the shoes of others, to not simply ignore problems because they do not personally affect us. This work encourages us to initiate a dialogue around personal privacy and the dehumanizing process of immigration and displacement. These issues, albeit uncomfortable to confront, offer opportunities for meaningful interaction and personal transformation.

LEGO is a registered trademark—are you using “parody” “satire” and “fair usage” to get around the trademark? In fact, can a work of art be your justification?
I use all of those legal means to criticize our society without anyone being spared. Without the freedom to express and point to injustices through art and design work, I think they would not be visible to as many people. This work is critical and political, utilizing a known system of building worlds to explore realities parallel to the positive and carefully crafted worlds of official LEGO sets. While there is nothing wrong with the prioritization of “positive” learning that LEGO seems to be invested in, it can sometimes come across as a one-sided and performative endeavor. With this work, I offer an alternative form of play that isn’t inherently positive or negative but instead does not shy away from the idea of conflict. The educational component of these sets might be the best part of the attempt to bring these issues to young minds that will be tasked with solving many of the problems we are facing today.

Where will this be exhibited?
So far, I have shown the LEGO Immigration Series of work in several university shows, where I wanted to test its value and impact on the targeted population. I am just entering the real-world art scene with this project and have had conversations with several museums and contemporary art centers. 

What has the reaction been to date?
I received a very positive reaction from the audience. Most of them are college students, so I believe they understand and appreciate the hidden messages in these LEGO sets. The college crowd has the background and education to understand the complexities of the message while also being familiar enough with the medium to appreciate the subversion of the beloved LEGO brick. 

Many of them approach the sets with familiarity. I even had one student who worked at the local LEGO store tell me she didn’t know the company had come out with an immigration set, just to find out that they indeed had not. What struck me about this interaction was the blind trust that came with seeing the familiar “brand” and toy. People are curious enough to approach the issue because of their association with bricks, but they stay for the dialogue that the topic and presentation inspire. It was very satisfying to see the students’ interest in the project and how believable the packing and presentation turned out to be. A lot of care went into finding the specific materials for this project, trying to get that nostalgic feel just right.

A lot of research and trial and error went into formatting the packaging of these sets. I noticed that LEGO has a very specific way of angling and positioning the character figurines and backgrounds depending on the audience they are trying to reach. This was a very interesting challenge to face. Packaging often comes secondary, but in this case, it felt essential to the project because it gives it that feel of legitimacy. The initial believability of the project as an official set is what puts the audience in the specific mindset of trying to reconcile the project as a work of art but also a toy that they could dare to interact with. 

The post The Daily Heller: Toying With the Southern Border Crisis appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“Letters are magic” is the watchword of Jessica Hische, one of the world’s leading lettering artists. “Letters are an amazing playground,” she says, “a playground for art and creativity. They’re an art form that gets kids — and everyone — believing they’re artists.” But it’s inaccurate to call Hische “just” a lettering artist. She’s a bestselling author, a graphic designer with an enviable client list, and an illustrator with a delightfully sophisticated style.

She’s also the mother of three school-age children, which gives her an insider advantage when it comes to creating books that kids will love and parents will want to buy (and read aloud and collect and display). It’s no accident that her books‚ which are one hundred percent Hische productions from the cover and spine to the acknowledgments page — have sold up to 200,000 copies each.

On October 22 — that’s next Tuesday — her fifth picture book, My First Book of Fancy Letters, will be released by Penguin Random House, and Hische is currently on tour.

What places does she most enjoy visiting? Elementary schools, of course, like the two pictured above, where she’s introducing her 2021 New York Times bestseller Tomorrow I’ll Be Brave. “Kids at first don’t know what a lettering artist is,” she explains. (For a detailed explanation yourself, please see her 2015 book In Progress: Inside a Lettering Artist’s Process from Pencil to Vector.)

To break the ice at a school visit, Hische might ask, “Who has letters on their shirt?” Many kids always raise their hands, so she explains, “An artist drew those letters and made them into what they wanted to express.”

She then demonstrates that letters can have all kinds of forms and meanings. As long as the basic shape of the alphabet letter is clear, it can be Athletic, Bubbly, Creepy … or whatever you, the artist, want it to be. I personally appreciate that each letter is shown as a grown-up capital and a baby lowercase because 95 percent of the letters we read in text are lowercase. Kids who start first grade only knowing the uppercase letters are at a big disadvantage.

Spreads ABC and DEF from My First Book of Fancy Letters, © Jessica Hische, 2024

Hische might then ask, “What’s your favorite thing?” If a student says, “a rainbow,” she might encourage them to draw an ‘R’ made from a rainbow, like the one in the spread below. If another student answers, “A rocket ship,” you can already visualize the kind of ‘R’ the child will draw. This game has only one rule: you must draw the alphabet letter that matches the concept or word. So, if the word is “Prickly,” like in My First Book of Fancy Letters, in which each letter illustrates an adjective, the ‘P’ is a prickly green cactus.” The ‘F’ is definitely Flowery. And the ‘Y’ is as Yummy as a cookie with pink icing and sprinkles.

Spreads PQR and XYZ from My First Book of Fancy Letters, © Jessica Hische, 2024

“I’m not there to sell books,” Hische says of her school visits. “I’m there to inspire the kids, especially when they’re still at the age when their brains are mushy sponges. Even if the book is not specifically about letters, they’ll walk away inspired to draw letters.” Her way of organizing a talk or pitch — totally involving the audience in a creative process — could be a model for all of us.

A quick stroll through Hische’s website tells you that “lettering artist-author-designer-illustrator-mom” is still an incomplete bio. Hische is a true entrepreneur. In addition to 20 years — and counting — as a design firm principal, creating logos, posters, book jackets, packaging, and all kinds of cool stuff like holiday cookie jars for A-list clients, she owns two retail stores in her adopted hometown of Oakland, California. She describes Drawling as a kids’ art supply store and Jessica Hische &Friends as a showcase for her books and lots of flourish-y things she’s designed: limited-edition prints, posters, apparel, jewelry, and note cards. Many of the products are on the ‘shop’ section of her website, where font packages of her six original typefaces are available for sale and download — so that you, too, can design with very fancy letters.

A few examples from the extensive Jessica Hische portfolio. (l-r) Top row: Spread from the book Tomorrow You’ll Be Brave; Popcorn can from the Neiman Marcus 2022 holiday packaging suite; Poster for all-star Scott Rudin film. Center: Neiman Marcus Christmas cookie jar, based on a ceramic tree that Hische’s grandmother put out every holiday season; Promotion for a master class she teaches for Skillshare featuring her hands refining the Mailchimp logo. Bottom: Poster for the American Red Cross encouraging vaccination; Main title design and poster for Lionsgate film; Poster for Comcast used as set decoration in a film in which E.T. reunites with Elliott’s earth family; Limited-edition print.

Hische is the first to admit that from kindergarten on, she was the one whose art was most often displayed on school bulletin boards. After attending public schools in the small town in Pennsylvania where she grew up, she became “a design major who did illustration on the side” at Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia, graduating in 2006 with a BFA. In 2007 she came to New York to be a junior designer at Louise Fili LTD, bringing her own historically-based swashes and ligatures to the firm’s work in logo, book, and postage stamp design. Not surprisingly, the job soon became a full-time senior designer position.

“When I’m looking to hire a designer,” Fili says, “I want to see at least one portfolio piece that I wish I’d done. Jessica’s was a set of postcards for the Twelve Days of Christmas, a showcase of her skills. From day one here, she was fearless. To anything I asked of her — Can you make this type look like spaghetti? Like embroidery? Oatmeal? Ribbons? — I received an affirmative response. And the lettering was always, of course, perfect.” 

In 2009, Hische began freelancing in New York, making a name for herself and winning just about every award and accolade in the business. In 2011, her husband, the musician and web designer, now Meta design director Russ Maschmeyer, was hired by Facebook, and they moved to the Bay Area.

Hische and Maschmeyer began growing their family in 2015, now with kids aged nine, seven, and five. “I have a complicated life,” she admits, “but I could never miss one of my kids’ first steps or birthday parties. We’ll even make the cake together. Part of the reason I’ve kept my businesses small — mostly just me — is to have a ton of flexibility around family stuff. I love going to their school plays, volunteering at the school, and bringing them to sports. I’m even taking karate with my middle son!”

Letters are an amazing playground.

Jessica Hische

Portrait of the family, © Rasmus Andersson

What are the most important things Jessica Hische wants everyone to know? One: that every letter in her books is hand-drawn, first in pencil, then in Illustrator or Procreate. Other than the glyphs in the font packages, each letter is a unique work of art. Two: that she hopes that the kids (and grown-ups) on your gift list will make their own fancy letters. And have lots of fun doing it.

With Hische, even an interview can be lots of fun.

Images courtesy of Jessica Hische, except where noted.

The post Letters are Magic in Jessica Hische’s New Children’s Book appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Arlen Schumer may not have indulged in the ice milk ritual, but he is proud to have joined the fanbase at the same time, when he was 4-and-a-half years old. A comics-style illustrator by profession, he remained a loyal fan well into his twenties, at which time he stepped over the line separating substance from. imagination and became an expert. By expert I mean he has published two books, writes profusely and lectures extensively on “The Twilight Zone.” His latest, The Five Themes of The Twilight Zone, is a collection of astute essays on the over- and under-currents of the show’s essential plots.

He is reluctant, however, to allow himself the “expert” moniker.

“The first visual image I can recall in my childhood was seeing the black-and-white ‘Twilight Zone’ ‘eyeball’ in outer space, from the series’ 1963 opening.” Years later, in junior high school, “I remember having to write a paper on an American artist for English class, and chose the sculptor George Segal, whose ghostly white plaster figures made from real people’s molds, I wrote, had a ‘Twilight Zone’ feeling. Then, in high school, we had to make a 16mm short film, and I basically made my little version of the classic ‘Twilight Zone’ episode ‘Eye of the Beholder,’ about the hideously ugly woman getting plastic surgery (she’s revealed to be beautiful, while all the doctors and nurses, previously seen only in shadows, were pig-faced creatures themselves).”

In his film, he played the central character. So I’d say he’s an expert.

I have watched the “Twilight Zone” marathon on New Year’s eve and day ever since Syfy began doing it. I suspect Schumer has done the same. But that’s not what I asked him about in the interview below. I am more interested in how his new, insightful book came together. So put your reading goggles on, you are about to enter a discussion that we call “The Twilight Zone.”

How long have you been a “Twilight Zone” expert?
In the fall of 1980, I’m fresh out of Rhode Island School of Design (having majored in graphic design) and working in New York City in the art department of PBS’ flagship station, WNET Channel 13. I hear through the pop culture grapevine that Bantam Books was going to publish a book, The Twilight Zone Companion, an episode guide to the series (at the time, there was only one book about a television show, 1968’s The Making of Star Trek). Immediately I imagined that if I were art director/designer of such a book about my favorite TV series of all time, I would art direct/design “the concrete book,” in which every aspect of a book’s design, from font selection to page layouts, should reflect its subject matter. Ergo, a book about a surreal black-and-white television show like “The Twilight Zone” should have the look and feel of a small black-and-white television set—and its beautiful black-and-white television images should be treated like black-and-white art photography.

So in my after hours at Channel 13, I created an accordion-style folded book dummy/proposal with those concepts, and sent it off to Bantam. They promptly returned it with a short note thanking me for my interest, [but] they were going to design the book in-house. Though obviously disappointed, I realized that their book would be a trade paperback of mostly text, accompanied by black-and-white publicity photos shot off set back in the day—certainly not the type of hardcover coffee table art book I wanted to do.

That set me on a 10-year odyssey to get my (first) book about “The Twilight Zone” published, which would happen in 1990 with Chronicle Books (San Francisco). [That was]Visions From The Twilight Zone, in which I also transcribed dialogue and narration excerpts from the run of “The Twilight Zone,” ones that contained the philosophical and metaphysical aspects of the series, then typeset and designed them to read like poetry. [They were] “illustrated” by images I had photographed right off a black-and-white TV screen, in an attempt to graphically communicate the scan-lined nature of the television image itself. But it was during that 10-year trek that I was introduced to you (Steven Heller) in the fall of 1987, when you were still art director of The New York Times Book Review, by the editor of PRINT magazine, whom I had pitched (successfully) the idea of PRINT doing a special issue on the recent explosion of comic book art and graphic novels (caused by the 1986 confluence of Art Spiegelman’s Maus, Alan Moore’s Watchmen, and Frank Miller’s epic, The Dark Knight Returns).

PRINT sent me to you because you were going to write one of the articles in the special issue. When we met, I showed you my portfolio of graphic design and illustrations, as well as my Twilight Zone book dummy that I had been schlepping around throughout the decade to various agents and editors, with no success. But as soon as you saw it, you lit up—because you were a massive “Twilight Zone” fan! You immediately asked me if I had ever lectured on Rod Serling’s legendary series—I hadn’t—but nevertheless invited me to put together a lecture about “The Twilight Zone” for a Fall ’88 symposium you organized for the School of Visual Arts, “Modernism and Eclecticism”!

That lecture at the SVA symposium was my first professional lecture, and the first of so many live multimedia presentations (and eventually webinars) on various aspects of “The Twilight Zone” I’ve been doing ever since. But it was only after that first lecture that I could honestly call myself a ‘Twilight Zone’ expert”!

I presume that you’ve seen every episode, including the inferior hour-long ones?
Of course, because I was a kid who grew up on “The Twilight Zone” through reruns. I must’ve seen every episode (there were 156) the proverbial thousand times since, more for the episodes I like/love (68, the number of essays in my book, The Five Themes of The Twilight Zone) than those I don’t, which include 15 of the 18 one-hour episodes that you noted were indeed “inferior.”

I presume you had to do a lot more TV watching for the new book?
So even though I have seen all those 68 “Twilight Zone” episodes the proverbial thousand times, I re watched them all freshly for my book, while taking copious notes, and then incorporated any related outside research and input I collected, allowing for the many allusions and insights into the surrounding past and present social and popular culture—and both high and low art—that these rich “Twilight Zone” episodes riffed on and provoked in me, and out of me. If I’ve succeeded, even the most ardent aficionados of the series will glean something, learn something, feel something fresh and/or different about “Twilight Zone” episodes they’ve known and loved for years, or decades, causing them to see those episodes anew.

If Rod Serling had not died, how much longer do you think he’d have been able to keep the series going?
Well, “The Twilight Zone” had ended back in 1964, and was never revived, up until Serling passed at the age of 50 (from all those cigarettes he smoked!) in 1975. But had he lived, he would’ve seen the enormous and ubiquitous influence “The Twilight Zone” had on a new generation of television and filmmakers, directors, authors and artists of all types, who didn’t really emerge until after Serling’s death: the Steven Spielbergs, the Stephen Kings, the David Lynches and James Camerons and J.J. Abramses, and so many more, all of them Serling’s metaphorical children, whose creative imaginations were sparked by his brainchild when they were teenagers. And had that happened, I’m convinced that the original network [of “The Twilight Zone”], CBS, would have revived the show with Serling at the helm in the early 1980s—instead of the couple of horrible “new” “Twilight Zone” syndicated series that were actually produced in ’85 and 2000, both entirely dismissible (as was the recent new “Twilight Zone” one hour series that aired on CBS’ streaming service for two seasons in 2019–2020, creatively led by writer/director Jordan Peele, who was given the keys to Serling’s kingdom because of the success of the very “Twilight Zone”-ish film Peele wrote and directed in 2017, Get Out).

You declare in your new title that five themes exist in Serling’s portfolio. What are they?
With this book, I was inspired to curate what I thought were the best episodes of “The Twilight Zone,” collected in a framework that would separate my “greatest hits” of the series into distinct themes that would encompass the diversity—and similarity—of the best episodes by Serling and company. Of course, one can argue that there are more than just five themes of “The Twilight Zone” that the breadth of its 156 episodes would suggest, but I decided rather quickly on the following five, almost as if they suggested themselves: “Science and Superstition,” “Suburban Nightmares,” “A Question of Identity,” “Obsolete Man,” and “The Time Element.” (Of the five, “Suburban Nightmares” is the only one I coined that does not have a direct “Twilight Zone” connection; bonus points for recognizing that “A Question of Identity” comes from dialogue spoken by the protagonist of [the show’s] debut episode, “Where is Everybody?”)

Which five episodes are your favorites?
Asking me to choose even five of the greatest “Twilight Zone” episodes is like, yes, having to choose your favorite child. But duty calls: For the theme “Science and Superstition,” I would choose the first episode (Oct. 2, 1959), Rod Serling’s “Where is Everybody?” about an amnesiac trapped in a totally deserted American town, without any knowledge of how he got there. After a series of harrowing experiences, he’s revealed to be an astronaut in training, in an isolation tank for two weeks to simulate a solo space trip to the moon and back—and so the entire episode was his nervous breakdown delusion, visualized for us, the viewers, upsetting the tacit agreement between creator and audience that what you’ve been watching was “real.” It’s the first great “Twilight Zone” twist ending that the series became renowned for, and perhaps the most perfect pilot episode in television history, in that it included virtually all the existential and surreal motifs that “The Twilight Zone” would become associated with: isolation, fear of the unknown, confusion with mannequins, hallucinogenic delusions that seem all too real. “Suburban Nightmares”: Rod Serling’s acute ability to identify both primal and Postwar American fears and crises, then build stories around them, set in commonplace surroundings—a psycho-American Gothic of sorts is perhaps the single factor most responsible for the success and longevity of “The Twilight Zone.”

Ergo I would choose “The Hitch-Hiker” that Serling, a master adapter (a dozen of his 41 episodes represented in my book are adaptations), based on the 1941 radio play by Lucille Fletcher (of “Sorry, Wrong Number” fame), about a woman (the incandescent Inger Stevens) driving cross-country from New York to Los Angeles, plagued all the while by the recurring sight of a foreboding, dark-suited man hitching a ride. At the end of the episode she comes to realize she’s been dead the entire time (shades of Bruce Willis in M. Night Shyamalan’s The Sixth Sense!), killed in a highway blowout back in Pennsylvania, and the hitchhiker was, of course, Death personified.

“A Question of Identity”: When author Jonathan Lethem wrote in the online journal Gadfly in 1999, “What Serling created was a homegrown vernacular of alienation, identity slippage and paranoia … the titles of the best episodes read like a found poem of All-American dread,” he might’ve been thinking of the dehumanizing dread inherent in the chilling, clinical title of the great Charles Beaumont’s “Twilight Zone” episode, “Person or Persons Unknown.” It’s a taut, tense, noir-ish tale in which he posits his take on “Twilight Zone” creator Serling’s “worst fear of all … the fear of the unknown working on you, which you cannot share with others.” In doing so, Beaumont writes the quintessential episode of one of The Five Themes of The Twilight Zone, about “a man who has just lost his most valuable possession … the matter of his identity,” to quote from Serling’s on-screen introduction. “Obsolete Man” is Rod Serling’s most recurring theme throughout his career—alienation of the individual through bigotry, racism and corporate and technological oppression. In this quintessential Serling “Twilight Zone” tale of a near-future totalitarian state where individualism is scorned and books are banned, a librarian is condemned to death by the fascistic chancellor of “The State,” with its most memorable, monotone mantra, “YOU ARE OBSOLETE!”

“The Time Element”: If time travel was a cornerstone of “The Twilight Zone,” a dimension Serling described as “timeless as infinity,” a strong case can be made for his first-season episode “Walking Distance” being not only the best time travel episode of the series, but the best episode of “The Twilight Zone,” period. Serling’s most autobiographical episode, about a thirty-something Madison Avenue adman who can’t take the rat race, and returns to his upstate New York hometown (Serling grew up in Binghamton), where he literally walks back in time and visits himself as a boy. In all facets of television production—concept, story, dialogue, acting, direction, photography, lighting, editing, music (one of the great Bernard Herrmann’s greatest soundtracks)—”Walking Distance” is simply a masterpiece, the Citizen Kane of television.

We have “Black Mirror” on TV. But could “Twilight Zone” be made as well today? Or are these episodes locked in the prison of time?
The British anthology television series “Black Mirror” (which debuted in 2011, with only 27 episodes over six seasons), stories about technology run amok, is literally the only post-original “Twilight Zone” series to deserve the branding of “a 21st-century ‘Twilight Zone’”— because Black Mirror has a unique, singular vision stemming from a single creator, just like Serling vis-a-vis “The Twilight Zone,” Charlie Brooker, the creator, showrunner and head writer of “Black Mirror.” While his series has its fair share of clunkers like Serling’s had, “Black Mirror” has more than a handful of great, brilliant episodes that measure up to the pedigree of “The Twilight Zone.” So in a way, “Black Mirror” is filling the void where a new “Twilight Zone” series should rightfully be. As previously mentioned, CBS’ 2019 2020 attempt to revive the series on its streaming service with writer/director Jordan Peele as showrunner was a creative flop. I’ve always thought the brilliantly bizarre David Lynch was Serling’s only legitimate heir his two greatest films, 1985’s Blue Velvet and 2001’s Mulholland Drive, are both “Twilight Zone”-esque fever dreams, not to mention the two versions (1990 and 2018) of his sui generis TV series “Twin Peaks”—and therefore would make perhaps the perfect host and showrunner of a new “Twilight Zone” television series. I can dream, can’t I?

As to whether my great “Twilight Zone” episodes are “locked in the prison of time,” I take issue with the premise of the question itself—because like all great art in any medium or genre, the 68 episodes I write about in The Five Themes of The Twilight Zone are both of their time, and timeless, their ideas and issues and morals and messages that Serling and his fellow writers imbued in their 25-minute meditations on all the great themes since man first told stories, still speak to us and our societal and interpersonal concerns in the 21st century, 65 years after “The Twilight Zone” debuted. Buy the complete series on DVD, or stream it on CBS’ Paramount Plus, and use my book as a viewer’s guide; watch each episode as I’ve ordered and organized them, then read each one’s essay, and see if you don’t agree.

Click here for tickets to Schumer’s New York City screening and book signing on Oct. 27. And to order a signed copy, click here.

The post The Daily Heller: Your Next Stop, The Twilight Zone appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

In today’s rapidly evolving creative landscape, the importance of collaborative teams and de-siloing design departments is becoming increasingly clear. As agencies seek to break down barriers between creative, strategy, and design, the role of design has shifted from a final aesthetic touch to a core driver of the entire process. At McCann NY, design is not just a service but an integral part of the creative journey, embedded within the agency’s core teams. By fostering cross-department collaboration, McCann has created a culture where design not only informs the work but also elevates it, challenging traditional agency models. This approach has resulted in more cohesive brand identities and inventive campaigns that drive meaningful client outcomes. I was thrilled to chat with McCann New York’s Shayne Millington, chief creative officer (left), and Matt van Leeuwen, head of design (right), to discuss the transformative impact of de-siloing design within McCann and the lessons other agencies can learn from their approach.

In what ways does McCann Design integrate design processes throughout the agency and within various departments?

Shayne Millington (SM):
At McCann, design is not an afterthought. It’s not just there to make things look pretty or to dress up a deck at the end of a project. From day one, our goal has been to make design a true partner in the creative process. 

We are becoming more visually driven, so design has become a necessity rather than a nice to have. It is crucial to a brand or agency’s success. Our team of about 20 designers is deeply embedded within the agency. They are present in every corner of our business, from new business pitches to social strategy.  

To make sure the practice is integrated, you can’t overlook where they are physically placed within the agency. That is why our designers sit alongside our creatives—at the center of where everything happens. This isn’t a separate department tucked away somewhere. It’s an integral part of our creative brain, collaborating closely with the teams to shape work that’s both visually compelling and conceptually powerful. 

For us at McCann, design is about making things that challenge people to look twice, experience things deeper, and connect with brands in unexpected ways.

How does McCann Design’s de-siloing approach challenge the traditional agency model, and what specific benefits have you observed from integrating design across all aspects of your work?

Matt van Leeuwen (ML):
In the traditional agency model, design and creative operate separately or not at all. And often times, the design team is siloed and brought in after the fact. On the other hand, if you’re working with a brand design agency, what often happens is that they will design the brand identity, then hand it off to the creative agency, who will take it and often times break the rules by giving it its own spin. It’s not efficient. Coming from a branding background, the disconnect comes when the work is different than what we designers intended.  

SM:
At McCann, we knew we wanted to take a different approach. With timelines getting shorter, we noticed that the craft and experimentation were starting to become an afterthought. So we took a different yet simple approach. We combined creativity and design under one roof with McCann Design embedded within the creative teams. We’ve brought on some of the best brand designers in the industry and have created culture-defining work for our clients like TJ Maxx with its first custom font inspired by its logo, Smirnoff’s entire global design system, and the Last Prisoner Project’s Pen to Right History campaign.

ML:
It creates exciting work, but also new ways of working and types of work. We are currently helping multiple clients with the design of their brand identity. When you combine that, with crazy cool creative ideas, the sky is the limit.

In an industry often segmented by specialized departments, how has McCann Design’s commitment to removing silos transformed the way you collaborate internally and deliver value to clients?

SM:
Designers are some of the most conceptual people in the industry. We include design from the beginning of every project. From conception to execution, it’s a collaboration between the teams. It allows for greater debate and challenges the work and learning on both sides. You start to see the lines blur and that is when you know it is working. 

The success of this is creating new opportunities within the agency. We have begun to take on design specific assignments and are entering new areas with our client’s business. In the last year, we have been embedded in all of our clients’ design systems and brand architecture.

ML:
I think of creative and design as cross-pollination, inspiring and challenging each other. For the client, design is an awesome added value; we can truly look at a client’s brand in a holistic manner. From the communication side and the purer brand side, we are bridging those worlds.

Can you share a case study or project where de-siloing had a significant impact on the outcome? What lessons did you learn from that experience that could inform other agencies looking to make similar changes?

ML:
Our work for TJ Maxx on their visual identity is a great example of creative and design collaboration from the beginning. Surprisingly it didn’t start as an identity exercise. Our work was born out of our campaign work. We noticed that the retail space TJ Maxx was operating in, was flooded with Helvetica typography. So we wanted to change that – especially as designers, we wanted to create something unique and ownable for the brand. We proposed something simple; a bespoke typeface, born out of their iconic wordmark. 

The simplicity of the typeface, designed with Jeremy Mickel, forced us to revisit the identity. We couldn’t typeset things the old way. Step by step, we are working through the visual world of TJ Maxx, ultimately resulting in new brand guidelines. In parallel, we are developing campaigns in the same new look. It’s extremely exciting, the way this all comes together. 

To me, it’s living proof that silos don’t have to exist, but we can operate fluidly.  

SM:
Another great example is our most recent work for the New York Lottery. As its agency of record for the last decade, we’ve produced some of the category’s most impactful campaigns. Now, we are incorporating ideas around the design for the scratch cards (most recently for the “Grande” games) that align with the creative communication allowing for a much more holistic and surprising way to engage with the brand.

As agencies continue to evolve, what do you believe are the most pressing challenges to fully integrating design across all functions, and how is McCann Design addressing these challenges?

SM:
One of the most pressing challenges is breaking down the siloes between departments and fostering a culture where design isn’t just an afterthought – it’s a core driver of the creative. When you include more creative voices in the conversation, something amazing happens. It ignites the culture of the agency. The conversations get richer and the solutions become more unexpected. You can move quicker, and the community grows. It’s because you are bringing new experts with new capabilities and new energy to the table, which allows for impactful creativity to flourish.

In the last two years, with Matt heading up the McCann Design practice, we’ve done that. Built design from the ground up – the team, the capabilities – a home for design to shine and a culture where design is celebrated.

ML:
It’s very hard to explain the amount of craft and time that goes into design. The development of a visual narrative, the workings of color, typography, and image. It’s a delicate exercise that doesn’t always abide by the same timeframe of let’s say a campaign idea. So, time. Time to develop, tinker, and play, is of extreme importance. I like to say that design is a playground. We don’t have a house style. We don’t operate within a fixed framework. Every project is unique with its own set of challenges. With all those variables, it’s important to create time to make the best work. If we truly are creating a playground for design, we need to make the time to play.

Bring design into the process as early as possible. This gives designers the time they need to create and iterate throughout the creative process.

How does the de-siloing of design at McCann Design influence your agency’s creative process and strategic thinking? What role does leadership play in fostering a culture of integration and collaboration?

SM:
As soon as a project kicks off, my first question is – where is design? I bring them in from the beginning and they are with us for the journey. Collaboration across all departments is key to getting the best creative product.

McCann Design has been recognized by Fast Company’s Innovation by Design Awards, MONOCLE’s Design Awards, and leading industry creative accolades like ADC’s Best in Show, Designism, Best of Discipline in Typography, Cannes Lion for Design Driven Effectiveness, Epica’s Grand Prix, and One Show’s Best of Discipline, to name a few, and there’s no doubt that their approach to collaborative creativity is a reason for these accolades.

I’m all about tearing down walls, and I have no doubt that more agencies and big corporations will follow suit—especially with today’s remote, agile workforce making it easier than ever to rethink how we work together.

The post De-Siloing Design: McCann Reimagines Collaboration in the Creative Process appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The narrative is all too common in this country: an old building steeped in history gets demolished, only to be replaced by a cookie-cutter “luxury” apartment complex, filled with grey flooring and chrome cabinetry. There’s little to be done about the fate of most of these buildings, but what if they got one last hurrah before their demise? And what if that last hurrah benefited the artists and creative community within that city?

This was the very concept concocted by the RiNo Art District in Denver, CO, when they created their NO VACANCY program in 2021. The initiative partners with real estate developers to provide local artists with funding and studio space in Denver buildings that are slated for demolition. The innovative artist residency program transforms these vacant warehouses into temporary studios for vibrant installations and has paid out more than $100K to local Denver artists to date.

The third and most recent iteration of NO VACANCY wrapped earlier this month, in which 10 artists were provided a $5,000 stipend along with two months of free studio space at two buildings in Denver, courtesy of Uplands Real Estate Partners.

Upon hearing of NO VACANCY, the idea seemed like a complete no-brainer to me, that should be replicated across the country. I recently had the pleasure of speaking with RiNo Art District Executive Director of Programs and Partnerships Alye Sharp and Programs Manager Kiah Butcher about the impact of NO VACANCY on the artists they host and on the Denver arts scene at large. I was also able to chat with two artists who were in the midst of their residency at NO VACANCY, artisan, seamstress, and crafter Kate Major and musician Marcus Moody, about their experiences with the program. My conversations are below, lightly edited for clarity and length.

Alye and Kiah, can you shed more light on the genesis of NO VACANCY and its mission? 

AS: One of the main parts of the mission of the RiNo Art District is carving out and preserving space for artists in the community, and providing them with paid opportunities. So back in 2021, one of our board members was like, “Hey, I have this warehouse, it’s just sitting empty. It’s going to be demolished soon, but would you have any use for it in the meantime?” And our first reaction was a resounding “Yes!” We had no idea what we were going to do with it, but then we decided to make a temporary art installation and provide working space for artists. 

This is the third iteration of NO VACANCY, and they’ve always looked a little different year to year based on the space. In that first iteration, we did four months of four artists each month, so 16 total artists, along with an immersive theater group who did pop-ups throughout the four-month residency. 

KB: I’m new, so this is my first experience working with NO VACANCY. Coming from the fine arts world, and having worked in contemporary art museums, the thing that most artists need is space, time, and resources. Then, providing a pretty healthy stipend and budget for all of the artists to really utilize that space and time to the greatest effect, is such a gift to give to the community. 

NO VACANCY is the gift that keeps on giving, because it’s bringing art, it’s bringing awareness, it’s showcasing all the different wonderful expertise in art, cooking, sewing, whatever, in the district itself. 

So with each iteration of NO VACANCY, there’s a different empty building that’s slated for demolition you’re able to use for the residency? 

AS: Yeah— it’s kind of a bummer that ultimately these buildings are coming down, which speaks to the Art District as a whole; we’re in a rapidly gentrifying area. It’s our way of giving one last breath of life to these cool, old warehouse spaces and helping write their final chapter. We’ve gotten a little goofy with it; we had a funeral for the last building to send it off. But it’s a beautiful thing too, that artists get the last chapter in these spaces. 

It’s our way of giving one last breath of life to these cool, old warehouse spaces, and helping write their final chapter.

Alye Sharp

KB: Historically, these areas in Denver were the hub for so many artists, because there were affordable spaces within the warehouses. All of these buildings have so much history with artists and creatives in the area, and so it just feels like a good nod to historic Denver, bringing artists back into them. 

I’d imagine the concept also allows the artists to really let loose and create with reckless abandon since the buildings are coming down anyway. 

AS: Yes, go wild! That’s become the joke; we say, do whatever you want in here! Be safe, but fuck it up!

That must be so refreshing, even for the artists who have access to a space or a studio setup, where there might be rigid rules around what they can and cannot do. Only certain types of artists doing certain types of work are allowed in certain spaces, so it’s great that NO VACANCY encourages doing things that others wouldn’t allow. What’s better as an artist than to have the stamp of approval to be free?

KB: There’s nothing more exciting than just pure potential, right?

What sort of criteria do you use when selecting artists for the residency? 

KB: This year, we had massive interest; we had about 200 artists submit proposals. We then had a selection committee of RiNo staff, local artists, and previous NO VACANCY artists go through and decide which artists would work well within the space, but also complement each other. They work through demographics, mediums, what level in your career you’re at, if you’re more emerging, if you’re a more experienced artist, to try to find and curate the correct people that can work together and have a focus on community. 

Trying to define and figure out which of those artists would work well together is a big part of that puzzle piece because it’s a hugely collaborative residency. It’s ten people in a building, and you have to work together; you’re sharing space and resources, so it’s good to be mindful of that collaborative and community-forward-thinking artist.

I’d think that one of the best aspects of working in the space is the synergy with the other creatives. I’m a sign painter in addition to my writing work, and up until recently I was painting in a classroom with a lot of other sign painters for the last two years, and it was so much more exciting than now. I’m not in that class anymore, and I’m just lonely!

KB: I’m a curator and a video artist as well, and video art is always so collaborative, so it’s always pretty inherent in that practice. It’s pushing people to realize that they can do so much. Creativity knows no bounds when you work with others.

Creativity knows no bounds when you work with others.

Kiah Butcher

AS: I’d also add that, in the second year, a lot of the artists from the first year showed up to the openings to support and be like, “I’m so excited that you all are part of the alumni of this program now!” Some of them will ask to come in after the residency is over and add their own collaborations. It’s a really cool community. 

Why do you think Denver is particularly well-suited for the NO VACANCY program? 

KB: Denver is still a burgeoning art scene; it’s really rich and really connected, and there’s a lot more than people think, but it is still burgeoning. It’s still working its way to becoming something bigger than it is now. But because it’s in this particular state, I think people are more apt to be collaborative, they’re more apt to be supportive and work together. 

We all know working within the arts can be a bit cutthroat, but I think, specifically in Denver, “lift as you climb” is an ethos within the art community, because we’re all working to elevate the art scene itself. This residency, because it’s based in collaboration and community and also activating historic parts of Denver, so many people feel that emotional connection and that aspiration to be a little bit bigger and a little bit better. 

Specifically in Denver, “lift as you climb” is an ethos within the art community, because we’re all working to elevate the art scene itself.

Kiah Butcher

AS: The timing is good for something like this too. I like to joke that Denver is in its awkward teenage phase; we’re experiencing pretty exponential growth that really hasn’t slowed, so artists are also trying to carve out their space and find where they fit in a city that’s becoming rapidly unaffordable. So as much as we can take the role of helping create these opportunities and provide space for them to work that has no rules or boundaries around it, that’s our big goal with this project as well.

KB: It’s a great platform for artists too, because so much can come from it. When you have a space to showcase your work, you can start to invite gallerists, curators, museums, etc. to experience your work, and then it’s just moving forward from there.

Since NO VACANCY is dependent on a building opening up that you can use for each cycle, what is it like navigating that uncertainty when planning the next iteration?

AS: This hasn’t been a straight line, annual program, as much as we would like it to be. As these spaces come online or we get connected to a property owner, we have to move quickly to get all of our permits in place and get the call for artists out. We do try to set aside funding every year, just banking on the fact that we will find some opportunity. 

Our hope is that this program grows into something that’s more than just buildings that are going to be raised, but also existing buildings that are long for this world; how do we continue to try to carve out space for artists everywhere?

What aspect of NO VACANCY are you proudest of?

KB: Paying artists is the greatest gift ever, because so many people expect so much from artists on such little pay. Being able to give to artists, because they always give back, is really fulfilling. Putting funding where it’s really important for the arts and culture, especially when it comes to the vibrancy and the health of the city.

AS: I’ve been involved in the RiNo Art District for almost ten years, and this is, by far, my favorite project that we do; it’s just an all-around feel-good project. When you come to one of the openings and events, there’s so much diversity of art that’s happening in the space, it really does kind of bring me to tears. Seeing everyone all together in the space, and everybody’s having an amazing time, and just being themselves; we usually have drag performers in there! It’s just a really cool thing.

I think the fact that we’re in a building, making all of this stuff, putting so much energy into it, and we’re just going to demolish it. That’s amazing.

Artist Marcus Moody

Kate and Marcus, how did you first discover NO VACANCY, and why did you decide to apply?

KM: A friend of mine, Shadows Gather, who I believe was an artist in the first year of NO VACANCY, sent me a link and was like, “You need to apply.” Shadows is a photographer in the Denver area, and she’s come to a lot of the fashion shows I’ve put on. She was like, “I think you would do amazing things here. I think you could do so much cool stuff.” And she’s right!

MM: I was doom-scrolling and I saw an ad, and there was something about it, it really popped out, it just had an energy to it. Then, the more I read about it, I was like, “Oh, we’re gonna get a warehouse? It’s gonna get demolished? Impermanence?” It was all these things that are big themes in my work right now; coming out of impermanence on more of the resurgence, resurrection side, really examining the grief of change. 

I think the fact that we’re in a building, making all of this stuff, putting so much energy into it, and we’re just going to demolish it. That’s amazing.

KM: I love that too!

MM: I’m really happy to be here. It really fell into place. And some of the work being done in this warehouse… It’s wild. 

What has the collaborative nature of the residency and working amongst the other artists been like for you so far? 

KM: I do a lot of wearable art—costumes, fashion, I tend to even be weirder than fashion—so inherently I need somebody to wear it, it has to be collaborative or it’s nothing. Clothes are nothing without people to wear them. I love having a building full of people, and I can be like, “Put this on! Let me see it!” It’s fabulous.

Denver is so great for collaborating. I’m from New York where we don’t talk to each other, we’re actively trying to bring each other down, because it’s so cutthroat. But here in Denver, everybody wants to be together. They want to help each other. Like if I have a show, I’m going to have a friend put in work too. We want to build each other up. I had a friend come by the site yesterday, and they said, “The vibe in here is so good.” And it really is. Everyone’s the best.

MM: The vibes in the warehouse are great. It’s very honest, vulnerable, and safe. It’s been beautiful. Kate’s making a head for me! I’ve never been around anybody who had the skill, and then to be curated into a group of people who have all of the skills that I feel like I need right now, I’m just like, alright, universe, God, Buddha, whatever, thank you. I’m really excited to even just take photos with it! 

It’s been very intimate because what I’ve been asked to do with my music is intimate. Like Nadia, we’re collaborating on putting her father’s poetry into a song. To me, that’s intimate as hell. But that’s the kind of work I want to do, I want to make stories out of this stuff, and I’ve always wanted them to be stories that mean something to people. 

What has been the most unexpected value of NO VACANCY so far?

KM: I have more ideas than I could possibly do in the amount of time, which kind of surprises me. I’m working toward the pitch that I put into the application, but then I’m like, Oh, so I could do this! And also, I could do this! And I think that speaks to the potential of a raw building that has no potential anymore— it’s slated for demolition, but we’re making it a fun, cool space to hang. I didn’t expect that. 

MM: It’s like when you get really bad news, and you know you can’t do anything about it. There’s this moment of acceptance, and this makes me think of that. That moment in grief when you’ve found out that your thing is going to be destroyed— how are you going to act in the meantime? What this project teaches is you can make something beautiful, you can still do something that’s never been done. And I think that’s an awesome message. That’s the unexpected thing: this connection to grief, and I’m understanding mine more, even before we finish the process. It’s been emotional as hell.

The post Denver’s NO VACANCY Lets Artists Write the Last Chapter of Buildings Set for Demolition appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Miller’s new historical memoir, Here: Where the Black Designers Are, is part of this topical resurgence with Cheryl Miller at the helm, but it’s also the story of a woman coming into her purpose, a reflection on all she’s learned, and a passing of the baton to the next generation. Steven Heller and Debbie Millman will discuss the book with Miller at our next PRINT Book Club on Thursday, October 17.

Miller and I chatted recently; excerpts from our conversation are below.

Advocacy and activism are just part of Cheryl Miller’s DNA. Growing up in Washington D.C. (her father, what she called a “highbrow negro politician”), Miller’s upbringing was somewhat insulated amidst the backdrop of Black nationalism, “I’m Black and I’m Proud,” and Nina Simone, her father scooting out the back door to attend the March on Washington. She was busy “dancing and graduating” when MLK was assassinated. “I was a kid,” Miller said, “I didn’t realize I was deep in a big part of history.”

Design was also a central theme of Miller’s childhood. Dansk flatware, ceramics, and jewelry filled her family home, carefully wrapped in local newspapers and shipped by her West Indian grandmother, a perfumier. The juxtaposition of the muted, minimalist, function-forward Scandinavian housewares with the newspapers’ Afro-Caribbean iconography and the family’s traditional, patterned textiles of the Danish West Indies (now the Virgin Islands), planted the seeds of design. However, she wouldn’t realize this until she landed in the commercial/graphic art program at MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art).

Often, we have to go back to move forward. We all have those foundational things that shape us, and if we’re listening and open to the world as adults, these things tend to bring us to our purpose. Talking about her childhood resonances made me curious. Miller’s career could’ve gone in a myriad of different directions. I wondered about those moments of change, choice, and struggle in Miller’s life—what, in hindsight, does she believe made the most significant impact?

One of those pivotal moments was the death of her father. Miller was in her first year of art school at RISD. “I went up to RISD to paint,” she says, utterly unaware of the conversations swirling around the school about the value of Black art, the ongoing civil and human rights violations, and the Vietnam War. Moving to Waspy New England from D.C. was a culture shock, and she felt the isolation of being one of very few African-American students. Her father would soon be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and would pass away ten months later. Miller moved closer to home, where she would study graphic design at MICA in Baltimore (the only regional school with a commercial art program). There, she met Leslie King-Hammond, a woman who would serve as her academic mentor (and still does).

Moving to New York with Phillip, the couple met in high school, was juncture number two. The move required her to leave her burgeoning broadcast design career in D.C. to start over essentially. Miller could’ve picked up the broadcast career in NYC without a beat—she had a tempting offer at ABC—but she felt the pull towards publication design. “I wanted the dream of what New York could be.” She contends that had she taken the ABC job (a job that, by any account, would’ve set her up for a successful and financially rewarding career), “I wouldn’t have made the contribution I did, had I taken it.” Miller decided to go to grad school instead, entering Pratt. Many of the things she’d seen at RISD and in Baltimore coalesced with what she was experiencing as a Black designer in NYC.

Being in New York really brought into light that Black designers were underexposed and under-educated in the field of graphic design. My community was suffering and I had something to say.

Cheryl D. Miller

On the cusp of finishing her graduate degree, her advisor threw her a gauntlet: instead of a graduate design project, Miller was to undertake a written thesis. She called King-Hammond, who encouraged her toward scholarship. “I started learning how to write history, about social justice. I started owning my skillset,” Miller said. “Leslie gave me the heart and the rigor for the work. The only way I was going to be able to make a difference was in the footnotes. Data and scholarship move the needle.”

Miller at the helm of her successful design studio, Cheryl D. Miller Design (1984-2000); In 1992, Miller was commissioned by NASA to create the poster for Dr. Mae Jeminson, America’s first African American woman astronaut.

I may not look radical, but I am.

Cheryl D. Miller

The third moment is our current moment, the resurgence of the social justice conversation in the wake of the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and far too many others. The next generation is asking many of the same questions as Miller and her peers have asked in their time, “There’s nothing new about this,” Miller contends. She readily admits that after fifty years in the business, she doesn’t expect that 3-4% representative number to jump up suddenly. “Where the Civil Rights Movement pushed the idea of equality, it didn’t mean that it would then be equitable,” she said. What is Miller’s prescription for what needs to happen now so our industry can bolster the equity of opportunity for Black creative talent? “We need to diversify design organization boards, we desperately need professors who are versed in a broader cultural perspective, we need more inclusive curricula, we need network affiliations that will offer us business opportunities, and we must carry on,” Miller said.

So, what would Miller like to dismantle in this time of sustained awareness and activism, her “Confederate statue”? “I want to take down the players who make you feel with intentionality that you’re not supposed to be here and the cult of the mid-century male designer,” Miller said. “It’s the imagery of my oppressor.”

But Miller is also an optimist, and she believes, as does Kamala Harris, “We’re not going back.” To close her book, Miller includes a quote from her commencement speech, an inspirational baton passing, to the RISD class of 2022:

Be better than the history I’ve traveled through and make your history far more inclusive and welcoming for everyone to encounter.

Cheryl D. Miller to RISD’s class of 2022

Cheryl Miller is still writing, researching, and advocating for recognizing and celebrating the Black designer and artisan’s contributions to society. Still, she’ll admit, “On this side of the story, I’ve done more finishing than starting.”

There is always more to do.

It is always essential to have people like Miller remind us to look and to see things as they are, not as they are curated for us.

I have only scratched the surface; there is much more to Cheryl Miller’s story. We hope you can join us next Thursday, October 17, for the first of two PRINT Book Club events this month!

The post “Be Better than the History I’ve Traveled,” a Chat with Cheryl D. Miller appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

My photography is deeply community-connected, so none of this is worth it if my community doesn’t feel rightfully represented.

Los Angeles-based photographer Thalia Gochez bought her first camera at a flea market for a buck and never looked back. Raised just outside of LA in Pasadena in a Mexican-Salvadorian household, her Latine heritage is the central force behind her point of view as a photographer and the worlds she captures in her work. After seeking refuge in the art form while in college, Gochez unlocked the power of the medium for herself and has continued to hone her unique perspective as an image maker.

Coming upon Gochez’s recent collaboration with stylist Kaamilah Thomas in a series entitled “Yo Soy Latina,” I was instantly entranced by her subjects and the love she so clearly bathed each within in every photo. I had to reach out to learn more about her journey and ethos as a photographer; her responses to my questions are below.

When did you first get into photography? What inspired you to pick up the camera?

I’m self-taught and started taking photographs back in 2017. Photography found me when I needed it most. I never really excelled in academia, but decided to go to my local community college to take some courses that were of interest; I took a fashion styling class and started to find my creativity.

During an assignment for the class, I had to work closely with a photographer for a photoshoot I conceptualized. I couldn’t help but feel an urge to take the camera away from him and start taking the photographs myself. The next day I went to my local flea market and got a film camera for a dollar. After that, I started taking photographs every chance I could, like in between my two jobs, before school, after school, truly whenever. 

Simultaneously, I was going through a lot of anxiety, and I realized photography was the only time I was truly able to live in the moment. It’s been a huge source of liberation for me. 

How would you describe your personal aesthetic and style as a photographer? 

It’s really important to me to always photograph style and story. I’ve always been interested in photographing beyond a fashion-led visual, to honor and highlight various BIPOC identities and experiences. I’d say my photographic aesthetic is docu-style, with a fashion editorial contemporary twist.

There’s a palpable warmth, intimacy, and love infused in your work. How have you achieved this, both from a technical photography standpoint and in terms of the person-to-person trust with your subjects?

I always say our greatest photography tool is to engage in genuine conversation. In my first year of image making, I used a cheap, $1 Minolta film camera. It’s never been about the equipment, but more about learning the story and connecting with people beyond when the cameras are turned on.

I always say our greatest photography tool is to engage in genuine conversation.

If I’m building genuine connection and community, the photos will always be the bonus. A lot of times I’m photographing folks in environments that they are connected to and rooted in; the location mirrors their identity. I view the location as another talent, always trying to highlight it the way I would highlight a model. 

I love a soft, even light and I tend to go warmer to highlight the subject’s gorgeous skin tone. 

How do you find and identify the people you shoot? What’s that process like? What details or characteristics about someone typically catch your photography eye?

Casting is super important to me; it’s the foundation of every photoshoot. 

Who I’m photographing informs the creative. 

Who I’m photographing informs the location. 

Who I’m photographing gives the project a heartbeat and pulse.

I’m always interested in photographing all BIPOC identities and tend to gravitate toward women-identifying individuals because that’s who I feel I connect with most organically.

Casting varies depending on the project, but sometimes it’s a friend of a friend, a cousin, someone I find on social media or someone I scout on the street around my neighborhood. A lot of times I feel like we find each other and the project just unfolds so naturally. I find that a lot of the projects I create focus on evoking a sense of nostalgia, so typically what interests my photographic eye is highlighting the latine experience. It’s often a deeply shared lived experience amongst many people.

I first discovered your work through your “Yo Soy Latina” series. Can you tell me a bit about that project specifically– how it came about, your vision, collaborating with stylist Kaamilah Thomas, the execution, etc?

Kaamilah and I were fans of each other and had such a genuine urge to collaborate. She told me a bit about her Afro-Latina side, and how she wanted to highlight that in some way for a project. I instantly knew this was something I wanted to highlight as well.

Historically, we often only see white or light complexion Latinas represented in mainstream media. Our goal was to honor and celebrate deeper complexion Latina identities. Through months of planning, “Yo Soy Latina” was born. It was a true collaboration in every sense of the word. We connected on styling, hair, casting, make-up— every aspect of the photoshoot was collaborative.

Kaamilah is an incredibly talented person and took the styling to another level. It was always important to me to incorporate culturally specific items that wouldn’t be traditionally fashionable into the creative. The creative was meant to feel very nostalgic but with a contemporary twist. It’s truly some of my favorite work I’ve done this year.

What sort of experience do you hope viewers of your photographs have? What are you hoping to communicate with your images? 

I hope the viewers feel the love and care I have for the people I photograph. 

I hope the right people feel represented and beautiful. 

I hope I inspire others to create with integrity and respect. 

I hope the people I photograph feel properly honored and their story never gets misconstrued. 

My photography is deeply community-connected, so none of this is worth it if my community doesn’t feel rightfully represented.

The post Thalia Gochez Honors Latine Identity Through Her Immersive Photographs appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

For more on Steven Heller, you can also read PRINT’s recent interview with Heller, his wife Louise Fili, and their son Nicolas Heller (aka New York Nico). Grab a coffee or a cup of tea, the Heller-Fili family roundtable is worth a diversion.

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: Steven Heller appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The exhibition is co-curated by Sadie Williams, director of the Ralph Steadman Art Collection (and Steadman’s daughter), and Andrea Lee Harris, curatorial and exhibitions coordinator. Also available is a beautiful full-color, eponymous 207-page companion publication.

Below, Williams and Steadman tell us more.

Sadie, as co-curator and also Ralph’s daughter, how did this exhibition come together?
Williams: Between 2016 and 2019 we were touring a retrospective of 110 original artworks to venues in the USA, including the Society of Illustrator in New York and the Jordan Schnitzer Art Museum in Eugene, OR. It was incredibly well-received, but in 2020 the pandemic meant we had to cancel the last two venues. That exhibition was sponsored by United Therapeutics because their incredible CEO, Martine Rothblatt, is a fan and has become a friend over the years.

Early in 2023, Martine said she would like to see a new exhibition put together and that, once again, United Therapeutics would sponsor it. It was great to assemble the team again including co-ordinator Andrea Harris (she’s a force of nature), and start booking in venues. It is so special to launch it at the AU [American University] Museum, where we had such an amazing reception in 2017, and also get the Bates College Museum of Art in Maine into the schedule, as that was one of the venues we had to cancel.

Was the scope of the material always as retrospective and encompassing?
Williams: Yes, we always planned it would be a retrospective, but last time I had less input, as the exhibition was originally curated by Anita O’Brien at the Cartoon Museum in London and then adjusted slightly to travel to the USA. This time I could put in some of my personal favorites and tell some different stories. The writers portrait section is a particular favorite, especially the portrait of Frederico Garcia Lorca. It is a collage using old pieces of backing sheets from Dad’s drawing board, which Dad has then drawn into. It is an intense piece and I love it.

How does it feel seeing the full measure of the work in real life and time?
Steadman: I did not realize how much I had done. I am a serial polluter. It is strange to see some of these pieces that I had almost forgotten I had done.

Williams: I hope people, even dedicated fans, will be surprised by the scope of his work. At the launch I overheard some ladies comment as they went around, “Surely, that’s not a Steadman?” It was very gratifying.

I worked with Ralph when I was art director of The New York Times Op-Ed page, so I’m fairly familiar with his political side and some of his apolitical narrative and fantasy work. What were the criteria for what would be included in the show?
Williams: Anita O’Brien did such an amazing job with the original exhibition that I used that as a template. I am quite practical in these things, and I find having something visual to work with very helpful. I literally took one of the old catalogues from the last exhibition and replaced like with like, sticking in print-outs of pieces to replace the existing ones with. Then I pulled in a few additional pieces to bulk out some areas, like the writers, and the presidents of the United States. Then Andrea came over for a week and helped edit it and add in some alternatives. Some choices are quite personal. Finally, we handed the mockup over to Dad and he made his comments. 

Ralph, you were influenced early on by Ronald Searle. Searle, of course, was less abrasive in his humor. How does your work differ otherwise?
Steadman: Searle was definitely an inspiration to me. I met him once and we drew each other. I think his drawing of me was kinder than mine of him, but he did not seem to mind. He is less messy than me. I just loved his wit and poise in what he did. There is an elegance to his work that really influenced me. 

What has been the public response to the exhibit and the more “angry” pieces?
Williams: So far, it’s all been great. I have not heard any negative comments, but then Trump has not seen his Rotten Blot portrait yet! You have to be ready for the criticisms, though. 

Steadman: Ugh, Trump is one of the worst human beings I have ever seen. I hope he gets upset by the drawing! But these are only drawings, after all; I am not physically hurting anyone. I hate bullies, and that is what I try to unmask. At school I had this terrible headmaster who regularly caned the boys, including me. It was terrifying. I have always carried that with me and the thought that “authority is the mask of violence,” and I loathe it

When the Rolling Stone/Hunter S. Thompson drawings were first published in the late 1960s, they represented the intense feelings of my generation—a kind of churning in the brain. How do they seem with the passage of time?
Steadman: I think we were both very driven back then. We were on our own mission to pull back the hypocrisies in politics and we jumped into every situation completely without fear or worry. Every drawing was a direct response to the situations we encountered and to Hunter’s writing. He just had this way of saying things that I responded to. Nobody could capture a moment quite like him. I miss him, a lot.

I’m also glad to see the “Paranoids.” They beg the question: Are there any other experiments now that digital media is so prevalent?
Steadman: I played around with Photoshop a bit. I used to use the paint bucket tool a bit, and it’s good that I can send images digitally now instead of sending the originals. That’s how so many went missing in the early days. They never got sent back. 

Williams: I know it’s a bit controversial, but we have done a few NFT projects, too. I love engaging with an entirely new audience, most of whom were not even born when the original artworks that we turn into NFTs were created. I am sure there is some irony in that. There is a place for them, and there is a very creative community working in that field, so I remain optimistic.

What is the future of the work on view? Where will it go next? Is there a provision made for securing and archiving this important collection?
Williams: Yes, we have three more venues lined up and are looking for more on the West Coast to take us through to 2027. I love traveling to these places I might not otherwise visit. Washington D.C. is iconic, of course, but I like visiting smaller, more obscure areas. I am excited to travel to Stillwater in Oklahoma next year.

We also have an archivist, Holly Craven, who researched and wrote all the copy for the exhibition catalogue, working on a full digital archive. It is a slow process, but we hope to be listing the beginnings of it in a dedicated online archive in a few months’ time. Also, we work with Bridgeman Images on licensing artworks and trying to get the art to realize its commercial potential. It is exciting to see works get a second or third life in that way.

The post The Daily Heller: “Serial Polluter” Ralph Steadman Gets the Last Laugh appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I haven’t watched SNL for decades (it’s past my bedtime) but was reminded of this milestone by Marlene Weisman, who was an in-house designer at the show for seven seasons (1988–1994).

These were classic years for the perennial NBC hit, and Marlene—who worked on on-air titles, parodies and props (not least of which included graphics for Wayne’s World)—was a pre-Mac master of hand-lettering, Letraset, phototypesetting, and even vinyl lettering machines.

The industry standards have come a long way since SNL began a half-century ago. I asked Weisman to recall those madcap golden days.

How did you get the job doing graphics for SNL?
After a few scrappy, punky years in the ’80s creating graphics for NYC music scene–related clients—The Bottom Line, Peppermint Lounge, Tramps, New Audiences, jazz concert promoters, a variety of indie bands, and the American branch of UK’s Stiff Records among them—I wanted to move on to something new.

I noticed an evening course being offered at SVA called “Creating Television Graphics,” being taught by Bob Pook, who was quite the television legend—he was the original graphics “show lead” at both “Saturday Night Live” and “Late Night with David Letterman.” He was also the originator of those innovative (back-from-commercial) “bumpers” that were witty and fun.

I decided to sign up for the course and, unbelievably, there were only a handful of students. Among the assignments, Pook (he was always “Pook,” not Bob) asked us to create and storyboard a television show opening of our choice. Channeling my subversive punk energy, I of course chose one for an imaginary Howard Stern TV show. Pook himself was a bit of a Belushi-like rebellious figure—waist-length pony tail and leather motorcycle jacket—so we hit it off creatively.

After the course ended, he told me he liked my work and wanted to hire me to do some freelance work. (I forget on which show—I think it was for David Brenner’s talk show.) Soon after that, he told me he was working on getting me hired at SNL. When that finally happened, it was very exciting!

And as things were back then, I received my official confirmation that I got the SNL gig at 30 Rock’s downstairs watering hole: Hurley’s Bar (long gone and now a Magnolia’s Bakery). Welcome to the crazy world of SNL!

Pook passed away in 2023—and I’ll be forever thankful to him for giving me the opportunity for a design experience of a lifetime.

How much of your creative time did you spend on the sketch titles?
It varied. Since creating the show’s graphics was a multi-step process in those days, you had to think—and work—very fast. It helped to have a visual encyclopedic knowledge of design and styles, and pop culture in general—along with a subversive Mad magazine–like sense of humor, an aspect I really enjoyed.

Thursday morning began with a production staff meeting, helmed by the show’s director (Davy Wilson for most of the years I was there). That meeting provided an overview of what was needed for the week’s sketches by the production crew.

After that, we’d then receive an itemized graphics list from the graphics coordinator. On the list, there’d be, say, half a dozen sketch titles to create, a few hand-held props (maybe a book cover, an album cover, a grocery product, etc …). Essentially, we’d immediately have to get to work and create all that over the course of a day and a half! We also received a few specific reference materials brought in by the graphics coordinator or prop department, including some actual products to create our parodies onto.

It was pre-computer, so in-house at our creative disposal we had sheets and sheets of Letraset, an in-house phototypesetting machine, a vinyl lettering machine, a huge room-sized stat camera, paste-up and drawing art supplies, and the ability to fabricate 3M custom transfers for props. It was all there—a wonderland of an art department!

I’d be remiss if I didn’t also give kudos to my colleagues Doug Zider and Ira Rappaport, who were a big part of my SNL graphics co-production team, too. They were masters of the Quantel Paintbox—then the state-of-the-art graphics system in television. And they also originated some of the graphics, too—along with Pook and I. It all depended on who got assigned what.

I’d travel up to Doug or Ira, both working side-by-side on Paintboxes on another floor, to bring them the actual hard copies of what I’d created or drawn. They would capture them via a flatbed camera attached to their equipment, and then my newly digitized designs would come alive for television by their addition of color and dimension.

So, as you can imagine, this “think fast” boot camp was amazing training for my creative thinking up to this day. As the famous SNL adage goes: The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s 11:30.

We didn’t get Macs in our art department until the mid-’90s, and when we finally got one, it went into an office deemed “the Computer Room.” That Mac was not yet even connected with the show’s control room—what a long way we’ve come since then!

Fun fact: I chose the “cheesy” font (available on our art department’s vinyl lettering machine) for the Wayne’s World logo. Pook said “italicize it,” and I can’t recall which of us added the globe. Who could know it would become the global phenomenon it became as the years rolled on? 

Did the writers or cast have any input into what you did?
Yes, some of the writers and cast wanted to have input, and some weren’t as interested or were too busy with rewrites.

I did have a close working relationship with Mike Myers, who basically wrote his own sketches—and would come down to our art department to talk to me about the graphics. He wanted to approve everything himself. He was very specific in what he wanted, and I truly enjoyed working with him.

I clicked with him on where he was coming from creatively. I loved establishing the Euro-style SPROCKETS graphics for him, and creating all his Simon drawings for that series of his sketches, which was really fun. As someone with a similar passion for UK ’60s pop culture, I also loved drawing and creating the title sequence for his “1960s Movie” sketch, which I have a hunch was the seed of the idea for his Austin Powers movies!

The others writers I have fond memories of working with were Jack Handey—who I also worked a lot with—Robert Smigel, and Al Franken. I even got to meet the real “Toonces,” which was Jack and his wife Marta’s (non-driving) pet cat.

Had you done other TV or film work prior to this?
No, not at all! Due to how things were done, it was easier to make the leap from print to television back then. Plus I was very eager to learn quickly.

So, nothing before … but everything escalated rapidly as my SNL years rolled along.

During my non-production SNL days, I also got booked regularly to work on visual comedy bits (including Bookmobile and FDA Rejected Products) for “Late Night”—both Letterman and Conan editions. And during SNL’s hiatus times, I also worked at HBO Downtown Productions, on the famously “underground cult” “Night After Night with Allan Havey.”

And another fun fact: I actually did end up doing some freelance work on an actual Howard Stern pilot TV episode, which never got picked up at that time.

Why did you leave SNL?
There were a few reasons as to why I ended up leaving. There was a concerning spate of bad press—including Entertainment Weekly, New York Magazine—that the show was “dead” and would be ending! Many of my favorite writers moved on, and I think much of the cast was being replaced.

Also, NBC had just dismantled 206W, our wonderful communal spacious playground of an art department. Besides the demolition of that huge room-size stat machine and other printing equipment, you can’t even imagine the treasures they threw into their dumpsters, cleaning out a wall of files that held years of vintage television graphics—show cards, credit scrolls and other history items from the 1950s on! Plus, us designers were now being moved to separate small offices on the tenth floor.

At that same time, I was contacted by a headhunter that an exciting new project—related to something called, um … “the internet”—was looking to hire graphic design talent, no experience needed; training would be provided. The salary was quite attractive—and fearing I would be one of those people from the days of yore who stubbornly wouldn’t leave radio for television, I decided to make the leap. Needless to say, it wasn’t one of the best decisions of my life, as SNL’s Season 50 is now rolling out, and the mega-corporate website entity I left for has long gone out of existence.

But on the other hand—having my life back to be married and have a son was the redeeming bright spot! Because that’s something that’s really hard to do on SNL hours.

Do the sketch graphics have the same look today?
Wow, yep—things are decidedly different. Back in our era, most of the sketch titles were static “supers”—which didn’t animate, but just mostly popped on and off the screen. There were also sitcom-y sequences with full-screen stills—we’d call that a “build,” which was accessed from the control room “still store” that introduced some of the sketches. I also remember designing “lower thirds”—which today, you mostly see on the local news. A lot of this was due to the simplicity of the technology then—the word chyron comes to mind.

I was so lucky to be in the last generation to have the freedom to do stuff like handlettering—and have had free reign to learn on the job graphics-wise, simply springing from my print design background as a graphic designer. And SNL’s unique situation then was that it was a huge staff of people who each contributed a particularly specific part of the production at SNL, so you could specialize in one thing. I suppose it’s surely not that way there today; you’d need to be so thoroughly trained and multi-platform–ready to even approach the kind of opportunity I had. It was all so much fun.

The post The Daily Heller: 50 Years of SNL’s Graphic Parodies appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The accomplishment Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr. is most proud of, is that 6,000 Americans display his prints on their walls. There’s perhaps no better anecdote to describe Kennedy’s humble, generous, thoughtful spirit, on full display in the pages of the gorgeous monograph Citizen Printer and in our Book Club discussion.

If you missed our live conversation, this one was truly special and worth a watch!

Kennedy was exposed to letterpress printing as a ten-year-old in Louisiana with his Cub Scout troop. He rues that in our contemporary, digital culture, people don’t always have access to see how things are made. “I just watched him work,” Kennedy said, “The pride that he took in making these things, in workmanship, I picked that up.”

One doesn’t realize what effect an encounter will have on our lives.

Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr.

Kennedy talked about his career trajectory from a “one-time business bureaucrat,” to taking what he deemed the easy path: “I decided to do what made me happy.” He’s a practitioner of bad printing, a term he uses to describe his lack of formal training, his use of layering, and his self-described sloppy, hurried technique.

There are other followers of “bad printing,” notably the Dutch experimental artist and typographer HN Werkman. Kennedy, like Werkman, values the power and influence of printed matter, saying, “Printing is always a dangerous business. The dissemination of information is dangerous.”

Dangerous, and important. Kennedy’s manifesto is passionate and provocative: I PRINT NEGRO. “Those voices that have been suppressed, I have to use my press to put those voices out in the world,” he says.

He considers himself an agitator (and our culture is better served with his hard truths). Listening to Kennedy, one can’t help but absorb his palpable joy and contentment in his work.

I try to put ink on paper everyday. Then it’s a complete day.

Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr.

We’ve only scratched the surface of this incredible conversation. We hope you’ll register here to watch the recording. Psst: Kennedy offered a free postcard print to everyone who attended. You’ll have to watch it to find out how!

If you haven’t purchased your copy of Citizen Printer, order one here. Your design bookshelf will thank you!

Links & diversions from this live stream:

Kennedy refurbished an old building as his print shop, starting in 2016. Check out the photo album.

Clear some space in your studio. Posterhouse NYC has two Kennedy prints in the shop. We Tried to Warn You! (2023) and the Posterhouse 2021 anniversary print. Smaller in scale, Kennedy’s Sista Said postcard set at Letterform Archive offers words of wisdom from Black women in social justice and the arts.

Go see the gorgeous exhibition that accompanies this monograph at Letterform Archive in San Francisco! On view until January 2025, Citizen Printer showcases 150 type-driven artifacts produced throughout Kennedy’s career, including broadsides, maps, church fans, handbills, and oversized posters.

The post PRINT Book Club Recap with Joyful Agitator, Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr. appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Design legend Steven Heller served as an art director at the New York Times for 33 years, primarily for the New York Times Book Review. He is the author or co-author of over 200 books, the columnist behind “The Daily Heller”, and the co-founder and co-chair emeritus of the MFA Design program at the School of Visual Arts in his native New York City. Among his many accolades, Heller was just inducted into the One Club Creative Hall of Fame earlier this month.

In 1982, Heller met graphic designer Louise Fili, and pretty immediately the two fell in love. Fili is a typography specialist, designing nearly 2,000 book jackets while working for Random House as the art director at Pantheon Books. She then launched her own eponymous graphic and digital design firm, Louise Fili Ltd, in 1989.

Meanwhile, Heller and Fili’s son, Nicolas Heller, is a prolific filmmaker and social media sensation under the moniker New York Nico, cultivating a platform that honors the uniquely flamboyant sights and characters of New York City. He’s publishing his first book this October, entitled New York Nico’s Guide to NYC, which depicts his top 100 New York places and businesses, and the people behind them. (This book is set to be our PRINT Book Club selection for November—stay tuned for dates.)

I recently had the treat of chatting directly with Steven and Nick about their memories of Heller-Fili family life during Nick’s adolescence in New York City, with additional insights from Louise via email. I was curious to learn about what lessons the design power couple imparted to Nick, how New York shaped his upbringing and the artist he’s become, and the energy with which their creative home was infused. Our conversation is transcribed below.

(Conversation has been lightly edited for length and clarity).

First off, would you mind sharing your love story with me, Louise and Steven? How did you two meet?

LF: Steve was art director of the NY Times Book Review, and I was art director of Pantheon Books. He wrote me a fan letter in March of 1982. Two sentences. We got married one year later in October 1983. The letter is framed on my desk in the studio.

SH: The fan letter was about her book jackets. We’d met at one of the exhibits I curated, introduced by Ed Koren. Then I invited her to a book party I was given at the Plaza Hotel. Finally, Marshall Arisman arranged for us to meet at an American Illustration judging. That’s when everything clicked and we moved in shortly thereafter.

Where in New York City were you two living when raising Nick? 

SH: Nick likes to call our neighborhood Union Square. We call it west of Fifth Avenue; we live a block away from Union Square, 16th Street. Nick was kind of the Mayor of 16th Street

LF: Starting at age three, Nick was known to the community as the Mayor of 16th Street. On his daily walk home from nursery school, he would pass through Union Square and check in at his regular haunts: Steak Frites, where, on seeing him, the manager would take out a tub of ice cream with Nick’s name scrawled on it. Next was Bill, the affable guard at Country Floors, who would tip his hat. At Lord of the Fleas, a vintage clothing store, they would turn around the standing mirror so Nick could see his reflection. 

SH: Would you agree that you were the Mayor of 16th Street, Nick?

NH: I don’t really remember. I remember you telling me that I was. I would say “hi” to a couple of people on 16th Street, and because of that, you gave me that title. I don’t know if I really deserved it.

I remember Bill vividly for some strange reason—because I forget most of the people from that period of my life—but I remember him. He was the security guard for this tile store, I think it was, right? And I think it might still be there?

SH: No, it’s gone. 

NH: I don’t know why a tile store needed a security guard, but for whatever reason he was always there, and he had this flashlight thing that would blink red and green colors, and he would always show it to me, and I was always captivated by it for some reason. That’s been a lasting memory for 30 years.

Louise and Steven, why was raising Nick in New York City important to you as parents?

SH: Well, I was raised half a mile away in Stuyvesant Town, and I wasn’t about to leave New York City. And Louise was ensconced. The building we lived in was this wonderful, old townhouse that had been a boarding house for actors and actresses long before we moved in. There was no alternative. 

The best thing we could do for Nick was to send them to a good school that we wouldn’t have to worry too much about. So we sent him to Little Red, which was the first lesbian-run school in New York. Elisabeth Irwin, who founded it, was one of the progressives that hired blacklisted teachers during the McCarthy era. 

How was going to Little Red for you, Nick?

NH: It was great. As you mentioned, it was very progressive. So progressive to the point that you could kind of get away with doing anything in the name of art. And that’s how I kind of got started in filmmaking. I wanted to make films that would scare my teachers, so I would discuss very unsuitable topics just to freak my teachers out. I wanted to keep pushing the boundaries and see how far I could take it.

That was in high school, but even in middle school, I remember in seventh and eighth grade, that’s when I started getting into film and writing scripts. I never finished any, I would just write scenes, and I would share them with my teachers. Even though the scenes were about very mature but immature topics, my teachers were very encouraging because they could tell that I was passionate about this art form. My parents were the same way. I think the stuff that I was making probably made you uneasy, but I think you kind of knew that I had a good head on my shoulders and it would lead to something more positive.

How did you first get into the film medium, Nick? 

NH: My earliest memory of really getting into film was, I believe, in the seventh grade, and I had a knack for memorizing the casts of movies, even very obscure movies. So that was kind of a talent that I had, and I liked the idea that I was better than everyone else at one thing, which was just remembering actors in movies. So, I would challenge students in my class to name a movie and I would name the cast. 

That was also around the time that Direct TV came out, where you could pull up a guide on your television and see what movies were playing and it would tell you the cast in each movie. So I would go on our TV and try to memorize the cast of these movies that I hadn’t even seen, and then that turned into writing scripts of my own. I would fantasize about movie ideas and cast them with real actors. By the time high school came around, I actually had the opportunity to start shooting my own stuff, and that’s what really set me on my path. 

I think I was destined to get into some kind of art, just based on who my parents are.

SH: We also had a couple of video cameras, and there was one time when you were in grade school where it was “Turn off the TV Week,” and you made your own movie with your cockatiel. 

NH: I think I was destined to get into some kind of art, just based on who my parents are, and maybe subconsciously, I didn’t want to follow in their footsteps so I decided to go another route.

Being raised by artists and surrounded by creativity your whole life, I don’t know how one wouldn’t be influenced by that. My parents are both journalists so that’s my background to an extent as well. At what point did you become aware of your parents being this creative power couple?

NH: I remember when I was a teenager, one of them mentioned that Molly Ringwald was a fan of my dad’s, and that was surprising to me; to think that this celebrity actress was a fan of my dad.

I always knew that they were prolific in their fields, but I don’t think I really realized or appreciated it until college, maybe even late into college. I think it was from people telling me that they had my parents’ books and that they looked up to them, and what have you. That’s really when I realized how important they were. 

Louise and Steven, as artists, were there any salient lessons you remember imparting on Nick once it was clear you were raising a creative child? 

SH: There wasn’t any prescription. There were no rules I wanted to instill. I was just interested in him following what he wanted to do, and as long as he could make it through high school without getting screwed up, and make it through college (which I never did), I was happy to see where this thing would take him.

All of a sudden Nick started doing music videos, and they were mostly rap videos. My strongest memory is Nick wanted to use our apartment for one of his rap videos, and I think we were going away that weekend, or at least going away for the day, and Nick suggested we didn’t come back until a certain time. When we did, there was a whole group of rappers sitting in the living room, and one of them said, “I hope we haven’t disturbed your apartment, Mr. and Mrs. Heller.” We later learned that they had been throwing spaghetti all over the place. But even though we may have had certain trepidations, we never enforced strong discipline. 

NH: I can’t remember ever really being scolded by you guys because I think, generally, I was pretty well-behaved. The one instance that does come to mind, though, where Mom was very angry with me, was when I carved my name into her conference table at her studio.

So, Nick, obviously, you’re incredibly successful in your own right, and working in a different creative field than your parents, but I’m curious if you can point to any sensibilities or ideas from them that have influenced who you are as an artist?

NH: I think the biggest thing is my work ethic. Work is really important to me, reputation is really important to me. I never want to let a client down. I never want to let my crew down. If I’m doing a project that requires a crew, like a commercial or something, I always try to make it a really happy environment where everyone feels respected and has a good time. I like to think that I’m very on top of things, too. I’m positive that I got that from my parents. I think it just rubbed off on me in one way or another because, obviously they’re very hardworking and reliable and have a great reputation. 

SH: Where did you get the guts to go up to the people that you go up to? When you’re making movies or videos and befriend them?  

NH: That’s where we’re very different because I feel like you don’t really like people. Maybe when you were my age, it was a different story. So I don’t know who I got that from, maybe it was just wanting to be different from my folks. 

Where would you say your knack for observing originated, Nick? You’re not only capturing these wonderful little vignettes and characters on camera, but you’re noticing them in the first place. How did you hone that eye?

NH: I think just growing up in New York and being surrounded by stuff. I don’t know where the curiosity came from, but it’s kind of just right in front of your eyes here. Have I always been like that, Dad?

SH: You were certainly always more curious than I was. Things kind of just happen naturally. Nick lived on 16th Street, and there were lots of people coming and going. Fifth Avenue became a mall, and Union Square was a place where characters kind of resided. When I was younger, it was called “needle park,” but then it got cleaned up so we would let Nick go to Union Square.

NH: I remember being very curious about the people that I would cross paths with, and when I became of age that’s when I started chatting them up.

SH: You became very industrious. He would put on talent shows, bringing some of these people together and they would form a traveling troop. 

It’s interesting to hear you say you don’t think you’re very curious, Steven, when you’re so clearly one of the most curious people there is, constantly writing and diving into different corners of design, and endlessly learning and sharing. It’s a different kind of curiosity and manifestation of that curiosity than Nick’s, but it’s extreme and genuine curiosity all the same. 

SH: Well, I appreciate that. I was just watching a film that was done during my show at SVA, and they interviewed somebody who said that my curiosity was “neurotic,” and that’s what it tends to be. It tends to be about producing stuff. I don’t know if Nick has the same production need or obsession. 

NH: Yeah, of course I do. 

SH: I just keep having to get stuff out and onto a piece of paper, no matter what it is. 

NH: I mean, that’s what my Instagram is. That’s why as soon as I film something, I have to put it up immediately.  And it’s not for any other reason than I’ve become impatient, and I just want to get more stuff into the world.

SH: Part of it is saying something to somebody, and part of it is expunging it. There’s the egotistical part of it, and there’s the sharing part of it, but they go hand-in-hand. 

Louise and Steven, you must be immensely proud of the person and artist Nick has become. How has his success felt to you as his parents?

LF: We are especially proud of all that Nick has been able to achieve on his own. What he contributed to the city during the pandemic was singularly admirable. 

SH: “Immensely proud” is a good way to describe it, ecstatic and overjoyed as well. I saw him make something from nothing. We could have helped him get his foot in the design field, but that’s not what he wanted. I never wanted help from my parents either and did whatever I did on my own. 

Nick has shown himself to be not just creative, but a real human being, and that came through in COVID when he went out and did what he felt he had to do. It was more than prideful, it was a word that I can’t even pull out of the air. He’s gone on to defy the Millennial stereotype of living in your parents’ basement ten times over. We can share certain things; there are certain things that he teaches me. 

I always wake up every morning and look at his feed to see where he’s been. He’s a very modest person, he isn’t always forthcoming with what’s going on, and that’s okay because I was like that as well. When I do see what he’s produced, I get all shaky inside.

The post A Steven Heller, Nicolas Heller, and Louise Fili Family Roundtable appeared first on PRINT Magazine.