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.

“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 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.

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.

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.

While these perverse toys might look real at first, they are, in fact, figments of Rosemberg’s imagination, visualized through AI software. Using the style of 90s toy advertisements and packaging, the Forbidden Toys project deploys dark humor to poke fun at commercialism and the toy industry. But first and foremost, it’s clear that Rosemberg is just having a laugh. The artist was kind enough to answer a few of my questions about their Forbidden Toys series, shedding light on their background, process, and the use of AI in the arts. Their responses are below.

What’s your art background?

I have formal academic training in photography and film, but I’ve spent my entire life irresistibly absorbed by artistic creation in its most diverse forms: literature, drawing, design, music… 

A few years ago, I began exploring creation from a conceptual perspective, which led me to leave modified works and toys out on the streets. That conceptual exploration eventually gave birth to the project we’re discussing today: Forbidden Toys.

That said, I consider the art I made as a young child to be part of the overall corpus of my work. I’m still inventing stories and drawing monsters.

Where did the idea for your Forbidden Toys series come from? How did that develop into what it is today?

Toys have always been present in my work in one way or another (in addition to being an avid collector of toys and peculiar objects), so the idea was always there. 

I’ve always been deeply fascinated by the evolution of AI, and I vividly remember how awestruck I was the first day I tried DALL-E mini and asked it to generate 1960s-style laser guns. While the results weren’t realistic yet, they were precise enough to make it clear that it could be used as a creative tool in the future.

During a particularly stressful period when I barely left the house, I developed the Forbidden Toys project, which continues to serve as a form of therapy to this day. As the project gained popularity, I began refining the images and producing real objects, which is where the project currently stands.

What AI software do you use for Forbidden Toys? What are your general thoughts on AI usage in the art world?

I currently use several: MidJourney, DALL-E 3, Runway, and Wand, depending on my specific needs. I then mix and finalize everything traditionally using Procreate or Photoshop.

Naturally, I support the indiscriminate use of AI, just as I support any tool that an artist can use to express themselves. The controversy around using copyrighted material to train AI models feels distant to me because of my contradictory reluctance to fully accept copyright as a legitimate right. That said, just as generating illustrations or designs doesn’t make you an illustrator or designer, it does allow you to materialize concepts, which is, by definition, an act of conceptual creation.

The eternal post-Duchamp debate on authorship and what qualifies as art is as stimulating as it is repetitive. This debate has been unconsciously revived with the popularity of AI, and though it’s framed from a new perspective, it’s the same old argument. It’s true that this technology will inevitably create casualties, as always happens with groundbreaking tools; particularly among certain technical jobs and commission artists whose styles are easily imitated. 

However, the debate is irresolvable, and it will always be fascinating to read theoretical frameworks that supposedly distinguish art from what isn’t.

The eternal post-Duchamp debate on authorship and what qualifies as art is as stimulating as it is repetitive. This debate has been unconsciously revived with the popularity of AI, and though it’s framed from a new perspective, it’s the same old argument.

What’s your typical process like for developing your ideas for each Forbidden Toy?

The initial process is identical to any other artistic project I’ve undertaken; I always carry a notebook where I jot down ideas and sketches. This essentially gives you an extension of your brain with a prodigious memory; anything can inspire an idea. 

Once I’ve determined that a concept is interesting, the first thing I do is draw it to get a sense of what I’m looking for. After establishing a clear vision, I move on to wrestling with AI to generate the necessary elements. Working with AI is like dealing with a half-deaf art department since my ideas are often very specific and leave little room for abstraction; the process can be as tedious as it is inspiring. With all the required elements prepared, the most labor-intensive part of the process begins: combining everything traditionally in an image editor, where I fix errors, finalize the texts, and refine the overall composition. 

Much like making a film, the final result always diverges from the initial mental image you had. Your job is to approximate that vision, and the important thing is that the narrative and message are expressed in the way you intended.

Which of your Forbidden Toys is your favorite? Is there a particular Forbidden Toy that you feel encapsulates what you’re trying to do with the project the best?

It’s hard to pick just one because, beyond each having unique characteristics, they’re all part of the same project, so my preference is purely personal.  I’d say my favorite is “Zappy” because it marked a turning point in how precisely I could convey my ideas.  

The toy I think best encapsulates what I’m trying to achieve with the project is undoubtedly “Pregnant Ken.” For some inexplicable reason, it caught the attention of a Cypriot MP who turned it into a scandal and got fact-checking agencies investigating the image’s origins. The whole fiasco culminated in an official statement from Mattel denying any connection to “Pregnant Ken.” 

Naturally, I’ve got the statement framed at home as a trophy.

What are you trying to communicate or say as an artist with the Forbidden Toys series? What sort of experience do you hope your followers have with your creations?

At its core, I aim to open a window into a nonexistent past and provoke the kind of reactions that would arise if these objects were real. Toys are a medium we all know, and that shape our personalities, always leaving a residue of identification that is fascinating to play with. By presenting objects with a familiar context but grotesque essence, an inevitable comparison to reality occurs, leading to thoughts I find deeply engaging: Is this real? How does it work? Who in their right mind would think of something like this? 

These reactions are the essence of what I aim to convey because they forcibly stimulate a subverted reflection on the concept itself. At the same time, they can serve as a commentary on censorship, ideology, taboo, governance, and the weight that advertising language carries within them.  

In a way, I compel viewers to recreate the experience of wandering through a bazaar and stumbling across a Bin Laden action figure from a Western perspective.  

My followers generally fall into three main categories: those who appreciate the artistic value and understand the project, those who interpret it as purely humorous, and (my personal favorites) those who believe the toys are real.  

All of them are right.

The post The ‘Forbidden Toys’ Series Proves that There is a Place for AI in the Arts 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.

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.

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.

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.

Letterform Archive in San Francisco is currently showing a retrospective of Kennedy’s work in an exhibition entitled Citizen Printer, curated by Kelly Walters. On view through January, the show features over 150 type-driven artifacts created by Kennedy throughout his career and is accompanied by a monograph of the same name. This book has been selected for our September PRINT Book Club, which will feature a virtual conversation with Kennedy moderated by Steven Heller and Debbie Millman on Thursday, September 19, at 4 p.m. ET. Learn more and register to attend here!

As a primer to the Book Club, check out my conversation with Kennedy about his background and the exhibition below! (Conversation lightly edited for length and clarity.)

What first brought you to printmaking?

I didn’t enter into letterpress printing until about 1988, and prior to that, I’d worked in corporate America as a computer programmer. I discovered it in Williamsburg, Virginia. Williamsburg is a historical village based upon the 18th-century colonies, and they had an 18th-century print shop. I saw the docent doing a demonstration of letterpress printing, and then I just started doing it. I’ve been doing it ever since!

Before that, I had dabbled in calligraphy for a number of years, so I had a background in letters and letter forms. But for some reason, letterpress printing really resonated with me. I also had very minor experience in commercial printing at the university that I went to; my neighbor was the university printer, so occasionally, I would pop into his shop while he was working, and he would explain some of the rudimentary principles of printing, but I didn’t actively pursue it.

After you discovered letterpress printing in Williamsburg, how did you start printing yourself?

I was staying in Chicago at the time. There was an organization called Artist Book Works, a community-based book arts program that taught letterpress printing, bookbinding, paper decorations, and things of that nature. I took two of their letterpress courses, and then I was on my own.

I continued to work in corporate America, and then I was forced out by the downsizing of the company. I tried to set up a print shop at home in my basement, but I was very unsuccessful at it. So then, like any good person, when you don’t know what you’re doing, you go hide out in graduate school. So I did that. I got my MFA in graphic design from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. 

I had my own letterpress shop, even when I was in graduate school— I had it long before I went to graduate school. That’s one of the things that distinguished me from other students; they were using the equipment that was at the university, so once they left, they had to find equipment to use. But I already had my equipment—I had a Vandercook 4 and a Heidelberg 10×15 Platen—and so once I left, I could continue to pursue learning the skills and learning the craft. 

How did you acquire those two presses? 

When I started, the zenith of letterpress printing had waned, and offset printing had taken over, so people were getting rid of this equipment. But a school had one, and no printer wanted it, so they just offered it for free. I saw the notice, and then I went and picked it up. I paid about $5,000 for the Heidelberg from another printer, which was an exorbitant price at that time.

Do you still have them?

I have the Heidelberg, but I gave the 4 to a community print shop, and I have no idea what happened to it. 

What was the turning point that allowed you to go from your unsuccessful print shop in your basement to the successful artist you are now?

A complete abandonment of any goals. I just gave up and started printing because I liked printing and needed a modest income to support myself.  Everything else has been the result of me doing those two things: getting up every day and printing and enjoying it. I also tried to become an academic, but I found that to be too stressful and too confining.

How did you develop your signature printmaking style? When did that distinct aesthetic coalesce for you as an artist?

Well, to begin with, I don’t consider myself an artist. I consider myself a printer … kinda. I don’t even consider myself a printer; I consider myself a person with a printing press. Printers are very professional, careful, and sincere about what they do, and I just mess around. I have fun. And I’m fortunate that people see the merit in what I do and want to hire me and buy the things I make.

I don’t consider myself an artist. I consider myself a printer … kinda. I don’t even consider myself a printer; I consider myself a person with a printing press.

I was formally trained in what they call fine printing and book arts, but when I moved to Alabama, I transitioned to what I’m doing now. The reason I do what I do is out of necessity. I had a commission that I was working on, and I made a mistake, but I didn’t have any more paper, and I didn’t have money to buy it, so I had to do something with what I had. I decided to carefully print another layer over everything so you couldn’t see the mistake and put the corrected text on top. After I did that, I found it interesting how the letters overlapped in the shapes that were made, so I continued doing that. It became one of the styles that people recognize me for. 

Your activism is a central part of your printmaking practice, and you use your printmaking as a form of abolition. Where does your drive to communicate those ideas and themes in your work come from? 

It comes from my humanity. It is a part of the universal humanity in all of us: the humanity that cries out for justice, the humanity that cries out for liberation. We all have that within us. It is what makes us human.

I’ve always been that way. How do I separate my skin from the rest of my body? It’s just the nature of the beast that I am. I was raised in a family that, foremost, was truth, respect for individuals no matter what their so-called social class was, you do not infringe upon another person’s rights, and you show generosity and gratitude at all times.

Can you tell me a bit about your exhibition at Letterform Archive, Citizen Printer?

The exhibition includes works from as early as 1988, so it’s not just posters. It shows the artist books I’ve done and the wider swath of my work. It’s a retrospective, and that’s the first time this has ever been done. All of the exhibitions I’ve done to date have been site-specific, in that if an organization or a university or a museum asks me to do an exhibition, I will do it, provided that they identify grassroots organizations that need to have their message disseminated. I will then create promotional materials for those grassroots organizations to be exhibited as posters in the museum. Then after the exhibition is over, the museum gives those materials to the organizations to use as they see fit. 

I tell them, If you want me, then you have to do something for the community. And I don’t mean the United Way or the NAACP. I mean, grassroots organizations and small organizations that may not even have a 501(c)(3), but they’re out there helping their community.

The reason I do that is that traditionally, museums have excluded Black people, but now, they want Black people, brown people, those populations that they did not actively recruit in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, to come and take advantage of the services and the offerings of the museum. But when you’ve told somebody for 40 years that they can’t come in, you can’t just stay, “The door is open! Please come in!” You have to actively go and get them. 

So I tell the museums that that’s what this is about. It’s about them going to the community and saying, “We value what you do. We value your words. And we hope that you have a degree of trust with us, and you’ll come and visit us and utilize the services that we have here.”

It’s commendable that you’re using these opportunities to exhibit your work to uplift others. 

That’s basically the way that I do things. When I work with organizations or museums, it’s about expanding the audience of that institution and bringing in new people to experience the services that that institution has.

The post Letterpress Printer Amos Kennedy Jr. Makes Art As Statement appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

As a lover of all manner of bars, pubs, dives, speakeasies, and cocktail lounges, I was eager to learn more about this latest endeavor from the Murrays and get my hands on my own copy. The pair’s responses to my questions about Great Bars of New York City are below.

Why bars? What is it about bars that you find so compelling and reflective of NYC culture and history?

We chose to publish a book highlighting New York City bars as we consider them to be the heart of New York City’s culture and neighborhoods. Historically, bars have always been melting pots and places where people from all backgrounds and cultures can mingle and share stories while enjoying a drink, and where relationships often start. For many New York residents, their neighborhood bar serves as a home away from home, where people can choose to be alone together. 

For many New York residents, their neighborhood bar serves as a home away from home, where people can choose to be alone together. 

We also feel the need to document these special places, similar to our work featured in our previous book, Store Front NYC: Photographs of the City’s Independent Shops, Past and Present, as many beloved bars have been forced to close in recent years due to economic pressures and rapidly changing neighborhood demographics.

You’re known best for your exterior photographs of storefronts. How is documenting interiors different when it comes to capturing tone, mood, and telling a story?

We approached our interior photography of the bars with the goal of capturing the essence of each location as well as including often overlooked details, especially ones that even regular visitors may have missed. We included an establishing photograph, often showing the overview of the space as you would walk through the door, and also photographed areas where patrons would spend most of their time while drinking, either at the bar itself or at a specific booth or table.

We photographed each bar using only available light, not bringing any additional equipment inside so that our photos would mirror the way the bar would appear during a typical visit.

What sorts of details typically capture your photographic eye?

We always seek out interesting architectural details, including handcrafted woodwork such as the mahogany balcony with its quatrefoil design inside The Campbell, the stained glass windows and back bar insets made by Tiffany at Peter McManus Cafe, and even the shoulder-height porcelain urinals in the men’s bathroom at Old Town Bar and Restaurant.

We also focused our lens on many of the items hanging on the walls and from the ceiling of the bars as they also provide insight into the bar’s history, including the turkey wishbones hanging at McSorley’s Old Ale House and the old saloon licenses at Fanelli Cafe.

How did you approach curating the 30 bars included in the book? What was your selection process?

In choosing which bars to include in our publication, we decided to concentrate on only the borough of Manhattan and focused on historic establishments, former speakeasies that sold illegal alcoholic beverages during the Prohibition era, as well as bars immortalized in film and literature. 

We additionally featured many lesser-known spots and dive bars including Rudy’s Bar & Grill, one of the city’s last affordable “working man” bars. Of course, there were numerous noteworthy locations we would have loved to include, but those will have to wait for another book!

Of the 30 bars cataloged in the book, do you have a favorite?

It’s so difficult to pick a favorite, but Pete’s Tavern holds a special place in our hearts as it not only has a beautiful historic interior, but also a welcoming staff and great food and drink. We try to stop by as often as possible and especially love visiting at Christmastime when the bar is strung with hundreds of lights and decorations.

Why does creating physical books continue to be so important to you both as photographers?

Since our journey as photographers began with documenting the streets of New York City using a 35mm film camera, printing our photographs and studying them has always been important to us. We have always felt that sharing our work in book form complements the subject matter by staying “old-school,” similar to the stores and bars we have photographed, while also capturing the patina and texture of the locations.

The post James and Karla Murray Raise a Glass to NYC’s Storied Bars in New Book appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“Quiltmaking is a tradition and a mode of expression that is both intimate and esteemed,” says Mazloomi on the power of the medium. “Every human being has an intimate relationship with cloth. It is the first thing we are swathed in at birth, and the last thing that touches our body upon our death. Through the nuance of textile, difficult stories can reach audiences across identities and generations from a place of care, hearth, peace, and nurture.”

The Claire Oliver Gallery in Harlem is set to present a solo exhibition of Mazloomi’s work from September 3 through November 2 entitled, Whole Cloth: Narratives in Black and White. Marking Mazloomi’s first-ever gallery exhibition, Whole Cloth features a collection of her large-scale quilts that recount the oft-overlooked impact of Black civil rights activists, leaders, and revolutionaries on American history. Mazloomi reflects on her practice as a quilter, the power of the medium to address tough subject matter, and the Whole Cloth exhibition below.

Through the nuance of textile, difficult stories can reach audiences across identities and generations from a place of care, hearth, peace, and nurture.

How would you describe your ethos as an artist?

 I am committed to using quilting as a means of storytelling and cultural expression.

You were trained as an aeronautical engineer before becoming a quilter. How did that major career pivot come about?

I was trained as an aviation engineer and was very unhappy with my work. I worked with no one who looked like me, and most importantly, working took me away from my three small boys. I wanted to do something that would keep me close to my children; I didn’t want them with a nanny or in a nursery. My first obligation in life is to my children and my role as a mother, and everything else must fit around that parameter.

My brother and sister were artists, so I decided to give it a try. Instead of paints, I use textiles. Making art afforded me the opportunity to work at home and be with my children. I made the decision to become an artist 55 years ago, and I have no regrets.

What does quilting offer you as a medium that other art forms don’t?

Quilting offers an endless variety of materials and techniques available to create work. Most people are familiar with quilts. Since I like to make work that revolves around social and political issues, using quilts to tell a story makes way for a soft landing for difficult subjects. Issues dealing with race are particularly difficult for people to accept. Viewing a narrative quilt makes it a bit easier.

Using quilts to tell a story makes way for a soft landing for difficult subjects.

What themes do you address in the Whole Cloth: Narratives in Black and White exhibition? What was your process like for assembling this show?

Most of the work in the show deals with Black history— the good, the bad, and the ugly. The work is pulled from my sketchbooks and notes. Over 30 states have placed restrictions on teaching Black history, making it so important that these stories be told, otherwise they would be unknown. There will be 55 quilts in this series and I plan to write a catalog. I also hope the exhibition will travel.

Over 30 states have placed restrictions on teaching Black history, making it so important that these stories be told.

What experience do you hope viewers of the exhibition have?

The exhibition is about educating the public on aspects of American history they may not be familiar with, and raising awareness around social justice issues. I want viewers to understand and challenge social injustices so we might alter oppressive systemic patterns of racism in this country.

What legacy do you hope to leave in the art world? 

It’s my hope that the quilts I’ve made will be a catalyst for social change, raising awareness, challenging norms, and fostering dialogue. As the Founder of the Women of Color Quilters Network, the oldest and largest organization of Black quilters in the country, I have played a major role in documenting and preserving the history of African American quilts, ensuring these stories and traditions are recognized and valued. 

Through the books I’ve written and exhibitions curated over 40 years, I’ve fostered a sense of community among Black quilt artists. The Women of Color Quilters Network has become their home, and the network is my legacy.

Header image:
Hands Up … Don’t Shoot #2
2024, Poly-cotton fabric, cotton thread, cotton batting, fabric paint.
58 x 102 inches | 147.32 x 259.08 cm

The post Carolyn Mazloomi Uses the Power of Quilting to Honor Black History appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

-Andy Saunders

Andy Saunders created his first-ever custom car before he was old enough to hold a driver’s license. At just 15 years old in Poole on the South Coast of England, Saunders took to car customization like a Mustang with a full gas tank takes to an open road. He unearthed a preternatural ability to bring out-of-the-box, creative concepts to life and push the bounds of what a car can be.

Saunders, the son of a secondhand car dealer (with an interest in the slightly unusual), was raised in his dad’s forecourt, fixing up and selling secondhand cars. For over four decades, Saunders has produced some of the most innovative and imaginative automobile interpretations the industry has ever seen, from Picasso’s Citroën (see above) unveiled at the 2007 Goodwood Festival of Speed to the historic X-2000 to the world record-breaking Claustrophobia. Saunders’ designs and convention-busting point of view will have you trading in your silver Prius for a retro-fixer upper someone’s offloading on Craigs List. Or maybe that’s just me …

I spoke with the car magician a few weeks ago to learn more about his road to custom car supremacy. Our conversation is below (lightly edited for clarity and length).

How did you first get into the world of custom cars? When did you start tinkering with them and letting your imagination run wild? 

When I was a kid in the 70s, the custom car scene in England was vast. I don’t know what about custom cars mesmerized me, but I just went, Wow, that’s my dream to have a custom car.

My first custom car came about when I was 15. At school, I had to do a 3,000-meter cross-country run, and long story short, I virtually collapsed. I couldn’t do it. I had palpitations, which went on for probably two and a half days; they just didn’t stop. I went to the hospital, and subsequently, I learned I was born with a hole in the heart. 

I had to go in for specialist attention, and the chap said, “For you to have any life after the age of about 25, you’re going to have to have open-heart surgery.” I was so petrified and so were my parents. I had a year before the operation. My dad had a little forecourt where he sold secondhand cars, and he took in a black Escort with a white stripe down the side and a fiberglass flip front and said, “We’re going to build a custom car.” So that’s how the first one came about; it was for everyone to focus on outside of this impending doom, to give positivity. 

Neither of us knew what we were doing, but we worked on it all the time and finished it very quickly. At the very first show it went to, it won runner-up custom over 350 other cars, and then we went to a show the following weekend, and it won again. The chap who gave out the prize said, “This young man really needs to have eyes kept on him, because he’s obviously got a lot of talent.” 

It sounds like you were a sort of custom car prodigy. Were there any indications of your creative ability before then?  

I was quite creative. But I didn’t realize how controlled I was by my dad. I wish I had gone to art school, but I didn’t because I loved working with my dad. I loved cars and working with my dad on his forecourt; at 15, I could spray cars better than the professional sprayer. I just worked with him all the time. I would come home from school and work with him until seven at night rather than do homework. My interest in creativity was funneled into work because that’s what I wanted to do. 

I’ve worked most of my life, and I like work. Every car on my website, even the commissions I’ve done for the big companies, have all been done outside my daily job. For 41 years, I ran a service center and an MOT station, so I did all my cars in the evenings and weekends. I love work. It’s funny; I’m retired and can’t tell you how little time I’ve got. I have a new project in the garage, which has been there for six months, and I’ve managed to spend ten days on it. If I’d have been running the garage and running around, doing this, that, and the other, I’d have built it by now. I can’t work out what’s happened to time!

Where does your knack for funky and unique-looking cars come from? 

Back in England in the 70s, we had companies like Jensen Interceptor and Gilburn; all these little, small-time companies were making cars. Occasionally, you saw them on the forecourts, which excited me. Car sales sites now are so boring. There’s the silver Audi, the black Range Rover, the black Audi, the silver Range Rover. There’s no choice! They look the same! They’re all ugly! 

Some have described your custom cars as “controversial.” I’m curious: what aspect of your work has been controversial? 

I seem to upset car clubs very easily. If I get hold of a car, they don’t want me fiddling with it. I bought a 1936 Hudson Roadster recently; it’s super, super rare, and it’s beautiful. The English Hudson Owners Club have got right on their stuffy, Victorian-thinking, high horse about me owning it. They even rallied around their members to see if they could get someone to buy it from me, rather than leave it in my hands. What is so ridiculous is that they don’t even know what I am planning for it, which funnily enough is just a “Show Car” restoration! I’m not chopping it out, it’s too rare to chop up.

What’s your workshop setup like? Are you working entirely alone? Do you have a trusted team of people to help you?

Every detail of design is mine, something I love doing so much, and every inch of body work I build myself using my trusty welder and angle grinder.

I used to carry out my own paint until the introduction of 2-Pack. The little double garage behind my house where I do all my work does not have these facilities, so for several years I’ve used John Bethell for all my straight paint, Mike Wareham for all metal flake, and the talented Scott Lloyd for my interiors. I literally have no idea how to use a sewing machine! 

More recently, after meeting the talented artist Maxime Xavier (who became my wife in Vegas earlier this year), our latest cars are now being adorned with some of the wildest and most beautiful custom paint this country has ever seen. Last but not least is Matt Edley, an artisan sculptor. I enjoy his swoopy, avant-garde chrome trims, which I know have taken my cars to another level. 

Do you have a favorite car you’ve worked on or a project you’re proudest of?

One is Claustrophobia. I bought that car when it was on its way to the scrapyard and paid ten pounds for it. I had this ridiculous idea, and I thought if it works, it works, and if it doesn’t, I haven’t lost anything. 

Back in the ’60s, there was a man called Neville Trickett, and he made a car called the Mini Sprint. It was a mini that was roof-chopped about three inches, and then they cut it in half around the middle—called sectioning—and then lowered the body, but they only lowered it about two and a half inches because they still wanted it as a road usable car. I thought if I were to do the same to Claustrophobia but take out as much as I could get out of every car, I would have a stupidly low car. 

As soon as I finished it, it went for a photo session for a magazine feature. They had me sit in it for the cover photo; I had my arm out the window, my head through the roof, and my fingers touching the ground. The title was: “Claustrophobia, the Lowest Car in the World.” The magazine made that up, but about three weeks later, I got a phone call from the Guinness Book of World Records office asking me to send them a picture with a measuring stick next to it, which I did. It was 34 and a half inches tall. Then they contacted me again and said, “We’re going to come down,” and they sent down the official chap. He said, “This is officially the lowest car in the world.”

When I was a little boy, I used to be absolutely fascinated by the Guinness Book of World Records. If there was one thing that I wanted to do, it was to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. I don’t know why that is. My gran used to buy me the new edition every Christmas, and I loved it. As if Claustrophobia getting in isn’t the best thing that could have ever happened, they do a smaller version called Guinness Book of World Records: Extraordinary Records, and on the front cover of that year’s edition, there’s Concord, George Michael, Bob Geldof, and Claustrophobia; it’s actually in the collage on the front cover of that book. Bloody hell!

Saunders has gone on to hold three Guinness Book of World Records titles.

What’s your favorite aspect of bringing a new (old) car to life?

I sometimes wonder if my workshop has become some time travel equipment. Because I would walk in on a Saturday morning, walk out later that weekend, and find out that I’ve been in there three months. On a large project, it’s nothing to do 12 hours of physical work without stopping. You lose time! You lose time, and it’s fabulous. There isn’t anything more exciting in my life. Nothing has ever been more exciting than when it’s just flowing, and you don’t know your name, you don’t know what time it is, you don’t know if you’re hungry or not, you’re just there, and you’re one with it. Passion and creation at this level is something so few will ever be lucky enough to experience.

Saunders’ book The Automotive Alchemist (2023) is available for purchase here.

The post Andy Saunders Creates Custom Cars Beyond Your Wildest Dreams appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I had the treat of speaking to Martz recently about her vegan art practice and her journey to this mindfulness. Our conversation is below (edited lightly for length and clarity).

How did you first come to fiber arts and sculpture?

I’ve always been quite creative. I grew up in a very creative, liberated household, so my parents really nurtured my desire to express myself through an artistic art form. That inevitably led me to art school, and I went to Tyler School of Art at Temple University in Philadelphia. 

Going into college fresh is such a wildly exciting and vulnerable time when we don’t know ourselves yet, and so getting thrown into school with so many different options for that creative outlet, I had no idea what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I was drawn to three-dimensional forms, organic forms, things found in nature. I love irregular movement, lack of consistent edges, repetitive shapes, and a lot of color. I experimented with different mediums, from wood, glass, welding, and ceramics to printmaking, but nothing clicked. Then, I took a fibers class. 

Tyler School of Art has an incredible fibers department, and they go beyond traditional methods. The school really engages with students who yearn for more contemporary, experimental approaches. And it just clicked! I realized that everything I had been trying to make in those other mediums wasn’t successful because I needed fibers to make my vision come to life.

I was drawn to how forgiving and adventurous the medium can be. I feel very fortunate to have been taught in quite an alternative way. I didn’t do weaving, macrame, crochet, or knitting. I chose more experimental classes, where I burned fabric, bubbled it, and dyed it with unusual plant dyes. That’s where the foundation began for me, and for the past 12 years, I’ve continued forward as an artist blending fibers and sculpture. 

You say your parents helped cultivate your creativity. Were they also artists?

My dad is a sculptor, painter, and “Art Brut” music composer. He’s very radical and experimental in his art form, and he’s always practiced various art forms since I was a child, so I was very influenced by that. My mom is a writer and editor within Hearst Corporation; she worked in fashion magazines. There was a time when I did a lot of couture—wearable art sculptures on the body—probably partially because of her industry’s influence, though I eventually shifted away from that.

I know that being a vegan artist is central to your practice. Why is that such an important aspect of your artistic POV?

Veganism is the next chapter of my practice after I identified my passion for textiles, fibers, and sculpture in a contemporary, abstract method. Honestly it was a very personal journey before it even linked within the artistic realm of my life. 

My parents empowered me to be a vegetarian in the 90s and 2000s. That was unusual when I was a kid, and it’s amazing that it’s way more normalized and accessible now. So I was raised feeling empowered by this ethical decision. When I reached my mid-20s, through social media, I fell into the rabbit hole of visually seeing these industries for the first time through undercover investigative footage of the egg and dairy industries. I’m thankful for social media and the veganism movement that educated me and inspired me to go all in, specifically for ethical reasons, but also for environmental, of course, and health reasons. 

Everything shifted for me—from what I ate to the companies I supported, to the clothing and products I bought—making sure they weren’t tested on animals or had animal products in them. Then I had this ah-ha! moment when I thought, how am I not thinking this way in my fiber art practice? Some of the most prominent materials in this sector of the art industry are wool, silk, leather, mohair, and alpaca. In school and the industry, these materials are held on a pedestal of being the better option. I see their allure versus synthetic materials, which are incredibly problematic. But I had this realization that I didn’t want my art to contribute to a part of the textile industry that’s heavily linked to animal agriculture, which we know is incredibly cruel to animals, unsustainable, and unethical to workers. 

I initially used synthetic alternatives because they are the most readily available. I was focused on the ethical side for the animals, but it didn’t feel right with my pursuit to be more sustainable. Polyester and other synthetic materials are absolutely horrible, and they’re part of the oil industry, which is a monster within itself. So I shifted toward researching more sustainable plant fibers, like flax, linen, organic cotton, and kapok fibers, one of the materials I’ve used the most (it’s a fluffy stuffing that’s an incredible replacement for wool or polyester stuffing). But even using plant fibers didn’t feel like I was progressing enough with my goal to reduce my environmental impact, and that’s where I started to shift toward prioritizing secondhand clothing as my biggest source for materials.

What does the process of sourcing secondhand clothing as your primary material entail? 

When I have a new project or commission in mind, I will go to local thrift stores and source what I can. Overconsumption is incredibly problematic and horrifying for our planet and the fashion industry. Ninety-two million tons of textile waste is made annually around the world. I recently read that this is equivalent to the weight of over 61 million cars, which is catastrophic. 

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.

As fast fashion came into place, it produced four collections a year that went with seasons. Now, companies are doing over 100-plus collections a year. Overconsumption of clothing is just rampant around the world. People are buying, buying, buying these cheaply made products with the excuse of, it’s okay because I’m going to donate it, and it can be reused. The big disconnect is that about 85% of donated clothing goes to landfills. Only 15% of all donated clothing worldwide is actually being purchased at secondhand stores and reworn. That’s so alarming to me. On a personal level, I buy secondhand clothing because 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. 

I would imagine shopping at secondhand stores for your materials would yield more exciting and unexpected fabric discoveries. There must be a thrill of the hunt and the unknown that’s so much more exhilarating as an artist than shopping at Joann Fabric. 

You’re spot on. I was drawn to doing this from a sustainability standpoint, but I was also fed up with the fabric options that I have in my rural part of Southern Vermont, and buying fabric online is a gamble when it comes to color, texture, and weight. Shopping secondhand made the most sense, and it’s guided many of my art pieces. Sometimes, I’ll go in with a color palette in mind, but other times, I go in, and I think, let me see what I find, and there’s this beautiful kind of collaboration between me and these articles of clothing. 

There’s also this poetic storyline that comes along with using secondhand clothing, in that each article of clothing has the history of its wearer…

Different textures often come out within my art because I’m working with sweaters, sweatshirts, sheets, and pants. A nice variety of different weaves comes through in the artwork, which is quite captivating. There’s also this poetic storyline that comes along with using secondhand clothing, in that each article of clothing has the history of its wearer and sometimes multiple people who have worn this clothing with their own life experiences. Bringing that spiritual energy of different people and their lives into an art piece is quite beautiful and mysterious, in a way. That’s an element of buying secondhand clothing that’s been really inspiring for me. 

I had a client reach out recently who saw that I was working with secondhand clothing after her father suddenly passed away this past winter. She’d been unable to think of what to do with his clothing because he was an avid thrifter; they’d go every week together, and he loved fashion. So she’s sending me some of his clothing so I can make a few wall sculptures for her and her family so that his clothing can have a new life after his passing and be an heirloom they can pass on. It’s just such a beautiful, special project that I hadn’t even considered offering to people until recently.

Hopefully, more artists start thinking about the environmental impact and sustainability of their art practice and materials in this way. 

Many of us get trapped in the cycle of this is just how things are done; this is traditional. People glorify tradition in certain realms, and it’s kind of a scary decision to choose to go against tradition and not only do it privately but also vocalize it and advocate for it.

Using my online presence to advocate for choosing plant-based over animal-derived materials and choosing more sustainable alternatives is a vulnerable thing—to take that stance in an industry that’s wrapped up so heavily in tradition. But it’s also really empowering, and I have seen such a shift. When the conversation is sparked, people are like, well, internally, I’ve been thinking about how this isn’t right, but now hearing others talk about it makes me feel more confident that I can change these options for my health, for the planet’s health, for animals, and so on.

In the past, I wasn’t guided as much by my materials and I didn’t give them as much thought as an artist. That’s quite common in the art industry. I hope I see more artists take sustainable approaches. I think it’s an inevitable path within this industry, with artists, collectors, and buyers being guided more by the materials and being more thoughtful about what they’re using, how they were made, whom they were made by, and their impact. 

What advice would you give artists about developing a more sustainable art practice?

Trying to be more sustainable within your life and art-making can be intimidating for people because they feel like they have to dive right in and change everything they’re doing drastically. That’s not an approach that’s achievable for a lot of people. For me, it’s been an evolution from switching to plant-based materials and plant fibers to secondhand clothing, and now I’m working with eco-friendly paint and compostable plastic. Each month or so, I make a slight switch in what I’m using toward something more sustainable. Because, in the end, there’s no perfection. We’re all living and navigating life within a very imperfect system. So, it’s about striving to make small changes in our lives to be more thoughtful.

Header image taken by Joy Masi.

The post Fiber Artist Sienna Martz Takes a Stand Against Tradition with Secondhand Materials appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

It takes a whole team to create the fastest woman in the world.

USA Olympic sprinter Sha’Carri Richardson’s 100m silver medal win in Paris was thrilling to watch. Richardson’s incredible accomplishments on the track come down to grit, persistence, and countless training hours. But there’s also a team of coaches, nutritionists, family, friends, and many others who help Richardson soar. A core group within Team Sha’Carri is her trusted nail technicians, whom she turns to for her signature press-on nails she dons for all of her races. Nail technicians might strike outsiders as less important to Richardson’s success, but they would be sorely mistaken.

Paris 2024 has given us a lot to take in, including the exuberant ways many athletes have chosen to present themselves as they compete. Richardson has been known for her flashy fingernails since she quite literally burst onto the scene during the Tokyo Olympics in 2021, and she’s continued to push the boundaries of her signature accessory every time she takes her mark. I recently had the joy of speaking to one of the nail technicians, Kinaya Haug, who has designed a few sets of nails for Richardson. Richardson wore Haug’s designs while competing in the US Track & Field Olympic Trials in Oregon this past June, in which she won the 100m and secured her spot in Paris.

The Oregon-based Haug works with many athletes, primarily track runners affiliated with Nike. She loves having the power to help these athletes feel their best as they compete, and she relishes the intimate moments she shares with them as she does their nails before races. Check out our conversation below!

(This conversation has been edited for clarity and length.)

How did the opportunity to work with Sha’Carri first come about? 

I had a client named Raven Saunders, an Olympic shot-putter, and we just hit it off and became friends. She took me to the track with my daughter one day, and we saw Sha’Carri, so I ran up to her. She’s always been a dream client of mine as a nail tech. Sha’Carri is our modern-day Flo Jo! Also, I became more involved in activism starting in 2020, and Sha’Carri is a big voice for Black women. She’s always been someone I was super attracted to, wanting to do her nails.

This year, I was invited to the Olympic Trials. I met so many cool athletes when I went, and it was so special to provide my service and my art to people who are literally donating their bodies for their sport— they deserve to be taken care of! While there, I ran into a woman who asked if I was a nail tech because she needed some press-ons for somebody. As soon as she asked I already knew. There’s only one Press-On Queen out there doing that.

They told me they wanted them long and to match her uniform. I busted my ass from five o’clock to one o’clock in the morning in my shop, messing with stuff, trying to figure out what I wanted to do, trying to plan it out. I finally finished and presented them. A couple of days later, she came back and asked for a couple more for the 200 meter. She ended up wearing my press-ons for the first 100-meter heat! I was just so jazzed that I could be the one to provide her with multiple nail sets for this event, and she finally wore them on the track. It was a really big moment, so exciting for me.

It was so special to provide my service and my art to people who are literally donating their bodies for their sport—they deserve to be taken care of!

You weren’t given much guidance and were encouraged to freestyle. What was your design process like? How did you come up with the ideas for press-ons that would be worn by one of Team USA’s biggest stars?

I have to make these so bougie! I want this to be over the top! They have to be flashy and get people to look and ask, what is that? So I went to the craft store and got as much stuff as I could. I just let it free flow. I grabbed a bunch of stuff that matched—kind of—and put it all together. It’s really exciting to do freestyles, but it’s nerve-wracking because you never know if what you create will be something somebody else likes. I had to sit there and think about every single nail. They’re all mismatched, but they all have to go together. 

The second pair of nails I did for her are rainbow airbrush, Black hippie-esque. Erykah Badu style!

I’d imagine that applying these nails to the athletes and interacting with them in an intimate one-on-one moment before they run is a fun and rewarding aspect of your job. What’s that part of the job like for you?

That’s actually my favorite part because I am a yapper! I love to talk. I get so excited to get to know them on a personal level. When somebody is in the spotlight, I wonder what they’re actually like.

Since I’m a mom, I see everyone as somebody’s kid. To me, these are all just a bunch of kids running track and having so much fun. I get to know where they came from, how they like the area that they live in, and if they’re being treated right. The conversations are amazing; I love to get to know them. It’s so personal, and they’re all very nice people.

We’re all just people. We’re all at different parts of our lives and careers, so it’s really nice to relate. At the end of it, I’m like, that’s my friend! That’s how I feel about my clients. It’s so great to get that connection.

There seems to be a movement right now in which many athletes like Sha’Carri are reclaiming the power of presenting themselves in overtly feminine and glamorous ways, whether through their nails, make-up, hair, etc. They’re using their time in the spotlight to express themselves and their culture as they compete. What are your thoughts on this, and how does being part of that feel?

My favorite part is that everything that Sha’Carri does is deeply embedded in Black culture. That’s why I love this gig too, as a Black woman specifically— I get to work with many Black women. We love our nails, we love our hair, we love our lashes. We love to look so good and blingy and extra. But that’s also something we’re consistently ridiculed for.

For Sha’Carri to be like, I don’t care what any of you have to say. This is me, and I’m Sha’Carri, and this is my legacy. It’s so iconic.

For Sha’Carri to go out there and be like, yeah, my lashes are touching my eyebrows, and I have a bright orange wig on, and my nails are long as heck, and I have all this bling and the biggest smile on my face, and I’m doing what I love, and I feel great— that’s exactly what we need for little Black girls to be inspired. And she’s bringing it to sports! She is reclaiming that energy and showing her culture, roots, and where she’s from. That’s what Flo Jo did. Flo Jo was authentically herself and really collided worlds with beauty, fashion, and athleticism. She was like, I can be strong and be a bad bitch as well. It’s very powerful to watch, and I love being a part of it.

Black women are creative. We have so much creativity. In the beauty industry right now, there are a lot of Black women killing it out there, doing it for each other, supporting each other, and pouring our art and creativity into one another. It’s nice to see Sha’Carri support other nail techs—she supports so many beauty collectives. It takes a whole team to create the fastest woman in the world and help her feel good. What she does is mental, too! If you don’t feel like you look good, or if you don’t feel good about yourself, you’re not going to perform well.

Especially in this day and age, with all eyes on athletes across so many platforms, with every inch and angle captured, of course, they’d want to look however makes them feel their best.

Everyone always has something to say about you, even when you look good. Those nails are ugly! Those nails are too long! How does she do anything with those? How does she see with those eyelashes? For Sha’Carri to be like, I don’t care what any of you have to say. This is me, and I’m Sha’Carri, and this is my legacy. It’s so iconic.

The post Meet One of the Artists Behind Sha’Carri Richardson’s Signature Accessory appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I loved how a common piece of paper can be transformed into something precious, valuable, and imbued with meaning.

Paper and scissors are two of the most foundational elements of creativity. From the moment we have the motor skills to hold scissors at pre-school, we’re cutting shapes out of construction paper, folding paper into fortune tellers, and collaging with old magazines. At a certain point, most of us grow out of this art practice and move on to more “advanced” materials. Interdisciplinary artist Imin Yeh stayed with paper and scissors and, to this day, creates 1:1 replicas of everyday objects out of paper as part of her sculpture practice. Yeh uses handcraft and mimicry to explore themes of unseen labor and production that go unconsidered and under-appreciated in many of the material items surrounding us.

 “Conceptually, I chose this material because in its transformation from a commonplace material into a precious Art object, it retains a human and bodily investment of time,” Yeh says of paper on her website. “More honestly, I choose to work with paper because of a lifetime of confidence. It’s the material of a childhood spent cutting and building, with an almost 100% guarantee of no major loss to either bank account or limbs.”

I was immediately captivated by Yeh’s work and her thoughtful point of view, so I reached out to learn more about her process and ethos. The Pittsburgh-based artist is an Associate Professor of Print Media at Carnegie Mellon University School of Art, and she recently showed a solo exhibition at Catharine Clark Gallery in San Francisco entitled A Salty Rainbow. Her responses to my questions about practice are below.

A small object, a gesture, or a voice from the margins can reclaim a space, be a catalyst of thought, or at the very least, provide a bit of wonder and magic.

What’s your origin story as an artist? Have you always been preoccupied with handcraft media? 

Growing up, I went to Chinese school on Sundays, and my favorite part of those courses was the “culture” classes, where we learned about Chinese arts and crafts. I don’t remember when I was exposed to the folk craft of Chinese paper cutting, but I remember quickly moving to the more complicated imagery and using an X-acto blade over scissors.

I loved how a common piece of paper could be transformed into something precious, valuable, and imbued with meaning depending on how you worked it. Physically, I find the act of intricate paper cutting relaxing. In many ways, the physicality of how you make an image drew me to woodblock printing and printmaking in college, which was my first official “art love.” All of my sculptures come from a printmaking and book-making skill set, tradition, and conceptual ethos. 

But I think you can go further: paper is a material of childhood, a time when, without overthinking, you can make yourself anything you ever wanted. I remember playing “Library” as a child, sticking folders with stamped index cards on the inside covers of every book. My mother tells a story of how, when I was four, I would take these white plastic bunny scissors and spend all afternoon completely engrossed in cutting out coupons.   

When did you first start recreating everyday objects with paper in earnest? 

In 2010, I made a work called Paper Mahjong. It was a PDF of a complete set of Mahjong tiles, free to download and print. If you were willing to cut out the 144 tiles and sculpt them, you could also play the game. Before that, I worked in traditional printmaking, but then the work moved away from multiples on paper and toward sculptures and participatory projects. Paper Mahjong was the first project where I wasn’t trying to illustrate an idea but enact it through participation and play, through making a physical (albeit still designed, inked, and printed on paper) object.

In 2014, the piece was recommissioned for a show called Project Mahjong at the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco, as a celebration of the popularity of the game within Jewish American communities. In 2020, a decade after it was first designed, this project came full circle. A young man in India, in COVID lockdown with his parents, wanted to learn to play Mahjong, but he was unable to buy a set on his town. He found my design online, downloaded it, and built it, sharing pictures of himself playing with his family. From that project, I found how playful generosity can distill heavier ideas of labor, work, value, desire, and utility.

In 2011, I made a copy of a power outlet while at an artist residency without an internet connection. My studio was in a boathouse and I stared at these outlets for a long time, thinking about how the outlet is what makes this simple building a productive place for work. That outlet was the beginning of looking for more and more everyday objects to recreate.

How do you decide which objects to recreate in paper sculpture form? What elements or aspects of an object compel you to reproduce them this way?

I look for objects so common that we don’t notice they are there anymore. Some of my earliest paper sculptures were outlets, light switches, phone chargers, and discarded orange peels. I’ve made paper copies of the functional objects that share the space of the art objects we are supposed to be studying deeply— outlets, temperature controls, radiators, I-beams, stanchions, and track lights. I’m interested in the objects of the unintentional archive found in our parents’ basements, spare rooms, and home offices. 

But small things can accumulate into big ideas.

I work primarily in a 1:1 scale, but I am often interested in small things. This could have been born from a studio practice found in the short and interrupted chunks of time between teaching, administrating, and parenting. But small things can accumulate into big ideas.

What’s your studio set-up like?

I am extremely privileged to have a studio on the campus where I teach, adjacent to many print and sculpture facilities. My artwork tends to look clean and reduced, and it’s made with Fordian efficiency and logic. My studio is chaotic, and I think I might be a very messy person. As someone who can be quite singularly focused on getting something done, the tidying and cleaning up can wait.   

Since the sculptures are often made from repetitive tasks, I can work from many different places. I like working on things from the bed, on the floor while I play with my daughter, on the kitchen table, outside on a picnic table, etc.  

Your solo gallery exhibition A Salty Rainbow just wrapped at Catharine Clark Gallery. What was it like seeing all of your work presented in a show like that? I would think that art like yours that’s inherently bringing attention to objects that typically go unnoticed makes for particularly interesting fodder for a gallery setting, seeing it all presented together in such a formal format.

A Salty Rainbow contains, quite literally, thousands of sculptures, one-to-one copies of objects built out of paper. It was hard to imagine how so many small things could fill up such a large, cavernous space, so seeing that even the smallest things can hold space and be the carrier of wonder was rewarding. 

The show was a culmination of four years of studio output. My daughter was born four years ago during the COVID lockdown, so everything had stopped and changed. It’s amazing to imagine that this studio practice built out of a few precious minutes between everything else, could eventually culminate in thousands of small works. 

The nature of paper is so accessible, it isn’t this expensive and rare material, it doesn’t require rarified access to technologies or fabrication facilities.

Why do you think your work resonates so deeply with people?

The work is legible to many people, regardless of their fluency in contemporary art. The objects I’m drawn to are familiar to people. The use of craft that things are hand-built and clearly handmade makes it relatable to many people. They might not understand why I would make it, but they respect how it was made

The nature of paper is so accessible; it isn’t this expensive and rare material, and it doesn’t require rarified access to technologies or fabrication facilities. I’m glad that children have enjoyed the show, too, that they see they already have the skills and materials to build the objects they want.

The post Imin Yeh Honors Everyday Objects with Mini Paper Sculptures appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Fifteen years later, does that description still measure up? Take one glimpse at his work, and the answer is apparent—a resounding yes!

Goodman grew up in a single-mom household of modest means in Ohio. He went from a rough childhood to painting houses for a living in his late teens and early twenties. With the encouragement of his boss, Dave Suster, he enrolled in community college art classes and, in 2004, transferred to the School of Visual Arts in New York, where he focused on projects with deep personal resonance.

His senior thesis, “Kids Need Dads,” considered the tenets of parenthood and masculinity in flashcards and posters that detailed the “tools for manhood” (literal and symbolic). Goodman printed two sets of laminated cards and sent one to Suster, who was moved to tears.

From PRINT Magazine, 2009, NVA Edition. Flash Cards—Designer: Timothy Goodman. Cover of Translucent —Designers: Timothy Goodman, John Fulbrook. Illustrator: Mark Stuzman. Illustration for The New York Times—Designer: Timothy Goodman. Art Director: Leanne Shapton.

As a young designer at SVA and through his first few jobs at Simon & Schuster, COLLINS, and Apple—all in a short four years—finding his voice mattered to him. In 2009, as a PRINT New Visual Artist, Goodman said,

I always strive to be part of projects that are memorable and unexpected, that allow me to squeeze a bit of myself out of it.

Timothy Goodman, 2009

From PRINT Magazine, 2009 NVA Edition. CNN Grill. Agency: COLLINS. Designers; Timothy Goodman, Kevin Brainard, John Moon. Creative Director: John Fulbrook. Executive Creative Director: Brian Collins.

What held true for Goodman in 2009 continues to drive him today. He is constantly trying to find meaning in his work, connect to people emotionally through his work and words, and start dialogues about difficult topics such as mental health, manhood, and love.

Timothy Goodman’s graphic memoir I Always Think It’s Forever was published by Simon & Schuster in January 2023.

He’s been recognized for his work over the years as well. A selected list includes AIGA 365 Design, AIGA 50/50 Book Covers, Art Directors Club Young Guns, American Illustration, Communication Arts, GDUSA People to Watch, Type Directors Club, and—yes—as a PRINT New Visual Artist.

Awards don’t define us at all, but I’m always curious to see how people feel about my work, and where I stand up against my peers. Being selected a PRINT New Visual Artist gave me a lot of confidence and encouragement and helped me see that I was on a good path creatively and professionally.

Timothy Goodman, 2024

How does your work resonate in the creative community?

The 2024 PRINT New Visual Artists competition awaits your entry, and a wide world of design leaders, instructors, colleagues, and peers can’t wait to see what you can do.

The post An Antidote to Melancholy appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

In 2015, Ryan Fitzgibbon was immersed in his young design publishing career and committed to the global fight for LGBTQ rights. Three short years prior, he founded Hello Mr., a quarterly magazine focused on the interests and stories of gay men. Ryan aimed to offer a fresh perspective by combining high-quality journalism, personal stories, and contemporary culture. Featuring in-depth articles, interviews, and photo essays, often highlighting themes of identity, relationships, and community, Fitzgibbon’s Hello Mr. was a thoughtful and inclusive publication celebrating the diversity and experiences of modern gay men.

I’ve helped restructure organizations, redesign brands and build on existing strategies, but I had never built one from the ground up and stayed around long enough to manage it. Launching Hello Mr. on my own was the greatest challenge of my career.

Ryan Fitzgibbon, 2015

Challenges often make us stronger, and they continued to do just that for Fitzgibbon. He self-published Hello Mr. from Brooklyn, New York, before moving to Tulsa, Oklahoma, in January 2020. Shortly after arriving, he was diagnosed with HIV at the height of the pandemic.

“Make it mean something” continued to resonate for Ryan. His diagnosis inspired his creation of In Our Blood, a platform that supports individuals with detection and exercise while replenishing their inner activism. As he committed to Tulsa, he continued to work to protect LGBTQ+ rights and expand HIV/AIDS care and prevention in Oklahoma. His meaningful work also supports the Black Wall Street Times in producing multiple print publications and opening their newsroom and storefront in Greenwood.

Being selected as a New Visual Artist in 2015 buoyed my confidence as an artist and indie publisher. The recognition renewed a dedication to my practice by highlighting the impact that could be achieved with support from a platform as revered as PRINT.

Ryan Fitzgibbon, 2024

Though Hello Mr.‘s last publication was in 2018, this past spring, A Great Gay Book: Stories of Growth, Belonging & Other Queer Possibilities hit the bookshelves to celebrate the collection of essays, short fiction, poetry, interviews, profiles, art, and photography from the magazine’s archives, as well as new material from today’s most prominent LGBTQ+ creatives. For Fitzgibbon, making it mean something means something every day.

You can make it mean something, too. Enter your work in PRINT New Visual Artists 2024 to impact the future of your career and inspire design creativity around the world.

Featured Image: Alternative Cover Design for PRINT New Visual Artists Magazine, April 2015 by Shane Griffin, NVA Alum Class of 2015

The post New Visual Artist Ryan Fitzgibbon ‘Makes It Mean Something’ appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Nguyen is the artist behind Beaded Bodega, a project in which she recreates the packaging of beloved snack items in hand-beaded form. As an ode to her Vietnamese heritage, New York City bodegas and handcraft, Nguyen’s creations illuminate the beauty of junk food packaging that’s otherwise overlooked. In doing so, she has amassed a robust following of fellow snack lovers, tapping into the nostalgia inherent in these products and charming all manner of sweet tooths beyond.

I asked Nguyen a few questions about Beaded Bodega and the hand-beading art form she’s immersed herself in. Her thoughtful reflections are below.

When did you first get into the wonderful world of hand-beading embroidery? What’s your origin story?

My talented mom used to hand-sew all her clothes growing up in Vietnam, often adding embroidery details. As a child, she would hand-make all of my Halloween costumes. So growing up around a needle and thread was always familiar. Because of my mom, I always found myself crafting something right beside her.

It was love at first bead.

In 2020, when we were all stuck at home and craving creative outlets, I rediscovered traditional hand-embroidery. I took one workshop years ago, but wanted to learn new techniques. As a self-taught artist, during my research learning, I stumbled across the glitz and glam that beads provided to embroidery pieces. It was love at first bead.

Diving into this new art, I saw a lot of incredible wearable beadwork out there, but knew that wasn’t my personal style. For me, there was no sense in creating something you wouldn’t wear yourself or enjoy making. I wanted to make something that felt “me,” but could still connect to others. As someone fueled by snacks, that’s what truly resonated with me, and I could only hope it would with others— and to my delight, it did!

Also during this time, I had moved from New York back to California, and this was an ode to everyone’s beloved community bodegas. A New York bodega— a small owner-operated convenience store— is the staple part of everyday life in the city. From morning bagels to late-night snacks, a lottery ticket, or a last-minute household essential, bodegas have it all. Leaning into the bodega idea gave me an area of focus when creating— beading snacks first, but the bodega concept provides endless creative opportunities.

Welcome to your newest corner store, Beaded Bodega! 

I love the idea of transforming food and everyday essentials into an unexpected and fun medium.

What is it about the medium of beads that you love so much? What’s your favorite part about the beading process?

I love the idea of transforming food and everyday essentials into an unexpected and fun medium. Something familiar viewed through a different lens. Beads turned my designs from feeling flat into something with amplified, bright and shiny colors and texture. I like how beads can really attract the eye and make you look just a little closer. 

My favorite part of the beading process is beading typography. I find it the most challenging but I enjoy the challenge, as it helps me refine my skills. When I start beading a new piece, I typically start with the logo. Pulling that first bead through a fresh piece of felt is just as satisfying as beading that last bead in. 

It’s amazing to see these tiny glass products pull together and create something beautiful. 

What is it about the design of kitschy packaging that you find so compelling? Why does that source material inspire you to recreate it in a beaded form?

Packaging design is often what attracts a buyer, probably now more than ever. For me, as an artist, packaging has so many different elements to transform into beaded embroidery, from shapes, colors, typography, characters and the food itself, all in one picture. Even some packaging designs of my favorite snacks, where I thought the designs felt “too minimal to bead,” turned out to be my favorites once transformed into beaded art.

I never feel stagnant in creating, especially since companies will go through a rebrand at some point. With my luck, it’s right after I complete beading their product. 

I like how beads can really attract the eye and make you look just a little closer. 

Why do you think your work has resonated so strongly with the masses?

There’s a big nostalgia factor in what I create, especially with my Asian- and vintage-inspired snacks. Nostalgic memories can evoke a feeling of connection or belonging. I love that my work can conjure up a memory and bring people back to a time in their lives.

I also think food is such a common ground for so many things. The truth is, we all eat! In my world, when getting together with friends, family or even strangers, food of some sort is always involved. I believe exploring different foods is an incredible way to learn about other cultures and communities, or even just an individual person. 

 Nostalgic memories can evoke a feeling of connection or belonging. I love that my work can conjure up a memory and bring people back to a time in their lives.

Lastly, the aspect of community is what I’ve loved the most about diving into this new art. I’ve gotten to interact with a community of snack and food lovers, other creative artists, chefs and everyone in between through this art. I’ve been blown away by the different communities that Beaded Bodega has reached and resonated with.

I love asking people, “What’s your favorite snack that you’d like hand-beaded?” It’s a great conversation starter because everyone has an answer and a story to accompany their choice. It’s a fun way to connect and get to know someone.

Now that Beaded Bodega has amassed such a following, do you have any long-term goals for the project?

Yes, my next step is to get my art out there and into the hands of snack and art lovers.

I want Beaded Bodega to embody that aspect of community. I hope to host art shows so folks can come gather, mingle, snack, enjoy, and purchase my art. I will be having my first art show soon, which will be my first go at selling my art. Stay tuned!

The post The Beaded Bodega Reimagines Kitschy Snacks as Hand-Beaded Works of Art appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

If you’re not excited by designer Yinka Ilori, you’re simply not paying attention.

The British-Nigerian phenom is known for his signature use of bold color and pattern in his multi-disciplinary work, that’s infused with his cultural heritage. Vibrant, uplifting, and playful, his focus as an artist is on bringing people together through joyful design. Ilori helms Yinka Ilori Studio based in London, where he and his team of “color-obsessed architects and designers” strive to carry Ilori’s mission of spreading and creating happiness with each project.

This year, Ilori has continued to share his joyful gospel, while pushing himself in new directions as an artist and designer. In June, his stint as the headlining artist of ART on THE MART launched in Chicago, in which his immersive commission entitled Omi Okun is displayed on the facade of the Merchandising Mart along the Chicago Riverwalk. Omi Okun is a deeply personal project for Ilori, in which he used new and innovative technologies to reflect on his past. It will be on view through September 11.

Ilori also launched a collaboration with Momentum Textiles and Wallcoverings at NeoCon in Chicago last month, which features textiles and wallcoverings designed for commercial use in public spaces such as offices, hotels, and lobbies. But wait, there’s more! Ilori and his team also designed a pavilion for Haus der Kulturen der Welt’s festival in Berlin, Ballet of the Masses, About Football and Catharis. Entitled Reflection in Numbers, the pavilion invites visitors to embark on a critical and artistic journey that explores the complex themes of racism in sports and personal accountability.

Somehow in the midst of all of this, Ilori found time to chat with me about Omi Okun, his collaboration with Momentum, and the power of dreaming. Our conversation is below!

(This conversation has been edited for clarity and length.)

I’m a storyteller, and I’m always looking for new ways to tell stories within the work that I do.

Clearly you have a lot cooking in 2024! Is there an aspect of what you’re working on this year—a specific project, a theme, a technique—that you’re particularly excited about?

I’m super excited about a project I’ve been working on that will launch in June for ART on THE MART, it’s called Omi Okun. It’s my first time working with stop motion and AI, and it’s probably my most personal project to date. It’s looking at my family experiences of going to the seaside of Margate in the UK with my church congregation. We’d go every other Sunday to pray by the sea, connecting with nature and connecting with our community. I’m telling that story through AI and through this film, which will be debuting in June.

What was so nice about this project was I was able to use AI and a number of different techniques and processes to create my landscape across characters and sound. It’s a full 360 experience where it takes the audience on a journey inside my mind and my childhood. That’s an area I’m looking forward to because I’m a storyteller, and I’m always looking for new ways to tell stories within the work that I do.

Considering these technologies are a new frontier for you as an artist, was it a big adjustment exploring AI and digital world-building?

It was quite new for me as far as trusting a machine or a system to reimagine what I’m thinking or what’s in my head or what ideas I have on paper. I’m used to being in control of my process because it’s physical, and it’s me with a pen and paper. But it was a really exciting process to tell this story. I’ve been working with a really talented animator and 3D designer, Ted Le Sueur, and he’s been instrumental in helping me realize this story and narrative. 

Are you enjoying these AI processes enough to keep working in that space, or did you get your fill from this project and want to return to the physical work you’re more accustomed to? 

I know you previously covered my Flamboyance of Flamingos playground, and I’m actually doing another playground which will be in the AI space. It’s with a well-known tech company brand, and will be launching later this year either at Frieze or the London Design Festival. We’re taking a project and turning it into an AI space so that people can access my playground around the world, and can build their own playground. It encourages people to play. I’m a big believer in play being a tool for people to come together and to play collaboratively. So that project will sit online, and you can access the playground all over the world.

The problem with the work that I do in the play space and product space, is that not everyone is able to access a playground or a slide or a swing. So the power of creating this online playground using AI, is it makes my work and my play space accessible. It allows me to engage with new audiences and people and make new friendships. I’ll also learn how people play around the world; the way we play in England might be very different from how kids play in America, or how kids play in Nigeria. I find it really interesting to see how different kids play in this AI space I’ve created.

I’m always obsessed with how kids play, how kids dream about playing, and what they do to facilitate that world of play.

It’s interesting to think about how the way children play has changed over the last decade or so. I’m sure how I played as a kid in the 90s is very different from how a kid in 2024 plays. Your work encourages play, but still embraces modern-day technology in doing so. 

I grew up in an era of playing Nintendo 64 and Super Nintendo and PlayStation, but also, I played outside; we played all sorts of outdoor ball games. The way we play now is always evolving and changing, and I’m always obsessed with how kids play, how kids dream about playing, and what they do to facilitate that world of play. 

Obviously Omi Okun is a departure from what you’ve typically created, but I’m curious if you can still identify a common throughline that’s present in all of your work, no matter the medium? 

The biggest theme throughout my work is this theme of dreams and dreaming. I will never stop emphasizing the power of dreams. With the world I’ve created and am still trying to build, it’s about making people understand the importance of dreaming, and how much it can change the world.

I will never stop emphasizing the power of dreams.

With the work I’m doing now, I’m very interested in looking at themes of mindfulness and peace and nature and being outdoors; reconnecting with the everyday things we might take for granted. The AI piece I did for ART on THE MART is very centralized around water and the sun and connecting with different people. The work I’ve been creating over the last decade is personal, but in the next few months you’re going to see a much more personal Yinka, with much more personal stories that people might not know about the work or me or my experiences in the past. I’m really looking forward to how people respond. 

What inspired you to go into this more personal direction with your recent work? 

I’ve spent the last few months traveling; I went back to Nigeria in January, and I hadn’t been since COVID. I was really inspired. I went to the beach, and I felt the most peaceful and appreciative of life and my presence of being there and for my loved ones. 

 I want to try to create work that people can feel connected to, individually but also as a collective.

When I sat down at the beach, I noticed all of the kids running around, people going into the sea. I looked at everyone, and everyone felt very at peace with themselves. That’s what water can offer. The biggest takeaway for me is that I want to try to create work that people can feel connected to, individually but also as a collective. 

It’s almost as if the more personal and vulnerable you are with your work, the more universal it becomes. Those might seem like opposite ideas on the surface but when an artist shows their unique humanity, it lets people in to really connect to them.

Growing up in my house, I was always encouraged to express my feelings and emotions. Especially with art, there are so many topics; sexuality, or conflict or war or identity. But the biggest thing for me right now that I think we’re all looking for in the world is peace, and that’s something that we all need. In the world but also in our personal lives, we’re looking for that inner-peace. That’s something I’m still trying to find and discuss within my work. The work I’m creating now, I’m ready to talk about some of these more personal things related to pain and joy and community. I want to give the audience something a bit deeper.

You also have a collaboration with Momentum Textiles and Wallcoverings at NeoCon 2024 in the works. Is designing textiles and wallcoverings a new avenue for you too? 

It felt like a natural progression for me. I’ve been working with textiles like swiss lace and vlisco and all of these fabrics I’d grown up with as a kid at my parents’ house in London. My mother was a fabric and textile dealer, so she would travel around the world and sell it to her friends and family for church services and weddings, anything exquisite and special, they would wear it.

I’ve always been obsessed with the power of cloth, and what it symbolizes in different communities. For me, it symbolizes identity, power, status, wealth, culture, community, integration. Being around that from such a young age, and then working with it within furniture and upholstery, I was like, This is a no-brainer, I have to create my own textiles.

I wanted to create a collection of textiles that celebrated the themes of community, joy, and affirmation. I always think of Joseph and his technicolor dreamcoat— textiles are like a super power to me. With these textiles, I’m hoping that they will be a tool to make people dream within the workspace and uplift their mood in the workspace. We spend a lot of time in our offices and we spend a lot of time thinking and dreaming. So I’m hoping that the textile collection can be a tool that can add to that experience when you’re in the office. 

You’ve said that this textile collection has an emphasis on community. In what ways do you think color and design have the power to bring people together and create community? 

I’ve seen it firsthand within my culture. When I look at my Nigerian community—let’s say that it’s somebody’s 50th birthday party—they would go to a market and buy fabrics, and 10 people would wear the same color and fabric to that party. There was this idea that in order to celebrate someone or something, you want to do it together. So I think that’s where the idea comes from for me; fabric can be a tool to tie people together. Within the workspace, what you find is that people search for a sense of belonging and community, and textiles offer that.

You’ve been so prolific and done so much in your career, how have you achieved this longevity as an artist? How do you maintain the momentum to keep creating without burnout? 

When I travel, I am the most creative. Travel feeds new ideas, new themes, and new places for research and points of reference. Being able to travel a lot and going into a country with no ego, opens my eyes to new themes and new ideas. I spent my whole life in London, but when I went to Morocco two weeks ago, I was so inspired by the culture and community, and then I went to Nigeria. Traveling keeps me going.  

In my studio right now, we’re also trying to be a lot more selective in the work that we take on, working with people who are really able to challenge me, and who are there to take risks and shake up the art and design industry.

The post Architect of Joy Yinka Ilori Will Never Stop Dreaming appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“To be able to work with some of the biggest names in drag, I don’t take that for granted,” Polyak told me recently as I interviewed him about his journey. “It’s awesome that these people trusted me. I’m very grateful that it’s led to way more opportunity in my career.”

The rest of our conversation is transcribed below.

(This conversation has been edited for clarity and length.)

Take me back to the start of your creative journey— how did you first get sucked into the world of graphic design and branding?

I got into design naturally, being a child of the ‘90s and experiencing computer culture. My dad had a computer at our house, so I spent time playing around and learning a program that I think was called “PaintShop Pro,” it wasn’t even an Adobe program. It was like an elevated version of MS Paint.

I was also a fan of WWF and wrestling, and that evolved into music later on in life; I became a fan of punk and pop punk music. Those things really inspired me because WWF wrestling and pop divas all have these really defined personalities; everyone had their aesthetic, their own characteristics, whatever defined who they were as artists. That definitely left some form of an imprint on me.

I naturally fell into working with pop punk bands through going to shows as a kid in Chicago. I started freelancing for bands like Fallout Boy, Cobra Starship, and Taking Back Sunday, just by being a fan, meeting them after shows, and saying, “Look what I put together on my T-Mobile Sidekick…” I got support from people I respected early on in my career, and that encouraged me to really pursue design seriously.

When I finished high school, I started my undergrad at Columbia College in Chicago with a BFA in Art and Design with a focus in printmaking and advertising art. I was screenprinting a lot of gig posters, which was a big thing for me through undergrad and afterward. I worked at a concert venue and smart bar here in Chicago called The Metro Smart Bar, they’re a renowned independent venue; smart bars were the birthplace of house music. Working there challenged me to develop more aesthetics outside of just pop punk music; I was working with indie bands, up-and-coming rappers, house music, and electronic. Every form of musician came through that venue. I worked with bands like Jane’s Addiction and Foo Fighters, but also Chance the Rapper when he was still really new. Being at an independent venue, I was the one creating this aesthetic. When I became the Art Director, I was in charge of all of these residencies, themed nights, and all of that fun stuff.

How did the drag world weave itself into this journey? 

One of the popular weekly residencies at The Metro on Sunday nights is called Queen— it’s still happening today. It’s an underground house and disco queer party; it’s not top 40 music at all, you’re not hearing any music with lyrics. What formed queer culture in the 80s and 90s, what those people were listening to, is what you get at this party. And an amazing thing about this party, is they also have drag queen hosts. The queens are there setting the vibe, turning looks, sometimes there’s a theme: Fine Art, Plastic Surgery Slumber Party, just really crazy avant garde ideas. Chicago is a big scene for Club Kids, which are kind of like less-polished drag queens, artsy, inspired by fashion, pop culture, underground, anime… 

I was encouraged for years to go to Queen, and I avoided it because I wasn’t too deep in the queer community at that time. I was yearning for a community that I fit in with and connected more to, so I found Queen and the drag world and was able to make friends. Just being around those people, it’s a really inspiring community of creative queer people. It wasn’t this polished, pretty world, it was still really alternative and avant garde. Drag was still such a subculture that wasn’t taken on by America. It wasn’t the big conglomerate that it is now.

Honestly, I was really lucky to be in that time and place because it was when RuPaul’s Drag Race was really popping off in the 2016-2017 era, and queens I knew, like Kimchi, Trixie Mattel, and Pearl, were on the show. I wouldn’t say I was there from the beginning, but I was there when a certain group of queens really got acknowledged. To be able to be the person who was branding them and helping them figure out their design aesthetics was really cool.

I didn’t even realize until later on in my career that I really did create a platform that wasn’t there before. Drag queens didn’t have these strong brands, these identified logos that were carved out and unique. It was just like, This is what my manager chose… It’s cool to have such a strong hand in it. 

It’s so nice to hear how organically your career as a designer developed. Everyone in every industry needs a graphic designer, and you’re able to offer that to the people you’re surrounded by in the spaces you’re naturally in. 

I really didn’t realize what was happening, I honestly don’t think any of us did. I was really lucky to be friends with a lot of girls who were getting on Drag Race. I’ve tried to teach myself to not say lucky though, it’s more like, it was your destiny, you are really meant to be here with these people at this time in place and creating together. Through that, I’ve been able to create so many more connections because people have seen my work, and they trust what I can do. They’ve seen I really do want to create unique worlds for these girls. 

What’s the collaborative flow typically like between you and a drag queen you’re working with? 

I do a lot of research, looking back at certain girls’ design studies because a lot of these people’s drag is defined by who they are. Like Kimchi is an avant-garde Asian queen who takes inspiration from Anime, Trixie Mattel is very bubbly and Barbie, and Shea Couleé is this Beyonce-esque queen— so these queens already have these worlds defined for them, it’s just sometimes, visually, they don’t know how to create it themselves. It’s nice to have someone who’s creating a mood board for them, or showing them, Hey, this is the history of this sort of typeface or this style of drag that you’re doing.

Through designing at the concert venue and whatnot, I know a lot of design styles, so working with the queen I’m able to exercise that and show them what these worlds can be. I can help them have strong, unique brands because, at this point, there are so many Drag Race queens. 

I’m guessing it can be an incredibly enriching collaborative process working with a client as inherently creative as a drag queen. Drag queens themselves are essentially personified brand worlds they’ve already created. What’s that been like for you and what challenges have you faced working with another artist in that way? 

Every girl is truly different. Some people really know what they want. This is the style, these are my references, this is the inspiration. Plastique Tiara, for example, knew what she wanted: Anime-driven, fantasy, but still very pretty and gorgeous. Gottmik knew that she wanted something rock and roll, edgy, and punk rock, but it still had to be legible and could be put on a piece of merch. There are always challenges to work through when working with queens because they do have specific design styles that they want, but you still have to make things legible and it still has to be able to be used in so many different formats.

Then there are some queens who are like, I have no idea what I want, just put together some options for me! That’s such a big challenge because even just three key words are so helpful in designing a logo for someone. That makes it easier for me to do some research or sketching for my process. When someone is like, Just do your thing, I trust you! It’s a little scary. That’s when I go to the queen’s aesthetic and make some decisions for myself.

The girls are very opinionated, there are a lot of absolutes; I hate that, I love that and I’m like, Okay, let’s pull the critique back a little bit. Each girl is their own challenge. Over time, I’ve learned that, at times, I’m a design therapist. I know what these girls need, and they somewhat know what they need, so how do I get them there respectfully without pushing their ideas or opinions too much, but also being firm because I’m an artist myself, I’m a designer myself, I want this to be a piece in my portfolio too. Sometimes I have to challenge the girls to be a little more editorial or a little more refined and not throw every trick into the logo. Sometimes less was more, we don’t need to overcomplicate because, babe, you’re already a drag queen; the visual is there.

I’m lucky to work with people who are more artistically inclined, and who trust that a process will happen. We’re learning together, this is a process we’re working through. It’s a luxury I have compared to working with big corporate clients or these big firms or brands— they want results. They don’t care about the process.

Can you point to a particular project or design of yours that you’re particularly proud of? 

That’s truly like choosing your favorite child! But I would say that a project I’ve worked on where I was like, Wow, this is so cool, is working with the Britney Spears brand. I’ve been working with them for a while, relaunching her brand and image, and consulting on where she’s going to go from here. She’s back in the public eye, she’s taking control of her aesthetic now, and everything of hers hadn’t really been updated in a long time, it was a lot of very 80s and 90s looking pop party graphics. So I worked with her brand and label to make her more mature, bringing things into more of a street-style design, not being so bubbly and poppy. Britney’s audience has grown, so her image has to grow with them and mature too, and not just have her face plastered on everything.

I was able to design some merch pieces for her, which, as someone who grew up listening to her music as a kid, was such an amazing honor. For one line, I did five or six pieces, and then for the next, they asked me to design all of it. It was one of those moments where I let the imposter syndrome go away and I trusted myself. I was like, They came to you, they trusted you. It was my time to have fun with it, and pay respect to an artist whose journey I was so happy to be involved in, even in such a small way.

To be able to help Britney be like, “Yeah, I’m reclaiming my power,” was really, really cool. It’s a journey of resilience, and that’s something that queer people can really relate to. It’s all about getting back up and fighting the battle. 

How has seeing drag become increasingly mainstream over the last few years landed with you? 

I’ve seen both the good and bad. I’ve seen amazing opportunities arise for drag artists and everyone on the periphery, whether that be wigs, makeup, outfits, graphic design, or management companies— so many people have been able to flourish because of this drag boom.

But drag is still subversive and isn’t fully accepted in certain areas like in Middle America, so it’s easy for people there to try to take advantage of queens. Amazing artists are having their moment across the board in the queer community and in queer culture, where in the 90s and 2000s it wasn’t that way because there was still this stigma around HIV and AIDS. Now, queer people are finally getting these moments. We’re prospering and we’re having this moment in the spotlight, but there’s still that predatory world. In the clips I’ve seen of the latest season of the show We’re Here (HBO), the queens are still faced with such bigotry. We’re in such a bubble where drag is accepted, but in the last two years, we’ve seen so many attacks on drag and trans people. When you’re in that bubble, everything is growing and drag is getting bigger and bigger, and then that bubble pops for you, and you see, Oh, no, there’s still hate in the world. There are still people that don’t accept this. There are still people that don’t want gay people, queer people, trans people to have rights.

It makes me want to be more outwardly vocal about being a queer graphic designer. I recently ran a Q&A on my Instagram where I was like, “Hey! For Pride month I want to highlight more queer artists. Please submit queer graphic designers— ideally more women trans and designers of color,” and I did not get the response that I wanted. Not that I thought it was going to be flowing with names, but it just showed how few people in those minority groups practice graphic design, because it possibly seems really daunting and scary to them. 

After that Q&A, I realized I had to do more of the research myself and do the work. I’m trying to actively be more vigilant to learn who these queer designers are. Being vocal is also a way that more people are going to come to me. I have a small community of queer designers that I talk to, so I’m trying to build a pool because I feel like there isn’t one. It doesn’t seem like there’s necessarily that community there yet. I want to use my platform to highlight and help show what queer people can do and put more eyes on queer artists too.

A lot of design spaces are cis, hetero, masc-driven, white spaces, and as a white, cis man who is queer, I’m trying to do my part in challenging these things. Representation matters; showing people and telling people, “I’m not very different from you.” Once you start seeing and meeting queer people, trans people, and drag queens, they’re not as scary and intimating. They’re just people. When people are scared or intimidated by a drag queen, it’s so funny to me because drag queens are just artists! They’re putting on a persona, but to them, putting on their makeup and their outfit, that is their artform. There is nothing to be scared of or intimidated by. Drag queens are actually some of the most approachable people. We’re just scared of what we don’t know.

The post Dan Polyak: Branding Extraordinaire Behind the World’s Top Drag Queens appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Since then, McClellan has been photographing Black rodeos as part of his art practice while continuing to work as a designer at Adobe in Portland, Oregon. His ongoing photo project, “Eight Seconds” (the amount of time a cowboy must stay on a bull during a rodeo), has been developed into art shows and, most recently, a photo book entitled Eight Seconds: Black Rodeo Culture, published by Damiani in April. McClellan has even launched his own Black rodeo in Portland, the first of its kind in the Pacific Northwest. Following a hugely successful inaugural year in 2023, the event’s second iteration will be held next week on June 16.

It’s impossible to look at McClellan’s photos and not be completely mesmerized by the world and people he captures with his camera. Upon first seeing them, I had to reach out to learn more about the artist and his fascination with this culture. McClellan’s responses to my questions are below.

The conversation was edited for length and clarity.

What brought you to Portland from your hometown of Kansas City? 

Portland is a place where you kind of end up. Everybody that you ask, “How did you end up in Portland?” They’re like, “Well, I went through a breakup…” — that’s usually how it starts. And that was true for me, too. I was going through a breakup and wanted to get as geographically far away from that person as possible while still being in the United States, so I ended up in the Northwest. 

Also, I was working in marketing and advertising, and this is a mecca for sports marketing, brand work, graphic design, and all that kind of stuff. So, I ended up out here for career reasons as well. This was in 2011. 

I didn’t know a thing about Portland. I thought it was on the ocean; it turns out it’s about two hours inland. I found it to be the whitest city on the planet; it’s very, very homogenous here. I didn’t see a Black person for a month after I moved here. 

How did you first get into photography as an art practice? 

I was doing a lot of campaigns for brands and a lot of commercial work at my job, and at some point, I was doing a lot of email marketing, which I wasn’t thrilled about. So, I picked up photography as a hobby to express myself creatively because I wasn’t doing that at work. I went on a trip to Istanbul and took a camera with me. It was this wonderful gateway, this entry point into people’s lives that I never knew it would be. l made friends with people I took photos of and went into places I would never have but had the bravery to do because of the camera. I ended up taking gorgeous pictures there.

I didn’t think much of it when I came home, but it had really infected me; I was obsessed with photography and still am. I spent the next decade or so learning the tool, learning how to get good at it, and experimenting with every single mode of photography, from landscapes to studio photography, until I discovered street photography. That was it. That was exciting. That first moment of being out in public with the camera and encountering people with this tool, I could make art anywhere I was, at any given moment. 

It was about three years into doing street photography that I got invited to go to my first rodeo. I took all those skills directly into that space, and there was a ton of joy there.

What was that first rodeo like for you? What was it about what you came upon there that completely captivated you? 

The first thing I noticed was how people were dressed. You had cowboys in jeans starched and creased so much that they would stand up by themselves after taking them off at night. You had men with precise trim mustaches and pinky rings and women with acrylic nails clutching the reins as they rode 50 miles an hour around the arena with their box braids blowing behind them. And then you had cowboys riding with no shirt on and a gold chain and Jordans and basketball shorts. I saw Black culture seamlessly and organically merged with Western culture, which I love, but in a completely unexpected way.  

I saw Black culture seamlessly and organically merged with Western culture, which I love, but in a completely unexpected way.

The music playing during the rodeo was Frankie Beverly and Maze, Luther Vandross and Drake, and all of these things that are part of the culture, but during a rodeo. Listening to blues, R&B, and gospel while watching this exciting, fast-paced, high-octane, traditional American event just felt really good. It made something that could have been very foreign and uncomfortable, incredibly familiar. 

At the time, I hadn’t really found the Black community in Portland yet. Being in a familiar, comfortable place was a huge relief. Like I said, I would go days without seeing other Black folks, and this was a vacation from that for me.

Typically, where are the rodeos that you photograph held?

Most of the rodeos I go to are in Oklahoma, whether in Boley, Oklahoma, Bristow, or Okmulgee; those are the rodeos I go to the most. Then I go to a lot of rodeos in Houston, Texas, and there’s a big one in Arizona, the Arizona Black Rodeo. They’re all around the South, but there’s really nothing like Oklahoma.

I like to go to rodeos that are outdoors, just for lighting reasons. I don’t like arena lights in my photos; they make Black skin kind of green because of the fluorescence. So I like to shoot outside. I like smaller rodeos; if I have to put in a request for a press pass, I’m probably not gonna go. I like to show up, sit on the fence, and enjoy the show. 

What sorts of details, people, and moments catch your eye at these rodeos?  

I’ll walk around for a while at a rodeo, just looking for what I’m attracted to and what my heart is drawn to, whether it be a person’s look, a texture, or an animal. That’s a pretty organic way of describing how I figure out what to shoot.

Fashion is still a big draw for me. What someone’s wearing in contrast to the background is really compelling. Just shooting someone in a T-shirt usually doesn’t foot the bill; they’ve got to have a little bit of fringe on them, some color, and a little bit of a bedazzle. 

Women are less prominent than men in this space. Most rodeos have only one or two women’s events, and the rest are for men. I’m always curious about the female athletes, their athleticism, and their connection with their animals; I spend a lot of time and focus on their stories so that they have equal weight in my work as the content about the men. 

From street photography, I’ve learned how to assess whether a person wants their picture taken or not—whether they’re moving toward me or away from me as I walk to them, whether they’re making eye contact or not. Their general posture and presentation to the world tell me whether they’re receptive to having their photo taken or not. Generally, older people always want their photo taken. Anybody who’s 50 or older loves to be in front of the camera and is honored to be captured. I think it’s because they grew up before social media, so to point a camera at them is a low-risk thing, whereas younger folks always want to know: Where are these photos going? What are you doing with this? Who are you? They’re protective of their image, understandably so.

Can you tell me about the second-annual Eight Seconds Juneteenth Rodeo you have planned in Portland this year?

Two years back, I made friends with a cowboy named Ouncie Mitchell, who was murdered while he was out on the road. It was right around that time that I had the opportunity, thought, and inspiration to do my own rodeo as a way of creating equity in the space, so the cowboys didn’t have to struggle as hard as he did to do what they love. 

A lot of Black rodeos pay very little prize money. Across nine events, they’ll pay less than $10,000 in prize money, so I wanted to do fewer events, five total, and pay out $60,000 in cash. So that’s about $12,000 per event across men’s and women’s events; we do two women’s events, three men’s events, and mutton busting for the kids.

All of this is designed to give the cowboys a really big payday that they may not have had so they can afford to rodeo throughout the summer to get the reps that will allow them to compete at a higher level. Eventually, they can move on to the really big rodeos, where they have the chance to make millions of dollars in a weekend.

That’s the design, and I think it’s working. Last year, we had 2,500 fans in the arena, and we sold out about ten days before the event. Cowboys went home with checks, and then they spent the whole summer rodeoing back home and they bought trailers and they bought their pro rodeo cards. We saw that infusion of capital really enhancing and improving people’s lives.

I couldn’t think of anything more liberating and freeing to do as a Black man than to rodeo on Juneteenth.

Why is hosting the event on Juneteenth important to you?

I couldn’t think of anything more liberating and freeing to do as a Black man than to rodeo on Juneteenth. This is the first Black rodeo in the Pacific Northwest, so it’s exciting and new for people in the region to see Black folks doing something they didn’t even know was part of their culture. 

We have a DJ, DJ O.G.ONE, who’s a legend in Portland, and he plays music pretty much throughout the entire rodeo. We really hit the cultural significance of the rodeo and the meaning of Juneteenth during the day. At this year’s event, we’re going to have 7,200 people. We’re sold out again. We’re at a much bigger arena, and we’re just gonna blow it out and have a really good time, but a really good time with the purpose.

On top of planning the rodeo, I know you have a show, “Eight Seconds,” that just opened at the Blue Sky Gallery in Portland. What’s that show like?

I’ve done a few shows in Portland, so I always mix it up and show people something new because it’s generally the same crowd from show to show. When I was putting together my book, I noticed and got feedback from the editor that my photos can get repetitive. It’s like person, horse, background, and it’s just that over and over again. It’s a person looking directly at the camera; they’re holding a horse, and then it’s either dirt or trees behind them. The editor constantly pushed me to mix things up, give them new shots, better environmental shots, action shots, maybe shots of people without a horse, shots of people dancing, or other things tangential to the rodeo environment. 

But in curating this show, I was like, let’s just do the horse, person, and background shot over and over and over and over again. So there are 15 nearly identical shots of different cowboys in similar poses staring directly at the camera. So it’s classical portraiture; it harkens to paintings. I shot low, looking up at the figure in the shot like old propaganda. It’s a Black face in a Western position in a position of authority that you wouldn’t traditionally expect them to be in. I hope people are receptive to it. It’s a shot that I really enjoy taking, and it’s a shot that I seek out often in my work. For me, it’s just rhythm. It’s the pulse that I beat at, and it’s where I naturally resolve in my creative process to make that photo. I keep going back to it.

What was the experience like of publishing a book of your photos? 

I have an Instagram account, and the whole gig on Instagram is to get people to stop scrolling. People are rapidly scrolling through content, and if you can get them to stop for a second and double-tap, you win. That’s so unsatisfying! Especially when you spend time and money risking your physical safety to get a shot and only get a few likes. I wanted people to engage with the work more deeply and be curious about the details of the photo. So, I wanted it to be bigger than the size of a cell phone; I believe when a thing is printed, it becomes real. It’s out of the ephemera of zeros and ones on your computer, and it’s in real life; it’s permanent, and it really matters. So, publishing the book and getting it in as many households as possible was a big priority of mine. I feel like the subject matter deserves it. I feel like the people in the photos deserve to be honored in that way.

During the pandemic, I started to take this work very seriously, and it began to turn into a book. In 2020, I started to see these moments that connected with this story and throughline in the work, and I drilled into that for the next three years. 

In 2022 I released a self-published version of the book. I did a Kickstarter, raised $26,000, made 600 copies, and sold those myself. I boxed them with my wife in the basement and sent them around the country and the world. That was cool, but I felt like it needed wider distribution than that. 

I reached out to a friend, Miss Rosen, who is very big in the publishing world and asked her to edit the book. When I did the self-published version, I did everything and put together a book of my best shots. She came in and said, “Okay, this is great, but it’s basically a wedding album, and it’s repetitive, and it needs a little bit more rhythm and nuance than what you’ve created.”

So Miss Rosen took all the photos and put them together into this story of a day at the rodeo. It takes you from people arriving and relaxing with their friends and family to folks getting ready for competition to the competition itself, and it’s this nice gradient of action through the book. She did a beautiful job and created a story I never could have. When I created the first version of the book, it was difficult to curate and chop things. Miss Rosen could do it without any feeling about it, but also in a way that acknowledged and elevated things I didn’t think much about. There’s a picture of a church in the book, for example, with a septic tank in front of it and a tree hanging over the church. I would have never put that photo in the book, but looking at it now, it creates such a sense of place, of this rural, dusty lean-to of a building where people worship in the middle of the woods. It creates curiosity and is a palate cleanser between all of these other epic shots of the rodeo. She does that several times in the book.

I’m really grateful for the way that it came out. You have to work with somebody you trust in that process; somebody I didn’t would have only taken shots that painted the culture in a certain way. Miss Rosen did a good job creating a full, rich diorama of this world, and I think it’s represented accurately. People have been incredibly receptive to it, and people in the culture appreciate being honored this way.

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“I’m in Vail, feeling amaaaazing!” she told me, no doubt sipping on a cocktail.

I spiritually can only full shebang.”

Molly Balloons is a Kansas City-born Los Angeles transplant who lives with a group of artists in the Arts District neighborhood of Downtown. Or, as she put it, “I live in a clown warehouse with a stacked lineup of freak weirdo genius roommates.” It’s clear from her over-the-top balloon creations that she’s thriving in this environment and has found her balloon-loving tribe.

To kick off Pride month, Molly hosted a balloon fashion show with the creative township Creatington, cleverly entitled Balloonciaga. She runs her own balloon business, creating decor, sculptures, and balloon couture entertainment for anyone who can handle her vision. “I work with anyone who needs more pizzazz and fabulousness at whatever they’re doing,” she told me. “I physically and spiritually can’t hold myself back from balling out on a project. I cannot do small potatoes because I won’t stop. I can only give you a full shebang because I spiritually can only full shebang.”

I was understandably overflowing with questions for this uniquely flamboyant, creative soul and jumped right in. Our conversation is below, in which Molly Balloons is every bit as wise as she is boisterous. By the end of our call, she’d invited me to go to New Orleans with her for Easter. It wasn’t in the cards for me this time, but if the offer’s still on the table next year, I might. Who could possibly say no to Molly Balloons?

The conversation was edited for length and clarity.

You were just in New Orleans for Mardi Gras— tell me about that! Why do you love Mardi Gras so much?

I do very few things religiously, but Mardi Gras is one of those things. I go to New Orleans every year, at least for a month, basking in the bliss of being alive as a creative soul in the best creative community I’ve ever found. Mardi Gras is whatever the opposite of gatekeeping is. It encourages so much enthusiastic participation and flagrant display of imagination because it’s intentionally accessible. 

I find it to be a very profound value match; you’re not as valuable as the brand you’re wearing or as the thing you know about. You’re as valuable as what you bring to the community. I just really like how Mardi Gras celebrates self-expression.

Did you create one of your signature, fabulous balloon fits for this year’s Mardi Gras?

Every year at Mardi Gras, I have this artistic balloon breakthrough with a technique because there’s so much power to low-stakes, self-expressive art. I’m not going to do what I do for Mardi Gras the rest of the year. I’m not going to run the hits I get paid to do at Mardi Gras. I’m going to do some weird bullshit that I’ve never tried that could go in any direction. 

So, two years ago, I figured out monster costumes. I always wanted to do wearable, couture monsters, and then finally, Boom! Sha-blam! There was a monster parade here. Then, last year, I figured out this technique I call sprinkles, creating strands of pearls that are really elevated and super textured. Now, they’re in everything I do. 

This year, I started putting helium in my costumes! Like, duh! Like, literally, duh. What was I doing before now? So now everything has helium. I’d never really worked with helium before this because it’s dumb for installation. It’s an inefficient way to get height. Using helium for installation work? Gross. Small potatoes, uncreative. But using it for costuming? Oh, my God! I’m very excited about having helium in my couture work. My costume this year was 14 feet tall. I was like, Oh my God, this is so fun! 

Have you always craved this sort of show-stopping, visual representation of yourself? Where did that impulse originate?

I used to be afraid of it. I’m from Kansas City and was a colorful fish in a bland pond. I was the rainbow sheep of the family, and I really enjoyed that role. But I used to be afraid of the idea of, When everyone is special, how am I going to be special? But in the last couple chapters of my life, I’ve come to bask in the bliss of creative community and upping each others’ game. I genuinely don’t mind being out in front, but sometimes it’s so uplifting to look around you and be like, Damn, everybody’s bringing their weirdest, best, most imaginative shit. That’s why I love, love, love living in LA. 

I feel really encouraged, inspired, and excited in LA. I think it’s important to create art in community spaces. Art is an inherent luxury, even though I firmly believe it’s essential. A classic marquee of a golden era in any society is when arts thrive. The “art world” can modulate this effect toward capitalism, but I find that to be absolutely uninteresting.  

Why balloons? How did you first come to balloons as a medium for your art?

It started forever ago. As a kid, I learned how to use balloons as a craft. The difference I consider between craft and art is self-expression. It doesn’t matter how good your art is or isn’t; as soon as it’s coming from your own soul and your own imagination, that’s when it bridges from craft to art.

As a kid, I learned balloons alongside macrame, origami, ceramics, and whatever else. Then, one fateful Christmas, my mom got me a how-to-make-balloons book. When I was 14, going on 15, and headed into high school, I was trying to figure out a conduit for how I felt on the inside. I was dying for a schtick! I’ve always had a very loud, boisterous, and unafraid personality type, and I’ve always been a social risk-taker, so I picked up balloons again at that time, just by happenstance, and it was such a perfect fit. I had no idea how perfect of a fit it was or the sort of future I would have with balloons, but it worked great then. I was like, Oh, my God, a schtick! Put me in, coach! A mobile platform for me to berserk my personality!

So, I nurtured it as a side hustle throughout high school. I called a restaurant and lied. I said, “Hi, I’m a local, professional balloon artist. Would you like to hire me for kids’ events?” And they were like, “Uhhhh, sure!” So it started the OG way— I was a 15 and 16-year-old girl with a balloon apron making dogs and swords at a restaurant on a Tuesday night.  

Then I quickly shifted into wearables. I realized you could change the way people feel a lot more by giving them something to wear than something to hold, and you can elevate the way they’re moving through the world when they’re suddenly wearing a balloon headdress or wings; you’re going to change the next however many hours of their life more than if you give them something to hold. So very quickly, balloon hats became a driving force of my ethos. 

Also, a central draw of this medium to me is that balloons have a high impact on how they play, but their footprint is small. I only use latex balloons (I don’t use any Mylar), and latex is rubber, not plastic. It is 100% biodegradable. My balloon dresses, after they deflate after a couple of months, fit on a Barbie.

How did you leap from balloon headdresses at kids’ parties to the balloon couture in which you’ve now made a name for yourself?

I figured out balloon couture dresses before my senior year because I wanted to be Homecoming Queen. So I learned how to make balloon dresses and wore my first one to my senior Homecoming— it was turquoise and pink, my favorite colors to this day. And it worked! I won Homecoming Queen, though that was probably more because I was cashing in on being funny and kind to people for four years.

Of course, the girl in the balloon dress will win Homecoming Queen!

Right? It’d be bad for the storytelling of humanity if I didn’t win! I needed to win! It’s not important to y’all’s narrative like it’s important to my narrative! And I deserved it! 

Academia was never really my scene, and I already had a successful balloon business, so I didn’t consider college for more than 20 seconds. I was like, ugh, sounds terrible. And it sounded profoundly constricting. I’m from Kansas with protective parents; for my whole life, I’ve been chomping at the bit to meet as many people as possible, try as many things as possible, feel as many things as possible, and touch as many things as possible, and cause as many smiles as possible. So like, no, there’s no way I’m going to go to fucking KU— gross!

I believe I was put on this earth, in an abstract sense, to lead the parade.

Where do you think that mentality comes from? Do you just inherently have that mindset? 

I think part of it was reactionary as a resistance to my upbringing. Because my world wasn’t very glorious, big, fast, or risky, there was no danger. It is just my nature; I feel a strong calling to stir up joy. In an abstract sense, I was put on this earth to lead the parade. Somebody has to! We didn’t crawl out of the ocean to be the only animal that buys things; we came here to have a goddamn good time. It’s easy to forget that because we have a lot of things in our way, there’s a lot of filler and formality— jobs, school, Pinterest. It’s hard to bring ourselves back into the here and now, and balloons are just a hack for that. It’s crazy how effective balloons can be as a medium to bring people into the now because they’re temporary. You don’t enjoy a balloon hat later; it’s right now, baby! It’s now or never. Never is fine, but now is better. 

Balloons have been a super powerful tool for me over the last 12 and a half years to call people into the here and now. Because that’s all life ever is; what you do with your day is what you do with your life. It’s important to remember: a lot of life is a Tuesday, baby! I’m having a great Tuesday right now, by the way. Tuesday is my favorite day of the week! Because it’s an extra credit day. There’s nothing technically special about a Tuesday; it’s like bonus points. Anything that goes down on a Tuesday, it’s like, Holy shit! And it’s a Tuesday? Damn! Every other day has a thing to it, but if you can have the most ballin’ time on a Tuesday, that’s a big win. 

I’m a big believer in putting energy into the mundane, because not everyone has the good fortune of having this jet set life of whimsy.

And then, if you don’t, it’s okay because it’s just a Tuesday!

Right, there’s power in those low stakes. I was thinking about how if you can make the doctor’s office super fun, that’s a bigger win than making a bar even more fun; the bar was already fun. The departure from an un-fun doctor’s office to fun, you create a whiplash on that fun spectrum versus places that are already fun. I’m a big believer in putting energy into the mundane because not everyone has the good fortune of having a jet-set life of whimsy. That’s been my focus, but it’s not everybody’s. It’s important to me to boobytrap the mundane.

Is there a moment within your balloon art practice when you were particularly successful in going to the proverbial doctor’s office and turning it into a party?

In April 2020, when we were in the deep end of a mental health crisis worldwide, when it started to get really serious, and we were all not well, we desperately needed to engage with each other, and we desperately needed to be entertained. It was important to find a way to do that without being irresponsible, so I got this idea from a New Orleans friend to have a COVID parade. It was every Sunday in Kansas City, and it was a masked parade with a 10-foot minimum between each “quaran-team,” with bonus points if your costume was 6 feet or wider. 

It was important because it was a drop of color, life, and connection in this barren wasteland of emotion. I’d churn out these huge balloon costumes. Instead of making one beautiful, epic, detailed costume, I made 10 or 12 huge things. Balloons are the perfect parade medium because they’re so lightweight and expansive and cover so much negative space, but they have such a tiny footprint, so they’re not wasteful, and we just paraded through the streets! There were different pods of people with speakers because it was really spread out. And we all just needed a good walk; if nothing else, it was a two-hour walk. 

It was one of my, if not my favorite, projects ever. It was the light when it was the darkest. 

You’re already massively successful and have gotten so far as Molly Balloons. Do you have thoughts about what’s next?

The most basic answer is to create as much joy as possible. I call it the Bozo Gospel. I was put on earth to spread the Bozo Gospel. Pet peeves are out; pet faves are in. If I die in, like, 20 seconds, that’d be the thing I’d want people to preach the hardest and to have live on. Also, don’t wait ‘til later. Later is fake. Later isn’t real.

The post Molly Balloons Wants You to Boobytrap the Mundane and Spread the Bozo Gospel appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

But Brown’s journey to this new role has been anything but direct. After failing to get into the School of Architecture at the University of Waterloo, he studied political science and economics at Wilfrid Laurier University. “I ended up studying political science and economics simply because I grew up in a strict West Indian household,” he said. “Back then, that meant there were three jobs: if you want to build a career anywhere, you’re a lawyer, you’re a doctor, or you’re an accountant. There was never going to be an answer where I was ‘the starving artist.’” 

Studying political science and economics left Brown feeling listless, adrift, and unfulfilled. “When I finished there, I was like, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with this,’” he shared candidly. Brown then learned about graphic design programs and opportunities elsewhere and enrolled at the Ontario College of Art and Design. “I got there, and my mind exploded,” he said. “When I talk about that period of my life, I say they replaced my eyes because I looked at everything differently. I was just like, I can’t believe this world existed! And it helped me make sense of all the things that I had been doing up to that point; the things I was attracted to, and why I thought something was beautiful.” 

Tell me your business problem, and I’ll tell you how design can help you solve it.

As much as Brown loved the world of graphic design he had then immersed himself in, he still had nagging questions about it as a viable career path, especially as a Black designer. “I was like one of three Black kids in the entire school,” he said. “Even though I knew I was good at graphic design, representation is such a powerful thing. In my graduating year in my history of graphic design class, this guy walks in to give a lecture, and he’s this African guy with dreadlocks. Sabaa Quao gets up on stage and starts talking, and I’m just in awe of this person. I ran up to him after and said, “I don’t care what it takes; I need to work with you; I need to work for you.” Up until the moment I saw him, I still wasn’t sure that there was a path or a career for me. I interned with him that summer, and that was the beginning of it.”   

Now in the throes of the early stages of his career, Brown bopped around between agency gigs in Toronto for a while before finding himself at a small branding firm there called Tudhope. He worked there for two intense years, learning on the job in a sink-or-swim environment. Tudhope was bought by the branding consultancy Interbrand, where Brown worked for 7 years, taking on massive projects including global branding projects for UPS, Thomson Reuters, and the New York Stock Exchange. “There were a lot of critical growth moments there where I was reassured that, yes, you belong here, yes, you belong here…”

Brown’s insatiable drive to learn and grow bubbled over at a certain point, forcing him to pursue change once again. “The economics part of my education started pulling me a little bit,” he said. “I loved what I was doing, but I wasn’t sure I had a direct enough impact on my clients’ businesses. So I decided to go innovate. I love communications, but I wanted to go somewhere where I could be part of a team that was actually responsible for the invention of these products and services that resulted in that new revenue for their clients. That’s why I fell in love with Fahrenheit 212.”

Fahrenheit 212, an innovation strategy and design firm, had a distinct methodology perfect for Brown. The business structure, called “Money and Magic,” comprised two entities: Design and Product (aka magic) and Commercial Strategy (aka money). Brown headed the Design and Product team for four years, composed of branding experts, journalists, industrial designers, ethnographers, and others who led the consumer proposition. “In design terms, we were responsible for the desirability part of the Venn diagram,” explained Brown. Meanwhile, the Money cohort was made up of “refugees from the finance world,” as Brown put it (ex-BCG, ex-McKinsey, ex-Deloitte), who ran financial models on the ideas that Brown’s team would generate.

I’m able to have authentic conversations with everyone across the organization relative to their practice, because I’ve been a strategist and I’ve been a designer.

“There was this natural tension all the time. ‘This is a great idea!’ But then, ‘No one can afford it!'” said Brown. “We always considered viability, feasibility, and desirability. I loved the constant head-butting that de-risked ideas.”

While heading the Design and Product team, Brown told me he spent more time with the Commercial Strategy crew because he was attracted to their mentality. “I was so intrigued by them, and I was drawn into all of the conversations that they were having. That gave me the confidence to start my own firm.”

After helming his small firm Dan + Jason + Co. with a former Interbrand colleague, Dan Spiegel, for four years, Brown once again found himself at a crossroads. “I’d turned 50 and was like, ‘Okay, what’s next? What’s the next chapter?’”

Brown spoke candidly with me about the opportunities presented to him around that time, following George Floyd’s murder and the ensuing social reckoning. “There’s only been three years out of the 30 that I’ve been doing this—seven spent specifically at Interbrand—where I wasn’t the only Black person in the whole office,” he explained, referencing the fact that for those three years in particular he worked closely with two other Black men who have since become great friends. “Even within an office of 200 people at Interbrand, I was the only one for four years. But suddenly, Black was the new Black, and the phone was ringing off the hook, and everybody wanted some.”

But when Brown took the calls and pressed the companies for their actual plans for change, their short-sighted virtue signaling became apparent. “‘Tell me what’s fundamentally going to change about your business in response to this, with me authoring this for you— I can’t be your poster boy,’” he’d say. “‘What are your plans? Can I see your numbers right now? Can I see what your company looks like in terms of diversity statistics?’ Most of them didn’t call back.” 

While those true colors disappointed Brown, he said it was an invaluable learning experience. “It was probably the first time in my career where I really felt like I was advocating for myself versus working extra hard, taking every order, and feeling like I had to outperform my colleagues. That moment led me to a real leadership position— advocating and being okay with a conversation like this. Rather than defaulting to not wanting to be uncomfortable, I thought, No, we’re going to talk about this. I don’t care if you’re not comfortable. That was a significant moment for me; being able to take a stance even with potential clients was a big thing.”

There’s only been three years out of the 30 that I’ve been doing this where I wasn’t the only Black person in the whole office. Even within an office of 200 people at Interbrand—I was the only one. But suddenly, Black was the new Black, and the phone was ringing off the hook, and everybody wanted some. 

To help figure out his next move, Brown turned to a trusted mentor, Keith Yamashita of SYPartners, for guidance. “He’s always a bit of a guru. He’s the first person I call,” he said. “I’m thinking, ‘How do I leverage all my expertise and experience?’ And he asked, ‘Well, what do you like doing? What does your life look like, and what do you want your life to look like?’” 

“I knew I didn’t want to go back to creative,” Brown reflected. “I had no interest in being a Head of Creative or a Chief Creative Officer somewhere. I’d enjoyed the operator challenge so much— what it means to run a successful business.” After hooking up with Patrick Godfrey and Scott Dadich of Godfrey Dadich Partners and becoming the President of their New York office for a stint, Pearlfisher came calling. 

“I couldn’t be happier with how this has worked out,” he told me. “When the call came through, I had a visceral emotional reaction. As a designer, everyone knows Pearlfisher— top-notch, industry-leading work, and it’s actually fun work. They’re legendary.” Working at a company that has done iconic work in the past is one thing, but Brown is all about looking ahead to the future. “My task is taking what has been great (and it’s not that it isn’t still great) and reclaiming some of that top-spot glow,” he said. “We have a right to do more than what we’re doing, and to make it clear that we do more.” 

I had no interest in being a Head of Creative or a Chief Creative Officer somewhere. I’d enjoyed the operator challenge so much—what it means to run a successful business.

Though Brown is in the early stages of digging into Pearlfisher, he’s energized by the potential he’s already uncovered. “I’m super excited about discovering what is in the organization that they haven’t unlocked yet. There are skills and talents and capabilities that are sitting dormant, or they’re buried,” he said. “Immediately, I’m seeing a lengthy list of additional products and offerings that can come from the organization authentically. We’re not going to bolt things on, but we can stretch into places that make a ton of sense for who we are and that I think the markets will give us license to go to; it’s a natural extension of what we already do. That’s what got me really, really excited. It was the concentric circle diagram with packaging at the center, and thinking about how many rings we can start considering moving out to grow the business.”

Brown’s eclectic and meandering career path has ideally suited him to take on this new position at Pearlfisher from a place of deep, experiential understanding. “The reality is that I’m now responsible for growing an organization whose functions I’ve done all of,” he explained. “I’m able to have authentic conversations with everyone across the organization relative to their practice because I’ve been a strategist and a designer. There’s a credibility that I bring to running a creative organization, which I then think establishes a measure of trust from the beginning that you might not get from a pure operator who’s just there to grow revenue and doesn’t understand the business, the people in the business, or the product.”

It’s rare for an operator with Brown’s level of expertise also to have so much experience on the creative side, making him the ideal candidate for Pearlfisher. Looking back on his journey to this moment, every step has helped shape him to be perfectly suited for this opportunity. Even the things that might have felt like missteps at the time, like studying economics and political science in undergrad, were critical. 

“The major/minor in economics and political science, combined with my design capabilities, threw me right into the world of branding,” he said. “I love design, but it needs to be functional, number one. I’m solving design problems or solving business problems through the lens of design. Tell me your business problem, and I’ll tell you how design can help you solve it.”

This perspective has been cultivated through Brown’s unique and specific path, wending its way to Pearlfisher’s doorstep. “Every step that happened to this point had to happen for this moment to happen!” he told me triumphantly. “Even the challenging years, I had to go through that because I learned more of what not to do than what to do, but that’s also a critical lesson. Every part of my journey was meant to happen for this opportunity to be real.”

Brand photography courtesy of Pearlfisher.

The post Jason Brown’s Perfectly Imperfect Path to Pearlfisher appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Patrick Duffy is the top dog of the cool cat creative team at DICE. The London-based creative leader and brand builder has been keeping brands weird and provocative for over 25 years, working for companies across tech, advertising, and publishing. Duffy formerly served as the art director of the style magazine Sleazenation, helped establish Airbnb in Europe, and jumpstarted DICE’s growth from a ticketing start-up in Hackney to the global live entertainment juggernaut it is today. Not only that, but Duffy’s unique creative vision and point of view have brought him into the realm of performance, taking the stage as a mime artist at the famed London venue Koko, playing his music on Radio One, and even launching a fanzine. 

In every other job, I’ve had to fight (and usually lose) to get weird interesting stuff made.

Duffy recently spoke at the OFFF festival in Barcelona, among 70 other creative luminaries. As one of DICE’s many appreciators, I reached out to learn more about Duffy’s thought process behind its branding.

Where does your humorous and quirky point of view as an art director come from? Have you always had this worldview?

I grew up in the North East of England in an environment where having a sense of humor was essentially a survival mechanism, especially if you were bad at fighting and flirting. I loved reading the third-rate cheap comics you might find on the shelf next to The Beano and Dandy—Whizzer & Chips, Buster—and ingesting Looney Tunes cartoons. I drank a lot of Tizer. I think these three aspects are largely responsible for my worldview as an art director.

I’m quite suspicious of ‘success,’ though. Anything that might be seen as ‘success’ is, in reality, balancing on a mound of failure, and building that mound is the interesting part.

What’s your secret to success for DICE? What core tenets have you kept in mind to make DICE the powerhouse brand it is today?

I just try to make work that I like, that fans might like, that is fun to make, and feels real. I’m quite suspicious of “success,” though. Anything that might be seen as “success” is, in reality, balancing on a mound of failure, and building that mound is the interesting part. As soon as you’ve done the work and it’s “successful,” it’s kind of dead, and you just want to start failing all over again. That’s what I love at DICE— the commitment to a DIY approach to unlock true creativity and productivity in the business and across teams.

How did you develop the black diamond character at the center of DICE’s branding? Where did that idea come from, and why do you think it’s charmed so many?

I’m very pleased that our little black diamond person (a.k.a. The Fan) has proven to be so charming. Our community loves it so much that someone even got it tattooed on their arm. I think people like it because it’s a bit naïve— it’s not polished, so it doesn’t feel so much like a piece of branding.

The design team and I were working on a bunch of ideas, but we knew we wanted something that could come to life, some kind of mascot. We played with different shapes and expressions. I was on a train journey with my family and drew a little diamond shape with eyes and legs in my sketchbook and showed it to my six-year-old. He said he liked it so I considered it approved.

It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, though— a guy wrote a whole blog article about how much he wanted to murder The Fan, so we’ll want to keep an eye on him.

I was on a train journey with my family and drew a little diamond shape with eyes and legs in my sketchbook and showed it to my six-year-old. He said he liked it so I considered it approved.

What’s your favorite part about what you do?

Making weirdness. Not many teams get the opportunity to make what we make, and even fewer would get it approved so easily. In every other job, I’ve had to fight (and usually lose) to get weird, interesting stuff made. At DICE, it’s just the kind of stuff we all like, so there’s no fighting, which is good because I’m getting old.

What’s one piece of advice you‘d give to a burgeoning creative director or brand builder about creating compelling branding and branded content?

Don’t be entitled. You want people to want to work with you and your ideas.

The post DICE Creative Director, Patrick Duffy, is Suspicious of Success appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

To honor Adams’s legacy and impact and to chart his journey to stardom, Dania Beach’s Mad Arts is currently hosting a retrospective of his work entitled “CEY ADAMS, DEPARTURE: 40 Years of Art and Design.” The show contains over 60 of Adams’s designs in various media, including photography archives, mixed media collage, paintings, textile, fashion, street art, contemporary fine art, and more. The exhibition serves as a visual timeline of Adams’s artistic evolution, beginning in the 1970s when he started out painting graffiti on the streets and trains of New York City. The show is on view through May 26th, with Adams himself on-site this Friday, April 19th.

While in Florida, Adams will also make an appearance at The Museum of Graffiti for the launch of their latest exhibition, “Sneaker Stories,” which delves into the historical ties and cultural relationship between graffiti and sneakers.

I recently had the honor of speaking with Adams myself about DEPARTURE, and the secret to his success. Our conversation is below (edited for length and clarity).

Whoever said you can get more flies with honey than with vinegar knew what they were talking about.

Cey Adams

How does one go about curating a retrospective of this magnitude? Forty years is a long time! 

I sat down with the curator, Liza Quiñonez, and we talked about my journey and what it meant to me. I said I wanted this exhibition to be a vehicle to tell the story of a young teenager who started out writing graffiti. Along the way, I’ve had an opportunity to make art and meet some extraordinary people. I wanted to showcase everything I have in my archive and, if we’re lucky enough, to also find a lot of the original art from back in the day that I made when I was a kid. That was how we thought about it.

I still have relationships with many people from 40 years ago, and I got on the phone and asked people to loan me pieces. Folks were kind enough to loan us certain pieces—some things I had in my personal collection. I also have boxes and boxes of photos from back in the day, so we just laid everything out, and we figured out how we could make something that really makes people feel like they’re on this journey with me.  

How did it feel to excavate so much of your past like that?

It was really emotional because I don’t get to look at these things all the time; I’m focusing on what I’m doing today. But looking back has been absolutely wonderful because only a small handful of my peers are lucky enough to have a career. I could count on one hand the number of people I knew from back then who are still working at a high level to this day. 

A lot of the journey is about trying to figure out how to make it because none of this stuff was promised to us. That’s what I realized when I looked at the work—and I’m still working!

What do you think propelled you to this incredible career and a level of success that so many other artists will never reach? 

It’s a combination of talent, passion, and perseverance. And being a nice person; if you’re kind to people, people want to be around you. If you rub people the wrong way, they don’t want to be around you. That’s a lot of what it is! I know because I have friends who could not crack the code, and they haven’t been able to carve out a career for themselves.

I learned that, by being who I am, people who love your work and love being around you will call you. The same thing happens with people who support your work. Everybody who buys my paintings and supports my mural work are the people I enjoy being around, and the feeling is mutual. That’s not lost on me.

Everything is about the journey and if you’re not enjoying the journey, what’s the point of it all?

It sounds simple, but being genuinely likable can get you far in life! We lose sight of that sometimes. 

Whoever said you can get more flies with honey than vinegar knew what they were talking about. I learned that as a teenager, and you can see it in all the old photographs in the show. I’m always happy to be around people who treat me well. Everything is about the journey and if you’re not enjoying the journey, what’s the point of it all?

As humans, we get caught up in the mythical concept of a destination and “making it” or achievement, but that’s missing the point.

You hear people say it all the time, but you don’t understand it. But that’s one of the things that I was lucky enough to learn right from the start— the journey is its own reward. It might sound strange when you’re trying to get somewhere, and you think there’s some better thing, but you must remind yourself to be in the moment and to enjoy it because that’s what it’s about.

That is the essence of what being an artist is all about—getting to make what you want to make on your own terms. You have to take stock of that every day because that’s as good as it gets! You have to enjoy the moment.

What has been the biggest surprise of your career?

I didn’t imagine having friends I would know for 40 years; that’s certainly a surprise. And to have good friends is an even better surprise: people that show up. When I turned 50, I had a surprise birthday party, and the room was packed with all these people who flew into New York to celebrate me. I never imagined any of that! It certainly didn’t happen in my 20s; I don’t even know if it happened in my 30s. But by the time I reached my 40s, people started to show up in major ways. It’s been that way ever since, but I’m beyond appreciative because I’ve had these milestone moments.

It’s a beautiful thing to have people who care about you, support you, and show up for you. 

I’m not coming in after they’re superstars. I’m there to help shape what is going to be the thing that everybody’s familiar with. 

Looking back on your career for the exhibition, is there a time period, moment, or project that you’re proudest of? 

The thing that I’m most proud of is that I got an opportunity to do this kind of work. I got to be the guy that worked with Jay-Z. I got to be the guy that worked with Dave Chappelle. I got to be the guy that worked with LL Cool J, Beastie Boys, Public Enemy, Run-D.M.C.—I’m talking about from ground zero. I’m not coming in after they’re superstars. I was there to help shape the thing that everybody’s familiar with.

Usher was the Super Bowl halftime show this year—do you know how big you have to be to be the Super Bowl halftime act? And I worked on his first record! Like, wow! I’ve been very fortunate to have had the opportunity to work with so many amazing, talented people before anybody else.

Have you maintained relationships with any of those stars you helped create? 

Sure! I was in LA a couple of months ago at a dinner with Jay-Z, Jermaine Dupri, and Diddy— everybody was there. We’re all sitting down and enjoying each other’s company, and it felt like, you know, that thing where you’re at a reunion, and everybody showed up. Nobody’s got security, hangers-on, handlers, and all of it. It was just us—just like it was back then. And we had the best time that night. I never wanted it to end because it was so wonderful.

I’m one of the lucky ones that gets to be treated the exact same way as back when we first started.

People hadn’t changed. There’s a perception that people are this way or that way, or they don’t want to be bothered. I realized that I’m one of the lucky ones who gets to be treated the same way as back when we first started, and that’s exactly what you want. You could have this dream that maybe one day I’ll run into so-and-so, and they’ll be really kind to me, but most people don’t get to experience that. I got to experience that. It felt as good as it did in the beginning, only better, because now we’re dressed up! Everybody’s happy! Everybody’s needs are all met, and they’re as friendly as can be! That is not a small thing.

Way back when, did you ever get an inkling that any of those guys would get as big as they did?

No! You can’t predict anybody would get as big as these folks have gotten. You just can’t! Also, I didn’t have that kind of vision because I hadn’t been there. The idea that I started as a graffiti artist, and by 2016, I was on the National Mall making a giant piece of my original artwork in front of President Obama in a ribbon-cutting ceremony! That’s the definition of a dream come true. And I get to have my name alongside all these great people who have come up in hip-hop; it’s just the best! It’s the absolute best.

A lot of my career has been about being first, and that’s what’s so amazing to me. It’s that I got an opportunity to be one of the first, and it’s come around again and again and again. It’s not lost on me because there’s no blueprint.

Is your career now a blueprint for the next generation?

I doubt it because so many things had to be aligned for it to happen. Also, you can’t put the genie back in the bottle. This was the very beginning when hip-hop was not in its infancy, but right after that. I got to benefit from all the hard work that some of the early pioneers from the 70s put in, but because I was an artist, and nobody had seen anything like that. I was really fortunate to be in the right place at the right time, and that’s also the benefit of growing up in New York City.

The post Cey Adams, The Visual Artist Behind The Dawn of Hip-Hop, Takes Center Stage appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

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

The installation, dubbed Public Pool, ran in Las Vegas from April 4 through April 7. Steeped in glitz and whimsical kitsch, Public Pool‘s hot pink flamingos, neon inflatables, and colorful floral motifs invited visitors to indulge in the extravagant and fantastical.

To commemorate the exuberant exhibition, a sampling of limited-edition drawings and editions, along with a collection of beach towels, floaties, sunscreen, totes, hats, t-shirts, and other pool-themed items, are available for purchase at CjHendryStudio.com.

I’m far from immune to the appeal of a giant inflatable pool in the desert, and I had to hear more from the artist herself. I asked Hendry some questions about the project and her joyful artistic perspective.

How would you describe your POV as an artist?

I really want to keep pushing boundaries and challenging perceptions. I believe in the power of hyperrealism to captivate and intrigue, blurring the lines between reality and the surreal, while at the same time, keeping my exhibitions immersive.

Also, have fun with everything and a sense of humor.

How did the idea for the exhibition, Public Pool develop?

The idea for Public Pool came to me me as I contemplated spaces of communal experience and recreation. I wanted to create an immersive environment to transport viewers into a nostalgic yet surprising setting. The concept evolved from the desire to play with scale, perspective, and nature— inviting visitors to dive into a world where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, with the vibes of a Las Vegas pool party in the middle of a desert.

Where did your idea for that super fun and unique Public Pool promo come from?

That was a stroke of whimsy and spontaneity. I wanted to capture the essence of the exhibition—its vibrancy, its playfulness—in a way that would resonate with audiences. It was all about infusing a sense of joy, wonder, and interaction.

What’s your favorite aspect of Public Pool?

My favorite aspect of Public Pool is how it plays up paradoxes and blurs the lines between reality and illusion. Creating a Las Vegas pool party with an Olympic-sized pool in the desert is quite a scene! It’s unexpected and fun— every element is designed to provoke a sense of wonder and fascination. I love watching visitors lose themselves in the immersive environment, exploring every corner and discovering new surprises.

WWhat experience do you hope people have when they interact with Public Pool?

I hope viewers experience a sense of childlike wonder and curiosity when they visit Public Pool. I want them to feel transported to a world where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, where the mundane transforms into the magical. Whether they’re enjoying the pool or marveling at the intricacies of my artwork, I hope they leave feeling inspired and invigorated, ready to see the world through fresh eyes.

The post Cj Hendry Makes a Splash in the Desert with ‘Public Pool’ appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

McNair isn’t keeping these skills to herself, either. She’s been teaching stained glass workshops in New York City since 2017, spreading her love of glass and its creative possibilities to the masses. I connected with McNair recently to learn more about her practice as a glass artist and educator and piece together what makes glass such a special material.

How did you first come to stained glass as a medium? What’s your origin story?

At 26, I was in Norfolk, VA, going through a crazy year— I closed down my vintage store of four years, ended a seven-year relationship, and went through a ton of intense personal growth. My fantastic friend and artist, Charlotte Potter, suggested I join in on a glass studio program she had developed. The assistantship program at the Chrysler Museum Glass Studio is a six-month residency mainly for undergrads looking to get better at glass processes and to learn how to keep a hot shop running smoothly.

…there was something so wonderful about the jingle of shards that I dug through to find my pieces. The colorful bits covered the table and begged to be arranged and handled again and again.

I walked into the program knowing very little about the glass world but was totally inspired by my peers (some of whom were five or six years younger than me) who all obsessively wanted to learn all they could about the material and processes. There were demo workshops on things from neon to bead making, glass blowing, and kiln casting. My favorite, and the least stressful, was stained glass! The process is slow and detailed, and no one was particularly good at it off the bat, but there was something so wonderful about the jingle of shards that I dug through to find my pieces. The colorful bits covered the table and begged to be arranged and handled again and again.

Fast-forward eight years, my desk is covered in the same shards of glass, filling out templates, in piles for exploring color, on a light box, and in my windows. I’ve been happily exploring and discovering glass as a medium ever since!

I learn more about its potential during every new project, constantly uncovering more of what glass can really do.

What does stained glass offer as a creative medium that others don’t?

Stained glass is inherently valuable before the first cut is made in the material. To create glass, soda ash, lime, and silica must be mixed at a tremendously high temperature, and then solvents, minerals, and other things are added to the mixture to produce color and texture. The glass is then poured onto a steel table to cool in sheets that eventually make their way to me so I can score, break, and grind them into the desired shape.

Glass is ancient, mystical, and magical. It can also be dangerous and change with the lighting of any given space. I learn more about its potential during every new project, constantly uncovering more of what glass can really do.

How would you describe your design aesthetic? How did that develop?

Getting into stained glass design can be challenging if you don’t feel comfortable with your drawing or illustration skills. I’ve tried many different styles, from using photos as inspiration to researching vintage wallpapers and zooming in to find small shapes for creating patterns.

Once I started making larger pieces, I finally found my way. I was inspired by the shapes I saw in the Bauhaus and Memphis design movements. I practiced drawing the shapes coming off of each other into other shapes until I finally got the hang of filling space equally. The exploration led me to a style that felt distinctly like my own.

Teaching is such a special process I am devoted to sharing while creating my own work and further exploring the material.

At what point did you start teaching the art of stained glass? What’s your favorite part about the teaching aspect of your practice? 

I started teaching about one year after I devoted myself to working in stained glass. With the encouragement of my mentor and artist Rachel Rader, I pitched my first class, “Taking Shape,” an abstract 3D glass class, to UrbanGlass in Brooklyn. They loved it, and on January 4, 2017, I started my epic teaching journey.

Since then, I’ve taught hundreds of people how the process works and how to make an object in a day (or three or six weeks). I’ve taught glass processes to people of all ages: high schoolers, NYU students, elementary-age kids, and even a class of 18 kindergarteners! Sharing this art form has brought me immense joy because 99% of the people leave my workshops in awe that they, too, can create things with such magnificent material. Teaching is a special process I am devoted to sharing while creating my own work and further exploring the material.

The post Kelsie McNair Shares her Love of Stained Glass with the Masses appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

In a world that seems to get bleaker by the day, children’s media reminds us to keep our sense of wonder—that innate curiosity that all children have.

Anyone who came of age before social media, smart TVs, iPads, and even the internet understands the glory of magazines. Here at PRINT, we have a particular affinity for the form, as a formerly printed publication founded in the 1940s, and we’re quick to wax nostalgic about other printed magazines of yore. I have strong memories of growing up in the ’90s revering Highlights, for example, a monthly magazine for kids filled with games, puzzles, and written features. While the magazine landscape has changed immensely since my Highlights days, some small but mighty publications are still kicking and doing their darnedest to keep printed media alive.

Studio Anorak, the publisher behind ‘Happy Mags for Kids,’ has produced two titles geared toward kids, Anorak and DOT, for 18 years and counting. Founded by Cathy Olmedillas in 2006, who now helms Studio Anorak as the editor-in-chief and creative director, issues of ‘Happy Mags for Kids’ are released quarterly and are sold on newsstands and in museum gift shops, boutiques, and bookshops worldwide. Both Anorak and DOT are geared toward kids ages 6+. Printed on recycled paper with vegetable ink, the magazines offer illustrated stories, games, and activities, with each issue structured under a given theme.

In celebration of their 18th anniversary, Olmedillas answered a handful of my questions about the ins and outs of keeping a printed magazine going during the digital age and the power of children’s media. Her responses are below. 

(Conversation edited for length and clarity).

What’s the origin story of ‘Happy Mags for Kids’? When did you first decide to start a children’s magazine? 

Around 20 years ago, I was working for The Face, where I fell in love with the craft of magazine-making. I was itching to launch my own but wasn’t really sure what it would be about.

In 2002, I became a Mum, and that’s when I realized the children’s magazine market was poorly served. It had evolved into a sea of pink or blue plastic-filled throwaway magazines. I had fond memories of the ones I used to read as a child, so I set out to launch one that reminded me of the ones I used to enjoy: one that would educate, look great, make us laugh, and last beyond one quick read.

In hindsight, I realize how bold that was because every aspect of our magazine went against the super well-established rules of children’s publishing: our paper, our tone of voice, our aesthetic, our frequency—everything, basically! Nonetheless, I just did it (despite many people advising against it), and with very little money.

I publish our Happy Mags because I love making them, writing them, working with illustrators, and receiving feedback from families about how they spark creativity in their children.

What is it about the magazine form specifically that you love so much? What sets magazines apart from other mediums? 

As a child, I loved that magazines were like a good “brain snack,” i.e., something that didn’t require as much commitment as a book. As a teen, they were my Bible because we had no internet back then! As a grown-up and parent, I love the craft that goes into making them and the fact that they are multi-faceted, i.e., they carry many different types of content. I love the niche magazines; the ones that focus on one passion.

As a publisher, I love the process involved in making a magazine: putting words on a page, sending them to an illustrator, seeing them turn into a story, and, a few weeks later, ta-da! You have this physical thing that you can share with people. Doing that for the children’s market is the most rewarding thing.

What’s the team makeup behind ‘Happy Mags for Kids’? How many people do you work with day to day, what are the roles, etc.? 

We are a tiny but mighty team. I write, commission artists, and run the business. Ben is our main illustrator and designer. We commission many different freelance illustrators who come on board for specific issues. We have Karolina, who does our PR; Max, our proofreader; Slava and Eritobi, our accountants; and Marcus, who looks after our site. That’s it!

I know that in numbers magazines aren’t doing as well as they were 20 years ago, but their role is just as important, if not more.

How do you feel about the changes in the magazine and printed media landscape over the years? Do you feel a sense of responsibility or pressure to keep ‘Happy Mags for Kids’ going while so many other magazines have folded?

The role of magazines has certainly changed in the last 20 years. They—along with newspapers—went from being essential for culture and information to being an alternative to what the internet offers. I know that in numbers magazines aren’t doing as well as 20 years ago, but their role is just as important, if not more. Plenty of titles are closing down, but many great independent ones are also launching. Whether they last as long as the behemoths of the past or sell as much is doubtful, but you never know! We are celebrating our 18th anniversary this year with new markets opening up in China and Korea, so … there is hope!

I publish our Happy Mags because I love making them, writing them, working with illustrators, and receiving feedback from families about how they spark creativity in their children. These are the only reasons I keep our magazines going, along with the crucial fact that they sell! As soon as they stop selling or I stop loving making them, I will reconsider.

What’s been the most rewarding part about helming ‘Happy Mags for Kids’? What’s been the biggest challenge? 

The most rewarding thing is seeing children explore their creativity, receiving drawings from them (which we feature in the magazines), and getting emails from parents about how much our mags spark conversations.

The most fun is putting the mags together. 

The most challenging part is distribution. Magazine distribution is wasteful and expensive, as no one in that chain pays promptly, so I focus on the business online, where most of our revenue comes from. We are lucky that because of our high production values, we are accepted by and work directly with bookshops, and we have one trusted book distributor who looks after our titles well.

In a world that seems to get bleaker and bleaker by the day, children’s media reminds us to keep our sense of wonder; that innate curiosity that all children have.

What lessons can people of all ages learn from children’s media?

In a world that seems to get bleaker by the day, children’s media reminds us to keep our sense of wonder—that innate curiosity that all children have. That fuels our Happy Mags, and it’s a gentler way to approach the world around us!

The post Studio Anorak Celebrates 18 Years of Spreading Wonder Through ‘Happy Mags for Kids’ appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

It’s really exciting to just make the change you want to see.

Michelle Norris and Forest Aguar can’t be stopped— and thank God for that. The creative power couple are the co-founders of the studio Tropico Photo, where they’ve curated a distinct signature aesthetic dominated by brightly saturated colors, patterns, and vibrant vibes. Now, the duo has taken their talents and keen design eye to retail, opening their very own vintage store in Atlanta called Space Queen.

I’ve been an avid follower of Norris’s Instagram over the last few years, where she has become somewhat of a vintage-shopping, image-making, fit-finding tastemaker. The leap from her prowess as a shopper to owner of her own store feels natural and almost destined. I was thrilled when she announced her long-time dream of opening her own vintage shop was becoming a reality, and of course the images she shared of the shop’s space did not disappoint. The store officially opened its doors last weekend, and Atlanta just got a little bit—nay, a lot a bit—brighter.

Before I’m able to plan a trip to Atlanta to check out Space Queen in person myself, I reached out to Norris and Aguar to learn more about their process of designing and opening the retail space. Check out their responses below.

I read on your Instagram, Michelle, that opening your own vintage store has long been a dream of yours. Why is that? What is it about having your own store that you coveted? 

Vintage shopping has always been one of my favorite activities. I love that you never know what you’ll find and that creates an environment of wonder and exploration for me. I want to give that to others. Also, in a larger way, I think vintage and resale is more important now than ever. Not only do I love these special items, but I think that this is the path forward for fashion-loving folks to enjoy shopping in a way that’s sustainable. 

How have translated your distinct aesthetic as a creative duo into a brick and mortar retail space?

We approached it like the other projects we’ve done interior design for, leaning into our love of color and playful forms. For Space Queen, we really wanted it to feel bright and airy because the space has gorgeous skylights and lots of natural light, and then sprinkle in our bolder palette to create something playful and fresh.

What are a few of your favorite details in the store design?

The squiggles on the center table and in the archways, the vintage chandelier, and the paper flowers that I found at a yard sale in Middle Georgia.

How have you gone about curating the products for the shop?

I lean on my own sense of style and love of eclectic items. It’s a variety of pieces that are for all ages and types of folks, but they are tied together by an unusual element, whether it be a bold color, unique cut, playful detailing, or subject matter.

Were there existing stores you looked to for inspiration in designing and developing Space Queen?

I’m so inspired by Century Girl Vintage, Saint Claude Social Club, Blue Dream (all three are in New Orleans), as well as Antique Antics in NC and Seven Wonders Collective in NYC. They all have something special in their curation and presentation that keeps me coming back!

What’s been the most exciting aspect of opening your own store?

Creating something that we’ve wanted Atlanta to have. We’ve taken over a beloved building that the neighborhood has been waiting to see brought to life for awhile. It’s really exciting to just make the change you want to see.

What’s been the biggest challenge?

Completing a renovation at the same time as figuring out the logistics of a new business.

What advice would you give someone looking to open up their own store?

Wait for the right space. The availability of this really wonderful building that suits all of our needs really inspired us to take the leap, and know that we could do something magical because it’s the perfect place.

The post The New Vintage Shop Space Queen Dazzles in Atlanta appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Plasse is fascinated by the energy and tone of a space and is hellbent on harnessing that in his imagery. He and I connected a few weeks back, where we chatted about his creative journey to a unique space within the art world, and his distinct signature style. Early in our Zoom call, I had a hunch Plasse was live-illustrating me as we talked. And I was correct! He followed up afterward with this fun (and flattering) interpretation of me in my messy home office:

I’ve conducted countless interviews with artists over the years, and this is a first! Our conversation, brought to life in his sketch, is below.

(This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.)

What’s your origin story as an artist? 

I went to school for illustration at Parsons School of Design. After I graduated in 1995, it was the dawn of commercial digital art and the commercial use of the Internet. During the last year I spent in college, I got really into using interactive media, in addition to doing illustration work, and I learned how to use what was called Macromedia Director, which was a precursor to what was called Flash, and then eventually became what’s called CC Animate, which has become a little bit defunct. It used to be a big tool for creating websites, interactive games and CD ROMs as well. I liked it because I had done a little bit of animation in college, and I could animate in it, use sound, and create interactivity in it. That was exciting to me: taking my art and making it come to life so that people could interact with it.

Right after college, I took a five-hour HTML class and learned everything you needed to know to build websites in 1995. So, in this burgeoning era of interactive media, I started working for little multimedia and interactive firms. Big ad agencies didn’t know how to do any of that stuff, so they’d hire these little companies that worked out of lofts to do all of this exciting work. I found a niche in starting to do that type of work because I had a design and art background, but I also knew how to use some of these tools, which were pretty novel at the time.

I found my way into advertising through interactive digital media. Some ad agencies were starting to add that skill to their teams while everyone else was still doing traditional print, TV, direct mail, and out-of-home. I knew all these tools and built websites, but they liked that I could illustrate, too. Eventually, I went off on my own, and I decided to freelance. This was during the dot-com boom, so there were jobs a-plenty. I did that for six years, but then dot-com went bust, and all that work went away; it just disappeared. So, I started doing apparel design and eventually got into TV animation.

Eventually, I got another full-time job at an agency as an art director. We built a lot of websites—fun, interactive, engaging stuff. We pushed the envelope of what people were doing, which was exciting. My background in animation came in handy because I could use that technology to bring things to life in a cool way. 

At what point did you introduce sketching the people around you into your art practice? 

I started drawing people on the subway in the ’90s, and then, in the mid to late 2000s, it became an obsession of mine. I’d carry these little Moleskine sketchbooks around, and since I lived in Brooklyn but worked in Manhattan, I’d be on the train for 20 to 30 minutes every day. This is before your phone worked on the train, so while most people would be zoning out, sleeping, or reading, I thought, look at all these amazing people around me! So I started sketching. 

While most people would be zoning out or sleeping or reading, I thought, look at all of these amazing people around me! So I started sketching. 

It taught me a new approach to drawing. When you’re on the subway, the subway is moving; sometimes, you’re cramped, and people are moving on and off in front of you, so you have to draw quickly. I’d look around the car and say, Oh, this is interesting, and zone in on something. I’d quickly capture the essence of what I saw and then add other details instead of doing a slow, meticulous rendering, which didn’t work in that environment. I’d been an illustrator before, but this was when I started drawing from life in an expressive, capture-things-quickly kind of style. 

Were these subway sketches purely personal, or did you share them with the public in any way? 

I created a blog because I wanted people to see the subway in a different way. Nobody ever thought anything good or interesting about the subway, it was always this blight that we had to deal with. But here I was, highlighting all the interesting things and people that you can come across on the train, and the tapestry of cultures that all came together for 20 minutes in these little sardine cans under the ground.

Here I was, highlighting all the interesting things and people that you can come across on the train, and the tapestry of cultures that all came together for 20 minutes in these little sardine cans under the ground.

How did the public receive these sketches back then? I could see a modern-day Instagram account posting daily sketches of people on the NYC subway being a big hit.

It had a decent following. I wouldn’t say I blew up, but I got some people’s attention and write-ups. This guy made a short documentary about me, and then in 2012, I published a little book of 80 of my thousands of drawings. That was fun! I didn’t get famous from it, but I made some inroads and some people saw it and appreciated it. 

At what point did you move to Austin, and how did that affect your art practice? 

Around 2011, I was getting sick of what was happening in New York, and it was a difficult place to live with three little kids. My ex-wife was also ready to leave (she worked in technology, too). So, I managed to get a job in Austin. There’s a train there (sort of), but I wouldn’t take it; I drove everywhere. But I was kind of addicted to drawing things like that now, so I started going to see a lot of music; the music scene here is very accessible. I thought, well, this is where I’m going to start drawing because this is where the energy is here.

I started going to see a lot of music; the music scene here is very accessible. I was like, well, this is where I’m going to start drawing, because that’s where the energy was here.

I started going to festivals and discovering bands. What was cool about drawing in Austin, unlike New York, was that I could access that community. When I drew people in New York on a train, I drew them, and then they were gone, and I never saw them again. Here, I draw people, I tag them, they see me drawing, and I get to know a community and interface with them.

When drawing someone, what features or details do you typically focus on to characterize them visually?

Whatever calls to me when I look at them. A lot of times, it’s a gesture. Starting with a gesture, an expression— it’s the energy and movement of things as opposed to more static details. Whatever a person’s energy is, that’s what I pick up on.

When sketching a band, I’ll try to figure out what’s drawing me in and start there. I call it “gonzo drawing”— the idea of being immersed in the subject matter. There’s a lot of motion in the crowd and many things happening, and I try to reflect that in the drawing. So, the drawing isn’t a perfectly still representation or an aloof observer. It’s from the point of view of where I am, which is generally surrounded by people.

This style is about not trying to overly intellectualize the composition, it’s more about what you feel.

I’ll hone in on a particular point, which sometimes differs from what you’d expect. Sometimes, there’s someone who’s really interesting on stage, the most dynamic in some way. There are just certain things that compel me. I like to focus on little details, like how the bass player holds their hands or the way the singer holds the microphone. This style is not about trying to overly intellectualize the composition; it’s more about what you feel. Outside of it being instinctual, it’s an expression of what I see and feel at the moment.

You often illustrate on your iPad. How is that drawing experience different from using paper?

When I draw on the iPad, I create more compositions. When I draw on paper, even though instinctually I’ll draw a composition, I’m completely flying by the seat of my pants. When I use the iPad, I’ll throw a lot of things down, but then I’ll move them around and almost create a composition out of them. 

The iPad is also much faster. I can immediately get things down. Obviously, I can’t carry around big tubes of gouache in the middle of a crowd. With the iPad, I have all the tools. When I have a little more time or space, I like to bring watercolor, markers, or sometimes gouache so that I can paint what’s going on.

Another element of your practice is a sort of performance art: projecting your iPad screen as you live draw at concerts, shows, and events. How did this come about? 

Austin Design Week invited me to be part of the projection show in 2017, and I created a reel of all the animations I did to live music. They had it run on the wall; I loved that vibe and having something come to life. I love bringing my stuff to life in real space, and that was an amazing way to do that. When I got the iPad, I could hook it up to a projector or any type of display. I started by drawing some conferences and meetings that way, and people were excited about it. People like the drawings on their own, but when they see them come to life in real-time, it really excites them. 

Then, a couple of years ago, I was invited to a jazz dance performance, and they wanted me to paint on stage. I told them I thought it’d be really cool if I drew with my iPad and projected it. The dance performance had a bunch of different vignettes, so I drew them when they were performing. Then, in between, for the segways, I’d re-project what I just did and run the time-lapse so it became part of the performance.

Are most of your subjects appreciative and flattered that you’ve drawn them?

People really like it, bands especially. I get a lot of good feedback; it’s something different. I’m not the only person who live sketches, but there are not many of us, so it’s novel, especially when it happens in real time. That’s what I love about it; there’s a place and time and being out in the world, I feel really connected to the bands.

I hate going to arena shows; I find them super uninteresting because I like to be as close as possible to draw. That’s why I like going to small clubs, where I can be five or ten feet away. It’s harder to connect with the artist when you’re far away. A lot of times you see a side of someone when they’re on stage performing that’s really genuine, that’s harder to capture when you’re just talking to them; it’s inspiring to me.

The post Ami Plasse Captures Energy and Excitement in His Live-Drawn Illustrations appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Since April 2021, the Chicago-based design consultant and teacher Joseph Michael Essex has posted intriguing visual-verbal aphorisms on Facebook, LinkedIn, and Instagram, pithy sayings accompanied by the barely-visible words “Design is everything. Everything is designed.” He calls the series “Thinking Aloud.” Essex is a true design leader, having worked at PBS, Unimark International, Center for Advanced Research in Design, Burson-Marsteller Worldwide, and, with his wife and partner Nancy, EssexTwo International. In recent years, he shifted some of his focus from client projects to consulting with other designers on how they might improve their practices by attracting better assignments, becoming financially stable, and finding greater satisfaction in their work.

When Essex posted the above image earlier this year, I knew it was high time for an online sit-down to get some questions answered. Our conversation is below (edited for clarity and length).

Ellen Shapiro: Many young designers complain online that they can’t get interviews, much less a job offer. What’s going on? Is there too much competition from people working remotely? Or are our schools churning out too many graduates for the jobs available?

Jospeh Michael Essex: Most young designers don’t have an opportunity to compete for the better assignments. Large clients and agencies have gatekeepers, the people responsible for collecting proposals, but they lack the ability to evaluate the content other than to compare prices. Often, they’re accountants or purchasing agents. They don’t write the RFPs and aren’t qualified to assess the capabilities or expertise of those submitting the proposals. Young designers have almost no chance to get on the RFP list, much less to win the business—unless they make an effort to identify the gatekeepers in the organizations they want to work for and ask to be considered. They can also connect with those in the appropriate departments (advertising, marketing, corporate communications, public relations) for consideration.

Another way to get started is with small or mid-size organizations and grow with them. Younger clients are more likely to listen and embrace new ideas, new technologies, and newer methods of communication.

Actually, I don’t get the sense that the individuals baring their souls on Reddit are hoping to get RFPs from large organizations. They’re upset they can’t even get an interview at a small local ad agency or marketing firm.

JME: The Wall Street Journal once posited that it takes between ten and twelve points of contact before someone with something to sell is contacted by a person who needs the service or product. Getting new business opportunities has always been difficult and expensive in time and money. It takes persistence, tenacity, diligence, and patience—all good qualities in those looking to build a career.
Another important issue is that small local ad agencies and marketing firms don’t hire out work they think they can and should do.

Designers—young and seasoned—have a much better chance for success by going directly to clients who need the work rather than to the client’s outside agencies. Plus, if an outside agency hires you, you’re never allowed to present directly to the client.

ES: What about doing great work, posting it on Behance and Instagram, and letting clients find you? You don’t think that works?

JME: Picasso said inspiration only finds you when you’re already working. All successful communication connects linearly from awareness to concern to a dialogue that provokes a response. Clients are not trolling the Internet without a specific motivation!

More clients should be aware that design and designers could benefit them. By demonstrating how design-as-a-process will help them accomplish clearly defined objectives—like making a profit—they’ll see how design might benefit them and their organizations. They’ll begin to check out designers, and a dialogue might begin, culminating in a positive response.

ES: I attended an AIGA/NY debate in which half the people on stage — who had great jobs, even teaching jobs — said they were self-educated through YouTube videos and such. Are graphic design degrees necessary anymore? Desirable, yes, but essential?

JME: You might remember ‘Hall of Fame’ designers who didn’t have a formal design education. Some had degrees in parallel disciplines; others came to design through the back door with marketing, advertising, and illustration degrees or as paint and canvas artists. As long as clients see design as decoration rather than a discipline, formal education in graphic design is only a small plus. As long as young designers see design as a tangible physical thing to be made, with a top, bottom, back, and front, they’ll be supporting players rather than principals or critical contributors. If a designer can design one thing well, they can design anything and everything. The principles and the process are the same. If young designers view themselves and their work in the broadest possible context, they will not only have a career, but their contributions will be meaningful.

ES: Yes, Charles and Ray Eames were our design-school heroes. But aren’t designers of all ages and backgrounds more concerned with screens and apps than backs and fronts?

JME: Before doctors are permitted to specialize, they go through six to eight years of college, medical education, and internships. Each experience gives them broader exposure to human conditions and the human condition. A designer needs a similar educational path, beginning with a fundamental understanding of communication across all disciplines, media, and processes: how communication works, the spoken and unspoken, the pitching and catching, the preparation and presentation, the sympathy and empathy that connect us to one another.

When an art school plans a curriculum with the goal of students ending up with a job, they short-circuit the experience. Sure, parents who are reluctant to pay for art school are happy when a job is promised in four years, but the reality is that the more narrowly defined the job, the more likely it will not exist in a technologically driven world that evolves every seven to ten years.

ES: Many designers who previously had small offices and were doing quality work for big-name clients can’t even get those clients on the phone. It seems that either you own (or work at) a major agency or branding firm, or you have to find another source of income and satisfaction. Painting, pottery, anyone?

JME: I’m all for painting and pottery, but in my experience, there’s a continuous ebb and flow to design’s relationship with business. In the mid-70s, I worked at the Chicago office of Unimark. We did everything from event invitations to the design of next-generation gas stations, and extensive monthly invoices were sent and paid. At one point, though, Standard Oil’s management decided they were being taken advantage of and outfitted a big in-house design operation. A few years and business issues later, Unimark closed its doors.

After a while, though, new egos on Standard Oil’s executive floor decided they weren’t getting enough new ideas from the in-house design staff and started sending the big jobs with big budgets to design offices all over the country.

Things change over time.

ES: So, what do we do about the ebb and flow? One obvious answer is to rely on something other than one or two big clients for your livelihood. But other factors like recessions, stock market crashes, and events like 9/11 severely impact business opportunities. There are no protections and no insurance policies.

JME: Ellen, you and I have been doing this work for far too long not to recognize these issues are not unique to the design profession. Whether we are sole proprietors, manage a six-person office, or a division of an organization that has offices in six countries, we can’t avoid the responsibility of doing the best we can, no matter the circumstances. No one can avoid being vulnerable to what happens in our neighborhood, country, or world.

ES: Ah, we’re starting to delve into existential issues in graphic design (and illustration and photography and …). If you wrestle with big questions about life’s meaning, you are having an existential crisis. So, with the advent of A.I., which is thrilling to some but a threat to many, are the creative professions that serve clients having an existential crisis?

JME: Do you remember when ‘commercial artists’ did rough sketches, made layouts, and prepared mechanical art for printers? How about ‘speccing type’ and getting galley proofs from the type house? Or waiting for contact sheets from photographers. Not to mention location shoots involving airplanes, hotels, car rentals, and a crew of grips, gaffers, and gofers? When processing film and printing contact sheets took time, we took more time to think about each shot, ensuring we got it right and fixing it in the camera rather than later in Photoshop. Things change, some for the better, some not so.

ES: Yes, I remember it well. Now that we can instantly download photos and push a button to replace selected areas with A.I.-generated content, is that a better or worse situation?

JME: Artificial Intelligence is just that, artificial. AI will create an opportunity for thousands of choices and combinations of things no one has dreamt up before. But, like with most Big Data, we’ll still need to make choices. We must develop criteria that serve a defined purpose and accomplish an anticipated outcome. We need talented, intelligent, prepared people to make conscious, meaningful choices.

ES: Is there a different kind of consulting that clients need now that designers can provide, perhaps with some retooling?

JME: Yes. Clients desperately need a perspective that only independent minds can provide. They need today’s version of a consigliere, a Leonardo da Vinci-like voice in the ears of the Medicis, telling them what they might already know in ways they can’t ignore. They also may need a Flâneur, who strolls around, watches and listens, asks questions, and shares the thoughts of those unburdened by experience.

ES: Tell me about the Flâneur concept. Who will pay for it, and what will the benefit be?

JME: I don’t know if anyone can make a living from it, but I think it’s worth finding out. In my new discipline—helping develop leadership skills in creative people—maybe this is a good time and place to become a flaneur, someone who observes and transmits enlightening observations.

ES: Your trademark and mantra is ‘Design is everything. Everything is designed.’ Some people don’t agree with that. Once, when I complained to the person I was with—an author and musician—that the room we were in was badly designed, she rolled her eyes and said, “Why do you care? That’s not important! What’s important is what’s in your head and what you do.” How would you answer her?

JME: When I insist that ‘everything is designed,’ it doesn’t mean it was designed well. People make good and mediocre and bad choices. Responsibility exists for making those choices.

ES: Who decides what’s good or bad? I once fled from a date’s apartment with red-flocked wallpaper on the walls. Why even get started when you know it will never work out?

JME: Your experience and your instincts are well balanced. However, individuals rarely make choices without a particular outcome in mind. The host chose the wallpaper because it was pleasing to him. He assumed it would also be pleasing to his guests. In this case, the design choice was both good and bad. He got to enjoy his choice, but all alone.

When a client insists that all 200 words must appear on a single slide, his choice is about the importance and sanctity of his every word. While he gets his way, he loses his audience.

ES: What do you ultimately hope to do with these visual/verbal aphorisms? A book? A TED talk? How will you use them to communicate the value of design to non-designers?

JME: A book? That seems more self-conscious than I’m comfortable with. A TED talk? Maybe I’ll ask Ricky [Richard Saul Wurman] what he thinks. But in 20 minutes? I can’t talk that fast.

I grew up without a father. I always thought I missed out by not having someone in my life to point out the important stuff I missed while it was happening. I’m hoping that ‘Thinking Aloud’ will be that heads-up for someone.

ES: For someone or many people?

JME: I’ve had an opportunity to teach at several art schools and universities. I try to make this case to all my students: Don’t design for the thousands of people who will read the report, wear the dress, visit the site, or follow the signage. Design everything for a person, one at a time.

Years ago at EssexTwo, Nancy and I reprised a project first designed by John Massey at the Center for Advanced Research in Design. It was a memento for incoming teachers for the Chicago Public Schools. Silkscreened on 7,000 small polished stones were the words: ‘Teachers Affect Eternity.’

The post Thinking Aloud With Joseph Michael Essex appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

There’s so much in the world that’s not positive, so if you’re creating something, why not make it brighten somebody’s day? 

Mary Lai has no time for pessimism. The Los Angeles-based multimedia artist moves through the world fueled by positivity and happiness, and this is reflected in all of her work. The next chapter of her joyous exploration is a solo exhibition entitled Synchronicity, which is on view now at the DTLA gallery, The Art Room. Replete with 30 pieces of Lai created over the last two years in various mediums, Synchronicity is a visual manifestation of meaningful coincidences. “Meaningful coincidences seem to happen when preparation and hard work meet opportunity, validating our artistic journey,” she says.

I had the pleasure of speaking with the effervescent Lai about Synchronicity and received a hardy dose of her signature warm-hearted enthusiasm in the process. She walked me through her journey from handbag designer in New York City to multi-hyphenate fine artist in LA, provided some insights about the show, and reflected upon her always-positive worldview. Read our interview below.

(Interview edited slightly for clarity and length).

Can you walk me through your creative journey? How did you make the leap from handbag designer to fine artist?

I’ve been in this creative industry now for 20 years, and the first decade was in New York. That was great for learning and building a foundation. I studied graphic design in college, and began doing graphic design for kids bags, but I ended up falling in love with product design. So I was doing handbags for a very long time, and even had my own namesake handbag collection.

Then, one of my previous bosses in New York, who had moved out to LA, started building these beautiful homes that he would curate with art and furniture to then sell as one whole package. He wanted to build his design team in LA, so he offered to relocate me and my husband to LA to help with the design curation. That’s when I transitioned from handbags to the design side. It really pulled the curtain back on the art world for me, where I got to see how the art world runs.

Art was something that I’ve always loved; I just never pursued it because I didn’t think I could make a living at it. I would always go to all the different exhibitions and Art Basel and paint murals on the side. Once I moved to LA and the project with my former boss ended, I took that leap to be a full-time visual artist in 2019. I haven’t looked back since!

Since then, I’ve expanded all the different mediums I use. Because I have a graphic design and design background, I love creating and experimenting. I’ve done murals, sculptures, paintings, and mixed media, so it’s a wide range.

I’m always curious to hear about artists’ studio spaces. What’s yours like?

My studio is in Lincoln Heights, about five to ten minutes from Downtown. I’m in this cool space called Keystone Art Space. It’s a community of artists that have studios within the warehouse. So there are 50 different artists, and then in the center, there’s a gallery, and everybody shows in the gallery. It’s a nice community space of like-minded people.

In a creative career, there’s no formula. You’re putting work out there and hoping for the best. 

Can you describe Synchronicity? What are the main themes of the exhibition?

In my career, I’ll have these moments where I feel like the stars align, and I’m like, Oh! I have to do this! In a creative career, there’s no formula. You’re putting work out there and hoping for the best. 

So recently, I was at Art Basel in Miami with an eight-foot sculpture, and it was on its way back to LA. I had yet to sell it; I thought it would go into storage. Then, I met up with the Art Room and had a five-minute conversation with the co-owner and founder, where he looked at photos of my work. He said, “Do you have that sculpture coming back? Do you want to put it on the front patio?” He told me they’d just had an artist postpone, so they had a slot open. “Are you ready for a solo show?” I said, “Oh, my God, yes!” It was two months away when he asked me that, and even though I wasn’t really ready, I wasn’t going to say no to a great opportunity. 

So everything lined up. I had all of this work that I’d been actively creating in 2023 and exhibiting nonstop, so I had some existing pieces, then created some new pieces and pulled the Synchronicity show together in two months. The base of this show coming together was serendipitous—a bit of luck, a bit of the stars aligning—and that’s why I titled it Synchronicity.

What sorts of artworks are on display in the show?

There’s a huge range within price points, series, and styles, but it’s curated very well because there are many different areas. When you enter the gallery side of the space, it’s divided into two areas: I have my new works in the front and my earlier works in the back, so it has a nice flow.ow.

Within the 30 pieces, there’s the sculpture right in the front, smaller sculptures in the gallery, and then paintings made out of wood that I call my “Cloud Series.” So it’s a blend of many different series but curated in a way so that they’re in distinct areas. That said, they all come together with this vibrant, contemporary, and modern color palette. There’s always an uplifting, positive vibe to my artwork, which you can see consistently throughout.

What sort of experience do you hope viewers of Synchronicity have? What feelings and sensations do you hope they walk away with?

The sculpture right out front is eight feet tall, called “The Dream Portal.” It’s the best introduction to the collection because I created that sculpture to inspire people to create their own doors and paths of opportunity. The sculpture looks like a big door, and if you look at it from afar, it seems almost like a rainbow arch with a sun and cloud shape, but there’s also a door handle. It’s also activated by AR (augmented reality), so viewers can go into this dream portal world.

I feel like all of my art and everything I’ve done, is the result of me making my dreams a reality.

The whole point of “The Dream Portal” is for each person to be inspired to create their own doors and make their dreams a reality. All of my art and everything I’ve done is the result of me making my dreams a reality. So if other people come, see the artwork from the beginning all the way through, and then leave saying, I’m inspired. I want to go after my dreams, that would be a great takeaway from the collection.

Part of your ethos as an artist is having what you call a “Dreamer mindset.” Can you elaborate on what you mean by this? 

I’m definitely a glass-half-full type of person. I have this mentality of abundance versus a mentality of scarcity. I’m very optimistic and always try to see the best in situations. I keep that sense of what’s presented in the artwork; somehow, when people see the artwork, that’s the emotion they get, too. People say my artwork makes them smile or makes them happy. I know that sounds very fluffy, but that’s exactly how I am. I can have the worst day, but I try to walk away smiling and ask, What did I learn from it?

I always try to see the positive, what I can learn from it, and what I can change to do better. So that’s the “dreamer mindset”— making more positive art. There’s so much in the world that’s not positive, so if you’re creating something, why not make it brighten somebody’s day?

Photography by Meg Hudson

The post Artist Mary Lai Imparts Joy and Positivity in her Latest Show, Synchronicity appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Indian block printing was put on the map in Jaipur by a craftswoman named Kitty Rae in the 1960s. Known as the “Godmother of Block Printing,” Rae was pivotal in introducing and popularizing this craft in the West. She ran the oldest block printing facility in the region called KIN Fabrics, located in the heart of Jaipur, peddling furniture fabric. In 2016, an American named Sarah Zellweger came upon KIN, a moment marking the genesis of SZ Blockprints.

After Rae’s passing, Zellweger maintained contact with her daughter, Manju, and granddaughter, Yuva, who had taken over KIN. Working closely with Manju and Yuva and KIN’s puraana blocks, Zellweger honed her eye and skill in creating her own Indian block print patterns and then ultimately launched her label SZ Blockprints out of the KIN studios. SZ Blockprints keeps the 4th-generation block printing studio alive, continuing Rae’s legacy in craft and spirit. All of their clothing is small batch, with every piece produced block by block, with each pattern fitting together like a puzzle.

Central to SZ Blockprints is their dedication to the Jaipur creative community. They provide long-term employment opportunities to over 120 skilled and dedicated local artisans, and each of the tassels used in their designs is hand-made in a women-run tassel business in Jaipur. This attention to detail and handcraft emanates from each SZ Blockprints’ design and garment and is the heart of what makes Indian block printing so singular.

Completely captivated by Indian block printing as an art form and the SZ Blockprints’ story, I reached out to Zellweger to learn more. Her responses to my questions are below.

The entire process is so human, so flawed, and that is why I think I fell in love with it.

What is it about the technique and look of Indian block printing that you find so captivating? Why have you dedicated so much of yourself to standing guard for this ancient technique? 

I find the element of imperfection to be really captivating. Each piece is a museum-quality mini artwork created by a master craftsman in their element. It’s the small details, the differences of mere millimeters, that have a huge emotional impact on the overall feeling and presence of a print. The entire process is so human, so flawed, and that is why I think I fell in love with it.

Why do you think Indian block printing has endured when other fashion trends and styles have not? What sets Indian block printing apart?

Indian block prints are timeless, and I believe that’s why their prominence and endurance are limitless. The prints and process both derive from a life source that is so personal to the people who played a part in the creation of the print— the artisan who carved the wood block, the artisan who mixed the dyes, printed on the fabric, washed the fabric by hand and foot, etc., etc. The popularity of Indian block prints isn’t driven by trend; it’s driven by the innate wondering and longing for person-to-person connection.

The popularity of Indian block prints isn’t driven by trend, it’s driven by the innate wondering and longing for person-to-person connection.

Do you see Indian block printing as a much-needed antidote to the ever-growing world of fast fashion? 

Absolutely. The fast fashion cycle is so careless and really skews the reality of what it means to select, purchase, and care for a garment. At SZ Blockprints, we are the absolute antidote to this harmful and destructive cycle and thrive on our distance from fast fashion.

What’s the most challenging part of the Indian block printing process? 

The most challenging part is it is a wild and unpredictable process and art form. I wouldn’t describe it as challenging per se, though; it’s more of a lesson in letting go. Weather, mood, health— it all plays an essential part in the dance of the actual printing.

How does it feel knowing you’re keeping Kitty Rae’s legacy alive? 

Firstly, I could never imagine taking credit for any of this, specifically keeping Kitty’s legacy (and prints!) alive, as any sort of solo mission. Every single part of the business and the design process is a collaboration. On an emotional level, Kitty’s family are my partners with whom I have grown the business, and we deeply trust one another. Our vision, which continues to refine and evolve, is symbiotic and flows together. There is an ease in these relationships, which can only be described as “meant to be.”

The post SZ Blockprints Keeps the Legacy of the “Godmother of Block Printing” Alive appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Kate Humphreys, a vintage children’s bookseller, has tapped into the inimitable magic of illustrated stories from a bygone era with her online shop, Oly Oly Oxen Free Books. The Nebraska-based Humphreys admits she has a bit of an obsession with vintage children’s books. “I love finding beautiful stories and sharing them with as many people as I can,” she writes on her Etsy shop. Humphreys also uses her delightful Instagram account as a sales channel for her books and to spread her love and appreciation for these classic, illustrated artifacts. She shares a careful curation of book covers, page spreads, and preciously drawn moments from her collection on the daily, amassing a lively community of followers who gush with glee on every post.

I contacted Humphreys to hear more about her vintage children’s book obsession and to get her expert opinion on why these books have such staying power in our souls. Her thoughtful responses are below!

(Interview edited for clarity and length.)

How did you first get into selling old children’s books?

The simple answer is that I had been collecting them for a number of years and started accumulating too many! I also had a hard time not purchasing good kids’ books at the thrift store, even if I already owned them. A friend suggested I open an Etsy store, and things went from there.

The more in-depth answer is that owning a children’s book store has been a fantasy dream job since I was a kid, like owning a candy shop or riding elephants in the circus. Something that your kid mind thinks is possible but your adult mind can’t come to terms with. I decided to ditch the rational adult thoughts and sell beautiful books with pictures.

I decided to ditch the rational adult thoughts and sell beautiful books with pictures in them.

What is it about children’s books that you find so obsession-worthy?

The picture book is the most underrated art form there is! Utilizing words and images to tell an engaging story to young people is no easy feat, and to own these small works of art by people who have indeed mastered that ability is magical. It’s the most affordable art one can own! Imagine if Picasso decided to make a children’s book; it would likely be no more expensive than one about burping dinosaurs!

Because of their brevity and the tendency for kids’ books to teach morality, the well-done ones are often wise and poetic. A story told simply is not always a simple story. A good children’s book embraces playfulness, and I believe play is an essential part of living a life of joy.

A good children’s book embraces playfulness, and I believe play is an essential part of living a life of joy.

What’s your process for choosing the books you sell and the illustrations you post on your Instagram?

I wish I could give you a secret formula, but I’m just buying what I like! That’s my only rule. I have to buy things I like. Sometimes I’ll find kids’ books that are probably worth something, but I don’t really feel drawn to them, so I don’t buy them.

As far as the illustrations I post on Instagram, I have to find images that work well in a small square. Lots of times, a book is remarkable but doesn’t have the perfect square image for the feed. Also, I’m usually looking for a picture that tells a story in and of itself.

What is it about vintage illustration aesthetics that makes them so captivating?

There is something about the analog nature of older printing techniques that imbues warmth! The fact that you can see where the color goes outside the line or imperfect inking draws you closer to the moment of creation. Also, making a children’s book took longer, and I think that extra time and consideration made for a better product. We all know that aesthetically speaking, something astounding happened in the 60s and 70s, that I won’t even attempt to explain.

Children’s media is so intimately tied to our upbringing, it’s impossible to separate the two. The book comes to represent a time and place and a moment, which is truly powerful! 

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. How do you see nostalgia at play in how people respond to your shop?

I didn’t consider the nostalgia element when I started my book account, but it’s certainly what brings many people to the page. I get so many questions about long-forgotten children’s books that I wish I could unearth them for people. Children’s media is so intimately tied to our upbringing that it’s impossible to separate the two. The book comes to represent a time, a place, and a moment, which is truly powerful!

Do you have a favorite children’s book from your childhood that was particularly formative for you?

Doctor DeSoto by William Steig was a particularly big book in my household.

There is a moment in the book when the fox, who is having his teeth worked on, has his mouth glued shut and tries to speak to his mouse dentist. My mom really delivered the fox’s line, “Fank oo berry mush” with such panache. It’s a tremendous memory.

Images courtesy Kate Humphreys.

The post Oly Oly Oxen Free Peddles Vintage Children’s Books and Illustrated Nostalgia appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I count myself as one of Howard’s many admirers who has fallen under her spell. She captures an abundance of spirit and character within her illustration style, from her soft and soothing color palettes to her free-spirited yet impeccably controlled lines. Howard’s illustrations ooze playfulness, joy, and retro timelessness. I connected with Howard to learn more about her point of view as an artist and to figure out, most importantly, why shoes?

Howard’s responses to my questions are below.

How would you describe your illustration style? How did this develop?

I’d say hand-drawn is the main component. I love messy, thick lines with lots of texture and imperfections.

I’ve always been into art. I embroider, draw, sew, paint, and build stuff, and I’m just a doer. In 2019, I made it my goal to draw people. The first face I drew looked like a kindergartener had drawn it, but everyone has to start there. I had a handful of artists who inspired me and helped me land on the style I have now: Damien Cuypers, Yu Nagaba, and Haley Tippmann, to name a few. They have very different styles, but I’ve always admired their bold and effortless lines. I would try to straight-copy an illustration they’ve done, not putting any of it out there but using it to help me work on my technique and see if anything felt true to me. Then, I’d try to emulate their style on other subjects

Eventually, I started coming up with a style that was unique to me. One of my biggest accomplishments is coming up with my own style. It was a long and frustrating process, but something I’m really proud of. My style developed with hours and hours and hours and hours of practice— there’s no shortcut.

I occasionally like to look back at my old sketchbooks to see how far I’ve come and to motivate me to keep going. It feels good to see an illustration I was proud of at the time and think, “Wow, I sucked.”

When I’m looking for inspiration, I like to find a challenge.

Your shoe illustrations have clearly struck a chord with the masses. Why do you think that is? What do someone’s shoes say about them?

I think shoes, especially the loafers I’ve been drawing recently, strike a chord because they’re distinct and tend to remind people of someone. I get comments about how I’ve drawn the exact pair someone’s grandpa wore. There are comments from people who think I’ve drawn Tyler The Creator’s shoes or shoes from the movie Jojo Rabbit. I absolutely love hearing whose shoes people think I’ve drawn.

I don’t know what people’s shoes say about them in real life, but they’re often the focal point in my drawings. Oversized shoes that are either polished or sloppy add character to my characters.

How do you decide which shoes to draw?

I love sneakers with long loopy laces. I’m into the loafers now, partially because the shine allows me to draw the harsh shadows that I love. Primarily, I find shoes that lend well to my style, and any shoes I think are fun.

What’s your creative process typically like? Do you carry a sketchbook with you at all times? What sorts of people, things, and scenarios compel you to draw them?

I love the idea of being someone who sketches people at coffee shops, but really, I do my best work snuggled up on the couch.

I take pictures of people, shoes, or interesting color combos out and about, but you can’t beat Pinterest for inspiration. I also love collecting old books for reference photos or kids’ books from my favorite illustrators. I recently found a pair of red leather shoes at a thrift store, and I took a photo of them to draw. You’ll be seeing those soon!

I like drawing people in motion and exaggerating my favorite part, the shoes.

What do you hope your illustrations communicate to your viewers? 

Honestly, I’ve never thought about that. When I’m looking for inspiration, I like to find a challenge. A different angle I haven’t tried or new subject matter. Colored pencils were also new to me when I started to develop my style; they’ve always been my least favorite medium. I like to use colored pencils like a crayon: with a dull tip, ultra-pigmented, bold, and messy. So I hope my process inspires people to try something new and challenging.

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