Hasta La Ideas

Midway through Richard Brereton’s Sketchbooks: The Hidden Art of Designers, Illustrators and Creatives, commercial artist and graphic designer Ed Fella confides, “in 1976 an artist friend gave me a sketchbook, saying ‘Even though you’re a designer, you think like an artist and should keep a sketchbook.'” Well, even if you happen to be a designer and you don’t think like an artist, we at Core77 still think you should carry a sketchbook. Whether it’s a modest moleskine with battered corners stuck in your back pocket or a fancy leather tome, sketchbooks can serve as practice pages, ways to fill time, as a finished products, or even what graphic designer Pep Carrio beautifully describes as “warehouses of memory.”

Historically, artists have often self-edited their sketchbooks by tearing out pages or censoring their output. While it’s hard to discern exactly what editorial oversight Richard Brereton performed when he chose which particular plates would make it into his compilation of sketchbooks by design professionals, he clearly did not limit his search to classically drawn figures. Instead Sketchbooks presents a diverse range of styles, subject matter, and even artistic skills, and that’s a good thing. Anyone who has perused a collection of portfolios or taken a drawing class intuitively understands that being “loose” is high praise. When an artist gains the confidence to draw with brio, sketches gain vibrancy and pop off of the page. For most of us, the state of mind that allows lines to be drawn with snap seems like the exclusive provenance of artists with this thing called “talent,” or perhaps a lucky few who’ve practiced for lifetimes. Fortunately, Brereton’s collection proves otherwise. While some of the graphic artists contained within have produced work that could be described as “fine art,” and many others seem childlike or crude, virtually all of them draw like no one is looking; and perhaps that’s precisely the essence to which a sketchbook should aspire.

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This Sunday’s nytimes featured an article championing the American Short Story and some of its great writers. The famous, and well used, typewriters above are master machines belonging to Flannery O’Connor and Donald Barthelme. Click here to read the full article.

If you are an O’Connor fan like me you will be keen to get your hands on a copy of Brad Gooch‘s new biography, Flannery: A Life of Flannery O’Connor, exploring the unsung chapters and quiet complexities of this Southern spitfire’s creative and personal life. I had no idea she only lived to the age of 38.

Joyce Carol Oates wrote a whipsmart review of Gooch’s book in the wider context of O’Connor’s literary legacy in the New York Review of Books. O’Connor’s lifelong passion for peacocks (as celebrated on the book covers above) is measured alongside her unsentimental prose and biting wit: “She would of been a good woman — if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.” (From the title story in A Good Man Is Hard To Find, 1955.) To read an extended excerpt from this story, click here.

The wild cover design of Design Disasters: Great Designers, Fabulous Failures, and Lessons Learned forced me look to the back of the book to get the precise wording of the title, commas and all. Perhaps that’s what cover designer James Victore intended when he spilled half the title off of the front page and presented such an obfuscated grid on the back cover that I had to run down the page with a ruler to try to locate the baselines. Ultimately I found the title written in its full Library of Congress form upside down and aligned with a nested set of bullet points for the contributor credits on the back cover. While I’ve never been a fan of guessing author or artist motive, the overall effect amounts to making a pleasing harmony out of a relative mess, which actually fits the book’s themes pretty well.

Design Disasters collects stories of failure (along with the titular lessons learned) from luminaries such as Stefan Sagmiester, thinkers like Ralph Caplan and Henry Petroski and Core’s own Allan Chochinov. Perhaps Steven Heller explains the logic behind the cover in his introduction, which states, “If I were the joking sort, I would just make the type from here on unreadable as an example of failed design.” I’m glad he didn’t because such an omission would have denied the reader the opportunity to hear the stories contained within. Heller himself describes the creative process with a special emphasis on success through failure. It’s an old lesson, but in this age, when design presentations can be changed with a few twitches of the wrist at the mouse, there’s no reason why every finished design can’t be built from a cornucopia of failures, so much so that perhaps the very nomenclature of failure needs to be reconsidered. Perhaps we designers have already subliminally assimilated this lesson. After all, most people I know don’t call it failure, we call it process. For me, success and failure are the same things, just on a different timeline.

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Initially reviewing a book like Women of Design: Influence and Inspiration from the Original Trailblazers to the New Groundbreakers offered trepidation because, well, I’m a man, and I thought my opinion might be suspect. Recently, though, the New York Times Magazine (coincidentally a periodical designed by Janet Froelich, profiled in the book) included a thought-provoking article “What Women Want”, by Daniel Bergner, about female sexuality and the very real differences in male and female perception of physical beauty and attractiveness. Early in the article, he quotes Kurt Freund, a pioneering sexologist who said, “How am I to know what it is to be a woman? Who am I to study women, when I am a man?”

I’m happy to report that while perhaps we can admit that while there are profound neuroanatomical differences between men and women and their perceptions of the opposite sex, our graphic design and art seem to be measurable by a common yardstick. The work profiled by Gomez-Palacio and Vit amply demonstrates that women produce graphic design in every way comparable to that of men. Indeed, when comparing the graphic elements introduced by masculine Bauhaus visionaries like Laszlo Moholy-Nagy with the work of Ellen Lupton like Thinking With Type (also profiled here), it’s obvious that the more modern work is more scientifically thought out and aesthetically pleasing. Indeed when looking at the work of the designers profiled within, aesthetic trends show more improvement across temporal than gender lines. That said, the employment opportunities offered to the women within do seem to skew towards fashion and housework — multiple subjects cut their chops at Martha Stewart Living, for example — though I think that may say more about the workplace than it does about design. Looking at the actual work contained within, I couldn’t help but notice that stereotypes about the feminine aesthetic seemed to apply more broadly to the client than the designer, which strongly indicates that the capacity of a designer to produce good work for a client has little to do with gender.

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Amazon’s publicity blurb for The L.A. Earthquake Sourcebook bills it as “the coolest earthquake preparedness-book ever published,” which I imagine to be true, but I also can’t think of much competition. A collaboration between Stefan Sagmeister and The Art Center College of Design in association with the L.A. Earthquake Get Ready Project, the Sourcebook juxtaposes essays by experts like FEMA Director James Lee Witt with excerpts from authors like Joan Didion. The essays, fiction and graphic design are all interesting and on more than one occasion, I was curious to look into the works of the fiction authors included because the excerpts left me wondering about the works profiled after reading the short three to five page teasers.

The problem, both with the book, and explicitly acknowledged by the authors is that people (presumably both readers and California residents) don’t really want to be reading or hearing about “the big one.” Despite plenty of content and good intention, the graphic design, fiction and informative work each seem to exist in their own planes rather than coming together in synthesis. Individual graphic exercises like Clifford Elbi’s transcription of the names of faults on the lines of the hand in a palmistry chart can provoke thought and inspire conversation, but most of the graphic design serves as bookends for essays rather than providing a template for action. At the very end of the book pages from Martin Kaplan and Darren Ragle’s graphic novel “A River in Egypt” actually begin to combine graphic elements with earthquake advice on the same page, but the rest of the book feels more like a collection of (very good) poster design shuffled between informative, but somewhat disconnected essays. That said, I was never bored while paging through the book, which may be the highest praise to which an earthquake manual can aspire.

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