By day, I have the good fortune of spending time
with young designers looking to hone their skills and gain insights
into the craft and business of design — I’m a teacher. In our
program, we keep a fairly robust two-way conversation going with
our students through a few electronic forums and every now and
again, something pops up that’s worth sharing and this medium is
ideal for this sort of dialogue. The below is one of the pieces
that I sent to the students and a colleague recently mentioned that
it has relevance beyond this discrete audience… I hope that’s the
case.
Students:
You might be familiar with the quote “God is in
the details.” In the lives of designers, nothing could be
more true (other than: “Remember where you put the Xacto”). All
professions have “buy-ins” and “table stakes” of their trade and
while some might call them “details,” it’s what we’ve come to
expect from ourselves — and what others expect from us. Mastery of
these is not only good for those at the top of the profession, but
essential for every practitioner.
The phrase “God is in the details” is often, but not
always, attributed to 20th century architect Ludwig Mies van der
Rohe.
As we’ve discussed, graphic designers generally perform services on
behalf of a client and are in service of an audience. So, looking
at the role of the designer from the other side can yield some
insights — specifically as it relates to the idea of expectations
or trust — and weigh this against other professions.
For instance, would you trust a civil engineer — who’s responsible
for the stability of bridges and the like — if there was a math
error on their cost-estimate? Would you trust a mechanic who drives
a broken-down hatchback? Would you trust a personal trainer with
love handles? Now, I don’t care if my engineer has love handles or
if my personal trainer drives a smoking Hyundai, but there are
minimum expectations in each profession. In order for a personal
trainer to convey a sense of health and well-being (and that
they’ve mastered it enough to pass it on to me), they should also
be fit, right?
Where does that leave the graphic designer? What does the world
expect of us? What should we expect for ourselves? Well, for
starters, remember that we are communicators. Added to that, we’re
aesthetes. We are also conceptual thinkers. And, to top it off,
we’re craftsmen. That’s certainly a tall order, which is one of the
reasons we often tell students that graphic design is one of the
most challenging courses of study in art school.
So…what does this mean?
As communicators we’re expected to be able to craft a compelling
story. We need to understand our audience (so there’s a bit of
psychology thrown in). We need to understand and master the
narrative structure so we can engage and hold the attention of our
audience — and do this in a way that connects to both their hearts
and their heads. Good storytellers have a command of ideas and
concepts…metaphor and analogy…prose and poetry. Good storytellers
run spell-check and proofread.
As aesthetes, we’re expected to turn a white sheet of paper or a
blank screen into a work of art. We are expected to know the work
and influence of Paula Scher and Paul Sahre (and difference between
Paul Rand and Rand Paul), what the colors blue and pink mean in the
life of Pablo Picasso, and the difference between camp and kitsch
and how to use (or not use) each. We study history so we know
what’s worked in the past and how to avoid the trappings of simply
copying old ideas. Style is the life-blood of the aesthete and
beauty is the byproduct. And that style exists in every facet of
our lives, from the things we surround ourselves with to the things
we create to surround other people … from the magazines we read to
the magazines we design. We’re wary of shopping or eating at places
with “barn,” “factory” or “warehouse” in the name. If it can be
said “you are what you eat,” for a graphic designer it’s “you are
what you eat, breathe, swim around in, and happen to spit-out.”
Everything matters. However, we’re also wary of hype, and remember
the moral of the story “The
Emperor’s New Clothes” — just because someone says it’s
wonderful and amazing, doesn’t really make it so.
In the story The Emperor's New Clothes, the Emperor is
convinced he has wonderful robes that only the most worthy can see
when in fact, he was wearing nothing. Sounds a lot like over-hyped
marketing to me.
As conceptual-thinkers, we are expected to connect with the
audiences mentioned above in new and innovative ways. In the late
’90s, I went to see J. Mays — head of auto-design at Ford — present
the newly designed Ford Thunderbird. He mentioned how the designers
in the ’50s looked to the newly invented jet airplane for
inspiration for the original car. So, when the designers were
re-envisioning the car for the new millennium, they looked to the
1950s Ford Thunderbird for inspiration… Wait…wait! Why not again to
jet airplanes? Not old jets, but new ones. How cool would a car be
if designed after the newest fighter jet? (The Lamborghini
Revention (below) was inspired by the F-22 jet and is much
much cooler in my opinion than the new Ford Thunderbird). Without
bringing something new to the table, we’re destined to eat last
week’s meatloaf over and over again with a different sauce on top
or chopped up and thrown in with some pasta. Designers have to keep
the world fresh with meaningful, new ideas that challenge the
perceptions of the audience enough to make it interesting and
worthwhile, yet temper this wild innovation with a bit of strategy.
We’re always thinking, not just about the next new idea but often
about how to get that new idea to the audience. One of the things I
learned in the world of corporate design is that it’s not about
doing good work — all good designers can do good work — it’s about
getting good work approved and produced. We are looking at what
could be designed and weighing this with what should be designed
knowing that people crave freshness but are, ironically, naturally
resistant to change. A good designer can walk that line. We
approach everything with a delicate balance of wonderment,
suspicion and respect.
The Lamborghini Reventon was inspired by the F-22 jet and
is much, much cooler in my opinion than the new Ford
Thunderbird
As craftsmen, we don’t make mistakes. We have a command of the
materials and resources used by the profession: paper, pencils,
pixels, paste, posters, programs and pictures. Just as a carpenter
knows the difference between maple and mahogany by the smell of the
sawdust, we know the difference between Akzidenz-Grotesk and
Helvetica just by looking at the numeral 2. We never leave a word
hanging out on a line by itself, much less on the next page. All of
our quote marks are “smart.” We never use a handwriting typeface,
but instead write it and scan it in. We never do something that
would be on par with our scrap-booking neighbor. We never try to
“rez-up” a web jpeg for print use without running it through its
paces — and when it doesn’t work, we look for a new image… even if
we have to take it ourselves. We never say, “well, that’s all I
could find on the internet.” And we know that the word “window”
isn’t always preceded by “browser,” and that some windows open to
let in fresh air, sunlight, new inspiration, and a fly or two. We
never settle for free fonts that end in “-o-rama” when there’s a
more well-crafted one that’s more suitable for our use — even if we
have to pay for it. Heck, sometimes we create typefaces for
ourselves when we can’t find one that’s working just right. We know
the difference between a hyphen, an en-dash and an em-dash and use
each correctly. We never double space after punctuation. We track
each line of type and often — if it’s still not working — we change
the font size, grid or even rewrite. We’re often more interested in
the spaces between things than the things themselves. We do things
over, simply because we don’t settle for “good enough.” We follow
directions, but are wise enough to know the difference between the
“letter” and “spirit” of the task before us — and if we decide to
break from the rules, we do it in a way that creates an end-product
far better than anyone imagined possible, yet we’ll still be
willing to go back and do it the way it was “s’posed” to be done
(or do both in the first place).
While Helvetica is often characterized as a modern,
refined version of the previous Akzidenz-Grotesk, a few noteworthy
differences separate the two.
So… Where does that leave us?
In studying Gestalt theory, we learn that “the whole is greater
than the sum of its parts.” So even when the above checkboxes are
ticked off, what sort of designer are you “as a whole”? Where do
you want to be? Who do you think is most responsible for getting
you there? (Hint: you are.) How can you begin to trust your
instincts rather than relying on someone else to tell you what’s
good? How can you look at your work and the work of others and
learn something from each? What’s next?
It’s a challenging profession and it takes a lot to succeed — but
for many, it’s worth it.
Hunter Wimmer has more
than a decade of experience in translating strategic business
objectives into innovative, relevant visual solutions through his
work for IDEO, Gap and Banana Republic. He is currently the
Associate Director of Undergraduate and Graduate Graphic Design at
the Academy of Art University in San Francisco. Hunter can be found
blogging at Redneckmodern andRoom 557.com.
Copyright F+W Media Inc. 2011.
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