Judy writes, “Who woulda thought that after all these years, landing a job interview would be so difficult? Just getting in the door to show them how cool I am is hard. It’s a tough sell in the market today.

“I hate to say that I’m old school. It’s something I hear old people say. But when I look at the tools I used as I started my career — the ones that are either collecting dust or framed in my memorabilia — I realize that it might be true. My Haberule type gauge, ellipse guides, arc templates, Rapidograph pens, pica rulers, Rubylith, dividers, color guides, stat machine and dry-transfer letters are things of the past. Who knows what all the hours of smelling rubber cement has done to my brain.

“I’ve taken the years off of my resumé at someone’s suggestion. (I am, however, not dying my hair.) Filling out job applications online has taken the fun out of presenting my work in person with a portfolio. My graphic design skills are lacking web credentials. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Print is slipping away.

“The worst part is that even though I have 35+ years in the field, no one is calling me back. I mean, forget the phone call, no one is even emailing me back.

“What now?”

—————

Hi Judy,

I’d say that print is slipping away, sort of. More like it’s morphing. The iPad, for example, is a print medium, with benefits. New Web-font technology brings the beauty and nuanced voices of print to the Web. For those of us who love type and print, this is exciting.

That said, video is hot, and it should be. It’s a more natural medium — “natural” being the way we actually experience life. Reading is the artificial thing. The surprise for me has been the speed of the advances in technology. We carry the world in our pockets now, in real time. What my iPhone will do is almost unbelievable. A short 10 years ago multimedia tied us to our desks, modems squawked, pages loaded at crawl speed and were ugly, search sucked; the whole experience was sucky.

Video is no longer a special event that requires high production values; it’s become more like chat.

Had nothing changed and print was still king, you and I would be kings, laid back, lavishly paid, dispensing with ease a lifetime of accumulated mastery, dabbling at our leisure in the new technologies. Fantasy Island.

When I was 30 and art director of the local city magazine, we hired a 50-year-old who was incredible at pencil-sketching layouts. He could whip out four pencil-sketched advertising mockups in 30 minutes, which invariably impressed clients and made our jobs easy. Problem was, this artist was stuck in the 1950s, where he had learned his skills. He’d grown inflexible, like unused muscles get. He couldn’t get his head into what we were thinking and the direction we wanted to take the design. He was of a different mind, and we eventually let him go. It didn’t help that he drank.

At the same time, we had a 70-year-old proofreader who was the opposite. Extremely skilled, curious, cooperative, fun-loving, hard-working. If we were up all night, literally around the clock, on a deadline, Stan would stay with us, proofing endless galleys of 6-pt. type (“This opening paren is five points, not six,” he said one memorable night), raising our awareness, increasing our knowledge, inspiring us with his perseverance and acceptance of only the highest standards. There’s a lot of Stan Ottowa in Before & After.

Stan didn’t have to do this. He could have accepted the world’s loosening grammatical standards and less-than-the-best craftsmanship. But he kept the bar high and in doing so called us up to it.

Anyway, all this to say that while you may lack this or that credential, you have more than the 30- (or 20-) somethings, whose experience, for all of their skills, is still thin and forming, and instead of just landing a job, you might think about how to find your “more” and then find the fit for it.

What do you know about yourself at 50 (or 60) that you didn’t know at 30? How does it apply to design, and specifically to job A, B, or C?

What’s your vision? In every life God has planted the seed of something important. By 60, many of the wishes, hopes and dreams of youth have fallen away. Yet this thing persists. You may already be living it. Or not yet. What is it?

Do you have a “bucket” list? What’s on it?

Don’t fret over who might hire you, which is to cede ownership of your life to others. Think instead about what you know and have and want, and work to that. What do you do that no one else can do? Where can you make a difference that no one else can make?

My guess is that you know.

Go for that.

—————

Hi John,

Divine intervention has prevailed! I found out that a friend worked in the marketing department of a national company headquartered in my hometown. Of course, she would be happy to walk something in.

The resumé I had carefully prepared would not work — that letter-size piece of paper just wasn’t talking. What to do? Again, divine intervention prevailed. I found myself in the Hallmark store looking at the singing greeting cards. Surely there would be an appropriate song. “Cheers! Everyone knows your name,” sang out. It was the start of a great idea.

Like most of my discoveries in design, it’s a matter of relaxing and trusting. (My love of graphics started in first grade when the teacher asked me to design the bulletin board. I looked up and “saw” it — heading, picture, body. I’ve been doing it ever since.)

I went back to my roots. With photos and X-Acto blades, old rulers and pens, I started crafting the perfect resumé. The photo of me standing in a cornfield became “Judy Robertson is out standing in her field.” The story of how corn starts as a small seed became my career path. When I was done, the stock card had been transformed into a one-of-a-kind work of art. If this didn’t get me the job, I was going to find a new career.

The words, “You’re the one who sent in that singing resumé,” are a gift every time I hear them at my new job.

—————

Dear readers, talk to me.

(Thanks to Lou Brooks’ great Museum of Forgotten Art Supplies. Those of you of a certain age who click the link, don’t get lost on Memory Lane!)

“One of the optional aspects of this project is to remake the company’s logo; it’s not mandatory, but the company is willing to listen to ideas for a new logo. I’ve been reading some of the previous Design Talks and thought this could be a possible topic, and something that the company could actually use. The logos are attached. If you have any thoughts, comments, or ideas for a new logo, please let me know. Thanks.”

—————

Hi Mike,

Thanks for bringing this project to our attention; I’ve forwarded it to a few photographer friends.

I couldn’t attempt a makeover without a creative brief, which requires direct interface with the client — do they want a logo, and why, and what, and etc., etc. But here’s a 30-second crit.

The logo is serviceable as a label but visually out of touch. The dense block of bold, cap, slab-serif type on the massive black rectangle is too heavy-handed for the gentle-spirited nature of the project (“families during their most fragile time”), although I see that the rectangle is not used on their site. Its complexity, too, makes it difficult to remember,* opposite what you need in a logo.

The camera lens looks like a giant, all-seeing eyeball staring RIGHT AT ME, radiating power. It makes me want to look away. The awareness ribbon doesn’t add much, and it’s too generic for use in a logo. You want a logo to be ownable.

On the upside, it’s well crafted, and the typestyles, shapes and colors all coordinate well.

My sense is that this project requires something small, light, and low-key, probably in black & white or shades of gray, which is soft, like their site (and mission), and evokes photography. The point is not GRAPHIC DESIGN (in caps on purpose) but the photographers’ gifts to those losing someone to cancer. But without speaking to the client, I couldn’t know.

Thanks again. Keep us posted.

—————
*Is your image simple? Apply the three-second test. Look at the image for three seconds and look away. What do you remember? Try it on a friend. Or have a friend try it on you.

If your project can stand a little adventure, try this. “Connect” your initials by using a radically styled typeface in which the letters have been designed to look alike. Here are three . . .

Then, create a motif based on the character of the typeface. For example, Van Doesburg consists entirely of straight horizontal and vertical strokes, with neither curves nor, more radically, angles. Each letter looks like a block. Take advantage of this by arranging the letters in a block bisected (in this case) by horizontal and vertical hairlines, and soften with color . . .

Finish by adding the company name; below, it’s in curvy Cantoria. Many other typefaces would work here, too, because the DRD is so different that it automatically creates contrast. Generally speaking, for readability avoid using the logotype font for the company name.

This technique has limits, obviously. The thing to remember is that wild styles can often be civilized by presenting them in conservative, low-key settings. Try it!

Van Doesburg and Planet Kosmos are free typefaces. Mojo is an inexpensive Adobe font.

For more reading on letter-based design, check out Before & After’s PDF Type bundle #1.

“I actually like that they gave me so much, because it gives me great insight into their expectations. But I’ve noticed something when clients have done this before: Client-provided materials can be toxic to new, innovative design. When I see so much of their past material, it has a huge influence on my design, and then I realize that I am just moving in the direction of duplicating their previous work. It creates a massive design block!

“My question is, how can you use client-provided material to assess their wants, needs, and expectations without it becoming toxic to your creative process? Any tips or advice would be greatly appreciated!!”

—————

Daniel,
Smart of them to bring you up to date! It sounds like they liked their previous stuff and that it worked for them. Did they ask for something new? Is their venue the same? The theme? What more do you know?

—————

John,
The client is a very large, nationally recognized non-profit doing their annual fundraiser. They’ve not really asked for something new; they seem to just want it done in time for the event in three months.

The main item is a 150 or so- page catalog of items for their silent auction, as well as information about those who have donated auction items, and about the organization itself. They’ve indicated that they really like the style of Food & Wine magazine, but that’s about it. I get the impression that they’re changing up designers every year in an attempt to get closer to their vision, which they seem to find a bit vague.

—————

Daniel,
My guess is that you’re trying to innovate when innovation is not called for, you’re getting predictably stuck, and the resulting “design block” is why you’re falling back on what’s been done before.

This is why a good creative brief is invaluable. It gets on paper what’s to be achieved in terms of message and image. A creative brief gives the project objective goals and keeps the critique at a high level. It is valuable for both you and the client.

You’ll almost certainly have to tease it out. You mentioned that their vision was “vague.” This is normal. Design is difficult to articulate. It’s a right-brain thing, more “feel” than words. And words are only part of the issue. Chances are high that your client is not entirely clear in his own mind what he wants. Explore together until it gets clear for both of you.

Be specific, too. Avoid statements like, “We want to make a good impression on our audience,” or, “We want the design to inspire readers to participate.” These are emotions, not design directives.

Instead, say, “We want our program to look like a high-end auction. To do this, we’ll use classic book margins and fine typography — serif type with wide leading — on glossy paper. Every item will be professionally photographed against a white background, with uniform lighting. We’ll give major items a full page, and minor items we’ll group four to a page. All pages will have a distinctive heading and a small, consistently placed space for auction notes. The cover will be black with thin, gold trim, and the title will be understated.”

Of course, this is only an example. Before your next meeting, you might get a copy of Food & Wine and study it. Ask what it is about Food & Wine that the client likes. Is it sophisticated? Trendy? Understated? Perhaps they like the colors or images or typography. Can they say how Food & Wine’s look applies to them?

(You’ll also need to ask yourself if you’re capable of transferring attributes from Food & Wine to the auction program without copying or losing the feel.)

Then comes the hard part: achieving your stated goals. I can’t count the times that I had a clear idea of what I wanted, but what I put on paper looked nothing like it. You’ll have to slog through this. Seth Godin calls it “The Dip.” But now, instead of defaulting to past imagery, you have a visual goal by which to measure your work — and by which the client can measure your work.

Remember, too, that you’re a team, not a lone wolf. Stay close. As you work, more will often be revealed, and new ideas, sometimes great ones, will arise.

—————
Dear readers, can you add to this? Have you experienced being influenced by a client’s past work — or your own? How did you handle it?

Current logo:

My comps:

—————

Joe, keep in mind that an old logo is filled with personal meaning, regardless of its aesthetic qualities. While your new design is technically sound, it doesn’t pack the history, tension, or emotion necessary to overcome their attachment to the familiar (and beloved) old one.

By discarding the old one completely, my guess is that you took away too much. Try a simpler redesign that incorporates one element (at least) from the old — the Long Island silhouette or the target (called a “house,” I believe), and possibly keep an older-style, serif typeface.

—————

Dear readers, I wrote about this topic in Issue 33. An excerpt . . .

As a designer, you most likely think first in terms of aesthetics — this image is prettier than that — or about what each element “symbolizes.” But be careful. What an image symbolizes to you has no bearing on what it means to the client. To the client, it’s the old logo that has meaning.

Why? Because everyone who works for a company has to some degree adopted an identity. We bring to a job our education, abilities, ambitions, and take from it income, friends, lifestyle. We identify these experiences with the company and infuse its logo with personal meaning, whether the logo is artistically attractive or not.

The logo is not “just a graphic” any more than a flag is a piece of colored cloth.

That’s why it’s so hard to design. You’re working on sacred soil. I’m exaggerating only a little, but I’m not kidding.

Thing is, a client asking for a redesign will not be aware of this — that what he knows and values about his company is attached to its logo, and that he’s asking you to replace it. He’s asking for a new flag.

Advice. If you feel qualified, do the job. Before unveiling it, prepare your client. Tell him he can expect to feel uncomfortable at first, because you’re replacing what he knows with a foreign thing. Tell him to not look for his familiar symbolism in it. It is being changed. But assure him that once his choice is made, his old meaning will gradually be transferred to the new logo.

Then show him your best work.

The modern mind thinks in terms of data: “The storm was third wettest in 1996.” But the ancient mind thought in terms of story: “I will send you rain in its season.”

Larry King once asked Ed Bradley if he could explain the longevity of CBS’ 60 Minutes, the most successful program in television history. Mr. Bradley replied that it was because founder Don Hewitt’s guiding directive had been, “Tell me a story.” So storytelling (Once upon a time . . .), not reporting (Heat wave claims six), is what 60 Minutes has always done.

A novel is nothing but story.

A movie is nothing but story, either. And to see it, we spend millions.

One gets the impression watching the news that data is what matters (Rogers’ QB rating is 129). But data is mainly for statisticians, and not real. Story is how human beings actually experience life.

And what is a story? It’s a life lived. Story is about risk and hope and fear and struggle and love and loss. It’s about heart and soul and the real reasons behind things.

What’s all this have to do with design?

Everything.

As a designer, what are you doing on your sheet of paper or screen? Why are you involved? What’s your role?

You may say that you want your page/product/idea to “look good.” And, of course, looking good is preferable to looking bad. But what do you actually mean?

What you should mean is that there’s a story to be told, and that your part is its visual expression. “Looking good” says blue and green go well together. The story is in what blue and green together say.

I’ve placed a familiar object at the bottom of this page. It’s simple, symmetrical, balanced. You’d say that it looks good. But I did something funny: I moved its shadow. Now it’s floating, or so it appears. How can that be? We rub our eyes. Maybe it’s falling. No clues are given.

To leave the question unanswered is to begin a story. The reader’s engaged. He’ll look for what’s next. That’s what you want.

Think about this. That typeface you’re using  — why that one? Its form might be voluptuous or ratty or rigid. Each in context could be correct and beautiful — or not. White space can be a pause, a break in time. It can also organize, separating this from that. It can convey purity, vastness, emptiness, desolation — each different, dependent on context.

In evaluating your design, before asking, “Does it look good?” ask, “What story is it telling?”

Design — visual expressiveness — is not something plotted on a chart, measured, compiled, compared. It is, rather, the face of life, a window to the soul beneath.

————–
This article was originally published in Before & After issue 36, page 16. It’s available in print and on the Master Collection DVD.

When I think of a logo, I think most often of two kinds.

One is a signature, which is a distinctive way of writing your name and includes no additional marks . . .

The other is a cattle brand; it’s a simple, memorable image that identifies you in the herd. A classic example is Nike . . .

(Variations are military insignia and the family crest, which, historically, marked your presence at a gathering or coronation or battle.) . . .

Everything else falls into a large-but-vague morass of complex graphics and typefaces and colors and “target-audience” intentions that do a whole lot of nothing much. Some are well crafted, some are not, doesn’t matter. The net is zero.

One reason, perfectly valid, to have a logo is simply because you want one. It’s a means of personal expression. Online avatars are of this kind — unnecessary but kind of fun.

But do you need one? Ask, can the job be done without it?

In the case of Nike, absolutely not. Nike needs a logo. How many shoes and shirts and pieces of sports equipment does it mark? At a glance, it identifies a hundred million products to billions of people in every nation, culture, and language on earth. Could that happen without a logo? It could not.

Many companies are like Nike, especially those with many products and competitors and locations. Apple, Starbucks, Ford, on and on.

Campbell’s needs a logo to distinguish its soup from lookalikes on crowded shelves. Campbell’s logo is a signature.

And so on.

But our thrift store. There is only one. It’s in the neighborhood. It has a name. It won’t be confused with something else. It’s where you shop for second-hand bargains. Occasional shoppers know it as the thrift store. Veteran shoppers know it as the Restored Blessings thrift store, which is different from the Restore thrift store across town.

What purpose would a logo serve here?

I’d say none.

But here’s where the line blurs. You have to write the name on the store front, on the Web page, on the stationery, and everywhere else. The written name looks like something — blocky, swashy, funky, whatever. So what it looks like becomes, by default, the logo, assuming that you write it the same every time.

This kind of logo — a consistently applied way of writing your name — conveys an understated sense of organization and professionalism, a good thing no matter what the enterprise, and always appropriate.

Do you need more than that?

Dear readers, that is the biggest misconception EVER.

Whose logo is this? . . .

How long would it take to draw? Let’s say 10 seconds in InDesign to make the rectangle and 10 minutes to get the width just right. How much do you bill per hour? To make it easy, let’s say $90. By that reckoning, this is a $15 logo.

Not only that, but the yellow border is not the designer’s creation; it’s been the trademark of the client, National Geographic magazine, for a century.

Yet when he “designed” this rectangle in 2002, Tom Geismar (Chermayeff & Geismar) created one of the clearest, most identifiable, most portable images on the planet, meaning one that works beautifully in every venue regardless of size, resolution, or surrounding clutter.

That’s design.

How powerfully simple can you make your next logo?

“I wasn’t sure we should be using those first few colors, since we’re not McDonald’s or Burger King; I wanted it to look more homey. I was also trying to show they have just about everything under one roof (furniture, kitchen, clothing, etc.). My client’s only wish was to keep the cross as part of the logo.”

———-
Hi Jayne,
1) There is no such thing as a “best” color for a logo.
2) “Homey” requires warm colors, not the ones you’re using.
3) “Everything under one roof” is too much stuff for a logo. A logo should be a simple mark that’s memorable. Everything else is marketing.

Before you get too far down this road, however, the question to ask is, does this store need a logo at all? I suggest that it does not; instead, just present its name clearly and attractively. People usually shop thrift stores out of necessity; finding a modest, expressive typeface that dignifies the store and its customers will be an artistic challenge and a kindness.

One popular suggestion was to make Mr. Jobs’ photo slightly smaller, thereby adding white space around the title. Like this . . .

To my eye, this is a good, if modest, change. The added white space, which appears mostly on the sides, strengthens the small type and imparts that quiet, Apple Zen feel, which the original doesn’t quite achieve. It also solves the severe cropping across his hand. In exchange, it sacrifices intensity. The result is an excellent cover with a different Gestalt. Which is better? Which will be better in a year?

The book as published . . .

Other notes:

Apple’s typeface is a variant of Myriad Pro, which is similar to Frutiger. The two are easily confused.

The use of Helvetica type for the title is valid. Apple uses Helvetica and Helvetica Neue on all of its mobile devices and parts of its Lion OS. My iPhone:

A favorite suggestion was to run the photo without a printed title. But, as Edward hinted, this would cause confusion. Not everyone is as familiar with Jobs as we are, and there are other Jobs books out there. An Amazon search turns up a wordless cover, and you’re thinking, is this the right one? Remember, too, that a title confined to the spine works only for printed books, not ebooks. Similarly, while a blind emboss could be beautiful (and certainly Apple minimalist), it, too, would be invisible in e-formats.

Suggestions to make the byline smaller than the title, or of a different weight or gray value or case — or stacked or repositioned — open a heaping, five-pound can of typographic worms that we’ll need a longer article to address. Sufficient for now is to say that simple is best, and the single-font, single-line setting is the simplest possible.

Finally, Diana is surely correct in saying that opinions are being colored by Mr. Jobs’ recent passing. We in the design community, especially, feel the loss, so Mr. Isaacson’s book is serving, at least in the short term, as our memorial. This cover will look different to us a year from now.