If These Wheels Could Talk book; 34 x 6.5in. (spread), 116ppg. / 2004

Soon after the dot-com and 9/11 crashes, my design job also crashed. I set about looking for another, through other firms, recruiters, friends, friends of friends, and so on. All unable to take on the frivolous weight of an underdeveloped type and image manipulator, I broadened my search criteria: assistant… receptionist… data enterer… Anything that would have me back in the office environs to which I had grown so entitled. But there was nothing to be had. Facing the loss of everything, the idealization of pre-crash innocence struck me. I printed out a few standard government forms, borrowed a friend’s car and found myself driving southward to the King County Metro headquarters. I was on my way to becoming a bus driver.

Public transportation is one of the great noble causes of our time, and the bus embodies the struggle most colossally: angling through bourgeois car traffic to transport the proletariat affordably to their destination. Having grown up without a car, I had developed a keen appreciation for the bus’s role, and, as the false hopes of cubicle walls crumbled, to give my hands to one of their great helms all of a sudden seemed right. But, for all my idealization, I also knew the motley reality of what goes on above the turning wheels: The bus riding masses are an odd bunch, particularly in a city where almost everyone who can drives a car instead…

If These Wheels Could Talk title page; 34 x 6.5in. (spread), 116ppg. / 2004

Even before my career epiphany, the bus, and particularly those who rode it, had been so fascinating to me that I often ruminated that someone could (and should) write a book about it. Some years after my drive downtown, nearing the end of the Visual Communication Design (VCD) program at the University of Washington, I decided I would write that book. This was to be a documentary exploration into extra-ordinary human behavior, captured from a series of bus rides.

Of all the routes in Metro’s quiver, route 7 is one of the most eccentric, and, at the time of this project, I knew it quite well. It starts in the University district, with its preppy students and punkish homeless, then ambles up to Capitol Hill’s prideful exhibitionists and holy hipsters, turns around the plucky community college and then hurdles downtown, where business gets serious and youth goes to die. I lived in the middle and commuted to both ends. In homage to this moving cross-section, the book is composed as a series of seven rides.

Interaction with the book is meant to invoke the bus riding experience. The vehicle, itself, is large and unwieldy in every dimension. The book is 34″ across when straightened out, almost six inches thick, and quite heavy. Though over 100 pages, there are no page numbers; rather, it is based on time to get from one end of a story to the other. The table of contents shows the journey you will take through the read, a legend of symbols (such as character descriptions and ambient noises like laughing or stop-bell ringing), and a timetable, so you know when your story is coming.

If These Wheels Could Talk table of contents; 34 x 6.5in. (spread), 116ppg. / 2004

Readers are invited into new stories by a new set of doors rolling up. For those who really want to immerse themselves in the bus ride experience while careening through the book, a CD of ambient bus noise sits on the hub of the first wheel.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (story coming); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (story arrival); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

A true connoisseur of the bus understands the implications of everything from the machine to the madness within. Express routes traversing the city and then ending in the bus tunnel downtown had been taken in beautiful Italian Bredas that would convert from diesel to electric “trolley” mode via long, raisable contact rods that would slide power from a dense network of live overhead wires. Sadly, these were being overtaken by the criminally ugly, though presumably more practical Canadian New Flyers, which were truer hybrids in that they no longer needed the trolley wires to sustain electric power. Before even the Bredas were the German M.A.N. machines of equivalent industrial elegance but, by this point had only kept presence with aging, 100% electric trolleys on local urban routes; their sophisticated gestalt belied an obstreperous tendency to toss their electric contact rods (and thus, all power) if corners weren’t taken with surgical accuracy. Filling in the gaps were useful, if unremarkable, American Gillig Diesels. Depending on the day and time, the number 7 may have employed any of these buses.

Once inside one of the great battlewagons, the real psychological war begins. Within each bus is a series of micro neighborhoods: Elderly, lonely and confused up front, huddled masses in the low front-facing rows, superior types high over the wheel wells, focused readers and motion-starved toddlers in the windowless, articulating mid-section and conniving youth slammed as rearward as possible. To mismatch your persona with the expectations of the community could be uncomfortable at best. However, increased rider density of any given route will dissipate these presumptions.

As you enter a story, a page lets you know where you are in the route, what kind of bus is taking you, how full it was, who the primary characters were and where they sat.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (chapter head); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

Technically, of course, I didn’t write this book. I could have, I suppose, but I thought it would be a hell of a lot more interesting if the people on the bus wrote it, themselves. In order to make this happen, I recorded conversations going on around me on my everyday commutes, then merely transcribed them upon returning home every night. The final seven stories were culled from about 25 ride recordings.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (story text); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

The text of the conversation is set temporally. Gaps in conversation correspond to gaps in typography. Similarly, when more than one person speaks at a time, type overlaps. Though the book is over 100 pages, there are no page numbers. Rather, a small clock ticks by at the right side of each spread. Each character is given a color, icon and a typeface that correspond to their gender, age, and personality as I could glean them from my brief overhearings. New entrants to the story are cued with their icons as they become audible, as they so often do.

Concurrently with, and helping to deflect from, my overhearing, I shot abstract photography of the great machines and their surroundings for abstract visual context. Marbled rubber flooring, cracked vinyl seats and polished steel railings met with glimpses of light and corners as I rolled through the streets.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (story / imagery); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

Most of the text is actually quite small. It is the equivalent of the din of public chatter. It’s temporal setting and iconic cues offer a sense of volume and pace. But you don’t have to overhear very hard before someone says something that jumps clearly above white noise. Such gems were treated as pull quotes, set emotively within the photographic glimpses.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (story / imagery / pull quote); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (story / imagery / pull quote); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

If you’re lucky, your point A and point B are driven between, directly, by one Metro bus. However, this is by no means guaranteed, particularly if those points are separated by some distance and/or are not represented as a stop within the downtown bus tunnel. For all other trips, you must transfer. As with most tax-starved public programs, I had learned early in my life to temper expectations of service, but the bus would almost always find a way to let me down, and never so low as when I was forced to wait to transfer to another bus. In order to bring this element into the frame, the book is not set up as a continuous ride with seven stops but, rather, seven consecutive rides with six transfers in-between, forcing you to wait between stories. Often for much longer than seems necessary.

It can take forever.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (waiting); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

Sometimes, just looking around can be interesting, though.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (waiting); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

…while you’re waiting.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (waiting); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

…and waiting.

Printed Metro schedules were useless because buses could never, ever stick to them. I always thought that buses should have tracking devices that would show, on a route map at every stop, where it actually was (a simple LED on the line would suffice). That way, you could make an informed decision about whether to wait, walk, cry, or go back home. But they still print schedules, anyway.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (waiting); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

If daytime ridership seems odd, then take a trip at night and prepare to redefine normal. Take away the people on their way to something productive and you’re left with a rare breed of incoherent vagabonds, charged up ramblers and the completely deranged. In other words, these words are gold. Two of the book rides take place at night, cued by a black backdrop. As well, the information graphics and text are reversed out of the nocturnal darkness.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (bus arriving at night); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (bus arriving at night); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

Day breaks one more time to shine a light on the last story, which is primarily about getting off the bus, picking up on someone who meant to be picked up by another number. The ride stops before it starts and so the story goes away.

If These Wheels Could Talk spread (story leaving); 34 x 6.5in., 116ppg. / 2004

After all these years, and so many projects before and since, many for some of the most interesting organizations in the world, this book still holds a place very close to my heart. It was the bus that took me from one formative experience to another for much of my life, and it was the bus that drove me back to my life’s design.

I realized halfway into that drive down south that, for all the good that the bus embodied, I wasn’t meant to be its driver. For better or worse, I was always supposed to be a designer, and so I turned the car around and went back home. Shortly thereafter, I filled out some other government forms and reapplied to the University of Washington, where I went on to go through the VCD program. In the rite of passage from school to re-entry into career, it felt right to pay due respect to the wheels that got me there.

lives being lost to Cardiovascular Disease (shown in real time; multiply by 25,000 for annual number) animated illustration for presentation; source: 2000 U.S. Census; originally 10 x 7ft. (projected) / 2004

Data is boring. It’s just facts and figures; numbers on a page. There’s no life in it: No blood, sweat or tears, not to mention sex. But actually, there almost always is. Nearly all data is merely classified results of the choices people make. If someone didn’t make enough money to pay their phone bill. If someone trained hard enough to win an Olympic bronze medal. If someone was found 30 stories below a penthouse balcony. There is data that can tell us all about these things. Unfortunately, it’s too often left flat, or worse, twisted up in knots, suffocated and sputtering in it’s own purple ink. It is in the mindful extrication, marrying and expression of data that its ones and zeroes may come to life, breathe in our faces and tell us to pay attention for a minute because it’s going to help us understand the beautiful and the terrifying things we’ve done. This is information design.

Nothing should teach us more about ourselves than adversity, and that’s what we were faced with in Information Design, one of the most sweat-worthy courses in the decidedly rigorous Visual Communication Design program at the University of Washington. Indeed, the subjects of our designs were nothing short of catastrophic: groups were assigned strains of natural disasters or epidemics to seek out, research and present based on their potential merit to inform through design. After this, we were to design at least three magazine spreads of narrated information graphics individually.

Our research team, comprised of Jesse Graupmann, Jim Nesbitt and myself came upon Cardiovascular Disease (CVD), by far the United States’ most prolific killer. In terms of deaths and monetary expenditures, raw data makes it clear that CVD, which encompasses Heart Attack, Stroke, and various other arterial conditions, is a significantly larger problem than any other known phenomenon.

comparison of annual deaths between Cardiovascular Disease, and other notable causes of death, as well as the total deaths accrued in all significant U.S. wars; (roll over to enlarge) [sources: American Heart Association, 2003; Centers for Disease Control 2003; U.S. Pentagon, 2000]; originally 10 x 7ft. (projected) / 2004

Currently, on average, CVD kills about 1.5 million people per year in the U.S. or one every 33 seconds, accounting for 39.4% or one of every 2.5 deaths in the year 2000. Even all forms of cancer combined don’t kill as many people as does Coronary Heart Disease alone, just one of several types of Cardiovascular Disease. This is not to mention non-disease related deaths such as murders or accidents, which also pale in comparison to CVD. Perhaps most shocking is that more people die of Cardiovascular Disease each year than were killed in every major U.S. war, combined.

comparison of annual costs between Cardiovascular Disease, Cancer, Alzheimer’s Disease and AIDS, as well the combined annual budget for the U.S. military (roll over to enlarge) [sources: American Heart Association, 2003; Centers for Disease Control 2003; U.S. Pentagon, 2000]; originally 10 x 7ft. (projected) / 2004

In our presentation to the class, we introduced these and other such daunting facts with the animated chart at the top of this post projected behind us, illustrating deaths occurring due to the disease even as we were making the presentation. We made a pretty good case, and we were off on our own to dive in and make those facts dance their deadly dance in the pages of our own magazine articles.

But having the undisputed king of killers wasn’t enough for me. I was thirsty for more blood. I suppose I wanted more sex in it, too. Based the numbers above, Cardiovascular Disease sounds pretty bad, but how could it be worse than HIV and AIDS? I set out to answer this question by comparing the two based on five critical factors…

Both Cardiovascular Disease (coded in yellow, in relation to the arterial plaque that makes the condition) and HIV/AIDS (coded in green, in relation to the general notion of debilitating illness that sooner or later plagues its carriers) are national epidemics. But, in terms of probability of affliction, deaths and monetary expenditures, raw data makes it clear that Cardiovascular Disease, which encompasses Heart Attack, Stroke, and various other arterial conditions, is a significantly larger problem than HIV/AIDS. However, the latter receives far more media draw, and, though spending on CVD exceeds HIV and AIDS by quite a wide margin, spending in proportion to death rate is actually much lower.

Roll over any of the spreads below to see them much larger

National Epidemics magazine article segment comparing monetary and mortality statistics of Cardiovascular Disease vs. HIV/AIDS; 20 x 12in. (spread) / 2004

Looking closer at those affected by Cardiovascular Disease or HIV and AIDS reveals a more compelling statement regarding public perception. It is without question that Cardiovascular Disease affects and kills far more people overall than does HIV and AIDS; this transcends racial, gender, and geographic borders. However, HIV is actually slightly more prevalent in young adults aged 25 – 34. While the death rate of AIDS is still less in this group than that of CVD, being infected by a life-threatening, terminal disease in the prime of one’s life is obviously a crushing blow and likely plays a key role in the cultural awareness and fear of AIDS not present in regard to Cardiovascular Disease.

Geographically, prevalence of Cardiovascular Disease is strongly correlated to broad regions of the U.S., while HIV and AIDS cases tend to be concentrated in major metropolitan areas. Generally speaking, CVD affects those in the South significantly more than other regions. Several Southern states have even been grouped and labeled as the “Stroke Belt.” Speculation as to the cause of this geographic bias points to the prevalence of two major risk factors: poor diet and inactivity. Specifically, the common practice of deep-frying many foods contributes significantly to elevated cholesterol levels. High temperatures in this region are also thought to contribute to the population’s high rate of inactivity.

Victim Profiles magazine article segment comparing demographics of those affected by Cardiovascular Disease vs. HIV/AIDS; 20 x 12in. (spread) / 2004

Though HIV and AIDS are much younger conditions than Cardiovascular Disease (indeed, Stroke was first recognized by Hypocrites over 2,400 years ago), both have seen a steady rise in prevalence in recent times. This progression has not occurred randomly. Various risk factors and behaviors contribute to the probability of being afflicted by either illness.

In the case of Cardiovascular Disease, there are a few risk factors, such as hereditary predisposition, for which there is little recourse. However, the bulk of risk factors stem from modifiable lifestyle choices. Chief among these are adequate exercise and proper diet. Americans have become steadily less active over the last fifty years, which has led to massive obesity. Without regular moderate exercise, the heart grows weaker and obesity forces it to work harder than it is prepared. Though some diet choices have improved over the years, others have worsened, canceling out most positive changes.

HIV, too, has risky behavior as its primary champion. Unsafe sexual contact with infected persons and sharing “dirty” needles are the two most prominent and most avoidable modes of transmission. Safer sex practices, such as condom usage, have increased slightly and needle-exchange programs have worked hard to curb infected needle usage, but overall behavior patterns have not changed significantly since initial public recognition of the disease.

How They Begin magazine article segment comparing risk factors of Cardiovascular Disease vs. HIV/AIDS; 20 x 12in. (spread) / 2004

The physiological processes by which Cardiovascular Disease (CVD) and HIV/AIDS progress are significantly different. CVD is actually a very simple, localized mechanical process whose effect can be easily seen by the naked eye (once revealed in surgery), while HIV/AIDS is much more complicated and widespread, and operates entirely on a microscopic level.

How They Kill magazine article segment comparing how Cardiovascular Disease and HIV/AIDS affect the body; 20 x 12in. (spread) / 2004

Once affected by either Cardiovascular Disease or HIV/AIDS, appropriate management is crucial. In this realm, Cardiovascular Disease patients have a number of options at their disposal. If a severe cardiovascular event such as a Heart Attack or Stroke occurs, surgical action is necessary and must be performed immediately for any chance of survival or recovery. However, warning signs such as throbbing pain in the area affected often precede these events by minutes, hours or even years. If caught early enough, Cardiovascular Disease is quite treatable and its progression can actually be reversed. This can be accomplished by way of lifestyle changes, various cholesterol or blood pressure-lowering medication or, if particularly severe, surgery.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for those with HIV/AIDS. Tragically, there is still no cure for HIV or AIDS, but, after close to twenty-five years of intense research and development, pharmaceuticals have come a long way toward managing the conditions. AZT was the first anti-HIV drug approved by the FDA in 1986 and is still used today. The now famous “AIDS Cocktail” (which often includes AZT) is the currently the treatment of choice, but this regimen is neither cheap nor simple. A handful of harsh drugs must be taken on a precise schedule several times a day, every day, for the rest of one’s life. The course demands very specific diet and eating habits to work properly. It is so important that this schedule not be deviated from that many patients are advised to ‘practice’ with different kinds of candy for weeks before actually beginning cocktail treatment. Once committed to the regime, the drugs can make the patient very nauseated and may even be rejected outright by the body. If this occurs, then various alternative drugs must be experimented in hopes that a suitable treatment can be reached.

Managing Their Presence magazine article segment comparing treatment options for Cardiovascular Disease vs. HIV/AIDS; 20 x 12in. (spread) / 2004

Since this was just an academic exercise never published in the public realm or even read by anyone other than possibly classmates—who were facing their own disasters—and a few competition judges I don’t know, I can’t say how this translation of data might be able to affect others. But, speaking for myself, I can tell you that processing this information, expressing it graphically and digesting it once came together was deeply affecting. Indeed, this was probably the most depressing project I’ve ever designed. I don’t think I actually shed tears, but it certainly made me sad.

holiday card; front cover; 5 x 4in. (folded) / 2003

holiday card; inside ; 5 x 8in. (unfolded) / 2003

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; front cover; 4.5 x 4.5in.; 28ppg. / 2003

Teen angst is a powerful force not often harnessed for forward progress. At the same time, many of today’s most overwhelming transportation problems are fueled by inertia. There is one predominantly accepted model that most people of driving age accept as given and therefore perpetuate. If there’s one thing kids hate, it’s being told that they have to do something a certain way. Multiple Choice plays between both of these phenomena.

This book, one of a few projects undertaken for the Publications course in the UW Visual Communication Design program, was designed as a thought leadership piece that might be put out by a major car maker to mark an openness to new ideas, sparking productive discourse on the future of transportation…

Content is related to the youth in abstracted vernacular of the age-old standardized test. But the point that’s being driven throughout is that, unlike such tests, these issues have more than one right answer, and the answer most commonly accepted is not necessarily right at all. This isn’t a test after all; it’s a challenge.

At the beginning of each section, two questions are posed: concerning the current situation: Why?, with the prevailing, claustrophobic choice as the only choice, and, considering several alternatives in an open context, Why not?.

The book is divided into four sections. The first, Dinosaur Technology, focuses on fuels, asking Why only fossil fuels? (as illustrated by oil derrick bubbles) and Why not hydrogen/fuel-cell, electric, solar, biodiesel or even wind-power?

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; front cover; 4.5 x 4.5in.; 28ppg. / 2003

The sections then cite a quote about the detrimental effects of the current “right answer”—here an excerpt from The Nation decrying the inefficiency and inscrutable political backing of fossil fuel—while sharing brief descriptions of the alternatives.

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; Dinosaur Technology chapter head; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

In the spirit of test-taking, each description begins with a simple question. The writing is kept brief and light, but informative. At the end of each section, simple information graphics compare relevant statistics between all of the choices, such as mile per dollar, contrasted with contrary government subsidy.

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; Dinosaur Technology chapter head; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

The next section, Vehicular Suicide, focuses on efficient uses of vehicles, asking Why single-occupancy in large vehicles like SUVs, and Why not carpooling, public transportation, motorcycling, cycling, or even the curious Segway?

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; Vehicular Suicide chapter head; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; Vehicular Suicide alternative descriptions; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

Information graphics compare emissions per person per day with cost per day.

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; Vehicular Suicide information graphics; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

The third section, Going Nowhere Fast, focuses on how those vehicles get from point-A to point-B, and asks Why just the static highway tangles currently in place? and Why not some more efficient, safe and/or easy alternatives, such as splitting highway systems into levels for different uses, automatically-linked vehicle caravans, hyper-efficient magnetic track systems or even more futuristic bubble technology?

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; Going Nowhere Fast chapter head; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; Going Nowhere Fast chapter head; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

This section is summed up with comparisons of time wasted in traffic in different U.S. cities currently, ranging anywhere from about 50 to 80 hours per year.

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; Going Nowhere Fast chapter head; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

Lastly, What Now? asks readers to contemplate what to do with all these choices and offers an interactive CD-ROM with tunes for the next commute, as well as information on how the youths’ can use their informed chutzpah to challenge friends, family, and political representatives whose standstill status quo is so rarely challenged otherwise.

Multiple Choice, Alternatives to the Worn Out Model of U.S. Transportation booklet; What Now? information/CD; 9 x 4.5in. (spread); 28ppg. / 2003

National Park Service Research Opportunities promotional brochure; front cover; 5 x 8.5in.; accordion fold / 2003

Because I am into competitive cycling and ride outside all the time, many people assume that I am one with nature, which is actually pretty far from the truth. It’s not that I dislike the great outdoors, but the thought of being in the woods doesn’t give me any kind of rush. However, there’s a big difference between knowing nature is there and being on a mountain. There are some points of our environment that are undeniably awesome, and I got to experience many firsthand in a project for the National Park Service.

Our design team at the Design + Innovation Lab, including myself, Jim Nesbitt and Jason Tselentis, and directed by Doug Wadden, worked with The National Park Service to create an informational brochure and comprehensive web reference for their collaborative research program, dubbed simply “Research Opportunities.” This program invites public, private and academic researchers to conduct their studies in seven Pacific Northwest parks. This symbiotic relationship allows researchers access to some of the greatest ecological resources in the Northwest, while the Park Service gains additional relevance by being linked to significant scientific research and discovery in prominent publication…

National Park Service Research Opportunities promotional brochure; opening letter and fields of study overview (that’s my ex-girlfriend serving as research model in the field); 10 x 8.5in. (double-panel spread); accordion fold; photography by Doug Wadden and other sources / 2003

At the outset of the project, the client actually had in mind a ring-binder system of materials that they could share with potential research candidates, but we felt this solution would not serve their needs best: On a functional level, a large, heavy binder system would not travel well; only a few could be mailed out before postage costs would put paid to further such distribution, which leaves in-person meetings for everyone else, requiring even more expense in human time and travel commitment. Additionally, if all the material was captured only in press-printed sheets (even if they were removable from the binder), any changes to programs, application procedures, contacts, or other information would be very expensive and logistically challenging to update properly. On a more ethereal level, we wanted to create a more organic presentation system that was reflective of a dynamic, collaborative program, as opposed to something more monolithic and institutional.

We suggested a two-pronged approach: create a slim brochure, top-lining the program benefits, potential areas of research and applicable parks. This piece could be easily and inexpensively mailed out to thousands of recipients. The goal of this piece would be to attract interest and drive readers to a web site where more comprehensive information and application material could be found and updated easily as necessary.

Appropriately, once we had the general parameters of the project worked out with the client, we took the opportunity to do our own research in the parks. We loaded up a car with camera equipment, a proper picnic of charcuterie and cheese, the most convincing mountain man (or woman) attire we could don for our modeling cameos (some were more convincing than others) and my girlfriend at the time (to serve as a female model). We hiked through the mountains, took in historical landmarks, scoured fields, braved cliffs and surveyed the wetlands. Professor Wadden shot the adventure on Kodachrome and we came back with great imagery and our own great experiences in hand.

National Park Service Research Opportunities promotional brochure; program details and map of locations; 10 x 8.5in. (double-panel spread); accordion fold / 2003

The brochure was a simple accordion-folded piece, including a letter of introduction, descriptions of the potential fields of study, a hand-drawn map of locations, and highlighted case studies of previous fieldwork, leading to a call to learn more via mail, phone, or, preferably, the dedicated web site.

The National Park Service identity system was actually created by one of those design “legends,” so we didn’t want to mess with the general gestalt too much, but we take a few liberties to bring a bit more dynamism to the “universal style Modern” band and column system, stepping grid alignments and adding vibrant color overlays to photography.

National Park Service Research Opportunities promotional brochure; highlighted case studies (that’s Jim as mountain man researcher); 10 x 8.5in. (double-panel spread); accordion fold; photography by Doug Wadden and other sources / 2003

National Park Service Research Opportunities promotional brochure; back cover; 5 x 8.5in.; photography by Doug Wadden and other sources / 2003

Concurrently, the complimentary web site took form. This comprehensive reference serves as the permanent hub where researchers can dig into detailed information on the parks and applicable fields of study, read up on case studies and apply to take their own research project(s) to the parks. Topics is cross-linked to the others for complete context and encouragement of participation.

National Park Service Research Opportunities web site, Flash intro screens with fields of study and parks; 800 x 600px.+ / 2003

National Park Service Research Opportunities web site home page; 800 x 600px.+ / 2003

National Park Service Research Opportunities web site, Mount Rainier page in The Parks section (rolling over Olympic National Park nav link); 800 x 600px.+ / 2003

As it was before the widespread of contemporary content management systems (CMSs)—even those as simple as WordPress (on which this blog runs)—we implemented the site to work with since defunct software producer Macromedia’s “Contribute” program so that even park officials without any web programming skills could update content based on a simple, login-enabled text editor that simply overlaid the site.

Of course, it was still a bit of a challenge for those who would rather be in the woods to sort through even this editing tool, so, even though I probably would have rather been riding my bike, I ended up consulting with Park Service representatives for months after the site launched to ensure they were comfortable taking over the content. But in the end, they had a robust system in their hands with which to connect with researchers for years to come.

The printed piece was mailed out and otherwise distributed to thousands of potential program participants, and, as far as I know, both it and the site continue to work together to serve as primary reference points for the program. Naturally, I hope those that have participated discovered as much in their experiences as I did.

2003 law school graduation party invitation (side A); 4.5 x 6in. / 2003

In studying the prevailing American mindset on the subject of career success, perhaps the most insightful text on the matter is the collected works of TV Guide. Skim past the prologue of red-eyed shills, the hazy caffeine of morning droll and other timefill of pandering feel-good talk, geriatric game shows and irrelevant local news, and and start taking notes at prime time. Discounting the relatively recent, unfathomable minefield of “reality” as desperate scatter-shot, you are left with memes so powerful and enduring as to have riddled prime slots snowy and black and white all the way through 3DHD: Doctors and lawyers. Television’s ethereal blue glow has taught us to revere these two professions more than any other, and, in the interest of the court, I was guilty as any.

This TV-fed fascination with doctors and lawyers comes not from their contribution to society, but on their sheer entertainment value. Prime time has served up their appeal on silver platters. We see doctors tussle with human life, which is kind of like what God is all about; the appeal is obvious. Lawyers are the cunning oral marksmen, toggling between cool recitation of obscure precedent and impassioned appeals for basic decency. Each have their own brand of exotic diction that elevates them from the rest of the bread and butter world, leaving us to assume their impenetrable turns of phrase are ingenious shows of mental strength. Moreover, both are assumed to make boatloads of money…

I should mention a third meme that has proved similarly time-tested and Nielsen-approved, but it has a different cast: Cops. We are led to cite these street talkers as “everyday heroes” and they may even earn some awe for their moxie, but we’re shown little reason to give their job any aspirational value. Their foul-mouthed dishabille is picked-up and only spirals. It takes everything in their power to just beat back death every day. Moreover, it doesn’t take long to figure out that they are just doing the dirty work for the lawyers, who’ll “take it from here, thanks.” There is never any talk about cops’ salaries, unless it is painfully insufficient. Any fleeting, youthful intrigue in guns and American cars was never enough to drive me toward working a beat.

Taking both doctors and lawyers on equal ranking in terms of American reverence, doctors really get the short end of the stick in reality (the real reality). They have to go to school for eons and, with all that blood and gore? No, thank you. Lawyers, on the other hand… that’s three years of post-grad and you’re out cleverly badgering witnesses into submission. The mavens of the small-screen courtroom, from Matlock to McCoy—hell, even McBeal—all made lawyering look pretty choice.

Nevertheless, despite never having seen a single television show about it (was there ever one?), graphic design eventually snuffed out any latent interest in the legal arts. As sexy as all of that fancy arguing may look on TV, the process is interpretive and repetitive—creativity in law is only for the corrupt; I’m just not wired for it. Plus, with all that required reading? No, thank you.

But if you can’t be ‘em, join ‘em, I say. At a certain point, I happened to fall into a crowd of law students, one of whom happened to be my girlfriend for quite some time (told you it was sexy). I went through the process vicariously, from being “scared to death,” to “worked to death” to “bored to death” (and a lot of drinking to death in-between). Completing this morbid rite meant all the closer to the cool glow of the courthouse—a “win” as they say; certainly cause for celebration. I put my creative genes to work to help make that happen.

Tying a string around one’s finger is a timeless symbol of remembering something important. To help you remember that the important thing has something to do with graduation, the string is actually a tassel. And to help you remember such detailed information regarding time, place, numbers and whatnot, it was best to just keep it on hand. After such a deadly course of study, nobody had any of their own memory left.

2003 law school graduation party invitation (side B); some information purposely obscured; 6 x 4.5in. / 2003

Manufacturing Consent, A Propaganda Model book in acetate slipcase; 9.5 x 9.5in., 28ppg. / 2003

What is the role of American mainstream media? This book visualizes Noam Chomsky’s and Edward S. Herman’s message that a few powerful individuals and corporations mask their own deceit and corruption through their control of the mass media. As the writers urge, the reader must take an active role in looking beneath the messages “filtered” by these entities in order to understand the real content.

In this piece—a project undertaken for the Publications course in the University of Washington Visual Communication Design program, in which we were to interpret an excerpt of this seminal work—expressions of manufactured mass media content are printed in light cyan blue while the Chomsky / Herman text is printed in red on white paper. Red acetate “filters” sharpen contrast of the cyan while obscuring the copy.

The first action the reader must take is to remove the book from its masking slipcase. Once removed, the subject’s title becomes immediately visible, while the mass production of American perception recedes.

Manufacturing Consent, A Propaganda Model book drawn from acetate slipcase; 9.5 x 9.5in., 28ppg. / 2003

Each section begins with an automated assembly line, from which mainstream news stories emanate in cyan…

Manufacturing Consent, A Propaganda Model chapter head, filtered; 9.5 x 9.5in., 25ppg. / 2003

However, if the reader looks beneath the filter, the true content of the the Chomsky / Herman becomes clear:

Manufacturing Consent, A Propaganda Model chapter head, acetate filter lifted to reveal body copy; 9.5 x 9.5in., 25ppg. / 2003

The reader is constantly offered the filtered information first. They must be vigilant in their search for the hidden truth. The voice of Chomsky / Herman is set flush-left and originates from the left of the page or spread, in reference to their political viewpoint. As well, their text comes from beneath the surface of the suppressive mainstream media.

But even the mass media presents bits of the truth. It just needs to be analyzed, re-contextualized and put back together in the correct order. To punctuate this idea, pull quotes of the Chomsky / Herman text are embedded within the mass media stream.

Manufacturing Consent, A Propaganda Model book, pull quote embedded in mainstream media text: “THESE… TWENTY-FOUR COMPANIES… ARE LARGE… PROFIT-SEEKING CORPORATIONS… OWNED AND CONTROLLED BY… QUITE WEALTHY PEOPLE”; 9.5 x 9.5in., 25ppg. / 2003

Sections end with the mainstream content running ragged, abstractly referencing a U.S. flag torn apart.



As with almost every project on which I have ever worked, this concept and execution came as the result of significant idea exploration and experimentation. Shown below are several initial directions for the piece. These include more literal references to the U.S. flag and interpretations of mass media and the vehicles by which they are delivered, as well as more comical ideas based on overt mind control by way of fanciful machinery.

Manufacturing Consent, A Propaganda Model book excerpt concept sketched; pencil on paper 11 x 8.5in. (each) / 2003

Comping this book was no mean feat, requiring a lot of trial and error with size, coloration and density of typography and imagery and acetate in order to achieve the desired interaction between the two media, not to mention the actual printing, mounting trimming and construction of the book and slip case. But in the end, I was quite pleased with the realization of the concept, and the comp turned out to be durable enough that I was proud to show it on several interviews years back.

Unfortunately (funnily enough, now), by the time those interviews happened, several months after the class, design darling Stefan Sagmeister’s “Made You Look,” one of several of his monographs, had just hit that stands with a nearly identical execution concept. Nobody accused me of anything, but a few interviewer’s did mention it, which was most annoying to me because I wasn’t really a fan, so didn’t even know that he had designed yet another thing about himself. I’ve since come to appreciate Sagmeister’s self-described self-indulgency, but, at the time, it was just an obnoxious lens through which the true meaning of my work was being filtered.

American Realities film series posters: Roger & Me | Hoop Dreams | Troublesome Creek; digital plot outputs; 24 x 36in. (each) / 2002

We Americans are conditioned to think that ours is the best country in the world—that this is the land of opportunity, and we can achieve anything here if we try hard enough. And, by all available evidence, there seem to be plenty of other countries in which people are a hell of a lot worse off than us. But life in the U.S. ain’t all sweet apple pie, and opportunities are easier to come by for some than others. Of course, you’d never know this by watching most film or television. With so much false “reality” pervading contemporary media, it is shockingly refreshing to see the true struggle of real life shown so eloquently in some powerful recent documentary films.

As one of three projects assigned in our Visualizations course in the Visual Communication Design program at the UW, we were to develop a theme around three movies of our choosing for a film festival of sorts, then design a corresponding promotional poster series. With American Realities, I thematically linked Roger & Me, Hoop Dreams and Troublesome Creek, as poignant revelations of Americans forced to work extraordinarily hard just to make ends meet, often against opposing forces of others’ opportunities.

By visually expressing the emotional tension of these stories, I aimed to generate awareness not only of these filmic case studies, but also of the true elusiveness of the American dream…

Roger & Me tells the story of Flint, Michigan residents as their town withers away in the wake of GM moving eleven of their factories from Flint to cheaper labor in Mexico.

American Realities: Roger & Me movie poster; digital plot output; 24 x 36in. / 2002

Hoop Dreams follows the lives of two inner-city boys who try to use their talent for basketball to escape the ghetto.

American Realities: Hoop Dreams movie poster; digital plot output; 24 x 36in. / 2002

And Troublesome Creek shows Russ and Mary Jane Jordan as they try to save the farm that has been in their family for over 100 years from new bank owners eager to foreclose.

American Realities: Troublesome Creek movie poster; digital plot output; 24 x 36in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (1 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

There’s more than one way to skin a cat, as they say. They don’t seem to say who the desperate soul was that figured this out, or how many ways he or she came up with (though I imagine there must be at least nine). The question we were posed with in a university class project was: How many ways can you skin a book?

As part of the Visualizations course in the Visual Communication Design program at the University of Washington, this so-called “design marathon” charged us with creating not just one or even nine, but 36 different covers for the exact same book. Said book had to be a real, published work, and it had to have some variant of the word “city” in the title but, as long as it fit within those parameters, we could choose whatever one seemed to suit our fancy. We spent about a week focusing on getting a few covers started, then worked on developing the balance while concurrently working on a public service campaign project and another project creating a series of film posters (coming soon to a Graphic Language blog near you!). All three projects were done in the course of ten weeks.

The book I chose, “Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns” by Patricia J. Lancaster, AIA, is no great work of literature. It is, however, a (seemingly) quite useful guide to overcoming various barriers in getting one’s plans built in the urban landscape. I took various perspectives in illustrating this on my covers (I had to!). As with all of the work I put up on this site, I really like some of it and find some of it pretty awful, but for you, I bear all. My first attempt is above. 35 others follow…

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (2 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (3 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (4 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (5 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (6 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (7 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (8 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (9 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (10 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (11 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (12 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (13 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (14 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (15 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (16 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (17 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (18 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (19 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (20 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (21 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (22 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (23 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (24 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (25 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (26 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (27 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (28 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (29 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (30 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (31 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (32 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (33 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (34 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (35 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Construction in Cities; Social, Environmental, Political and Economic Concerns book cover (36 of 36); 6 x 9in. / 2002

Rumpelstiltskin would approve. recycling awareness campaign postcard, showing PET bottles going into winter gloves; 7 x 5 in. / 2002

“Designer” is an ethereal thing to call oneself, fraught with misconception and expectation. When I describe myself as such, people I meet invariably respond with the exact same, ever-more-annoying, eight-word phrase: “Oh—that’s, like, with computers and stuff, right?” (I can only imagine that there was some 20/20 John Stossel exposé about the suspicious rise of the machines in the late ’80s—replete with footage of designers large in glasses and shoulder-padding huddled around a tiny Macintosh, working to draw pastel and black magic from it—that permanently ingrained this concept in society at large.) Moreover, most people assume I use my computers and stuff for advertising, where I spin everyday goods into objects of mythical lust…

The truth is, they’re right. Ironically, most of the people who assume my job is about computers rely on them far more than I in order to successfully carry out a project (seriously, who doesn’t use computers these days?), but computers are used as tools to build design files (the ideas, however, still have to come out of a human head). And the line between advertising and design is blurry and often crossed. In setting up this project for our Visualizations class in the Visual Communication Design program at the University of Washington, our professor relayed a quip from a friend of his that went something like this: “Design is a lame idea that just looks good. Advertising is a great idea that looks like crap.” In addition to being pretty humorous, this is also about as true as it is frightening. The last thing I want to do is make something look good for no reason.

Our assignment, then, was to choose from one of several public interests and devise a suitably “big idea” that would powerfully illuminate the subject from a new perspective. This idea would form the backbone of a campaign—typically the domain of the “Ad Man” (sorry, ladies; no clever name for you). To keep us thinking big (and to be sure we didn’t delve into any typical designer-y things involving complex or abstract typography, or ironic plays on the medium), we were limited to just three words for the entire campaign, and they had to carry the idea across a vast range of formats. And, we were supposed to make it look good, too.

Rumpelstiltskin would approve. recycling awareness campaign poster, showing PET bottles going into canvas messenger bags; 24 x 36 in. / 2002

My topic was recycling, and my big idea was based on the notion that truth is stranger than fable. Recycling realizes far more than most people believe it can. Every year, hundreds of millions of pounds of PET plastic (e.g., soda pop bottles) are recycled, but where do they go? Well, aside from new soda bottles, many industries have used this material as an effective alternative to more expensive, less eco-friendly, and/or simply inferior traditional resources. In fact, recycled PET is used every day to create new products such as lumber, fencing, furniture, and auto parts.

Rumpelstiltskin would approve. recycling awareness campaign bus sign, showing PET bottles going into fleece vests; approx. 20 x 4 ft. / 2002

Perhaps the most successful example of this visionary recycling is the work of the clothing industry. Though hard to believe, soda bottles and other such containers can be broken down into pellets, which are then spun into very high quality yarn. This fiber can be used exclusively or blended with natural fibers like cotton to create just about any garment one could imagine.

After an initial struggle with over-complex diagrammatic visual language to show this fantastic process, I ended up settling on a simple arrow form symbolizing the forward progress inherent in this transformation and punctuating the campaign line. I shot photographs of the materials with an antique 35mm camera, then used computers and stuff to scan, colorize and compose the pieces in the different layouts.

Rumpelstiltskin was invoked to make people consider the amazing—perhaps even mythical—power of modern recycling. We may not be able to spin straw into gold, but spinning pop bottles into polar fleece ain’t bad.

Prosophobia promotional poster; 24 x 36in. / 2002

The most celebrated role of the designer has always been that of creator of positive change through innovation, but battling the public’s inclination to treasure the old and suspect the new has historically been tough going. The current of ominous world events (especially at the time of this project’s conception, painfully close to 9/11) only serves to shore up such public reservation. For many people, the comfort of the familiar is too valuable to risk on new ideas. This promotes a homogeneous, retro-centric design market in which the new is often merely another iteration of the old.

Prosophobia (“fear of progress”) was a concept for an international design conference that would explore why many of these constructs exist and how we as designers can continue to champion progress in this environment. Featured presentations were to be given by historians, behaviorists and economists, as well as a diverse range of design leaders successfully implementing progressive work, despite this prosophobic culture.

Being a design event (and a design school project, no less), a promotional / informational poster was a critical application, and set the visual theme for the balance of the comprehensive identification and communication suite. After several dramatic, antagonistic early concepts, including a God-like hand pushing down the sunrise, a Volkswagen “New Beetle” reversing into the viewer and even a revolver loaded with antiquities and ready to fire, an approach more considerate of both sides of the matter prevailed. The front presents the issue in a re-contextualized image reminiscent of the silent film era, showing a figure literally hanging onto the past for dear life, while the flip-side speaks to the present (signified by digital visual language) offering information on the voices on offer in the conference, and an invitation to participate in the future…

Prosophobia promotional poster (back); 24 x 36in. / 2002

When discussing professional issues of the times, designers love trading between roles of preacher and choir, probably more than any other group of people in the world. Such is the nature of a profession that practitioners find unequivocally noble but cannot hope to defend quantitatively, and thus can only be explained to those who “get it,” thus, ensuring that those who don’t get it never will. While there is no denying that Prosophobia would primarily be an event by and for designers, the issue at hand is societal, so a widespread awareness campaign was designed to stimulate dialogue in the greater human community about the conference, its premise and what it means to them.

Prosophobia subway poster; 22 x 22in. / 2002

Prosophobia magazine sidebar ad; 3.25 x 9.5in. / 2002

Of course, the best way to reach someone is to talk to them directly, which this contact card was designed to help facilitate.

Prosophobia contact card (front and back); 2 x 3.5in. (each) / 2002

In order to reach specific audiences, it’s crucial to influence the influencers in prominent media of such respects. That’s where the letterhead and media release come in, as vehicles for formal correspondence and PR. With proper information and prodding, people would have been compelled to bring their influence and the rest of their bodies to the actual event, which is made simple with a sharp registration form.

Prosophobia letterhead, media release and registration form; 8.5 x 11in., 8.5 x 14in. and 8.5 x 11in., respectively / 2002

Envelopes make such correspondence much easier to mail.

Prosophobia No.10 commercial envelope (back / flap and front) and No.10 catalog envelope (back / flap and front with die-cut, crack-and-peel address label) / 2002

Once the audiences’ attention has been captured for a minute, they are directed to a promotional / informational web site, where the minute quickly disappears (and then so does more and more time). This flash of loss animates into the the primary content, where visitors could gain knowledge of the event, such as speaker bios, accommodations, and features, as well as register for the conference.

Prosophobia web site; 1024 x 768px.+; interactive Flash interface (shown here in an animated storyboard) / 2002

As a symbolic celebration of Modernity’s rare but powerful triumphs, the conference was to be held in conjunction with the grand re-opening of the MoMA in New York after Yoshio Taniguchi’s architectural expansion / remodel in 2005. (Taniguchi was also to give the keynote address.) Seen here is a detail of way-finding signage in-situ.

Prosophobia directional signage; vinyl on Plexiglas; 10 x 10 x .25in. (each) / 2002

Once at the conference, attendees would be provided a number of things to help them kick the Prosophobia: A time table of all of the events they could plug into…

Prosophobia program schedule tri-fold brochure (outside spread / inside spread); 3 x 6in. (finished), 9 x 6in. (flat) / 2002

A DVD documenting the feature presentations, breakout sessions and round-table discussions…

Prosophobia documentary DVD; standard dimensions / 2002

And, of course, a commemorative watch, so attendees could always have the public interest at hand (it runs backwards).

Prosophobia commemorative wrist watch; reverse movement / 2002

Don’t be late!

Takenobu Igarashi magazine spread retrospective; 24 x 18in. (spread) / 2002

A staple project of many university design programs is to create a poster or magazine spread or flyer or whatever that somehow highlights the work of a “famous” designer, and, for extra measure, to design it as they might have designed it. That is, to design the piece in said famous designer’s “style.” That we had this sort of a project in the VCD program at the University of Washington always struck me as very strange, as “style” was nearly as derided a word as “Hobo” in the UW VCD lexicon. After all, a good designer (let alone a “famous” one) shouldn’t have a style.

A good designer analyzes, digests and synthesizes various aspects of a particular project and distills from this process the most compelling way to communicate the intended message for that project. There is a not-so-subtle line to be drawn here, as using a particular vernacular can be very useful in communicating particular subject matter. For example, if designing a poster about how inner-city youth express their identity, using some element of graffiti might be a felicitous way to help illustrate this. However, if a designer used graffiti in every project, whether it be about inner-city youth or organic produce, then his approach no longer can be seen as appropriating a relevant style to communicate a message; he has now created his own “style” that is irrespective of the individual needs of particular projects. He is one-dimensional.

Though I only know what I know about Takenobu Igarashi, a “famous” designer in the 1980s and my assigned muse for this project, from books and magazines and perhaps an article or two posted on the Internet, it did seem fairly easy to pick up on his “style.” But the issue wasn’t that his projects were one-dimensional. The issue was that his projects were all three-dimensional. Igarashi, in fact, transitioned his focus toward product design and then architectural sculpture as his career progressed, and, one could imagine, this was really where he wanted to be the whole time…

Indeed, Igarashi’s sculpture is quite fetching, and, more interestingly, quite varied. Aside from an early, sharp bent toward the geometric, his three dimensional portfolio has moved the air and light around it in immeasurably varied currents. Monolithic, provincial, heavy, grounded, sharp, useful, clever, whimsical, delicate, charming, airy, diaphanous, breathtaking; it’s all there, in as many materials as you can imagine.

Redwood Forest: a relief of various kinds of layered woods carved and partly colored with acrylic paint / 2005; and Komorebi: a sculpture with 1800 images cut out on a hollow, steel column / 2007; both designed by Takenobu Igarashi

Between Igarashi’s graphic design and his more abstract sculpture lies what may be his most sagacious work: that of product design. Included in this portfolio is everything from traditional designer favorites such as clocks and lamps to more pedestrian subjects like notebooks and gardening kits. Every one of these pieces is designed with a specific purpose and inventive spirit, and all represent the striking clarity and modern austerity that Igarashi has espoused throughout his career.

cutlery set; designed by Takenobu Igarashi / early 1990s

In his graphic design material, however, he was famous for an interesting but quickly dimming shtick of hyper-complex, axonometrically drawn type constructions, grounded in International-Style content structure.

Design, Igarashi Space Graphics book; designed by Takenobu Igarashi / late 1980s

For our project, there were a number of things we had to design off the list: the designer’s name, a timeline of their career, a written biography, images of the designer’s work with captions, and, of course, a picture of the man (or Paula Scher, if you got her). To seal the deal, we had to find a quote from the designer that epitomized their approach, their personality, their work. I could hardly believe I found this one; I just had to use it:

Takenobu Igarashi magazine spread retrospective; 24 x 18in. spread (detail) / 2002

That is a charming statement, but is he really serious? He couldn’t even keep his own portrait simple (the digital slash is all him, not me). More to the point, can anyone even read those words he made? They are stunning feats of geometry—really quite impressive, even beautiful at times—but completely incomprehensible. And, how is this shtick appropriate for an international Expo, a calendar, a shoe store and jazz and dance performances?

UCLA Asian Performing Arts Institute 1981; designed by Takenobu Igarashi; 40.5 x 28.7in. (103 x 73 cm) / 1981. I find this poster quite interesting, but I only know what it says because of the title set in Helvetica in the upper left corner, and I still have no idea what it means.

Despite his sometimes confoundingly intricate axonometric typography and abstract sculpture, Takenobu Igarashi was and is today a professed Modernist, perhaps even minimalist. Igarashi has made a concerted effort to lead a simple life even after attaining great status and success. He has often spoken out against rampant consumerism and information pollution of cities like Tokyo. He even had a small house in the country (designed for him by an architect friend of his) just to get away from it all. He selects every item for his personal consumption just as he selects clients: very carefully and sparingly.

Igarashi’s current web site actually seems to harmonize with his professed philosophy. I find the synthesis impressive and satisfying. He shows a gorgeous variety of sculpture, set in a calm, austere gallery. And, there’s not a hint of his graphic design work anywhere.

Takenobu Igarashi’s current web site; note his self-proclaimed title (in red italics)

Robbie got his millions for probably singing us lessons of smooth, classic Garamond-y things like falling in love or getting his heart broken or falling in love again or just hooking up with lots of chicks.

Robbie Williams Gets Millions in Record Deal typographic composition; 8 x 8in. / 2002

The teacher got his or her millions due to a Microgramma-tic computer glitch. Not for teaching square things like Mathematics or Wood Shop.

Anonymous Teacher Gets Millions due to Computer Glitch typographic composition; 8 x 8in. / 2002

One clue as to who should have made what can be found in the glaring disparity of said millions between their respective ledgers. Robbie, who was wildly popular in his home country but all-but-nothing in the U.S., got $125 million from his contract in 2002. The teacher, who may or may not have been popular in class—but completely anonymous to the world, received over $117 million less (before taxes). But the error is clear: The teacher should have received approximately $125 million less…

Money for Something typographic juxtaposition; 16 x 8in. / 2002

This typographic editorial juxtaposition project, given by guest lecturer Jean Benoit Lévy as one of several Advanced Typography projects in the design program at the University of Washington, was instrumental in teaching me the value of a good, honest typeface.

one of two entrances to room 247—the Visual Communication Design major studio in the University of Washington School of Art—both are locked at all times / photo taken 2008

A terrible economy. Personal pride. Do or die time. A real studio environment. Some brilliant competition. Real work experience. Real failure experience. Real life experience. An utterly unforgiving professor. A strong sense of potential. Total commitment.

I’m not sure exactly what the most motivating factor was for me as I went through “206,” the second of two screening classes the University of Washington Visual Communication Design program, used to select who could complete the next two-and-a-half years of the VCD program in 2001/2002. Whatever it was, that class marked a tectonic shift in my approach to design work. It was the second time I had made it into 206, and, likely, my last chance to make the final cut into the VCD major. In contrast to the first attempt, I felt no self-satisfaction in the step—just an unflinching focus on the next…

The first project was quite familiar: Design a postage stamp to celebrate something about one of the United States. I was assigned Florida. I’ve never been to Florida. Of course, I know a thing or two about it, but I wasn’t satisfied with just my anecdotal perceptions; I read books on the state and tangential topics to ensure total confidence in whatever direction I chose to pursue.

While I think that NASCAR has grown into a fat, ugly, dumb, deceitful and thoroughly boring scourge on the culture of motor sports, I watched the Daytona 500 quite faithfully as a youngster and used this as inspiration for one concept:

Florida postage stamp sketch: Daytona 500 / 2002

Can’t you just hear the big block V-8 revs roaring through the state?

Another concept, which I ended up moving forward with, was that of the splendidly-restored and preserved historic Art Deco hotel district in Miami. For this concept, I studied a plethora of tourism and architecture books for reference, but my approach wasn’t just to recreate the X hotel on Y street; I painstakingly created my own architectural amalgams that would capture the essence of the area:

Florida postage stamp sketches: Art Deco Historic Distric / 2002

These studies allowed me to delve into some of the different iconic elements of the period: streamlined façades, bright pastels, rounded corners, chrome runners, large clocks, glass block, heavy eyebrows, neon back-lighting, stepped levels.

From this foundation, I built my final solution: A heroic destination with hand-drawn Deco type stacked on a railed sign tower:

Florida Art Deco District postage stamp; 1 x 1.125in. / 2002

The second project was to create a package for a first aid kit. There are thousands of different kinds of first aid kits in the world. I did not want to just make one more. I knew a lot about bike riding by this point, having worked at a shop for four years and having ridden endless miles with hundreds of different people for fun and/or training, and I knew well the two worst things that could happen on a ride: a “mechanical” (something bad happens to your bike), or a crash (something bad happens to you). So, I designed a first aid kit for bike rides, comprising a roadside repair kit for your bike and an injury kit for you, taking the shape of a bifurcated water bottle that would fit in any standard water bottle cage on almost any kind of bike.

I explored approximately one million different ways to synthesize and separate the two components visually with the exterior graphic design (here are a few):

First Aid kit package graphics sketches / 2002

But before I could apply any kind of graphics to the package, I had to actually make the package. I ordered about a dozen bottles that I figured would serve as the best platform for my mockup. I cut them apart and glued different pieces together to make two halves that would screw into each other. I chopped the cap to get rid of the nozzle and made a flat top from sheet vinyl. I filled beveled insets with putty and sanded off any external textural elements for a good base. I then glued ultra-thin sheet vinyl around the forms for a perfectly smooth exterior.

After final sanding and priming, I painted the two halves and applied the exterior type and graphic elements. I had eventually decided on a simple solution that cleverly speaks to both purposes of the tool, dynamically formated for the cylindrical surface: a red cross is created optically by the composition of the title, the brand name (Cannondale, fictitiously), the components and two yellow road stripes that angle up and around the kit, all of which I had had custom made as dry-transfer rub-downs:

First Aid injury kit / roadside repair kit / 2002

I was terrified that this thing would come flying apart before I could even submit it for class, but I must have done something right because I still have this eight years on and it’s still perfectly intact.

The final project was a poster-mailer for Seattle’s Museum of Flight. After some initial research, I packed the family heirloom WWII-era Leica and journeyed down to the museum with two concepts already in mind for this informative self-mailer/poster.

The first idea was based on the vast range of exhibits in the the Museum’s collection, from an centuries-old Asian hang glider to a NASA lunar module, and quite a bit in-between. The concept was The Evolution of Aviation:

The Evolution of Aviation Seattle Museum of Flight poster-mailer sketch; 30 x 20in. / 2002

I think the idea is valid and compelling (if the initial design concept rather clunky), but it didn’t capture the essential attraction of the Seattle Museum of Flight.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of this Seattle mainstay is that the majority of the aircraft are set not out on some abandoned airfield, but in a constellation of smartly appropriate structures, from the Red Barn, housing vintage prop planes from the early twentieth century, to the control tower, where kids young and old can practice pushing tin, to the pinnacle of the Museum: The Great Gallery, a giant hangar of glass and steel in which some of the most remarkable feats of modern aviation are showcased. These spaces are powerful attractions, in themselves. I worked on a concept that would speak to both the fascinating details one could learn at the museum and the structures in which they were showcased. I titled these pieces Aviation from the Inside. I developed two executions within this theme:

Aviation from the Inside Seattle Museum of Flight poster-mailer sketch; 30 x 20in. / 2002

The first idea offered a view from inside the American Airlines 737 section one can enter from the second floor, which serves as a theater for films, and a window seat to the Gallery where real jets hang like rubber-band-prop toys from the ceiling.

But the way to get the real inside story at the Museum is by just walking the ramps, pathways and landings that meander (very) closely around, over, under (and, in some cases, into) some of the world’s most exotic marvels of aeronautical design. Like the M-21 (a variant of the SR-71) Blackbird spy plane, which has a huge, breathtakingly sculptural fuselage, a cramped, angular cockpit, and gaping titanium ramjet exhaust cowlings that could swallow you whole:

Aviation from the Inside poster-mailer (front); 20 x 30in. / 2002 (original photograph also from 2002)

I was quite pleased with this photograph, and was so satisfied to let it be the hero of composition, bled full and even stealing part of the title. Caution stripes that complement the Museum type complete the tantalization.

The flip-side spoke to the different experiences one could get inside: the gallery, the machinery, the cockpit and the control tower, and, of course, it also offered inside information for visiting the Museum. The front and back complement each other through the cautionary visual language, the typographic system, conceptual messaging and a shared sense of visual play between foreground and background:

Aviation from the Inside poster-mailer (back); 20 x 30in. (open), 10 x 6in. (folded for mailing) / 2002 (original photography also from 2002)

This remains one of my all-time favorite design projects.

As the quarter’s end drew near, I had a distinctly new feeling. After three years of absence, I was again engaged. I was interested to see what I could do next. Though I would never admit it to myself, I was certain that I would not only make it into the VCD major, but that I could more than make up for lost time. So did the faculty. I was finally in.

Amy and Joel / 2001

I think I was first introduced to Joel Brazil when I was 15, on an open bike ride that was organized by a local shop. The shop sponsored one of the top teams in the region, and obliged some of its members to help corral whatever ragtag assemblage of customers and shop dudes decided to show up on warm summer Wednesdays. Joel was one of the best amateur racers in the country at the time, but I knew nothing about him because he never talked to me. This was primarily because he whiled away most of those miles in a perpetual, nauseating debate with Joe, another member of the team, in which they would each try to explain to each other how and why the other was not good at bike racing.

In the years that followed, I happened to work for that bike shop, attend the same university as Joel, race for the same team (and get sucked into similarly nauseating debates with Joe), do work for the same company and take on the same bitter arch nemesis (not Joe). I even ended up living in the very same room that Joel had rented before me in a house with a couple that counted as great friends to both him and I. Still, it was years and years from our initial meeting to when I actually began to get to know Joel, and, for quite a while, I couldn’t stand him.

As long as I knew or knew of Joel, he had been loud, brash, hyper-competitive, utterly exasperated by others’ life choices, inordinately concerned with material possessions, flakey, and schmoozey—ostensibly, an obnoxious, superficial, inconsiderate jerk. His nickname was “Razzle-Dazzle Brazil” (that rhymes), and he loved it. He wanted to write a column on my web site at one point, so I set up a section for him, which I titled Joell Report (a riff on the ultra-snobby Robb Report), and subtitled “Tales of the World’s Most Fortunate Malcontent” (he never actually wrote an article).

But, as more time went by, translations of Joel’s qualities became more lucid: He worked extremely hard to excel at life’s pursuits and was rewarded with the goods to prove it and the satisfaction with which to parade them. His derision of people’s decisions he deemed unwise was compensated for by his keen sense of their unique talent and fervent drive to tease out the potential thereof, at which he was actually quite gifted if given the opportunity.

Although Joell Report never came to fruition, I did get the opportunity to work with him on one very important project. Indeed, it was the materialization of two of his greatest loves: music and Amy, his then-fiancé. Amy+Joel, a soundtrack album of their wedding reception, would be the product…

True to form for the person everyone loves to hate, Joel wasn’t very good at any one thing; he was extremely good at many things. Indeed, before he reached the upper echelons of the amateur cycling ranks, he had been among the top of the amateur skiing ranks, with a place on the U.S. National team for some time. It was on the slopes, floating down powder runs at 90+MpH where his most solid, lasting friendships seemed to have been forged. It was only fitting, then, that his wedding be staged on a peak of the premier Whistler ski resort. In one concept (top-left below), a typo-photo collage melds the two in a blue and white palette that hints at the snowy venue. This atmosphere was most integrated into the concept on the top-right (below), where, the tilted peaks of the iconic location are limned of pluses, speaking to the bonding of Amy and Joel and the collecting of their friends and family:

Amy + Joel Soundtrack cover concepts / 2001

As I hinted at before, Joel was and is obsessed with music he likes (and, thus, disgusted and disdainful of anyone else’s musical taste). In another study (bottom-left above), based primarily on a photo of the couple taken at an after-party to one of our Joe-hosted bike team parties, meaningful lyrics from the songs reverberate between the two in their euphoria-drenched harmony.

The chosen concept was the most raw and expressive. In this cover (bottom-right above), A posterized photograph of a simple kiss is sealed with a plus. The acidic palette and digital typography expressed a sort-of techno rawness that helped define the couple.

From here, the composition was fettled to the essential elegance of the occasion: A more dramatic crop of the photo. A timeless, nuanced title. The burgundy palette of the event:

Amy + Joel wedding album cover; CD jewel case (front) / 2001

The slopes support the special thanks on the back of the booklet. (Look, Ma! There’s my name!). A raucous dancing embrace is spotlighted on the CD, from which the soundtrack titles emanate:

Amy + Joel wedding album; CD jewel case (open, inside), audio CD / 2001

The booklet opens up to the program of the event, set on an active posterized collage of people, places, products, and other ephemera that shaped the couple’s collective heritage and identity:

Amy + Joel wedding album program spread / 2001

The pacing of the package foreshadowed that of the event, from the permanent bonding of Joel+Amy, to the party of people and events that made their lives together possible, to the music that served as inspiration for the emotional release and celebration, and crescendoing into the dance of the night:

Amy + Joel wedding album soundtrack; CD jewel case (back) / 2001

In the nearly eight years since that night, Joel and Amy are still married, have moved their relationship to different states and continents, settling for the last several in London, where she and he both now write articles for the community-based critic web site that he started there. Their family is proud and sure to grow; Indeed, Amy + Joel may someday = three. All that, and he still finds time to pay attention to my web site, so I guess he’s a pretty decent bloke, after all.

University of Washington School of Art, main entrance / photo taken 2008

Like most epiphanies, one of my most life-changing ideas came to me suddenly when I was in the bathroom. It was September 2nd, 2001. I had been working full-time as a designer since 1999. In July of that year, I had indulged in a very expensive but amazing vacation, following the Tour de France. Three days after my trip, I returned to work to rumors of massive layoffs. Within a week, tours of the company’s one-year-new building revealed empty desks that quickly multiplied into empty floors. By August 20th, it was clear that the in-house design department, too, was going dark. September 14th was going to be my last day. I had no idea what I was going to do, and then I did.

Two years and change earlier, I had made a rather precarious exit from the Visual Communication Design (VCD) program at the University of Washington. I was disheartened for a while, then embittered, then dismissive, then all-but-forgetful of the whole experience. And then, on that day in September, it came to me: I would go back and finish school. Or, rather, I would try to finish school. After all, I was going straight back to the horse that threw me, and, if anything, it was more fierce than ever (bad economies feed schools with lots of accomplished and motivated applicants). Any prior thoughts of repeating this wicked roulette were momentary lapses in sanity. But, upon my decision that day, my resolve was unshakable.

About a week and a half after my decision, I took one of my final vacation days. An hour or so after I woke up, I checked my personal email program, which showed news stories in one of the frames. The Twin Towers and half of the Pentagon had been obliterated within the span of a few hours. Luckily, I did not know anyone personally who was involved in these catastrophes but it seems strange to tell a story about that time without mentioning it. To be honest, it was all quite disaffecting considering the ever more improbable absurdity the country had been subjected to in the year or so leading up to the events. It was all just more impervious steel turned to dust. My decision was unmoved…

Back to school, then. I had paid approximately zero attention to the VCD program in my absence, but, ostensibly, the program turned out to be the same two years on. One still had to make it through two screening classes, still called 205 and 206 (even if one had made it through 205 before, as I had, to try again required repeating the entire process). The classes still had three projects each, which were essentially the same as before. But the truth of the initial screening had become exposed, to the bone. The first time I went through, the competitive aspect was localized, as the class was broken into small studios and that never intertwined, and it was usually only spoken about vaguely (“a lot of applicants”). This time, they corralled the 200 candidates (up from about 150 my first time through) into a 200-seat lecture hall two days a week. About three weeks into the class, the professor asked how many people were aiming to make it into the 20 spots in the program (as opposed to just taking the class as an elective). I saw everyone raise their hand and look around, eyes wide. The professor knew that would be the result of the poll, and told us so. I sat in the very back row and spoke to no one. I didn’t even raise my hand. I still cannot believe my ensuing experience at the UW when I think of that day.

Now, back to dust. I was living very temporarily on severance, then on meager unemployment benefits while enrolled in a formidable three-month-long test to see if I could get into another, more formidable three-month-long test, to see if I could go back to school full-time. If I didn’t look for a job, I would lose my benefits. If I got a job, I wouldn’t be able to focus on school. If I didn’t focus on school, I wouldn’t get into the next class, let alone the program. The only logical plan was to focus on school and casually apply only for fantasy jobs, like Global Creative Director for Cannondale or something, preferably in some exotic city, like Zürich (nicht wahrscheinlich). If I got one of those, then screw school. If I got into the program, I would go for student loans and/or scholarships because, when I finished the screening process, I would be completely broke. If I didn’t get into the program, then, well…

Now, back to school. The first project of 2001′s 205 class was almost identical to the first project of 205 from 1999: Create a letter mark that represented some sort of action. The only difference is that they chose the word for you this time, which was probably a good thing, since I, like most of the students, spent way too much time coming up with crappy words before. My word this time was “Repel.”

I sketched lots of options that showed the letter R repelling itself somehow:

Repel mark sketches / 2001

My breakthrough, so to speak, came in chopping the top of the capitol R letter form. This allowed the static, upright stem to be acted upon more overtly by the much more dynamic curve of the bowl and angular leg while still reading as a single character that pretty clearly represented the physical act of repelling (as in mountaineering). The arrow is a bit of a crutch, but it’s not too egregious. Sketches of the idea seemed to get a decent nod from the professor in critiques (no mean feat), so I figured I was in good shape:

Repel letter mark / 2001

About a week after turning our work in, we got a generic email telling us to pick up our projects. The class collected randomly in a cold room with only a series of alphanumerically-coded bins. Each project was graded with a simple check (fine), check-minus (bad), or check-plus (good). My R got a check-minus. I was devastated. I instantly and deeply regretted my attempt to redress VCD. My attention span ran in 3-second intervals. My steel resolve was ripped to ribbons in the stroke of a pencil and it was all I could do to stay standing.

The next day, I went to office hours to ask the professor how or if there was any way I could “save” this broken project for re-submission before our final deadline at the end of the quarter. Ironically, my enervation was assuaged by his mild amusement at this state, and his (equally mild) surprise at my grade. Apparently, the work had been reviewed by some mystery panel, whose makeup I never learned. At any rate, he suggested that the mark would be better if it were more geometric, so I made it more geometric:

Repel letter mark (revision) / 2001

I still think the original is better.

The next project was unconventional and provocative, as it charged the students with conceptualizing an editorial perspective based on the interpretation of a given word, which would also serve as the title for the piece. My given word was “space.” My editorial perspective sparked by the word was that cyberspace was an unnatural, blocky layer inserted into the space of human interaction. I think I was onto something with this:

Space mini-poster sketch / 6in. x 9in.

The angular computation of personal communication is kind of amusing, and it is pretty easy to get as a concept. Somehow I lost confidence in the idea, though, and I ended up with this:

Space mini-poster, 6in. x 9in. / 2001

I really don’t like this solution at all (despite featuring my good friend Joel and his wife). It just doesn’t explain itself very well, even if you think about it for a while. I almost like it formally, but not really.

I think the last project was billed as a poster for a conference, but it was really much more like a book cover, since the only type on it was only to be the name of a particular academic subject (have you ever seen a poster that just said “Math” on it?… that wasn’t for a band called “Math”?). After my dubious “Genetics” book cover experiment from three years prior, I was now on to “Biology.” There was an oddly un-intellectual requirement added to the set of parameters around the project: It had to have at least one circle, one line, and one rectangle in the composition (The students assigned “Geometry” were either really lucky or really stifled, depending on their perspective).

I hit the books, myself, ransacking the University’s incredibly diverse and widespread array of science libraries for what I figured would be a goldmine of visual source material for reference and inspiration: specialized photography, process diagrams, illustrations, etc. The big surprise was that, either I didn’t look hard enough, or there wasn’t much to be had. This was perhaps the most interesting lesson of the project: Graphic design is a powerful means to express an idea, be it commercial, political, scientific, or otherwise, but it is terribly under-appreciated and/or under-utilized by all but those that are savvy enough to realize this and also have the means to engage the process (read: big business). It is a shame that designers are not well enough represented in the academic world to make the subject matter more engaging and easier to understand for more people, thus advancing research that much faster. Alas, if the interest is there (from either side of the fence), the money is not, so most scientific research is confined within black walls of dense paragraphs, built with sesquipedalian jargon. On a tangential note, the understanding of national politics, too, could be greatly enhanced by a few well-considered charts and graphs, but, although the money is there, the desire to clarify situations, positions, and plans has never seemed to be the most striking idea to those in or seeking political office.

Now back to my book. I decided that, if this book were to be used to take a closer look at biology, it should get really close. I did find some decent microscopy images of varying magnification and scientific colorization that I set in a molecular composition with abstracted slides that together juxtaposed the organic subject matter and the scientific study thereof:

Biology book cover, 10in. x 16in. / 2001

Compared my Genetics book cover, it’s still a bit frightening, but more intriguing and straightforward, as opposed to sinister and political.

Another element of the new screening process was that, in addition to the final projects and any revisions one may have made thereto, every student was to also compile a process book that showed the different iterations they had gone through to arrive at their final solutions. Some things never change, though, and I was at one of the two industrial print shops in the city that Wire-O bound books within the hour all materials were due. Luckily, I didn’t get a flat on my time trial back to school.

The icing on the cold cake of the new process was that they had replaced the “interviews,” in which two professors would call students in one at a time to explain how they had or had not passed into 206, and offer at least a modicum of praise, encouragement, or consolation, as appropriate. In 2001, one of two form letters were mailed to the student’s officially recorded home address. About a week after my final submissions were left on the table in room ART 230, I received my letter. I stared at the envelope for a few minutes before I opened it, and then I did.

I had made it into 206—for the second time. I exhaled for about seven seconds.

UBC monogram mark for Union Bay Cycling / 2001

A competitive cycling team, like all other kinds of teams, is a of a group of people with a similar interest; in this case, the team’s chief objective is to win bike races. The primary vehicle of a cycling team’s identity is the uniform that team members wear out racing and training. This identity is complicated, however, by the fact that competitive cycling is one of the very few sports in the world based on a sponsorship model, whereby commercial interests pay for some aspect of team operations in return for visible recognition on these uniforms. Almost invariably, this leads to a team’s identity being inextricably intertwined with the identity of their lead sponsors, which can change relatively frequently.

For example, most people would say that Lance Armstrong raced the last season of his career with the Discovery Channel team, and that, before that, he was on the U.S. Postal Service team for six years or so, even though these were, for all intents and purposes, the exact same team, managed by Tailwind Sports.

Union Bay Cycling (UBC) is a large Northwest cycling organization built around an elite-level team that races in local, regional, and national events at the pro/am level. UBC has been around, with the same leadership and core group of riders, for over a decade, but major sponsorship changes had made it seem like three or four disparate and relatively short-lived teams. For UBC, I worked with the team director to develop a long-term solution: a core identity system that accommodates prominent and unique recognition for lead sponsors, but embodies the unique heritage and dynamism of the team riders and stays consistent even with major sponsor changes.

I began with the UBC monogram mark (above) that would immediately identify all communication touchpoints of the team: stationery for proposals, press releases and other correspondence, the web site, T-shirts, gear bags, and so on, and, of course, the all-important team kit, including jerseys, shorts, socks, water bottles, gloves, helmet graphics, and several other tertiary clothing articles.

Union Bay Cycling jerseys (long-sleeve front | short-sleeve back) / 2003; I also happened to have designed the Holcam logo on the jersey shoulders (but not their web site) / 2001

The blue grid, an established device of the team, was reworked and became the foundation of this flexible system. The title sponsor was rewarded not only with the most prominent logo presence, but also with an expressive element emerging from the grid (in this case, the hands of Ashmead College, School of Massage), and other sponsors fit into pre-established hierarchical slots based on their respective levels of contribution…

Just behind the team uniforms, the next most critical touchpoint of the organization’s identity was the team web site, which I also designed and coded. As it was my first major foray into Flash, the concept of the site probably outshone the rather clunky execution. I know enough about Flash to elucidate an idea, but not enough to “optimize” the experience as specialist programmers can. The layout is a bit dodgy in some regards as well. Nevertheless, the site brought the dynamism and personality of the team to the Internet within the context of the sponsored team identity concept.

Union Bay Cycling web site / 2002

Here, too, the hands of Ashmead College emerged from the grid. The dynamic visual hook here was that the hands would actually move across the screen to “massage” the site from one page to the next.

the Ashmead hands in action, transitioning from the home page to the “Meet the Riders” landing page

In addition to the layout and interactive execution, I also developed and wrote most of the content, including pithy, spirited interviews of team members that brought the individual personalities out of the uniforms.

Over the years, the team identity concept was indeed tested, as other lead sponsors were considered—everything from wineries to gyms to car dealerships—and we illustrated these possibilities in various mockup sketches as part of the proposals. I won’t show these online, as I wouldn’t want to jeopardize these professional relationships. Imagine, though, for instance, in the case of the winery, vines of grapes or a hand toasting a goblet emerging from the grid; web pages being poured into the site. The possibilities, as they say, are endless.

But, as long as I was involved with the team, the Ashmead massage school (and their hands) remained committed to the team, which was great, as they were more than just a name on the jersey; they were highly engaged in realizing the mutual promotional and educational potential of the partnership. As a case in point, one element of the relationship provided for the racers to be worked on weekly by the massage trainees, which, in itself, proved to be valuable experience for both groups. Moreover, the Ashmead jersey is probably the only racing uniform that allows racers to raise more than just two hands after a well-deserved victory.

team rider Ingy taking one of many team victories (photographer unknown) / 2001

FatPort logo / 2001, 2008

Though the Internet has been around, in one form or another, for many decades, it had little public awareness until about twenty years ago. By the mid 1990s, the World Wide Web had been plotted by a smattering of amateur “home pages,” which generally consisted of some “lite” personal information about the site’s owner (or “webmaster”) and their hobbies (one of those invariably being “the Internet”). By the late 1990s, these folksy homes were being overwhelmed by the sprawl of “dot-coms” from corporate startups and stalwarts flocking to the new marketplace, and Internet tools like email were beginning to make their way into everyday practice. But, until the early 2000s, the only place in the whole wide world that one would likely experience these sites and services was from the office, or through their droolingly slow modem at home, which made anything but the most formal or mundane tasks a bit difficult for most folks.

Soon enough, though, many public establishments started offering wireless Internet service, enabling the populace to get out into the world and peruse the Web at office-like speeds from their own laptops at places that they already liked going, like coffee shops or bookstores. This service is often referred to casually as “Wi-Fi,” which is a contraction of ‘Wireless’… um…’Fidelity’??, a name created by those wacky kids over at Interbrand for an actual alliance supporting the “IEEE 802.11b Direct Sequence” specifications (I’m not making this stuff up).

Whatever the protocol may be named (or numbered, or whatever), one of the first Wi-Fi service providers primarily for consumer usage in public establishments was FatPort, a Vancouver, B.C. startup established by a few programmers, including my good friend Ingy, who hired me to help develop the venture’s visual identity (but left a relatively short time thereafter).

Before I was brought in, the name of this service had been established by the founders. A “fat port” is sort of programmer-slang for a good, wide-open connection. Ingy actually had the idea for a ‘fat’ radio tower mark, which I thought was good, so I basically just did it. I then set the type in “fat” and “open” weights to reinforce the idea in a distinctive word-mark. The strong, simple palette of red, white and black hints at the Canadian roots of the program and is highly versatile for any number of applications…

This is one of only a few projects that I feel compelled to show a revision of, as I can’t figure out why I did what I did initially. Above, I show how the logo would look if the radio tower mark (unchanged from my initial design) was paired with type set in the quintessential Modern, geometric, sans-serif Futura, which echoes the weight and geometric nature of the radio tower quite nicely, if I do say so, myself. However, the original logo was set with modified weights of Hoefler Text, which is a perfectly fine serif face (particularly suited to lengths of copy, as the name suggests), but has very little correlation with the mark, and whose “fat” modification here borders on the comical. This didn’t come totally out of the blue, as the founders were not of the MBA set; they were an enterprising mix of fringe programmers (they called their mass consumer-facing business FatPort, after all). Their quirky quality is reflected in this setting, but the lockup is somewhat disjointed for the cause.

This is the original FatPort logo. The type on its own is actually pretty strong, overall, and works well with identity extensions like the ‘Network’ logo below. It’s just that it clashes with and overwhelms the tower mark, which is the hero of the lockup. / 2001

FatPort Network lockup (reversed out of black). Here is an example of the flexible modularity of color usage between black, red and white.

Nevertheless, the logo, even with the original type, was a powerful signal to the strength of the offering and the resolve of the entrepreneurs’ belief in its market potential. It was also instantly meaningful and unique. (This came well before T-Mobile’s comparably weak wordmark for it’s “HotSpot” service and countless other emanating wave marks for other such services since).

Applications of the identity in signage, equipment badges and representative identification provided a clear beacon for business and retail consumers alike:

clockwise from top-left: FatPort inside clear window decal for service providers like coffee shops, bookstores, libraries, etc., 6in. x 8in.; small FatPort equipment label, 2in. x .5in.; alternate FatPort inside window decal, 4in. x 5.5in.; Fatport inside representative button, 2in.ø

And, it also happened to look tough as crap on a T-shirt:

FatPort T-Shirt; [cropped] front and full back

And it worked! The business was a huge success from the very start and has grown dramatically since, now serving as the leading wireless Internet service provider in Canada and spreading. I hear the sunset calling (or is it emailing?)…

But, alas, as any bookworm knows (remember books?), happy endings are for kids, and we’re all adults here. FatPort changed their logo a few years ago—and not just the typography; we’re talking full-on throw-out-the-baby redesign. I must say, I admire them for wanting to be different from the growing ranks of look-a-like logos for Wi-Fi service, but the new logo just doesn’t make sense: Why are they working so hard to keep the doors closed on the fat port? And if the original typography was not perfect, at least it had character (so to speak), as opposed to their anemic usage of Helvetica. On top of all that, the new mark looks like it belongs in a kid’s book, which just doesn’t go with the plot of this story.

To build awareness of my upcoming event, I developed a whole campaign of advertisements that I ran on my web site (then eurodan.net), beginning about three weeks before the soirée, and sent “email-blasts” to all invitees with every new publishing. Seen below is the bulk of the series. (You can click on the images to see how they appeared on my site originally.)

I started with a very oblique teaser:

Please Get Down party announcement / teaser. (original photograph by Matt Johnson / 1995); I lifted the term “Please get down” from the most exasperated, impassioned plea in the jam-out-session of “Jolene,” probably the best song ever written/performed by Cake. | web site; 500 x 300px.+ / 2001

Once I had the date figured out, I released the information in a slightly less oblique alphanumeric mien:

Party announcement. The letters of “PARTY” are on the date of the get-together. | web site; 345 x 420px.+ / 2001

Then, I quit messing around and made all of the information perfectly clear for everyone (as long they weren’t colorblind):

This announcement was numerically- and color-coded, and it even rhymed! (shown above at approximately 50%) | web site; 780 x 440px.+ / 2001

As the week approached, I made the final push with a series of reminders…

Just in case you weren’t sure what was going to happen at the get-together, this was certainly a possibility:

Please Get Down party announcement. (original photo by Jen Paur / 2000) | web site; 600 x 300px.+ / 2001

Or possibly even this:

Please Get Down party announcement. (original photograph by Johann Gómez, I think / 2001) | web site; 500 x 600px.+ / 2001

A few people at my office had get-togethers pretty regularly, and a de-facto convention of putting up fliers around the studio had been established, so I made one or two print-only ads for this purpose, like so:

Please Get Down flier; color laser print; 11 x 8.5in. / 2001

Annoyingly enough, after all of my effort, it turned out that one of those regular party-throwers actually had his own get-together planned for the same night, and he had put up his own fliers just before my office print campaign was to begin. My response was to just put my flyers directly above his in every location. Even so, the coincidence still cut my attendance significantly. But what was I going to do if everyone from the office didn’t want to get down with me? It’s not like I’m going to beg.

My first full-time desk job. Can you sense my enthusiasm? / 2001 (photograph by Lisa Torrence)

In order to engage context in a quotidian discussion about the various caste systems of ancient cultures, a feisty grad student T.A. in one of the many requisite Art History courses I have taken challenged our class section to define the contemporary stamp: “middle class.” Immediately, salaries rang out, one range louder and more determined than the last, until crescendoing in discordant numerical jangle; income could not objectively define it. Quietus gave way to a chorus of key possessions: Cars, houses. Okay, but what if the car is a Maserati? What if the house is a shack? Scenarios of familial constructs similarly swelled and crashed. These lines of criteria could not strike a clear chord of class definition.

The T.A. sat back and let the class caterwaul and self-dismiss various notions before bringing the struggling group back to cue. Coyly, he then rested the discussion by quoting a friend of his, who had jokingly defined a member of the middle class as anyone who “has a job.” The point of this was that such class distinctions are laughably vague and infinitely subjective (a job is not a job is not a job), but the passion with which people attempt to define them proved how deeply invested we are in socio-economic ranking.

While I had technically had three jobs prior, my quest for a “real,” middle-class-making job began sometime late in the Spring of 1999. I thought I had it in a full-time, long-term temp position “working with computers” that I had taken up after finally quitting my four-year run as a bike mechanic. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I realized that I wasn’t all that great at “computers” (at least, not in that context), and I let my hours decline steadily, until they were almost zero, and then they were zero. At that point, I had no income.

“Yo’ face is my case!” My head was barely scratched, but it did bleed a fair amount. Those scars on my arm are tire tracks, by the way. / 1999 (photograph by Ira Wamble)

As fortune would have it (if luck did not), I had been hit by a car that spring while riding my bike (two cars in the same accident, actually), which was an incredibly traumatic event that in turn paid me an agreeable insurance settlement. I ended up living on this modest reward, a tiny savings, and not much else for quite some time as my job search became more and more frenzied. By November, I paid rent by scrambling together the entirety of my bank account, the cash in my pockets, and loose change I had collected in a jar (seriously). The promise of middle class never tasted so sweet or came with such timely appreciation as when I was offered a job as an in-house “Junior Designer” at Sierra On-Line, Inc., just before Thanksgiving, 1999…

I was so anxious to get “a job” that I had neglected to figure out what Sierra On-Line, Inc. actually did. It wasn’t until about the end of my first week that I realized that they were in the video game business. Moreover, they were quite hot at the time. Their “first-person-shooter” game, Half-Life, was a blockbuster on the cutting edge of social networking, the mercury of a feverish rash of global online tournaments. This star was orbited by a constellation of other shining titles (so, obviously, I was not a “gamer”). Somewhat strangely, they also made similarly successful home-improvement and family-oriented software under the Sierra Home banner (so, obviously, I was not a dad, either).

It was another week or so before I figured out what I was doing there. I had started designing within my first hour, but I was in a bit of disbelief that I was actually getting paid for my tasks. My very first project was to create a two-inch round sticker for a software package that said something like “15% Off When You Buy Two!” with a long line of legal copy run around the perimeter. Talk about sticker-shock! Had I really gone from taking weeks to conceptualize, design, and produce posters for famous architects and such to churning out impulse-buy marketing decals (technically referred to as “violators”)?! Well, yes, but there was more to it than just that. For one thing, someone had to make those stickers, I guess, so why not me? (I needed the money, after all). And I would get my chances with more diverse, complex, and important pieces down the line. And for all of my cockiness, I still used a stupid typeface and didn’t kern the 1 and the 5 properly until my creative director told me so.

After getting a good handle on rebate stickers, online banner ads were added to my repertoire. The primary challenge for these was to get as many frames, colors, images, flashing lights, and whatever else into some really awkward standardized proportion in a final file that was under 12 kilobytes. From what I remember, most of the ones I did had great “click-through” rates. I think that there was a 98% correlation between these statistics and how obnoxious they were:

SWAT 3, Elite Edition online banner ad; 468px. x 60px. / 2000
This was obviously before 9/11.

Print Artist online banner ad; 468px. x 60px. / 2000
Print Artist was Sierra’s graphic design program. Somehow, Adobe survived.

Modern Bride wedding planning software banner ad; 130px. x 90px. / 2000
Discouraged? Frustrated? Then you probably shouldn’t be getting married.

As time went by, I got more involved in the actual packaging of games and Home software. Sierra, like most software companies, made huge, cereal-box-sized packages for their wares. These made great canvases for what were often incredibly elaborate illustrations, featuring all kinds of special production touches like extra fluorescent or metallic inks, spot varnishes, sculpted embossing, foil stamping, cover flaps, dollar bills, candy bars, live puppies, winning lottery tickets, dancing girls, and so on. The software box was an incredibly important point of sale, invested in heavily and appropriately impressive. But the only thing of any real value inside the box was a CD-ROM or two (or maybe three), which took up approximately 1/20th of the package volume. A frequent task of mine was to create the artwork for these CD-ROMs. This was usually some very banal, two-color translation of the box artwork, but occasionally I had opportunities to make a more conceptual interpretation of the content:

Sierra Home Complete Home 3D software suite; standard CD-ROM format / 2001
The diagonal stripes are in reference to all the construction that users of this software would be doing to their homes.

Homeworld soundtrack; standard CD format / 2000
This was actually a soundtrack that went along with the game Homeworld, so I tried making it look like a record and/or a speaker driver. The game had something to do with outer space, so the rings could also be read as orbits.

Sierra Home Looping Demo, Fall 2000 DVD; standard DVD format / 2000
This was a demo DVD of Home software that retailers would play in-store. Since no customers would ever see it, nobody at Sierra really cared what it looked like, so I had pretty free reign over the design. The linear element was an abstract house with a chimney constructed out of legal copy, or an even more abstract arrow, for “play.”

As far as I remember, I only worked on the design of one actual game box while I was at Sierra, the Family Fun Collection, a rag-tag bundling of aging titles in need of a last-ditch effort to flee the warehouse for good. The cover design simply showed the box covers of said old titles (very meta, ya’ dig?) and a big, swoopy masthead:

Family Fun Game Collection software package (front); 8in. x 10in. x 2in. / 2000
Designed by a guy named Mark Vongunten (whose design prowess far outshines what this particular package might suggest)

But, actually, I didn’t even design the cover (Those of you who read the caption may have figured that out already). I designed the back (and the sides, I think):

Family Fun Game Collection software package (back); 8in. x 10in. x 2in. / 2000

Pretty exciting stuff. Hopefully, some family had fun.

At some point, our in-house design crew made a push to gain more respect from our own company, as many of the more prominent titles’ packaging were being farmed out to independent design firms. Part of our initiative was to create an identity system for our group, so we would look more like a design firm, too, I guess. We had something of a charrette to design the logo. My submissions generally centered around the idea that the most important thing we created were boxes:

The Creative Group (at Sierra) logo proposal / 2001

The Creative Group (at Sierra) logo proposal (type is custom drawn) / 2001

I did not design the logo that was actually adopted, a much more broad interpretation of our strengths, created by one of the Senior Designers:

The Creative Group (at Sierra) logo; designed by Tom Saffle / 2001
Flash animation of The Creative Group (at Sierra) logo; designed by me / 2001

I did design a Flash animation for the logo, however, which you can see by clicking on it or here. For one reason or another, doing this animation was one of the few things I felt compelled to do on my own, without anyone asking me. And, as such, nobody ever used it.

One thing that I actually designed from start to finish was the 2001 Sierra Studios Catalog, a showcase of Sierra’s prime new offerings in a 16-page glossy, to be shipped with every Sierra game. I created the S-form device (based on the exact curve of the Sierra master logo’s S) as a unique framing device for the action-packed illustrations and a container for titling and information.

2001 Sierra Studios Catalog (cover); 9in. x 12in.; 16ppg. + cover, saddle-stitched.
I still didn’t quite get the whole “kerning” thing by this point.

I had a lot invested in this project. Just in terms of time, this thing took forever to build. I had developed a number of concepts and nailed down the final format within a week, but, like many projects at Sierra, I created the working files for the entire layout of each page / spread in Photoshop. For those of you who have been on Pluto for the last ten to fifteen years and haven’t heard the buzz about Photoshop, it’s the whiz-bang fake-it-all-and-then-some miracle-worker, hailed as the essential design program by hacks and soccer-moms worldwide. Don’t get me wrong; Photoshop is a perfectly useful program for certain things (like, say, working on photos), but it should probably never be used to create any kind of comprehensive print mechanical. One reason for this is that the way it works with images creates immensely huge files that require almost as much processor power to work on as a Microsoft Word document (that’s a joke for all my friends over there in Redmond). Creating these massive, print-resolution files so taxed my then-state-of-the-art Mac G3 that I could—and did—put my feet up on my desk and read through bike magazine articles while the program whirred away at things like moving a block of type over three points.

2001 Sierra Studios Catalog (inside spread for Arcanum); 9in. x 12in.; 16ppg. + cover, saddle-stitched / 2000
On inside spreads, drawers of screen shots slid out from the “S” device.

Despite questionable file preparation and iffy work ethic, I had created what was potentially one of the most valuable communication pieces for the company, on time and on budget. I was pretty happy with how the brochure shaped up, and so were the rest of the involved parties. Anyone familiar with my general approach and sensibility about design may be a little surprised that I ever did anything like this, but I still think that it was a very appropriate solution and the target audience would have eaten it up with a spoon.

2001 Sierra Studios Catalog (inside spread for Homeworld Cataclysm); 9in. x 12in., 16ppg. + cover, saddle-stitched / 2000

I say “would have” because the target audience never saw the brochure. Just after I had handed over final files to be printed, it came to light that there were two groups within the company that were involved in commissioning the piece and each thought it was coming out of the other group’s budget. Neither group actually had the money, so the project was killed.

2001 Sierra Studios Catalog (inside spread for Half-Life Platinum); 9in. x 12in.; 16ppg. + cover, saddle-stitched / 2000
Half-Life, indeed.

Many of my colleagues were passionate about their positions, and it showed in their work. After all, it was a bona-fide “dream job” (you were required to play video games at the office for crying out loud). And of course I gained much from the experience. At the base level, my income range was, while nothing to sing about, decent; I was able to buy a car and live in a house (not my own, but I paid my fair share every month). Technically, I learned a ton about efficient organization and production—and a little bit about design. I got to work and hang out with a lot of really talented people (who also knew how to have a good time outside the office) that I never would have met otherwise. And, despite the “fun” industry, I still got a taste of how the middle class squeezes into offices every day, with all of its bizarre socio-hierarchical walling, necessary rung-jockeying and inevitable line-crossing—a strange but valuable experience for any young pro.

But it was never my dream. Without the paper or the real proof of education and with my slim portfolio, I was lucky to have a position in such a prominent organization, and I did my work fairly well. But the subject matter barely interested me at all, and any personal investment I made never seemed to pay much dividend. I didn’t have the sense that I could fulfill my potential, and I didn’t have a real zest for what I was doing. But I did have a job.