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.

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

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

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.

Seattle Monorail Online web site / Welcome page; 1020 x 440px. / 2002

Every time I visit Seattle (my hometown), which tends to happen more than once a year, I find it surprisingly different than I left it last. Startups become stalwarts, old favorites become new failures and areas of complete desolation become constructed destinations. But, until very recently, the ways to get to and from any of them had hardly changed a bit. Despite its squeaky-green image, Seattle has always been a car town, with a public transit system whose progress comes and goes in fits and starts but never seems to get anywhere useful by any reasonable timetable. As someone who grew up without a car and as a recalcitrant fan of progress (perhaps even Futurism, to some extent), one of the most personally frustrating examples of this city planning torpor is the Seattle Monorail.

As of 2002, when I decided to use it as it as my muse for a web site design class in the Visual Communication Design program at the University of Washington, the Seattle Monorail had been the beginning of something great for about forty years. Originally built in 1962 to shuttle visitors between downtown and the Seattle World’s Fair, the Monorail had since served as little more than an icon of the city’s once future-driven spirit, though there was a resurgent and concerted effort to evolve the system into something much more impressive. In fact, the wheels had been in motion, so to speak, for several years and, despite the work of some determinately opposed political factions, it looked as if the Monorail might actually realize its potential in the foreseeable future.

Even considering its terribly stunted scope of service at the time (it ran just over one mile, end-to-end—only about .1 mile longer than it had run in 1962), the Seattle Monorail was a fascinating entity, in that it was at once an historical landmark, a thriving attraction and the major source of inspiration for what possibly could have been the future of Seattle’s public transportation system. This web site was to celebrate the Monorail system’s rich heritage, facilitate its everyday usage and promote its promising future. As such, I architected the site accordingly, creating sections related to the system’s past, present and future, and built relevant content into each section…

Seattle Monorail Online basic site map / 2002

Before getting too far into the design process, I extended the knowledge I had of the Monorail from prior personal experience with more in-depth research. I tracked down various reference material about Monorails around the world for context. I navigated the fascinating lifeline of Alweg, the German company that designed, built and actually paid for the system in 1961-1962. I sat with curators at Seattle’s Museum of History and Industry (MOHAI) and the University of Washington’s Special Collections Library, who graciously provided me with a wealth of firsthand anecdotes and gripping archival reference material, including everything from original construction drawings and renderings to World’s Fair promotional material and memorabilia to photographs of Elvis Presley, John Glen and Richard Nixon, among others, enjoying rides.

various archival photos (from the University of Washington Special Collections and MOHAI)
- – – – – – – – – – – – – -
top: Dr. Axel Lennart Wenner-Gren (ALWEG), Swedish financier and visionary of the German monorail company and a prototype train on a test track in 1952 | a pylon being erected in 1961 in Seattle to support the new Seattle Monorail dual track system | one of the two trains arriving in Seattle on a flatbed truck after being built in, and shipped from, Germany
- – – – – – – – – – – – – -
middle: the train cars were simply lifted onto the erected tracks with a crane | the Red Train speeds between Downtown and the World’s Fair grounds
- – – – – – – – – – – – – -
bottom: NASA astronaut John Glen checks out the cockpit of a Seattle Monorail train | 1963 tickets and driver | the Seattle Monorail on the cover of Life magazine

I went downtown and just rode the thing, myself, many, many times, camera in hand. I shot photography from dynamic, often low angles to evoke a sense of speed and stature and emphasize the intrinsic, sculptural beauty of the system.

various photographs taken of the Monorail system and the attractions it served, including the Westlake Mall and other Downtown shops, as well as the Seattle Center (another icon of the ’62 World’s Fair), and Frank Gehry’s Experience Music Project; 35mm film, shot with a 1940s Leica 3G / 2002

And I learned about how civic and non-profit NGOs were planning its progress, with a far-sighted, systematic approach and new technology.

top: schematic of shadow casting of elevated light rail vs. monorail track systems | community support of the Monorail project
- – – – – – – – – – – – – -
middle/bottom: renderings and architectural models of an expanded monorail network and new cars

As I gathered research, original and source imagery, I began to develop the visual and interactive design system. The overall design of the site employs the same dynamic, future-looking spirit that built the original Monorail and which drove the project’s progress at the time. A forward-leaning 20º angle is employed throughout the site to frame navigation and content sections. Textural headline typography is letter-spaced exponentially to emote a sense of acceleration and lateral velocity. The body copy is set over a smooth gradient for spacial depth and energy. On pages with several topics or subjects, subsequent angled rule and gradient backgrounds delineate new points of interest.

design elements annotated on the Welcome page for quick reference online style guide; 1024 x 768px / 2002

Each section was color-coded with rich, warm color fields against textural blue monotone track photography backgrounds and framed by gridded white linear tracks. Futura Bold, a Bauhaus-era Modern typeface, was used in display settings to help express the quality of optimism in precise, innovative and timeless design the Monorail concept embodied. (All body copy is system text for usability.)

color and type elements for quick reference online style guide; 1024 x 768px / 2002

All content is built on a flexible underlying grid system. The most obvious usage of the grid in the actual site experience is in the feature imagery, generally grouped together in unique clusters. Looking back on this now, I enjoy the structured collages on their own, but the site design probably would have benefited from more restraint here; the resolution of the imagery at this size and the impact of the site design are sometimes overwhelmed by the complexity of the isolated compositions.

grid system for main site and popup window frames for quick reference online style guide; 1024 x 768px / 2002

Sadly, the most powerful moments of the Seattle Monorail Online experience are, fittingly, in the Past section. It is hard to believe that one of the most futuristic urban transportation systems in the world was built nearly a half-century ago. In this span of time, the Seattle Monorail has enjoyed great highs and endured degrading lows. Though often taken for granted by Seattle residents, the same Monorail system had performed nearly flawlessly for over forty years, surviving two major earthquakes, several attempts of manual demolition and two popular votes (as of 2002). For those interested in the Monorail story, this section provided an interactive timeline, information on the World’s Fair and compelling statistics that charted the impact the Monorail had had since 1962 all the way up to 2002.

Most of the more prominent points in the history of not only the Seattle Monorail, but also of the monorail concept in general, are touched on in the comprehensive Timeline section. One could scroll through the caption boxes and/or click on a date to launch a new window with more extensive information and imagery. One could then navigate through the detailed information of all of the events from this sub-window.

Seattle Monorail Online / Past / Timeline + Timeline detail window; 1020 x 440px. and 760 x 290px., respectively / 2002

But the Monorail was more than just a relic. It was genuinely useful, even in 2002, shuttling thousands of riders per day—including tourists, residents out for entertainment and regular commuters—between downtown’s financial/retail center and attractions such as the Seattle Center and Experience Music Project (EMP). (An interesting development was that Frank Gehry’s EMP, built in the late ’90s of cutting-edge, wildly expensive and complex materials and fabrication, was literally built around the Monorail, and only made the then-30-odd-year-old train system seem even more futuristic.)

For existing and prospective riders, the site offered general information such as timetables, maps, and ticket rates, and even provided information on how to charter one of the two trains for private parties.

Seattle Monorail Online / Present / Attractions; 1020 x 440px. / 2002

Much like the actual Monorail, I coded the site to launch in a long, narrow window, and content moves laterally in the main frame, while primary navigation information stays stationery in the top frame for easy access at all times. Relevant sub-navigation appears in a secondary navigation track as the Past, Present or Future tabs are moused over. Ironically, I decided to code the site to work best with the then-dominant Internet Explorer browser for Mac. (Annoyingly, this means the actual coded site of over 100 pages still works but is noticeably flawed in any contemporary browser. Oh how times change…)

demonstration of user rolling over primary and secondary menus, clicking into the “Attractions” page in the “Present” section and scrolling through the body frame of the page / 2002

But there’s so much more to Seattle than the high-pressure retail sales, a giant, crumpled tribute to Jimi Hendrix and the Space Needle, and the Monorail had the potential to bring people anywhere in the city and surrounding areas, quickly, efficiently, and profitably. In fact, the original Monorail was built in under two years and took less than six months to recover all initial building costs. It also costs virtually nothing to maintain. That means that it was not only the only public transportation system in the country that was actually profitable in 2002 (and to this day, I believe), it had been running almost purely on profit (and a significant one, at that) for nearly forty years. And, with no traffic to compete with and voracious acceleration from its energy-efficient electric motors to a top speed of nearly 70MpH, an expanded system could have made connections (and money) very quickly, indeed.

As of the time of this project, the plan was to have expanded the system from 1.1 to over 13 miles of track throughout the city by 2007. For those who wanted to be involved in realizing the Monorail’s potential, features such as news updates, a community forum, route plans and information on the new trains and stations were available in the Future section.

Seattle Monorail Online / Future / Updates + update thread detail window; 1020 x 440px. and 760 x 290px., respectively / 2002

Alas, all of this potential, progress, excitement and community action were for naught. Despite a public vote passed to begin building the system into possibly the greatest public transportation system in the world and several subsequent, ever-more slyly-written referendums by opposing factions that also met votes favorable to Monorail progress, the car-town Luddites who pulled the strings somehow still managed to pull the plug on the Monorail project with a fifth rewritten referendum that sufficiently tired the voters a couple years after I completed this project.

Last I was in Seattle, over the holidays, I found vastly increased evidence and talk about a new, and, by all evidence, poorly planned light-rail system that currently only goes only to and from the airport and a relatively unpopular area of South Seattle (that is pretty close to the airport, already). Being primarily ground-based, it is more complex to build, takes up much more valuable real estate, cannot connect with existing buildings without significant demolition, and does not provide the invigorating velocity or stunning views of the Monorail experience. It also competes directly with car traffic, blocking sight lines and even dangerously crossing traffic intersections at some points. The flawed ticketing system is likely letting considerable revenue slip through the tracks. It is, of course, behind schedule and over budget, and will take decades to get anywhere near useful as a viable transportation alternative to driving (if it doesn’t get driven off track beforehand).

Meanwhile, the 40+ year-old Seattle Monorail humbly cruises into history, 1.1 miles at a time.

I suppose building the Monorail into its potential is a lost cause. At this point, I can only hope that someone figures out how to build a time machine. Because, next time I go back to Seattle, I want it to be 1962. It seems like that was the last time people could look up from their windsheilds and see the future.

Materials symbol set promotional poster; 20 x 30in. / 2002

There is something very primal and essential about building things. Behind our most basic needs is the need to build something to facilitate it. Before we can put food on the table, someone has to put the table together. Before we can sleep under anyone’s roof, someone has to put that roof over our heads. And, in order to afford such things these days, most of us need to go to work, which, more than likely, is in a building.

But modern technology and evolving divisions of labor have rendered the notion of building even the most trifling gaff foreign and anxiety-filling to most. Hardware stores (big-box and corner-shop alike) are stocked floor to ceiling with too many confusing answers to even the most basic questions. For our Marks and Symbols class in the Visual Communication Design (VCD) program at the University of Washington, we were set out to develop a universal language of icons that would help de-mystify this environment and enable people to fulfill their basic need to put stuff together.

The class was divided into two phases: research and development. In the research phase, we worked in groups to look into issues facing the hardware customer, decide upon the problem we felt had the most potential for amelioration by a concise set of symbols (ten or so), and present our process and findings to the rest of the class. In the second phase, we each developed symbol sets on our own to respond to this problem.

Our research group, comprising mates Devon DeLapp, Jesse Graupmann, Narith Hoc, Sarah LaMont, Shaun Tungseth and myself, began by thinking of and assessing the potential (and drawbacks) of six possible options: A set of symbols for connectors, which could help people figure out what fit with what else (but seemed too broad to spawn a useful set of just ten symbols), electricity symbols, which could help people figure out the ins and outs of amps and volts (but we couldn’t figure out how to boil this subject down to ten symbols, either), how-to symbols, which could help people with standard tasks like building a deck or installing a light fixture (but, we quickly realized, would be nearly impossible to describe in mere icons), function/action symbols, which could help explain what a particular tool might do, such as “twist” or “strike” and might have made for a cool set of symbols (but seemed too basic a concept to actually be of any use to any adult not born on Mars—”a hammer is for hitting; fancy that!”), or warning symbols, which could help deter someone from doing stupid things with those tools—like strike themselves with a hammer (but had already been done to death, so to speak).

After much debate, we decided that materials had the most potential for new exploration of symbols that could enjoy real utility, potentially touching a range of applications within the context of hardware, such as way-finding (“Where is the wood?”), contents listing (“Is this made with wood?”), and proper use of tools (“Can I use this on wood?”)…

Once we had decided on our topic to develop, we halfheartedly debated the merits of different ways to present our preliminary investigation and the resultant “problem statement” to the class. We could have done a simple verbal presentation supported by material objects, poster boards, handouts and/or a slide show. In reality, though, having Devon in our group set the foregone expectation among us and the rest of the class that we would do some sort of film (Devon somehow found time to be a Film Studies major in addition to being a Visual Communication Design major, while most of us were killing ourselves just to hold down VCD). And so we made a film.

The film begins with us visiting a hardware store and shopping around as a metaphor for our exploration of ideas. Each of the members discuss one of the original six directions briefly, culminating with materials. We then find examples of the materials for which we had decided to symbolize in the store and load them onto our cart. The film then moves on to vignettes of our photographic research of our chosen materials with as the supporting soundtrack intensifies. Finally, we review previous such symbol programs and speak to intentions of improvement thereof as we check out of the store, idea in hand (or, rather, on big cart thing).

Materials presentation video (stills); written, directed, acted and narrated by Devon DeLapp, Jesse Graupmann, Narith Hoc, Sarah LaMont, Shaun Tungseth and myself; DV / 2003

Recently re-viewing this film was a bit painful. It’s amateurish, we’re all terrible on screen and it was embellished with plenty of juvenile flourishes (highlights include Eric Clapton’s “Cocaine” playing while showing our semiotic exploration of plaster—which is generally made from a white powder—and the film closing with the obligatory toilet flush out-take—from our discussion of ceramic materials). But it sharpened some great memories of having fun with a project, and reinforced in me the idea that irreverence can be a great vehicle to engage an audience, even if you’re trying to convey that a lot of work went into something, which it had. I don’t remember any other groups’ presentations, though I’m sure they were all solidly delivered. I’m guessing people remember ours.

As the credits rolled on our presentation, phase one faded to black and we were off on our own to start creating appropriate symbol sets. With photographic research and general knowledge to draw from, I began my symbol design process by making cursory lists of the semiotic relationships to each material, looking for overlaps between them that would give me a solid base from which to draft a set of ten equivalent marks.

Materials semiotic relationships study / 2003

These lists were in no way exhaustive, but they were effective in helping me figure out routes that had the most or least potential. Only a few of the materials were referenced by commonly known symbolism or metaphor. The greatest potential, therefore, seemed to lay in literal representation stemming from either attributes or examples of the respective materials.

Then, at last… I began sketching to test different visual language. To begin, I worked with the three most vastly different materials (glass, metal and rubber) so I could try a range of execution while hopefully ensuring the approach would translate to the other seven. My initial exercises were highly literal representations of canonical objects that were tied visually by a strong common shape, though I soon abandoned this, as the symbols would have been too specific and not thus not necessarily be effective in representing the range of a particular material.

From this, my next tactic involved slightly more abstract detail views of pattern. I tested different scale to determine optimal overall color, or visual density of the marks.

Materials symbol set study; pencil and marker on paper / 2003
top row: glass
middle row: metal
bottom row: rubber

Though simple pattern looked as if it could be successfully carried over to the entire range of materials and make for a relatively effective symbol set, the depth of impact of these marks was relatively shallow. In search of a more sophisticated result, I drew more abstract marks based on interaction. In this system, the materials relate with a common element (a black square) in a unique way, based on the material’s characteristics. For example, the box shows through the glass, it is welded or riveted to the metal, and the rubber stretches over it.

Materials symbol set study; pencil and marker on paper / 2003
top row: glass
middle row: metal
bottom row: rubber

Intellectually stimulating as it was, the idea of ten different materials interacting with one formal element in ten different and relevant ways was more or less doomed to failure. In an effort to create an interesting and sophisticated set that would also be truly usable, I realized a balance needed to be struck between literal and abstract. My first attempt at this approach combined solid shapes and lines. Initial experimentation with a three-by-three grid also began at this stage and, while the solid shapes were not working well with the linear elements, I felt like the solution was close at hand.

Materials symbol set study; pencil and marker on paper / 2003
top row: glass
middle row: metal
bottom row: rubber

From this point, the challenge was in formulating an elegant and cohesive set that would perform at many levels of display. This process led to the foundation of the final solution: a set of square marks comprising geometric line drawing based on a three-by-three grid.

Materials symbol set study; structural grid / 2003

More for facility of quick rendering than any conceptual theme, I had been working within the confines of a square containing shape without much deviation from the very beginning of my process, so this was the last nail in the coffin of any other shape exploration. Looking back, the symbols do seem somewhat artless and rigid for the box, but I’m not ashamed or regretful. These marks are for the most basic inanimate objects in the context of hardware; it seems quite appropriate. The structural grid made them feel even more solidly built and made for a very legible system with nearly limitless potential for application and extension to additional materials.

Once the formal method had been established, it was applied to other elements of the set. Care had to be taken to maintain the balance between the literal and abstract; utility and interest.

Materials symbol set study; pencil and marker on paper / 2003
top row: stone
middle row: cloth
bottom row: soil

Some materials took to the system quite readily while others required many iterations and changes of focus. Plastic, for example, can be made into almost any form imaginable, so establishing one mark to represent it in its entirety required extensive exploration.

Materials symbol set study; pencil and marker on paper / 2003
top row: wood
middle row: plastic
bottom row: drywall

One great thing about geometrically drawn symbols based on a grid is that they are extremely easy to render digitally. This allowed for even more extensive exploration and variation once the marks were translated to the computer.

Materials symbol set study; digital sketches / 2003
top row: glass
middle row: metal
bottom row: rubber

Since different iterations could be generated quickly and accurately, creating and evaluating variations went quite smoothly for most of the set. The ceramic symbol serendipitously benefited from a perfect relationship with the grid and required only one take.

Materials symbol set study; digital sketches / 2003
top row: drywall
second row: wood
third row: soil
bottom row: ceramic

Unlike the ceramic mark, some of the materials required significant trial and error to perform at a similar level functionally and formally. Plastic called for many different sources of inspiration (and, I must say, I’m least pleased with its final mark), while other materials, such as cloth, necessitated numerous formal interpretations. However, a complete final set was well within view at this point.

Materials symbol set; color, positive and reverse flexibility / 2003
top row: stone
middle row: plastic
bottom row: cloth

Soon enough, the complete set came together, and was put through its paces to see if the symbols could answer their duty. Could they reverse out?

Materials symbol set; positive and reverse / 2003
top row: ceramic | cloth | glass
second row: drywall | metal | rubber
third row: soil | wood | plastic
bottom row: stone

Could they be color coded? And what about that linear execution; what if that were reversed?

Materials symbol set; color, positive and reverse flexibility / 2003
top row: ceramic | cloth | glass
second row: drywall | metal | rubber
third row: soil | wood | plastic
bottom row: stone

But the most important question for any design, especially in a hardware store, is: Does it work? The following is but a brief study of applications, but shows how they could be useful for proper use of hardware or tools.

wood symbol application; proper use of hardware / 2003

drywall, wood, metal and plastic symbol application; proper use of tools / 2003

As mentioned above, the standardization of material symbols could not only help people determine whether something should or should not be used on a particular material, it could also help people quickly identify whether a pipe was plastic or rubber, or where to find glass or wood, and so on. With smart implementation, the potential utility of the system is quite vast. Someone just has to build it.

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.