Washington State Convention and Trade Center building (back/garden) / photo taken 2003

Sometime in the 1940s or ’50s (I’m not sure of the exact year), the term “corporate identity” was coined by Lippincott & Margulies—one of the first major design firms in the world—to describe both the idea that even large businesses have inherent, relatable characteristics, not unlike human beings, and the practice that could express their character through a fitting, comprehensive and consistent design program. An organization’s identity is expressed in every way they communicate, from their name and logo to their brochures and web site, to the way they answer the phone—whether those “touchpoints” are designed by professionals or not—so this was an important “call-to-action” (to use another industry term) for organizations to pay attention to everything they were communicating, and, ideally, to pay top-notch professionals like L&M to help them make sure they were doing so effectively.

Sometime in the 1990s, the term “brand” began to take over as more formal business strategy was becoming more prominently integrated into large-scale identity design programs, and it quickly went from buzz word to industry category, on which uncounted firms jumped. I have always found this nomenclature shift ironic. “Branding,” literally translated, is the superficial process of stamping a logo on your property (livestock, originally); this superficial logo stamping is exactly the perception that the “new” practice of “branding” was supposed to be rising above. Meanwhile, the word “identity” could already encompass every aspect what an entity is, from what they do to how they express it. But like many P/C nomenclature shifts of late, whether rational or not, “branding” has taken hold, and “identity” (preceded by “corporate” or not), has been deprecated.

Whatever it’s called, my formal introduction to the process of figuring out what an organization stands for and expressing it in a fitting design program was in a class called Identity Systems in the Visual Communication Design program at the University of Washington, sometime in 2003. Like a few other courses in the program, this one was broken into collaborative group and individual phases. Three-person groups were assigned one of four or five major local entities and tasked with research and analysis of the entity, en-route to the creation of a strategic brand platform. Based on this platform, we were then set about designing a fitting logo and building a supporting visual identity system, individually…

Working as a team, Jesse Graupmann, Tim Turner and I made many important discoveries in the course of our research of our assigned entity: The Washington State Convention and Trade Center (WSCTC). Through web exploration, personal interviews with convention center officials, several reconnaissance missions and the study of official documentation, we assessed strengths and weaknesses of its services, location, architecture, transportation integration, primary and secondary local and regional competition, primary and tertiary channels of communication, and its integration with the community, and we determined the primary, secondary and tertiary audiences to whom these mattered. We found that the Washington State Convention and Trade Center offers profound and unique benefits to its constituents that other entities could not match. We also came to the conclusion that their actual visual identity, emanating from the wheat stalk mark in their logo, did little to convey anything about the Center.

The actual Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo is a mash-up of heavy, stylized wheat stalks and stringy typography that does little if anything to express either what the WSCTC is, what it does, or how it does it; rumor had it that, as a state-funded but Seattle-located entity, this was an attempt to appeal to / appease agriculturally-focused Eastern Washingtonians / photo taken 2003

Primary among the WSCTC’s unique and defining aspects is the actual facility. By scale alone, the Center is unmissable, and has some beautiful features, even if it suffers from a somewhat disparate kit of parts. Half of the main façade is laid with flat, earth-tone blocks of stone while the other half has angular full-height windows jutting out into the street. This front meets with blocky glass walls which stair-step their way out the back of the building.

detail of theWashington State Convention and Trade Center’s contrasting stone and glass structure / photo taken 2003

As part of its 2000 expansion, A huge glass and steel arched bridge with a built-in meeting room overhangs Pike Street—a major downtown thoroughfare—bridging the two buildings of the WSCTC complex. This feature won little favor with locals who often express disdain for the sheer imposition, but serves as a nice metaphor for the connections made at the Center (and, it has a pretty great view).

view of theWashington State Convention and Trade Center’s enormous bridge and glass arcade, which actually encloses a block of Pike Street; photographer unknown

The structure is within walking proximity of myriad hotels, shops, restaurants, businesses, and residential complexes, and is connected to Freeway Park, a rich maze of concrete pathways and lush foliage that and ambles upward from Downtown up to culturally-rich Capitol Hill and First Hill neighborhoods.

detail of Freeway Park, an extension of the Washington State Convention and Trade Center; photo taken 2003

Access to the Center could hardly be easier. It has its own freeway exit, it’s own parking garage, it’s own shuttle and taxi dropoff, and its own station integrated into the Metro Bus Tunnel. There is also a car rental agency just across the street.

The Washington State Convention and Trade Center caters to three separate but related audiences. Those having primary business interaction with WSCTC representatives are professional event planners in charge of scheduling and coordinating events large and small for businesses, political entities and other organizations. Secondary audience members are the actual exhibitors and attendees of these events. There is also a tertiary audience served by the facility in the general community, who come to attend public exhibitions, meet friends or business contacts, enjoy the many pieces of artwork on display throughout the building, and/or patronize one or more of the many small businesses and shops within the Center.

view looking up from the interior of theWashington State Convention and Trade Center’s main hall / photo taken 2003

Like all major convention centers, the WSCTC provides accommodations for various sizes and types of events. Unlike most other such venues, however, the Washington State Convention and Trade Center has an extremely broad range of capability and the highest levels of service. Different room capacities and modular exhibition space can accommodate anywhere between two and twenty thousand attendees comfortably. In addition, the Center offers state-of-the-art technological services. Great pride is also taken in their award-winning catering service that’s second to none in the industry.

Being a tax supported state entity, the WSCTC is deeply involved in the interests of the general public. This was expressed most prominently in its expansion, which not only provided a convenient walking path between downtown and Capitol Hill and First Hill, but also afforded a significant increase in the abundance of publicly-funded low-income housing in the area. The building itself also showcases the work of numerous local, national and international artists and provides informal seating and gathering space, all free to the public every day of the week. In addition, the revenue earned by the Center contributes significantly to the state’s budget, leading to greater support of public programs.

Considering these factors and a wealth of information we had accumulated to support them, Jesse, Tim and I went to work synthesizing our findings and teasing out a simple strategic foundation.

We created a basic brand positioning framework, based on what the WSCTC offers its audiences, in terms of three “B”s…
The Business
Providing dependable facilities and services for event planners
The Benefit
Peace of mind that important experiences will be hosted adeptly
What’s Better
Premier location
Internationally-renowned service
Flexibility of space
Ability to host large-scale or complex events
Community integration and accessibility

And we decided upon five characteristics that best captured the personality of the organization…
Personality Attributes
Professional dependable; focused; orderly
Accommodating intimate; pleasurable; flexible; inviting
Metropolitan urban mystique; downtown; major city
Connected access to resources, people and technology/connectivity
Progressive fresh; up to date; constantly evolving

As we wove these facets together, we began to recognize a powerful thread that ran seamlessly through: Indeed, this idea in and of itself, was basically it! Something special happens when things come together. This is what the Washington State Convention and Trade Center is all about. When event planners work with hosts, or attendees and visitors experience an event, or each other, or the city, valuable experiences are created. The WSCTC is the venue, the forum, the intersection and the enabler of these powerful moments.

And so was born our interpretation of the heart of the WSCTC, meant to elegantly encapsulate the motivating factor behind everything the Washington State Convention and Trade Center did, and, in two words, captured both the importance of the physical venue and the service…
Brand Essence
Facilitating connections

From here, we developed a positioning/style matrix as a tool to visually aid us as designers, as well as the client (theoretically in this case) to ensure our intentions for the direction of the ensuing identity design was aligned, as well as solidifying previously synthesized brand elements. We chose the two most powerful, yet disparate personality traits of the brand, namely “professional” and “accommodating” as the top and bottom points on the vertical axis, while stylistic differences were opposed laterally between “representational” on the left, which would likely lead to a system based on physical features and “abstract” on the right, which would likely be more focused on qualitative interpretations of benefits. Scattered on the plot were logos of other organizations, both in and out of category, for reference.



Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo positioning/style matrix; vertical axis: “professional” (top) and “accommodating” (bottom), horizontal axis: “representational” (left) and “abstract” (right); initial area of focus for the WSCTC logo exploration circled; 17 x 11in. / 2003

It was soon after this point that each group member would take the research as they saw it and begin creating identity design individually. It is this matrix, then, that would provide the jumping-off point for each member’s design direction and process. Based on such, I made the rough determination that my direction would fall somewhere toward the “professional” end of the personality spectrum, and would likely be executed in a relatively abstract manner (as designated by the circle in the matrix above). As it happened, the logo and ensuing visual identity system was rather abstract, but referenced the actual building enough that it would probably be plotted a bit to the left of this initial focus.

Armed with the results of all of the preceding research (and then some), the sketch book was cracked open and ideas were turned into marks on paper. The scope of exploration was kept as broad as possible without straying from the brand platform. Of paramount importance was in expressing the brand promise, as a product of the personality traits of the organization. Several concepts were explored in a variety of ways, but the idea of “facilitating connections” drove the creative process from beginning to end.


Conception

Initial sketches utilized the arch as a reference to the building’s prominent architecture as well as a strong metaphor for bridging gaps and making connections. The letter W was integrated into some of these sketches as a connection to “Washington,” which could aid name recognition, but the center’s “Washington-ness” wasn’t a primary communication objective, so pursuing this was not of high importance (the WSCTC doesn’t compete much nationally, and Seattle is really the draw, anyway). Purely typographic solutions were also explored, utilizing custom ligatures within the logotype to convey the idea of connections. Also referencing the building’s architecture were sketches based on stair-stepped block devices:



Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo exploration; pencil on paper; 11 x 8.5in. / 2003


Continuation

At this point, several more abstract marks were considered in addition to refinement of previous ideas. Ideally, the mark would encompass all of the traits of the brand. Differing sizes of squares were used as primary elements as they offered reference to building architecture, event space, metropolitan grid system and so on. Various combinations and compositions were explored in an effort to convey not only connections being made but also a sense of flexibility of space and service:





Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo exploration; pencil on paper; full sheet and detail of mark studies; 11 x 8.5in. / 2003


Confirmation

Once the potential of these elements was recognized, the process of digital translation and refinement of various aspects of both the typography and the mark began to ensure they could translate properly to the final state:



Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo exploration; digital sketches / 2003


Coloration

Moving along further in the design process, color was introduced as an element while the final mark and typography were still being honed. Initially, just blues and yellows were considered as a professional yet lively palette.

The typography, too, was making progress. While myriad ligature-based options were explored to various degrees, they competed with the mark and cut down on legibility, so I eventually just cleaned up the type in favor of conceptual simplicity and compositional elegance.



Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo exploration / 2003


Convergence

While refining the overall composition of the mark and logotype, the possibility of the color blocks creating a third color at their intersection presented a very intriguing option. That the third color just so happened to be green, the perfect descriptor for Washington (it is “The Evergreen State,” after all) was too enticing to resist, and the mark decision had been made. Soon thereafter, the logotype was finalized and all that was left was to choose the exact color values, which only a comprehensive study could decide:



Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo color study / 2003


Completion

Everything has come together in the final logo. The simple, lowercase typography is inviting, but also has serious presence. The mark references the facility architecture and services, being created of connections between different elements; that it also dots the “i” in “convention” is a nod to the attention to detail of their acclaimed service. The composition is dynamic but balanced, crisp and clean.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo / 2003

Color Concessions

The mark and logotype have been designed to work well within the confines of any color space. Ideally, the three or four-color version is to be used whenever possible, but grayscale, spot-color and black-only versions have also been created so that the new identity may be used in any application.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center logo color variations: (from left to right) 3 or 4-color version, grayscale version, one color version, black only version / 2003

Contextualization

As the logo was being finalized, the visual system, or “kit-of-parts” of standard design elements and usage began. This ended up being incredibly close-in to the logo, which I now find unnecessarily constricted, as well as a bit stifling of the logo, itself. However, as a starting point for a completely new identity, it certainly would have reinforced recognition much more quickly and could have been built upon later.

The color palette is just swatch for swatch with the logo, with the cool, marine blue and vibrant yellow, which combine to create a crisp Washington apple green. The sizes of the swatches represent the relative intended usage, with the blue and the green most pervasive, for their strength of value, with the yellow being used for occasional highlights. Throwing in an even gray for a neutral was a bit default, but its recessive elegance does work. If I were to update this system, one of the first things I would look at would be to add a secondary palette of color triads, potentially related to some organizational structure (i.e., color-coding).

Washington State Convention and Trade Center color palette / 2003

Typefacial Expression

Any written communication must not only convey what needs to be said, but also express the tone in which it should be understood. For an organization with such a broad range of potential recipients of written communication, a font family with extensive versatility and clarity is crucial, but the brand must also be considered in this decision. With these factors in mind, three weights of Helvetica Neue were chosen for their tonal neutrality, maximum legibility and professional demeanor. Normal weights of standard format body copy is efficient and easily read, while bold, often colored lowercase titles and headings serve to keep the message friendly and contemporary.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center type system specimen; 17 x 11in. / 2003

As rational as all that may sound, this type spec is probably my least favorite aspect of this program, looking back on it. My primary dislike is not that it’s based on Helvetica, which I feel absolutely no shame in using under the right circumstances. The unfortunate thing is that it’s based on the exact same typeface as the logotype, which dilutes the logo’s impact and (especially since it’s Helvetica), makes the design system seem overly minimalist. I think a more traditional serif family actually could have easily given the applications a more sophisticated voice and added richness to the overall visual texture.


Multiplying the Message

Nothing makes an identity campaign more powerful than broad and cohesive usage thereof throughout an organization’s vast array of communications. Whether it’s the color of the dinner napkins or the tone of the copy writing on the web site, staying true to the brand is essential. A strong identity system makes it clear just who the organization are to everyone who encounters it.

Stationery has been the cornerstone of identity systems since I-don’t-know-when, though this era seems to be coming to an end. However, as archaic as it may seem these days, press-printed stationery is still used by organizations, especially by executives for formal correspondence, so it remains an important touchpoint to execute adroitly.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center stationery; standard U.S. dimensions / 2003

More specifically relevant for the Convention and Trade Center were name badges for visitors and staff.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center name badges for attendees (left) and staff (right); 4 x 3.25in. and 4 x 1.125in., respectively / 2003

In the above applications, you can start to see the how intersecting blocks are used as a tertiary design system element. Here, again, the idea seems solid, but way too close to the logo; this is where some of those secondary color triads could come into play to separate and add visual texture to the visual identity. I’m also not sure that every shape would have to be a rectangle. Perhaps arcs could come in, referencing the arches of the architecture and the idea of bridging, in general.

Like press-printed stationery, press-printed annual reports (and the design firms that focused on them so heavily) are becoming more and more rare, but this, too, is an incredibly important communication vehicle, and one of the few pieces of graphic design to which executives tend to pay any mind (since the primary audience is shareholders). In my exhibit below, I again reference the logo heavily, though I actually don’t mind it here, because of how it is used and the context: assuming this was the year the new brand identity was introduced, this could reinforce recognition and meaning by using the mark to highlight the actual facility and connections alluded to by the bridge. The only thing I really dislike about this exhibit is that it seems to imply that the annual report covers two years, which just doesn’t make sense.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center 2003 | 2004 Annual Report cover; 8.5 x 11in. / 2003

Sometime in the early- to mid-2000s, the web site took over as the most important touchpoint of almost every brand in the world. Toward the beginning of that range, many of these began with some sort of Flash animated “intro,” which were almost invariably the most frivolous wastes of the medium. Being 2003, I created a basic web site “look and feel,” duly preceded it by a frivolous (though mercifully short) Flash intro. I don’t actually mind the basic idea of the animation—of the three logo blocks coming together to create the logo (though, again, it could use modulation of different colors or other means of activating it). I just think it should have been thought of as an sequence for digital event screen backdrops for conference rooms or something equally meaningful for the WSCTC instead of a throwaway on the web site.

Aside from some system monotony and the difficult small type, I think the web site page design is pretty good; it certainly has a lot more potential than the actual WSCTC site design.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center web site; logo animation, home page; 800 x 600px.+ / 2003

There are few more satisfying feelings than seeing your logo built into a sign. When your design is measured in feet, is made out of metal, weighs hundreds of pounds and requires a small crane to put it in place, you know the client is proud. You can also be pretty sure they aren’t going to change the logo anytime soon, since the time, logistic and monetary costs of sign implementation are formidable, and not something any organization wants to do very often. For the WSCTC, seeing my logo actually put up on the main façade would have been pretty satiating, indeed—especially since the facility more or less is the brand. Of course, this didn’t happen since this was just a school project, but I did do a sketch of how it might have looked if it had.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center façade sign; approx. 35 x 20ft. / 2003

While seeing my logo as shown would have been cool, I must admit that I’m not completely satisfied with this exhibit, either. I like the simplicity of it, but I think some subtle plane shifts in the mark and more consideration of materials, dimensionality and possibly even lighting could have really brought the sign to the next level, so to speak.

On a more functional level, I also designed some examples of interior signage. Even though these are based straight off the logo mark—certainly another example of the very close-in approach to the visual identity system—the addition of different levels of informational iconography set on the different levels of the marks helps support the meaning of the identity, rather than clash therewith.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center interior signs; approx. 12 x 12in. (each); vinyl on acrylic / 2003
top row: room signs (two sections of the same room) | men’s room | ladies room
middle row: bus transportation | taxi transportation | food/restaurant | coffee shop
bottom row: elevators | public telephones | information desk

Below, you can see how some of this and other signage could be implemented on the interior. If given another chance at this, I would strongly consider another color for the walls, or at least an accent here and there. The digital sign could use some TLC, as well. And, in a perfect world, I would commission custom carpeting that could incorporate a unique, WSCTC identity system pattern.

Washington State Convention and Trade Centerinterior signage / 2003

Back outside, then, are a couple tertiary sign locations, where just the mark would be sufficient, as well as temporary event banners (the signs outside the WSCTC were already this angled shape). Here, like the interior signs, the overlapping color system helps differentiate levels of information hierarchy. Though in this case, when used as visual texture, I again would likely assign these an appropriate secondary color triad that would allow the logo to stand out more prominently.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center tertiary signs and event banner signs; approx. 12 x 12ft., 6 x 6ft. and 3 x 9ft., ccw from upper left / 2003

Perhaps the most interesting extension of the identity system I designed was a sculpture intended for the back garden/park. In this piece, translucent blue and yellow lucite blocks would stack into each other, with the apple green naturally being created at the intersections between them. As a three-dimensional expression of the mark and its references to different spaces, places, and unique connections, it could also become known as landmark meeting point, in and of itself.

Washington State Convention and Trade Center park sculpture; approx. 6 x 6 x 6ft.; translucent lucite / 2003

I’m not sure whether this class project opened me up to it, but, I have since gone on to spend the majority of my (still rather young) career helping shape the identities of corporations and other organizations (rather than, say, designing annual reports). I’ve even gotten used to referring to clients’ identities as “brands,” though I still bristle at the superficial connotations of the term “branding” to describe the work, as the strategic depth and spectrum of expression of the design work brings real value to clients.

Sometime in 2007, I actually started working at Lippincott (the name has been shortened from the original Lippincott & Margulies, but it’s still the same company). Though the nomenclature may be different, the core idea the firm brought to light 50 or 60-some years ago still holds true. Organizations, corporate or otherwise, are like people, and in each is an opportunity to awaken their senses from the inside out, to help them discover who they are, what makes them unlike any other, and to help them express their unique character in every way they are met. I don’t think that will ever change.

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.

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.

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.

phone card set; series of four fronts (top); one back (bottom); 3.4in. x 2.125in. each / 2002

It seems that there are (or were) two major markets for long distance phone cards.

One is (or was, I’m guessing) Europe, where long distance on a phone plan, in comparison to U.S. phone plans, would span relatively little actual distance, and wanderlust runs rampant. In the days before near-ubiquitous mobile phone proliferation, I imagine there was much use for a card that would get you in touch with another country, or back in touch with home when you got there, without costly service charges from one’s domestic carrier. Even with a mobile, a roamer could easily outbound their domestic plan with a quick clip on the TGV.

The other market I’ve seen for such cards is quite different, and still as vibrant as ever. Having lived in New York for several years now, I’ve been confronted by gangs of international phone cards, shouting at me from behind so many raised bodega counters, each garish explosion of bling and atrocious typography shouting louder than the next, like a traffic jam in the South Bronx. This city, it seems, has the requisite population of aliens without the means for a long distance plan (or even a phone, in many cases), needing to reach out and touch their homelands, such that the cacophony of prepaid, foil-stamped minutes is warranted.

But, having lived in Seattle almost my entire life as of 2002, with its relatively scant collection of migrant workers (or Europeans), I’m not sure I’d ever even seen a phone card until I designed my own. This project, another in the Advanced Typography class of the Visual Communication Design (VCD) program at the University of Washington, was the novel creation of our professor (fresh from an extended European vacation). Here, we were to design a series (or multiple series) of ten-Euro calling cards…

Of course, being in a proper design program, my cards didn’t have any of that garish metallic noise, but I did try to convey, in abstract terms, traveling voices.

I thought of listening in on what a phone call from a traveler might be like. Would it be colorful and loud, as from a pétit jaune fille talking about the cute jungen in Bonn? Every day, a new color, but the same airy bubble babble? Vieleicht. But even one short trip can have many flavors. For every bubble and squeak, there’s can be a piercingly sharp Swiss, or even a boring square of milk toast. They all leave a taste in the wanderer’s mouth to share.

phone card set; series of four fronts (top); one back (bottom); 3.4in. x 2.125in. each / 2002

Sharing. Now that’s the essential je ne sais quoi of the phone card, non?. The traveler escapes the dia-a-dia from whence they came and their call recipients stay. The phone card allows them to connect provare even as their bodies derivare.

phone card set; series of four fronts (top); one back (bottom); 3.4in. x 2.125in. each / 2002

Travel is fantastisk because you can always go back home, and home might sound more and more magnifico with every soothing word from the ones left there. But the traveler must keep an eye on the watch, because the trains don’t run often this time of night, and, ten Euros can susurrus into the airwaves in no time at all.

phone card set; series of four fronts (top); one back (bottom); 3.4in. x 2.125in. each / 2002

Excited typographic expression study / 5.75 x 4in. / 2002

I’m confident that you’ll find them to be creative and engaging representations of the feelings I’m trying to express…

Confident typographic expression study / 5.75 x 4in. / 2002

Of course, if you don’t like them, you might say something coarse or even question my design skill. I’m pretty thick-skinned about that sort of thing, but if you were particularly mean about it, that could drag my mood down and could even make me depressed.

Depressed typographic expression study / 5.75 x 4in. / 2002

Phew… I guess that’s all I have to say about that. I think it went well. I must admit, I’m relieved.

Relieved typographic expression study / 5.75 x 4in. / 2002

Stark original typeface design / 2002

Ignore the Din and find a new Trade. Here comes another lean, monosyllabic hero of noir typography. He takes his briefcase locked, his drinks neat and his checks made out to “cash.” He takes wise guys to the cleaners and the birds take him just the way he is. He’s got a hardboiled manner and doesn’t care for idle banter, thank you, so you can keep the jibber-jabber to yourself. He’ll tell you what you need to know and nothing more. But he’s not just another working stiff. He’s got working class.

He’s got a cleft chin and a sordid past with which you need not concern yourself. All that matters is on the dotted lines. He stands tall but keeps a low profile. He’s sharp as nails and almost as kind. He doesn’t want to be your best friend but he’s probably the man you want on the case. He’s Stark…

Stark is a long drink of water with a shadow to match. He stands up straight and keeps his cards sewn to his chest. He’ll light a cigarette in your office and wear it low on his lip as he tells your rags right from wrong. You can put this on the record because it’s official business of capital import:

Stark caps / 2002

Well, if you’re going to stick around, you may as well take a seat, but don’t get too comfortable. After a long headline and a night-cap, Stark still wears his gaze under a slanted brim and he isn’t afraid to give a wink in casual setting. But if you give him the jumble, he’ll give you the hook. Pay attention, kid, because he’s never without a clipped counter in any exchange and he’s already seen plenty other pretty faces:

Stark lower case / 2002

Stark just deals in the facts, ma’am, and he’ll break the numbers to you—good or bad—with the same stamps of authority:

Stark numerals / 2002

When it comes to the end of the line, you can rest assured knowing Stark gave you a piece of his mind. Chances are, he’ll leave your punctuation hanging (but don’t quote me on that):

Stark selected punctuation / 2002

Well, it looks like that’s another one for the books. Best to just keep on moving before you get yourself into trouble. Forget everything you just saw. But if you’ve got a tough file that you need straightened out, you know where to look. You’d better watch closely, though, sport; Stark may just have designs on your desk.


The End

Behind the Scenes

Some early sketches for Stark were published in Designing Type by Karen Cheng (the Professor under whom I studied type design at the University of Washington). You might want to do yourself a favor and pick up a copy. He’s on page 155. And the rest of the book is pretty good, too:

Designing Type by Karen Cheng; cover and inside spread showing early sketches for Stark (on the right page); Yale University Press / 2006

Moon typeface / 2002 (setting of lyrics excerpted from “Space Oddity” by David Bowie)

Spacey, technical, open and angular, functional close or far, and emotionally open, Moon is a typeface for the future. Or at least for writing about it. Although its geometry makes it modern and compelling in display setting, the strategically placed serif bits (technically, Moon would fall into the “semi-sans” category) flow together even dense columns of communiqué. Special touches and extras give this face an alluring Hal-like techno-emotional identity complex…

When it comes to delivering critical messages, capital letters have long stood at the top of the world. Letter for letter, no other case brings more urgent credibility to your message than the cap. The more caps, the more determined. But, in so many faces, cap settings become such a bore in all their rectilinear monotony, like so much parental lecturing. Moon’s caps know what’s right and are not afraid to tell you what’s wrong, but the organic distribution of rounded and open forms, interacting with angular legs and serifs, allow enough engagement to discuss the matter:

Moon font: capital letters and lining numerals / 2002

Lining numerals allow for proof to be delivered confidently as top-level information, but are open enough to persuade the cautiously skeptical.

The lower case continues where the caps leave off, delivering the bulk of most standard communication with a rarified combination of technical precision and airy—dare I say, “friendly”?—humanity:

Moon font: lower case letters and text numerals / 2002, 2008

The lines between computation and digression are further blurred by the choice of classically-inspired text numerals as an option for setting in prose.

Speaking of digression… As typeface communication continues its rise to supremacy over human face communication, the fonts of today reveal themselves to be increasingly threadbare in their attempt to keep up. While great writers can pull the most powerful emotional strings with an Apollo-era typewriter and a cerebral hand, this is not the mindset of the majority of today’s typists. The new communicator places a premium on expediency and response, and relies heavily on hopelessly inadequate typographic patches like emoticons to express their slashed words for them (and, by the way, how many people were really aching for a quicker way to express “Vampire bat”?).

What if the typeface, itself, was more expressive? Though, presently, there is only one weight of Moon (Roman Moon), other weights were always part of the plan for the future (Half Moon, Full Moon, etc.), and would be essential tools to express emphasis or restraint. But what if temporal strain, too, could be captured in the extension of a letter-sound? As an additional spacey touch, super extended vowel forms allow for such techno-humanist expression:

Moon font: special extended vowels and standard punctuation / 2002

This is, of course, one small step for typeface exploration. The possibilities to realize key-borne expression for the mankind of tomorrow are galactic. The centuries-old groundwork of typography is absolutely still relevant, but the needs of type are evolving. Current standards are being necessarily co-opted by a new world order of communicators, a practice quietly being ignored by typographers (guilty, but aware). Moon may just be another typeface, but I’d suggest its future is wide open.

Sylloge typeface (promotional collage) / 2002

All type says something more than that which has been written. Some writing is logical. Therefore, some typefaces can make prose seem more logical than it actually is. This is an example of syllogistic reasoning. This is Sylloge, an original typeface design…

Sylloge typeface (elements) / 2002
(+) Click to enlarge and see complete character set.

Its character is wise; believable; stable in its bracketed, serifed footing; distinguished by graceful nuance; considered in its humanistic stroke weight variation; resolute in its straight stance. This is the perfect face to put forth for one’s most ardent case.

Sylloge typeface (text numerals) / 2002
(+) Click to enlarge and see complete character set.

Numbers like this don’t lie. Just think how comfortably they would sit even in the thick of the discussion. Not like those ruffian lining numerals that shout so inappropriately at cap height all the time.

But the designer must always be conscientious. One should never use a pretty face to say something disingenuous. What is written is still far more important than the typeface in which it is spelled. Syllogistic fallacies are not uncommon, and they still pass for logic.

So here is Sylloge. Type carefully.

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.

Coffee Table anticipatory web announcement; 500px. x 250px. + / 2001 (Click to see the announcement as it appeared on my web site.)

In my entire life, I have had the equivalent of about one cup of coffee, all before I was in high school. Lured by the sheer “adultness” of it, I wrapped paws around a few of those thick ceramic handles but my young palette was far too immature to appreciate the bittersweet complexity of the fabled bean and never did I finish a pour. I also have an annoyingly low tolerance for burning my mouth on hot things, which basically sealed that deal. When I was older and more likely to enjoy it (“coffee” had easily become my favorite flavor for anything that named it), I refrained from the temptation, prophesizing that it could become an unwieldy daily expense, and boy, would I have been right.

Nevertheless, there is something so damn cool about coffee that I could never deny. Luckily for me, it has very little to do with the drink, itself. Coffee’s transcendence from mere beverage to cultural phenomenon is perhaps superseded only by that of alcohol, but coffee’s affect (and effect) bears a decidedly more conscious flavor: an enduring symbol of learned European Modernity, a catalyst for artists and philosophers exchanging roles in Bohemian cultural movements, an enabler of late-night epiphanies and an antidote for the mornings after. A solitary indulgence or a shared experience for the aware.

The objective devotions to the ritual of coffee are as deliberate and rich as the blends. Enormous, industrial machines used to whistle down the most potent formulae at a preciously drizzling pace, sculptural carafes of glass, aluminum and plastic, and of course the myriad cups. But the piece most concretely symbolic of the dedication to all that coffee represents is its forum: the coffee table…

In my young twenties, I moved into my own apartment for the first time, and beginners’ luck showed brightly on me. Situated at the nexus of Belltown, the urban class epicenter of Seattle, the tall, slender unit alit the southwest corner of a vintage brick building that itself crowned a steep hill down to the bay a few blocks below. The arched keystone windows let in beaming views of the water, the mountains, the city skyline, the historic Pike Place Market, the sunset and the multifarious reverberations of the dot-com-boom bustle below. If ever there was a time and a place that beckoned a coffee table, this was it.

Aside from quality craftsmanship, the most elusive and expensive feature of any piece of furniture is a right-angle. The everlasting obsession with antiquity has allowed for the permeation of meaningless scrolls, patterns, cherubs, anthropomorphic legs and other superfluous decoration that, in most cases, does little more than make cheap furniture seem like it’s not. Thus, I’ve always loved those heavy Italian rectangles from B&B Italia, Cassina, Porro, and so on. But even if I could have afforded such extravagance, I’m not sure I would have bit. Alas, I had something a bit different in mind.

Coffee Table plans: (clockwise from top-left: wide side view [at 90º], top view, front view, narrow side view) / 2001

My apartment was small. Almost all of my furniture had to serve more than one purpose. My coffee table would have to serve me dinner as well any beverages and large-format books customarily associated with such a piece. The distinguishing extra angle piece, then, is primarily for my plate and silverware. But it also works well for magazines, laptops, new albums, or whatever else may need close attention at the moment. When dinner is through, one can easily slide over a few inches and walk out freely from the table without ever having to move it. Two people can sit close in the opening or each can use the table differently. The extra angle also works well to keep a glass close at hand when relaxing crosswise on the neighboring sofa.

Of course, I have a million kooky ideas like this. The only reason this particular plan ever came to fruition is because IGT Heavy Industries (my dad) graciously took on the task to actually build the thing. It’s constructed primarily of plywood, with a perfect Formica top surface to keep it clean. The wood is all painted white, except for the black feet, meant to ground the piece and visually lower its profile.

Coffee Table; plywood, Formica, fastening hardware; 48in. x 24in. x 16in. / 2001 (photo taken 2008)

Coffee Table (detail) / 2001 (photo taken 2008)

There were tentative plans to build a complete system, including a desk and even a loft bed (that had to serve more than its named purpose, too). For the desk, the extra angle would serve as a mouse range, while my Mac G4 would sit within the base. On the bed, the angle would have served as a night stand platform, from which climbing rungs would have hung.

Desk (A) plans (clockwise from top-left: narrow side view [at 90º], top view, wide side view [at 90º], back view, front view); In this version, my computer would sit completely within the desk structure, which would have small ports for cooling and access to peripherals. / 2001

Desk (B) plans (clockwise from top-left: narrow side view [at 90º], top view, wide side view [at 90º], back view, front view); In this version, a hidden platform would have sunken the computer partially into the rear portion of the desk. / 2001

The other pieces in the system might have been interesting, but they wouldn’t have had the life of the coffee table. With each move from my Belltown flat, my spaces have shifted significantly, and the tailored set wouldn’t have made as much sense in subsequent apartments.

Coffee Table (detail) / 2001 (photo taken 2008)

But, since I took delivery of the coffee table from the showroom (my parents’ house), I’ve moved three times and across the country, and I have acquired a few choice, museum-quality pieces from Vitra and the like. But my coffee table is still my favorite piece of furniture. It’s (multi-) functional, it’s unique, it’s well-built, and it makes for a great point of discussion, which seems pretty cool to me, even if it never sees an actual cup of coffee.