For the opening shot of my Kickstarter campaign video, I had flashed upon a time-lapse or fast-motion sequence of me setting letters. In the end, I did a combination of cuts and various speeds to achieve the affect, while filming with an iPhone 7 Plus overhead on a tripod. I'm pretty pleased with the results!
I first studied letterpress in the late 1980s, when it was barely used commercially and seemed to be a dying craft, as no new equipment was being made, metal type foundries were fading, and hot-metal systems required parts that no longer existed and maintenance few people knew how to handle. (The movie Linotype tells this story very well.)
I thought it would disappear for good. But it was saved through a combination of digital and analog factors that I'll be bringing to bear in my new crowdfunding project, Hands On: the Original Digital, a limited-edition book of my reporting on type, design, and punctuation that I'll be letterpress printing at the School of Visual Concepts. SVC asked me to be its 2017 Designer in Residence, inaugurating a program to bring in outside experts to make use of their facilities to learn, create, and teach.
Here's the video explaining my Kickstarter campaign:
What saved letterpress in part is photopolymer plates. You can create work digitally, send it to a service bureau (notably, Boxcar Press in New York), and they create film from the file just as we used to do for offset printing, but then expose a photosensitive rubbery material. Exposed areas harden. The rest washes away. And these robust plates can be used on letterpress equipment. It bypasses the problem of a lack of and the fragility of metal type.
That's how I'll be able to make this book. I'll design it digitally (in InDesign), have plates made for the interior pages, and then print it on a press at SVC. It's the best of both worlds.
SVC teaches visual communications, such as user experience (UX) design and graphic design, but has a full-blown letterpress program with regular courses and special events. The program's founder, Jenny Wilkson, asked me to be in residence and will mentor me on this project.
You can read a lot more about the project at the Kickstarter page, and I hope you'll consider supporting it!
I'm long past the point in my life where I want more stuff. My goal is less stuff and more creativity—more exploration of making ideas and things without accruing more material objects. This comes after watching my parents shed their house and pare down and do more paring over time; my mother passing away, leading to my dad going through her stuff; then my dad finding a new partner and marrying and helping her comb through her house, bring her stuff west, and then move to a smaller house they bought together. And my in-laws going through a move a few years ago that required sorting through decades of meaningful possessions.
Lynn and I probably own less, even with two kids in the house, than we have at any point in the last decade. I no longer even need much office furniture, because most of the stuff I had used to be for filing and managing paper in some form.
Which is why it may be odd that I'm about to buy a relatively large object that costs a few thousand bucks.
My friends at Glowforge (Dan Shapiro, a founder, and Dean Putney, our mutual friend, who is a programmer) just announced something they've been working on for months. It's a relatively inexpensive laser cutter. While computer-controlled laser cutters have been around for years, there's never been one at the price point they're offering it—starting at $4,000 list, and 50% off that during a pre-order stage right now. (It ships in December.)
They used software to substitute for hardware, which is increasingly common. Instead of expensive parts, a camera and cleverness can produce results to the desired degree of precision. They also are offering a very high degree of control over beam intensity, which allows engraving and etching all the way down to cutting. The camera in the unit automatically recognizes lots of materials, and streams a picture of what it's doing while it's engaged in its task. (It also takes a picture of you when you open the bay when it's done!)
It can cut and engrave a huge range of materials: paper, metal, stone, acrylic, leather…and chocolate, nori, and other foods. Watch the video and browse the site. It's amazing.
When Dan first showed me a video months ago of what Glowforge would do, I was genuinely blown away. I'm an old, cynical, grizzled tech veteran. I've seen so many useless products that are hammers in search of nails. There's little I've seen introduced in recent years that I feel is truly useful. It may be more efficient, more fun, smaller, and so forth. But Glowforge falls into a different category: it's a creativity amplifier, whether for personal hobbies or for professional purposes.
Many hand crafts involve a lot of drudgery. I've learned many of them earlier in life. I made houses for my model railroad. I did shop class and theater arts, and can sew and build sets. I was a typesetter (both hand and digital), and letterpress printer. I was an art major in graphic design and spent a lot of time working with my hands to create things.
Many of the things I've been interested in, and many parts of arts and crafts, involve repetitive cutting from templates or precise placement of holes or removals. This work often requires enormous training, but the point is to produce a precisely, often identical result. The work represents typically taking and working with those repetitive elements.
I found my aptitude lies in digital things. My hand and eye coordination are such that I put tens of thousands of hours into working on computer-aided design, compared to thousands on hand work.
Glowforge is a glue between my digital and analog interests. It's an amplifier, in that it lets me focus my hand abilities on the stuff that's most interesting, while using a digitally connected tool to bypass the frustrating part that I never mastered or don't have the time (and, honestly, often the interest) in mastering—because the outcome is making something that's better made by a machine. It removes none of the creativity for the kinds of things I'm interested in.
I'm getting one and I can't wait to start taking half-formed ideas in my head and turn them into meaningful work. This is the same feeling I had when I bought a mirrorless digital camera a few years ago: it recaptured so much of the joy and control I had with analog, but bolstered me up, too.
(If you use my referral URL, you get $100 off on the pre-order price, and I get a $100 rebate, too.)
Google introduced a new logo today.
At first glance, it seemed exceedingly bland to me; the longer I look at it and a new font that's related, the more I think they made a series of good choices. It's still bland, but it's a well-thought-out bland that makes sense for their company.
Google has never had a strong design sense; Android developed one when Google hired Matias Duarte, who helped bring style, simplicity, unity, and some pizzazz over there. He art directed the creation of Roboto, a bespoke Android font, designed by Christian Robertson. I had the same reaction to Roboto as I do here.
His involvement with the new logo seems remote (he congratulates the team and his name isn't on the designers’ post), but it was clearly informed by similar principles. The logo was developed alongside a new font, Product Sans (Product Sans!), which is also the basis for the Alphabet holding company's logo. (There's a downloadable PDF specimen sheet of the full font.)
When Yahoo introduced a new logo almost exactly two years ago, I was quite contemptuous about it, because it looked bad in a way that any non-design person could see. From the graphic design perspective, all the rationale that Yahoo created around the logotype's design process and final result were nonsense. They had thrown away hundreds of years of understanding about legibility and communication in their pursuit of rationalizing a poor process that started from scratch. (I'm thinking specifically about stroke widths and kerning, which they got completely wrong on the perceptual side.)
Google—well, they did it right. The final result isn't arbitrary. The new logo is purpose built: it carries corporate history while shedding the naive, amateurish (but charming and disarming) details of their longest-running company mark. The redesign is still absolutely Google, while being optimized for legible display at many sizes and for many uses. Having a set of the logo, four colored dots corresponding to the logo's colors, and a single G mark that incorporates those four colors gives them a lot of flexibility and consistency across many platforms and uses. The design team's description of its goals and how it achieved them is solid and even admirable. It's not a series of compromises and justifications that got them here, but a number of constraints in the design brief.
One of my favorite typefaces is Kabel, designed by Rudolf Koch, one of the greatest modern type designers. You can see a little taste of Kabel in the Google logo: the tilted bar of the lower-case e is absolutely characteristic of Kabel and rarely seen elsewhere. More generally, Product Sans reminds me of a blend of Futura and Gill Sans with the idiosyncrasies of both steamrollered out.
Many typefaces still in wide use were designed for books and newspapers, and while adapted to the medium of the web, still haven't caught up with what's needed for mobile. The designed-for-screen fonts of the late 1990s and early 2000s lag because they were born when screen displays were far below today's retina-and-beyond densities. New faces don't need to be bland, but faces with a broad and custom purpose like this will be less interesting and less quirky than those intended for general reading.
Unlike Yahoo, which lacks a mobile platform (though it designs beautiful, highly functional apps), Google needs a font that works everywhere in an ecosystem that has a ridiculous number of screen sizes and densities, devices and intents, and which also has to deal with bandwidth and computational rendering constraints.
I'm not in love with the new logo or Product Sans, but I respect how they made it. Inoffensive can be a design goal for a company.
The social tandem contains no more than two members at any given time. It is a chat room that two invited parties participate in. There are no identifiers, except what the parties decide to reveal. The conversations are streamed realtime on the public site and archived.
At any time, there are two participants. Each participant's session remains active for ten minutes, offset by five minutes with the other. Thirty seconds before the end of a session, the system provides a reminder and an increasingly frequent countdown. Thus each participant has encounters with two people. All interactions are in-band, meaning any information they wish to reveal is public.
Participants apply to be placed into queue. It costs a nonrefundable $5 to be placed into queue and requires a valid email address to validate one's hold position. Queue positions are determined randomly and automatically and open up continuously across all hours of the day. Email is sent 12 to 24 hours ahead of one's queued position. One may post the time one has been offered to let others watch and know it is you. You may defer the queue slot offered free of charge and you will be offered another no sooner than 24 hours later.
As demand ebbs and flows for slots, the fee will dynamically adjust. One may sell slots privately, as the slot will be triggered by a code, not an account. Secondary markets are welcome and encouraged.
People may discuss anything. Material deemed offensive or of a private or sensitive nature may be deleted from archives or turned over to law enforcement. IP addresses will be logged. Confirmation email addresses will be stored for a relatively short period of time, no more than a month or so, and then permanently deleted from active storage and backups.
There are no guarantees implied or otherwise.
The Magazine: The Book is nearly at 50% of the goal we need to make it happen.
Kickstarter campaigns can follow a few arcs.
They can flatline, which is about 20% of them, last time I was able to get statistics. 20% of all projects approved by the company get no bids. Another 20% get less than one-fifth of the way to their goal amount. 16% of all projects fail between about 20% and 50% of the total amount they plan to raise.
But at the halfway mark, when you raised 50% of your total, the odds are pretty dramatic: 97% of Kickstarter projects that fund halfway proceed to fund fully by the end of the campaign.
We're about 48% of the way to our total, and I'm confident that, as we hit our last 12 days, we'll start to see some steam as people both see that it's coming to a close and it's not fully funded. It's an exciting thing, and daunting, and nail-biting. But we'll get there.
The campaign is to make a hardcover book of some of the wonderful stories that reporters and essayists wrote between October 2012 and October 2013 (and an ebook as well). The reward for pledging is the book! (And more.)
The campaign covers all the costs of paying for design, printing, shipping, and contributors, and will leave us with some print books left to sell and the ebook to offer online. It's a great way to run a project like this: to scale production with actual demand.
I'll admit that it's scary to sit here with about 33% of the time and 50% of the money left to go — but I also feel strongly about the stories in the book, the design that's being created for it, and the interest in making something cool and new that people will enjoy. Thanks for those of you who have backed the project already, and I hope those who haven't will consider jumping in to get a copy as soon as it's hot off the presses!
After some months of planning, I launched a Kickstarter campaign today to produce a hardcover, offset-printed book of essays and articles drawn from the first year of The Magazine's publication. Over two dozen essays about a huge range of topic — aging chickens, D&D, becoming a superhero, a 60-foot-tall lava lamp, and much more — are featured in the book.
I turned to crowdfunding because printing is expensive, and it made sense to build a project that could scale, but wouldn't start unless the necessary interest were expressed. As I post this, the project is nearly one-quarter of the way to its basic funding after about eight hours! It's quite exciting.
Join in on the fun, and get a great, beautifully designed book (and an ebook version, too). You can download a preview to see what it will look like and watch the video below, too.
Marissa Mayer is not a graphic designer. This is abundantly clear. She is an extraordinarily capable technologist, engineer, and executive, and she has made an enormous number of difficult decisions since taking over Yahoo. I believed she was likely the only person who had the ability to turn that company around.
But she's not a graphic designer.
Graphic design isn't about snowing a client into believing a story you spin. Graphic design is about understanding the way in which type, color, shape, and other factors may communicate specific feelings or facts. It is about legibility, optics, psychology, and more. One doesn't train in design to make posters or logos. One trains to develop an increasingly intuitive sense of what works and why. Focus groups don't help in the design process, although they can assist (as can the market, in terms of sales or response) in determining whether the intended meaning and feelings are conveyed.
Too many people think graphic design is not a specialty, but something anyone can do, because the tools to make decent-looking Web pages, newsletters, books, and the like are readily available. But design isn't putting stuff on a page. It's about solving visual problems through an iterative process of decisionmaking, which may involve consultation, or may happen in private. If you can't master that process, you can't work in the field. No one will hire you because your work looks obviously bad to any trained eye, and is interpreted poorly by any untrained eye.
The Yahoo logo design process represents the worst aspects of someone who doesn't understand or accept that type design, typography, and graphic design in general are professions that benefit from years or decades of training. Mayer explains the process they employed to create the new logo. If I had attempted to present the reasoning she used to any of my graphic design teachers in college, any of the people I worked for at studios or on a freelance basis, or to a client who had hired me, I would have been laughed at and told to get real, or fired.
Mayer clearly appreciates the expertise and insight of folks who write code at Yahoo, run the servers, handle human resources, and the like. But, apparently, sees graphic design as something she is equally qualified to participate in without domain knowledge. Steve Jobs also saw himself as a designer, but from the decades of stories about how he worked, he generally demanded iteration, and selected and guided the direction of interfaces, print materials, and products, rather than leaping in with his own design execution.
My first design teacher, Philip Burton, used to say, over and over, don't be anecdotal. He would say, when we were presented with a design task in class, most of which were abstract in nature, that we weren't making rebuses. (Paul Rand's famous IBM ad is a design joke and intended to be amusing, not the company's new logo.) What Philip meant about anecdote is that we should not be looking for a literal rendition of what we wanted to represent, but rather a figurative one.
There is a break in childhood development: a point at which you move from concrete to abstract thinking. Some people never get there. Engineers, software or otherwise, use an enormous amount of abstract thinking, but some also often appear rooted in the concrete for everything but math and science. For them, visual and literary aesthetics involve a literal reading: if you say one thing but mean the other, you're not making sense to them. The idea of gray areas, shading, or things that they can't immediately grasp fully are rejected. When I read Mayer's explanation, I feel like I'm peering into the mind of an engineer.
I'll leave a more detailed and excellent critique of the design process and actual design to Oliver Reichenstein of iA, who wrote "Logo, Bullshit & Co., Inc." Yes to everything he said. But I want to make a specific point about type design.
Mayer and her team adapted Optima, one of the first humanist sans serifs: the swell of the letter implies a serif and lacks the more straight and geometric (not mathematical) edges of many grotesk sans serifs, like Helvetica. Designed by Hermann Zapf, one of the greatest type designers of the last century, Optima has a slight softness to it that makes it perfect for non-fiction prose, where a grotesk would seem too severe. Optima, like his Palatino and Melior, are all around us. (Zapf is 94 and still kicking, and I will be curious if he will have anything to say.)
Now, it's not sacrilege to modify a type design; there are licensing issues, but there's nothing sacrosanct about it. Apple famously had Bitstream make an extra-compressed version of Garamond that became its standard font, and which never looked wonderful to my eyes. But to make changes to a face while ignoring the entire history of the written word and coming up on 600 years of movable type used for Western alphabets is ludicrous.
Those born into the age of advanced electronics and the Internet are always inclined to discard the past and start fresh. A tabula rasa is wonderful, but only if there is literally nothing to learn from history. The worst thing about Amazon.com in its early days (I ran the book-information department for six months in 1996–97) wasn't the hours nor disorganization nor some of the personality problems of early hires given too much authority. It was a great place to work in many ways.
The worst thing was that there was an assumption that there were no lessons to learn from anyone in the book industry or with any knowledge of warehouse logistics or shipping. I argue that Amazon wasted billions of dollars and a substantial fraction of its person-hours until about 2001 by reinventing every single thing from scratch instead of carefully examining what worked and what didn't. (Barnes & Noble is the cautionary tale on the other extreme, launching its site relying only on what it knew and had on hand.)
We wanted there to be a mathematical consistency to the logo, really pulling it together into one coherent mark.
If there is one sentence in the entire blog post that tells the whole story, that is it. This shows that not only does she lack an understanding of design — which is fine, it's not where her strengths lie — but that she also doesn't know it; that designers consulted were unable to disabuse her of this ridiculous notion; and that the final result pleased her, when it is obviously flawed in this regard.
The only type designs that are "mathematically consistent" are used for computer-readable purposes, such as fonts developed to be magnetically scanned off checks. All other faces, including monospaced faces used in text editors or for developing software and ones that simulate monospaced or proportionately spaced typewriter letters, are designed for optical consistency.
Designing for mathematical consistency ignores three related factors: that identical widths and shapes appear differently to the eye in different combinations within a letter or glyph; that identical shapes blend together and are harder to differentiate across words and lines; that letters in a typeface are placed alongside each other, and one must adjust to deal with common juxtapositions.
The human eye is insanely good at spotting things that look off. A bad typeface looks bad to people who aren't trained in design, because it lacks a visual fluidity that good type has. The same is true with a logotype, like Yahoo's.
Type evolved from writing with a stylus or brush which evolved from chiseling, carving, and other earlier methods (still employed). Humanity didn't first invent a form of representing speech of ideas and require the mind and eye to catch up. We produced things that were consonant with our ability to interpret them.
Technology has fooled us into thinking that we invent first and train our minds later. Our minds are prefabricated to read type as it has evolved, because type evolved to interoperate with our visual cortex and our neural structure. Our brains haven't suddenly changed.
Ignoring the development of useful things that developed alongside us is arrogant and misguided.
When I look at the Yahoo logo, I have far less hope for its future.