The Northhampton, MA-based artist is set to release their third collection of poems this coming March, provocatively entitled Big Money Porno Mommy. With a title like that, one needs an equally compelling cover, which Weiss was able to not only envision but also bring to life.

“Big Money Porno Mommy is about power and desire. It’s about pornography and my choice to not become a mother. It’s about the male gaze and how it’s wielded. It’s about all of these things in the context of my body, which happens to be a fat body,” Weiss penned in a piece they wrote reflecting on the book and its cover. “The physical forms of those we love and lust after—even the bodies we idealize—they’re all kind of ridiculous when you get close enough.”

The cover of Big Money Porno Mommy encapsulates this playfulness, capturing both the grotesque and the organic beauty inherent to the human body. The ability to harmonize two ideas that might initially seem at odds with one another is central to Weiss’ practice as a poet and something they were keen on evoking in their book’s cover.

“I needed the flesh to be forefront. I wanted to evoke fatness and nudeness but without a silhouette—fatness as the text itself. Many people have instinctive reactions to the form of a fat body. I wanted this cover to elicit a reaction, but rather than othering the form, and projecting whatever preconceived notions about fatness they may have onto my book, I wanted to bring the audience in.”

After seeing the cover of Big Money Porno Mommy and reading Weiss’s initial thoughts on their process, I was eager to talk to the artist. My Q&A with Weiss, in which I dig even deeper into their process and their reconciliation of clashing concepts, is transcribed below.

(Edited lightly for clarity and length.)

The physical forms of those we love and lust after—even the bodies we idealize—they’re all kind of ridiculous when you get close enough.

Catherine Weiss

What’s your process typically like for writing your poems?

When I think about writing poems, I try to see if a poem can do more than one thing at a time. It’s hard to write a poem that’s just about one thing, I have found. When I sit down to write a poem, I have two ideas, and then maybe the third thing that comes out of it is the poem. So when I was thinking about designing this cover, I was similarly interested in having more than one idea. 

The cover is so striking. What was your thought process behind that design?

I was also interested in having the typography contain this fleshiness, so you get the information from what the words literally say, but I also wanted the typography to give information as well. Having the title literally embodied in flesh was one way to do that. Then layering the little details of specificity onto the letters, like, Is there a belly button? Is that a tuft of hair? Things that would both hopefully draw someone in to look, and also be a little bit like, Ooh, do I want to look at this? To have that push and pull. 

The typography definitely captures that two-things-at-once idea you’re going for. It’s pretty grotesque, but simultaneously warm and pillowy and even comforting which complicates that initial disgust. At what point in the writing process did you design the cover? 

Once I had about half of the poems, I said, Okay, well, this is a collection. This is going to be something. And I had the title, and I kept writing poems to keep adding, so that’s when I started brainstorming what the cover would possibly look like. I kept coming back to this idea of flesh letters and fat rolls. An early iteration looked more like Sharpie on my stomach, and I thought about having a photograph instead of doing it digitally. But at a certain point I realized I needed to learn the software to make my vision happen. 

One of the things about writing the poems and designing the cover is that I got to spend a lot of time with both of them. I got to spend a ton of time with this cover. I kept iterating and putting it in a drawer and then coming back to it as more poems got written.  

Can you speak about that technical side of things in terms of the cover? What software did you use? What was your design process like? 

This is created in Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop. Illustrator has a very simple tool that allows you to blow up text or other shapes to inflate them in this faux 3D space. Once I realized that tool was pretty simple and I could play with it by adding skin texture, I spent a lot of time finding the right skin texture to make it look as gross as possible. 

I also spent a lot of time trying to figure out what the shape of the letters was going to be, because I wanted it to be legible. The first iteration was much more blocky and the letters were separated from each other, so it looked a little bit more like someone had been chopped up. That wasn’t quite right and that was also much harder to read. 

I didn’t really spend much time sketching but iterating in the software. How far can I distort this letter pattern to make it legible and also to get the effect that I’m looking for? 

What was your thought process behind the colors of the cover, particularly the magenta-to-orange gradient background behind the flesh-toned lettering? 

Until quite late in the process, I had a different background entirely. For a long time, it was a comforter, pillowcase sort of texture. Ultimately I didn’t stick with that because it was just a stock photo that didn’t really interact with the weight of the letters, and it was taking attention away from the letters themselves. 

I wanted the cover as a whole to pop, so I knew I wanted something bright and cheerful, and I just love pink and orange. It’s been a color combination that I’ve been drawn to. Also, this is my third full-length collection, so I kept in mind my previous collection which was sort of a green. So, I thought, What do I want these books lined up on a shelf to look like? 

Now that the poems and cover are all done and dusted, what would you say you’re proudest of with what you’ve created? 

I think letting myself sit with the uncomfortable. Even with the cover, being able to forefront the discomfort while not giving up the joy that is found in this collection. 

This collection has a series of poems called “The Phone Sex Poem,” and they tell a story about a bad relationship and a boyfriend who was addicted to phone sex. They’re about the ramifications that it had on my life, and the reverberations going forward in terms of my relationship to sex and desire. 

On the face of it, that was a really hard thing to write about. I’d been aware that I’d been choosing not to write about it for several books, and I think it was really important for me to find an entry point that was playful in order to talk about a difficult subject. I think I found a balance that not only isn’t a bummer to read, but I also feel comfortable putting out into the world and telling my story in a way that feels holistic and worthwhile.

Look for Big Money Porno Mommy by Catherine Weiss on shelves in March 2025.

The post Catherine Weiss Embraces Discomfort in their Book of Poems, ‘Big Money Porno Mommy’ appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

We’re at this great nexus of being able to return focus to the book as an object, as a form of expression, and figuring out ways to do that so that it’s relevant to a contemporary audience.

Arion Press has been manually printing books on centuries-old equipment in San Francisco for 50 years, yet they are currently embarking upon a new beginning. The last vertically integrated bookmaker in the country, Arion Press was established in 1974 and has most recently been housed in San Francisco’s Presidio neighborhood. They officially opened their new doors in the Fort Mason Center for Arts & Culture in October—after moving over 49 tons of antique equipment—and will soon be releasing their second title of the year, Fables of Aesop.

Arion Press is composed of a production team of six people, split between three departments: the foundry, the press room, and the book bindery. They also work with local bookbinder John Demerritt, and have an additional seven employees on the administrative side of things who spearhead development and programming. Arion Press’s lead printer and creative director, Blake Riley, was hired back in 2001 originally as one of the imprint’s first apprentices. I recently spoke with Riley on the occasion of all of this excitement, to learn more about the history of Arion Press, Fables of Aesop, and keeping the art of bookmaking alive.

(Lightly edited for clarity and length.)

Take me back to the origin of Arion Press. How did it all begin? 

We trace our lineage back in San Francisco to the late teens when Edwin and Robert Grabhorn came out from Indiana. Curiously, Edwin had been primarily a printer of music scores, which is a very niche, phenomenal process that has fallen entirely by the wayside at this point. They set up shop in San Francisco in the late teens and established the Grabhorn Press, which became one of the premier American fine press operations for decades, through the 60s. After Edwin passed away, the younger brother, Robert, ultimately went into partnership with Andrew Hoyem. When Robert died, Andrew founded Arion as an imprint in 1974, which is why we’re claiming this year as our 50th anniversary celebration. 

I know you started out at Arion Press as an apprentice. Can you tell me a bit more about the apprenticeship program? 

With maybe only one exception, everyone who works in production here has come up through this apprenticeship program. It’s ongoing and is considered a fundamental part of the activity that happens here. 

This is one of those professions or trades that is especially unique because it relies very heavily on this oral transmission of skills. There is a certain amount of book learning you can do around this; you can learn technique by reading repair manuals and that kind of thing. But to really have a sense for the sounds of the presses and to be able to see how hands work in relation to bring it all together, there’s no way to simulate that experience. So the apprenticeships became really instrumental in that.

By now, we’ve easily had over three dozen apprentices. Obviously, not all of them have stayed, some of them have gone on to work in other areas of the book arts or for other book arts organizations, or to teach, some of them have moved on altogether, but it actually has proven to be a very successful, robust lifeline for the press and for letterpress printing as a whole. 

I think a lot of other old trades and handcrafts are similar. I’m a sign painter, and I took a two-year sign painting course at LA Trade Tech College that’s not an apprenticeship per se, but it does replicate certain aspects of what an apprenticeship would offer. I learned from two sign painters who’ve been doing it for decades and who took the course themselves. The knowledge that they have is invaluable, and so much of it is just in their heads, so you really have to be in the room with them for two years in order to even scrape the surface of understanding sign painting.

A lot of it, too, is that the people who have that knowledge aren’t natural-born teachers, so there’s a lot that they don’t have words for. Or until a certain problem arises, it wouldn’t occur to them to explain the fix, or how you go about creating a fix for a problem that’s never arisen, that kind of thing. There’s a lot of that kind of knowledge that gets transferred by osmosis. 

What’s your favorite aspect of what you and your team do at Arion Press? 

Writ large, what’s most exciting about the work is that it’s such a dynamic moment to be involved with the book because it’s going through these radical changes. There’s this interesting division that’s occurred between knowledge and information. When people say, the web is going to be the death knell of the book! it’s really the opposite. What the web has done quite brilliantly is wrangle information and remove all of that encyclopedic burden from the book, which frees it up to do all of these other things. Meanwhile, the technologies for construction and manufacturing are changing so quickly that they are offering these wild new opportunities for ways in which books can actually physically be constructed. So we’re at this great nexus of being able to return focus to the book as an object, as a form of expression, and figuring out ways to do that so that it’s relevant to a contemporary audience.

What the web has done, quite brilliantly, is wrangle information and remove all of that encyclopedic burden from the book, which frees it up to do all of these other things.

Part of that is incorporating new technologies, and figuring out how the book can embrace those. That’s the most exciting thing for us: this project of invention and discovery. What that means in the day-to-day that is especially motivating is that it requires this incredible collaboration between all of the creative people who are involved in a project. That’s the artists within the publishing program, then working with the book binders and the guys in the foundry, and being able to coordinate everyone’s expertise to bring them into alignment with the concept for the project, and hopefully ending up with something that surprises everybody. It’s almost always the case that we never know where we’re going to end up, because the process is so organic.

I’m mesmerized by the ancient printing equipment and techniques you all have preserved and use to create your books. What’s it like working with such special and historic machinery day in and day out? 

A significant portion of the type collection here, which is the largest standing collection of metal type outside of the Smithsonian Institution, goes back to San Francisco printers at the end of the 19th century. Plus, ours is still employed; it’s still making books and printing words; it’s not just a research collection. The collection began to be compiled by the Grabhorns, who were great collectors. All of that adds up to what has been described as this irreplaceable cultural treasure designation that we were bestowed.

When working with the historic type collection, we may have a certain design in mind or a certain look for the typography, but when we go to the case it may turn out that we only have a partial alphabet of that particular typeface. So there are instances like that that arise daily where we have to pivot and devise a new solution based on all of the physical realities and constraints of working with 100-year-old equipment. That really leads to this ongoing, continuous conversation and evolution of every project where one thing leads to the next so that by the time we end up with the book finished and bound, it’s something that no one really could have anticipated. There’s a real excitement, joy, and delight associated with that. 

What’s it like keeping an old press and these antique technologies thriving within the context of San Francisco, a place dominated by big tech and digital innovation? 

The most facile metaphor for it is the interplay and relationship between radio and television, and the ways in which television actually ended up leading to the renaissance of radio that we’ve seen in the last couple of decades. We are by no means tech-averse. The monotype casters, for example, which were invented at the tail end of the Industrial Revolution in the 1890s, were the first word processors; they were cutting-edge technology for their day. So when the foundry was set up here in the Bay Area in 1915, it was cutting-edge technology. 

We are by no means tech-averse.

Originally, the monotypes were a two-part system where there was a paper tape that was punched on a hydraulic keyboard, and then that tape was fed onto the typecaster. But then the paper tape became complicated for various reasons, and about 15 years ago this beautiful digital interface was engineered that replaced that whole process. So now what we have is this 21st-century digital interface connected to the 19th-century caster that allows us to download a text from anything that’s in the public domain, format it, and convert it to be cast. It was this beautiful way, much like television and radio, that the new technology has moved in and helped buoy the old one. 

Another example that came up recently was when we worked on the Edgar Allen Poe collection. In the process of building that project, we stumbled upon this pile of bricks that had been rescued when NYU demolished Poe’s house in lower Manhattan. Unbeknownst to anyone, they moved in and raised the house, but it seems as if perhaps a mea culpa, they preserved the bricks. So all of a sudden we had these bricks, and there was this question of how we could incorporate them somehow into the book and enliven the experience that much more. What we ended up doing with them was working with a colleague of ours here in the Bay, John Sullivan, who had gotten into paper making and 3D printing. He created 3D molds into which we could grind the bricks down like a mortar and pestle and use the brick dust as a pigmentation in the pulp paper, and then we packed the molds. We ended up creating these three-dimensional cameos of Poe’s visage, and those were then embedded in the covers of the books. The paper-making is relatively ancient, but being able to create these cameos was made possible by technology only available within the last ten years. 

We’re really invested in that exploring, in breaking down the barrier between those two things and helping ensure that it’s a two-way communication from the digital to the analog, and from the analog back to the digital. They all happily coexist. 

Can you tell me more about Arion Press’s 50th anniversary celebration this year, and the Fables of Aesop collection you’re releasing as part of the milestone? 

We wanted to create something that would appropriately commemorate the press at this inflection point, while also accommodating the move. A year and a half ago, we didn’t exactly know what the move would entail other than it would happen within a six-month period and be completely disruptive and unpredictable. So we had to design a project that could somehow be modular and flexible enough to absorb this unexpected future. 

Those two things came together in Aesop. It seemed appropriate not only for its longstanding role in the history of printing— I came across one comment that said, second to the Bible, Aesop’s fables is the most printed work in the Western world. This makes a lot of sense because, for various historical and technical reasons, the fables lent themselves to the capacities and technologies of the day once moveable type was created. This is in part because of their brevity, but especially because of how visual they’ve always been. That allowed for this incredibly rich body of work to be created around them, and constantly reinvented. 

As I began to dive into the history of Aesop’s fables primarily at the Huntington Library, one thing that rose to the surface was how these morals that we’ve all grown up with and maybe have even been used to affect our behavior one way or another, have evolved over time. Once we got a bead on that, the project became very interesting because there was an opportunity to approach this in a way that’s relevant to the 21st century; what do these morals look like now? 

Also, because the morals are each self-contained in their way structurally, that allowed us the freedom that we needed to treat them individually. We could be printing each individual folio, which is how we will be presenting them, so that if production was interrupted, we could finish that one folio, pack it aside, move the operation, and pick up with the next folio. It also separated the binding from the printing. Typically when we finish the printing of a book, we have another three months of hand book-binding before the book can be released. But issuing it in a box as a collection of individual folios gave us the elbow room we needed. 

So we had this splashy box and these morals, and both of those things were the anchors for the project. That’s what led us to invite Kiki Smith as the primary visual artist to create a sculptural multiple to define the experience of the box, and to invite Daniel Handler (whom you might know as Lemony Snicket) to reinterpret the morals. We then began to invite other artists that we had worked with in the past to each choose one fable to interpret and create one print that we would print here in the shop by traditional letterpress relief printing techniques. We ended up with 15 artists with Kiki being the 16th, and 41 fables. 

The project allowed us to celebrate our community, it gave us a way to make a statement relevant to a contemporary audience, it gave us the flexibility to dance around the move, and it promised to be a lot of fun in the process.

Featured image above: Nick Bruno/Courtesy of Arion Press

The post Arion Press Keeps the Art of Bookmaking Alive While Looking to the Future appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Today a new Disney+ documentary debuts that captures that explosive, epic fusion of music and joy: Beatles ’64, produced by Martin Scorsese and directed by David Tedeschi. The trailer (below) sends pulsating shots of fountain-of-youth-like energy coursing through my body and soul, triggering forgotten, imagined and indelible recollections, like standing outside the Plaza (and the Warwick in 1965) engulfed by shrieking, sobbing “bridge and tunnel” fans trying to get the attention of George, John, Paul and Ringo.

The modest main and end title sequences and graphics throughout Beatles ’64 were created by Randy Balsmeyer’s Big Film Design. As founder and creative director, he has produced unforgettable 20th- and 21st-century film titles for Spike Lee, the Coen brothers and other directors. Since February he’s been working in Brooklyn as VFX Supervisor on Lee’s latest feature, Highest 2 Lowest, with Denzel Washington and Jeffrey Wright (a reimagining of the ’63 Kurosawa classic High and Low). For the past four years, Balsmeyer has called Thailand home, and plans to return there in February.

Wishing I were in his Beatles shoes, I plied him on what it was like to work on this document of such a pivotal era in pop history … and what he’s doing now.

The poster and title are so perfect for Beatles ’64.
Actually, the poster design is from Apple/Disney marketing. The actual film title is below. I pitched many wild and flamboyant ideas for the main title, several quite similar to the poster, but ultimately David and Marty opted for something simple and “period appropriate.”

How closely did you work with Tedeschi and Scorcese?
I worked pretty closely with David and the brilliant editor, Mariah Rehmet. I did not work directly with Marty on this one. Interestingly, even though I was in New York for most of post-production, we all worked remotely on this project. I finally met the post crew in person Sunday night at the premiere. Disney hosted an amazing screening and reception at their brand-new NY HQ downtown in Hudson Square. We were the first film to screen in their theater, and the first event to be held in the new space! Just as an indicator of how much Disney is behind the film, Bob Iger, Disney’s CEO, came to personally introduce the film. A Q&A after the screening with Marty and Dave was moderated by Ethan Hawke.

Have you done other concert film tiles before?
I previously worked with David and Marty on Rolling Thunder Revue (2019), the film about Bob Dylan’s 1976 concert tour. For that film Marty was director and David was the editor. 

Is there a secret sauce—a recipe—for making films like this one so tantalizing?
The only “secret sauce” is having a group of creative people guided by a central vision (Marty) who combine their talents in a way that is truly greater than the sum of the parts. It was a fascinating process to watch the film evolve over a fairly short period of time. Because it really is a snapshot in time: Just this two weeks in February ’64, the trick was to expand on the newly discovered Maysles footage, without straying too far from the essence of the Beatles’ first visit to America. This was an awesome group that really clicked!

The post The Daily Heller: It Was 60 Years Ago Today … appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Conceived and designed by Bob Ciano, MacWeeney’s longtime friend and art director, At Wit’s End: Cartoonists of The New Yorker is an elegantly designed showcase. An implied question, rhetorically raised by Emma Allen in the foreword—”What makes someone a New Yorker cartoonist, when as this book demonstrates, they work so differently, think so differently, see the world so differently, and draw so differently?”—is not definitively answered, but comes down to one commonality: making people laugh.

I asked MacWeeney and Maslin to talk more about the process and decisions in creating their book, a unique document that pays homage to some of the older (and a few deceased) masters, transitional pioneers and the latest wave of artists. And for those who wonder whether or not the cartoonists resemble their art, you can judge for yourself.

I am presuming that At Wit’s End was triggered by Alen’s photographs that include some principal cartoonists who have passed away, and with them a certain sense of humor. How, indeed, was this project conceived?
MacWeeney: Bob Ciano, my longtime friend and art director of Esquire magazine in 1978, loved The New Yorker, cartoons and wondered what the invisible faces looked like behind them. His curiosity got the better of him and he assigned me to photograph five cartoonists for the magazine to make a good story for Esquire and answer his curiosity. Each cartoonist was a surprise, different, somewhat eccentric and a lot of pleasure to photograph. (Gahan Wilson, Jack Zeigler, George Price, Ed Fisher and Sam Gross.) [They were] enthusiastic about the photographs, but we never saw their publication in Esquire as Bob left working for the magazine soon afterwards. 

What else inspired you to photograph New Yorker cartoonists (and how long did it take to amass this portfolio of images)?
MacWeeney: In 2014, The New Yorker assigned me to photograph eight cartoonists for the cartoon issue of the magazine. The cartoonists were partly my choice and those of the magazine’s, and that was the impetus for me to really get going again.

But, the idea of a book of cartoonists really began then in Bob’s and my mind, too. Bob was the instigator from the start. He pushed the idea and me forward for many years to come. I approached The New Yorker several times over the next years to propose publishing monthly a cartoonist portrait in the magazine; this was before it had published photography at all, and to reveal its hidden assets and identity of the mysterious cartoonists …

With a few notable exceptions, many of the cartoonists in this book are post–Lee Lorenz (cartoon editor from 1973–1993). What determined who you covered?
Maslin: Alen already had photographed 20 or so cartoonists by the time I was brought into the project in 2018. The magic number was 50 for the book (we ended up having 52). I’m not sure if we knew we were looking for a representation of eras ([executive editors] Ross, Shawn, Gottlieb, Brown and Remnick), but we managed to include cartoonists who came into the magazine from 1929 up to the present. We had numerous discussions about who should be considered, but in the end it was Alen’s call. He was the one going out into the field. There were several cartoonists we wanted to include but, alas, geography got in the way.

I had expected a few more of the older generation (you include the late George Price, for instance). Was this even possible?
Maslin: The larger number of photos were taken in the past six years. By that time, the older generation had thinned out considerably. By the time the book was underway, we counted ourselves very fortunate to get Dana Fradon, who was the last cartoonist brought in during the Harold Ross era. 

The gag cartoon, which is the focus of the book, once played a key role in many periodicals. Did your motivation come, in part, from the possible extinction of this once-ubiquitous artform?
Maslin: That wasn’t on my mind. As someone who loves the magazine’s history, I saw this as an opportunity to put in book form an extended yearbook of sorts. I only wish there had been books like this decades ago.

Who decided on the cartoonists that are featured?
MacWeeney: I selected photographing the cartoonists I most enjoyed, with suggestions from Bob and Michael, but some cartoonists lived too far away and my travel was restricted by expense. Sadly, there was a number of very eminent cartoonists not in the book. In recent years it seems from The New Yorker secret source has emerged a flurry of fresh-minted cartoonists’ drawings appearing weekly.

There was a mutual agreement to make the book reflect the surprising differences in our subjects and be unpredictable. I used the same camera for the 46 years it took me to photograph 52 portraits.

Was there logic behind which pair of cartoons were selected to represent each artist?
MacWeeney: I approached Michael as a cartoonist and historian of The New Yorker cartoonists about 2016; he helped enormously, introducing me and contacting our subjects for the book.

Michael and I selected the cartoons together [by] Zooming several times, and naturally it was a very enjoyable activity and fun to share doing.

I originally conceived the book to have only a single black-and-white portrait of each subject, with a sample cartoon and bio on other pages, really to keep some mystery about the cartoonist revealed only by a single image.

Bob thought otherwise about it and in consideration of the book’s layout to integrate the profiles Michael would write and include a sample of one or two cartoons for each subject.

Was there anyone who decided not to be your book?
MacWeeney: One cartoonist chose not to be in the book, disappointingly, and [was] very much missed: Sam Gross, my best cartoonist portrait.

Who decided on the title, which is a tip of the hat to the book Wit’s End: Days and Nights at the Algonquin Round Table?
MacWeeney: We were talking about what could be a good title when Bob came to the rescue with “At Wit’s End.”

The post The Daily Heller: ‘New Yorker’ Cartoonists Finally Show Their Faces appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Released earlier this month, the gorgeous photo book continues themes Cohen has already mined for years through Advanced Style, in regards to aging with vitality and how important love and connection are at any point in one’s life. As a lifelong animal lover, Cohen wanted to show how pets bring an added dimension of joy and beauty to his vivacious subjects’ worlds.

When I interviewed Cohen for PRINT two years ago, he mentioned Advanced Pets was in the works, and since then I’ve been eager to connect with Cohen again upon its completion. My conversation with the always generous Cohen about Advanced Pets is transcribed below.

(Lightly edited for clarity and length.)

Where did your idea for Advanced Pets originate? 

The common theme throughout my work is love and connection. Whether it’s personal expression which creates connection with other people, or, like in my last book, actual relationships between people, that kind of connection is key to growing older with vitality. I’ve been examining different ways that people stay vital throughout their lives. 

I’ve also loved animals my whole life; I’m a vegan and have had dogs since I was a little boy, so I thought it would be interesting to explore the relationships between the women that I photograph and their own animal companions. Then, because of COVID, I noticed that people got even closer to their animals, and I thought it would be a great time to really explore that. Also, as you get older, oftentimes, unfortunately, a lot of your friends aren’t around anymore, so pets and animals become your companions, company, friends, and family, especially when you’re in isolation.

Can you share more about your love of animals, the dogs you grew up with, your current dog, Vinnie, and how those connections helped fuel this book?

Dogs have been hugely important in my life— animals of all kinds have been, but mostly dogs. I’ve always liked to express myself differently than other people and dress up, and I gravitated toward things that maybe other kids didn’t (antiques, old music); I just always felt a little different. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, and I couldn’t wait to come home to the dogs in my life who were my friends, comforted me, and provided fun and joy. 

Throughout our lives, oftentimes people have difficulties connecting with other people or feeling seen or understood. In talking to the ladies and just in my own experience, my dogs have always understood and accepted me without judgment, and I think that’s a very special relationship to have, where it’s just pure love; I see that with the people I featured in this book, too. My dog, Vinnie, is my best friend, and I’ve noticed that same thing with the women that I photograph; how close these relationships are, and how they’re like our family members. They teach us so much about patience and care and provide so much at the same time. 

So much of what you’re saying resonates with me. I’m a single woman who has a lot of close friends, close relationships, and love in my life, but there’s nothing quite like the relationship I have with my cat, Joan Cusack. I’ve had her as long as I’ve lived in LA, about eight years, so she’s this embodiment of my life in LA, in a way, too. It’s hard to put into words. 

Exactly! It is hard to put into words! 

That’s why I think looking to the medium of photography, as you have, is the only way to come close to capturing that connection. 

Our pets are the closest things we have to us. These relationships are so intimate, in terms of the time we spend with them. Some of the ladies say that their pets see them in all their different stages, like as they’re trying on different outfits. Our pets see us in all these different ways that are so different from how other humans see us. 

Our pets see us in all these different ways that are so different from how other humans see us. 

Pets are (seemingly) incapable of judgment, and they see us so clearly in ways that a lot of humans can’t. I think that’s so special, especially for people like the women you’re photographing, who are so distinct and opinionated and unapologetically themselves. Animals, in particular, can accept those qualities in ways that maybe some of the greater public has a mental block about. 

The ladies are sort of outsiders, in a way, because of how they dress. Especially years ago. In their time and even now, they really were rebellious in the way that they were presenting themselves. 

On the photography side of things, how did you go about conceptualizing the photoshoots for the book? What was that process and experience like, especially working with animals as your subjects? 

My work is always a mix of street style and shoots that I do on location in people’s personal spaces or near their homes. For these photos, it was really about spending time to feel the connection between each animal and their person, and then also making space for the animal to be comfortable. 

Each one was very different. It was very similar to my process for making my last book, Advanced Love because I didn’t want to force a specific type of interaction or connection. Also, the animals obviously act differently when I’m there versus when I’m not there. It was always just about trying to capture a moment and love between a person and their pet.

When I was in Florida on a ranch with Sandra and Lucy, for example, cows don’t sit still, so it was a lot of walking around the ranch. Eventually, Lucy sat down, and then Sandra sat down next to her and she started singing to her. In that moment I was able to get my photo.

What about the fashion and styling side of things for the photoshoots? 

I told people to dress their most festive and to really celebrate advanced style. 

Your Advanced Style photos have always been so visually rich, due to the styling of these women and their energy and attitudes. Can you speak to the aesthetic power of pets, and how adding that dimension to your photos elevated them even further?  

When someone is holding their animal, all dressed up, it’s almost like they become a part of them. And through that, their pet becomes a part of what they’re trying to communicate visually. 

I’ve always loved photographs of people and their pets. I have this book called Elegance by the Seeberger brothers who were shooting socialites and rich people on the streets in the 1920s and 30s, and I loved seeing the women all dressed up in their vintage clothing with their dogs. There was this one photo of a woman dressed up in polka dots with her Dalmatian, and that was sort of an inspiration for me. 

There’s a picture of a woman named Rory and her dog Elsa in the book, and they have this connection that is a soul connection. She’s this very fashionable woman in New York and carrying her dog becomes part of the way she’s presenting herself to the world. These women are so visual, so their dogs are part of that. 

Of all of the women and their pets you photographed, is there one photo or pair that you think best encapsulates the Advanced Pets project? 

There are several, but Linda and Lil Buddy embody this project. Linda’s a very dear friend of mine who lives on an island in the northwest, and in spending time with her and Lil Buddy, I saw how their relationship is very similar to how I feel about animals.

I remember being in her garden, and she was holding Lil Buddy with the sun shining down in her arms, and she was just in complete bliss in her garden holding her baby. That was a very special moment of seeing that intimate connection, where the joy was emanating from them and I was able to capture it. That was the embodiment of the project for me. 

Usually I’m just establishing relationships with humans, but now I have all these new animal friends to be connected to.

What has been the most rewarding part of the Advanced Pet process?

It was great to not only get to know new women but also, these animals. Usually, I’m just establishing relationships with humans, but now I have all these new animal friends to be connected to.

In my last book, I was showing that you can find love at any age, and this book is also showing that. My friend Jackie in the book, is in her 70s and was never a dog person until she met Betty, who has brought so much more dimension to her life that she never even knew was possible. I think that’s also a special theme of this project: the possibility that you can have love and connection at any age. 

Header image: Valerie von Sobel

The post Ari Seth Cohen’s New Book Explores Aging with Vitality and Our Pets appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I grew up with a New York Yankees super fan as a father, who listened to every inning of every game on a hand-held transistor radio pressed up against his ear. The soothing sound of legendary commentator Roger Sterling’s voice is central in the soundtrack of my childhood, crackling through our kitchen and living room airwaves, accompanied by my dad’s whoops and groans.

My dad normalized listening to sporting events on the radio, but I never thought much of it. Recently, however, I came upon the evocative work of the Spanish artist Cassandra Constant, who’s spent much of her art practice contemplating this very concept. In Constant’s hometown of Madrid, the sport they’re listening to on the radio isn’t baseball, but fútbol, which is a much faster-paced and frenetic sport. Constant began to consider how listeners to soccer games on the radio visualized what they were hearing, and took this questioning to her sketch pad.

Since this initial curiosity, Constant has illustrated over 250 soccer games she’s listened to in full. With just pencil and paper, she rapidly sketches the play-by-play relayed to her from the radio, creating a rich world of fútbol frenzy in her finished drawings. Enthralled by her work, I reached out to learn more about her action-packed process.

What’s your personal relationship to soccer? Have you always been a football fan? What team do you support?

I am, first and foremost, an artist who loves movement and color… and football! I was born and brought up in Spain, and here soccer is part of daily life— on the news, the teams, players, scores, watching games on television, or listening to them on the radio.

Growing up, we watched football as a family. My brother supported one team, Real Madrid CF, so of course I had to support the other main Madrid team. That was a long time ago. Following my first art show, a famous footballer (who plays on my brother’s team) bought a painting of mine through one of the chief curators of the Prado Museum. I instantly changed teams to support my new collector!

I would get into a taxi, and the driver would be listening to a match on the radio and I wondered: How does he know where the ball is? 

When and why did you first start drawing football games as you listened to them? What inspired that idea?

As an artist, you have to observe and ask questions and be curious. Often I would get into a taxi, and the driver would be listening to a match on the radio and I wondered: How does he know where the ball is? 

Many years later, I bumped into an old friend in Rio de Janeiro who was a technician for a Spanish radio station and they were covering Real Madrid CF in one of the international competitions. We talked about transmission, how the match was relayed back home, the importance of narrators and commentators, communication and imagination, and how radio illustrates the scene.

Very much an experimentalist, I started putting down some ideas to “illustrate” the radio, beginning with football matches! Drawing soccer players on large pieces of paper, trying soft-ground etching on metal plates and collages, cutting out footballers from newspapers, and also drawing straight onto smooth canvases. But the narration and commentary and the match go very fast! Each game is two 45-minute halves, and there was a lot to capture. So eventually, I settled for A3 size (approx. 11×16 inches), smooth, white paper, using all kinds of writing materials, from black ballpoint pens, Bic blue biros, and now a variety of graphite pencils. I continue to experiment!

How often do you draw games? How many have you drawn so far?

I used to only draw football matches occasionally, and closer to the final stages of competitions: national leagues, European football, and World Cups. Now I find myself drawing all sorts of matches, from those between big rival teams to lesser-known ones.

I now draw, on average, a match a week. I have drawn over 250 matches.

Can you describe your game drawing process? What’s your set-up like as you listen to them on the radio? How have you developed the visual language you use to interpret the games?

Once I know which game I want to draw, set up starts about an hour before the match begins. I usually listen to the top Spanish radio station for sports, but also Talksport and BBC5 Live. I find out who’s in the initial starting teams, and write the names on paper so I know who’s going to be running in which direction!

Then I get an A3 size paper and quickly note down the competition, stadium, teams, name of referee, roughly draw club emblems, an outline of the pitch, goalposts, and the benches. I turn the paper upside down, the match starts, and we’re off! It’s fast, there are passes from left to right, back towards the goals, long balls, players whose names I cannot grasp, the kits, and what colors the goalkeepers are wearing, and I am grateful when I hear it’s a throw-in, a corner, offside, foul, yellow card; that’s when I start getting an idea of what’s happening! 

There are goals, injuries, red cards (occasionally), players come off the pitch, and new ones come on. Depending on the radio station, this can be interspersed with advertisements, calling of winning lottery numbers, the number of people in the stadium, football gossip, transfer news, VIPS in the stands, what players have just had a baby, endless statistics, and records broken— you get the picture. I love it! There’s a rhythm and it’s all very intense!

I think playing football is really difficult! It involves so many components, organization, and strategies, from players, coaches, medical practitioners, nutritionists, PRs, designers, and more to plenty of staff to manage it all. There are many more aspects I have yet to explore!

Why have you decided to keep your interpretation of the games to just pencil and paper, only using a red marker to indicate goals? What does that sketchy style bring to the way you portray the games?

The sketchy style is the result of “illustrating” a game, which takes place in less than two hours: fast, speedy, energetic, dynamic, and intense, trying to capture as much as possible. I assure you, I end up exhausted!

I’m not sure whether I should continue to outline the goals scored in red. Maybe that’s one of those questions I can ask on social media: Better in red or not? What do you think?

I feel I am contributing something to art and to football. Sharing the experience means a lot to me.

Are you surprised by the public reception of your game sketches? How has the success of your work felt?

I’m not really sure how many people have seen my drawings. What I can tell you is that when people first see them, they seem perplexed and not too sure what they are looking at. But when they realize, or when I explain it to them, they love the concept. This makes me happy, as I feel I am contributing something to art and to football. Sharing the experience means a lot to me.

I have had many enquiries about the drawings and had conversations with fans from different clubs, which I find very enriching. I am interested in the histories and values of these clubs. 

At the moment, I am in the process of setting up a website offering a selection of matches which I hope will be ready later in November.

Header image: 2022 World Cup Final; Argentina vs. France

The post Cassandra Constant Visualizes Soccer Game Radio Broadcasts with Pencil and Paper appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Collage has been the subject of so many art books and scholarly treatises that the publication of more is barely met with any degree of excitement today. However, excitement is an apt response to the current volume Fragmentary Forms: A New History of Collage by Freya Gowrley (Princeton University Press). It is new and deep in its exploration of the “mode” (Gowrley states, “In this book collage is neither a medium nor genre, but a mode; a means of processing the world as it was encountered by individuals across cultures and geographies, who subsequently produced a creative response to that experience”). Throughout the text she explores its range from religious to folk to avant garde approaches—from anonymous Victorians to Faith Ringgold’s African American quilts—and a bit of DIY.

Below, Gowrley, a scholar and the author of Domestic Spaces in Britain, 1750–1849, talks to me about the origins of the “mode” in its spiritual and rebellious manifestations (with a pinch of AI too).

You say that most histories posit the Cubist papier collé as the invention of collage. What do you propose?
I think any statement of a definitive moment of invention is going to inevitably misrepresent a more complex reality, so I probably wouldn’t propose a single alternative for when collage was “invented.” I guess I’d propose multiple instances of creation, whether using paper, or found objects, or whatever, as contributing practices which culminate in the kind of form we recognize as collage today.

Religion has a hand in collage. What was the reason for pictorial assemblages?
The relationship between collage and the expression of devotion is absolutely at the heart of the book. This manifests in both the romantic and religious senses of the term, and we see manifestations of the latter from early Christianity onwards. As we see later on, this kind of collage becomes associated with rituals of religious devotion, such as pilgrimage, as part of which you might acquire images and relics associated with saints. Likewise, relics become a vital part of the liturgical furniture in the medieval period, so we see the emergence of a whole religious visual culture predicated on the display of these goods subsumed within elaborate and often very costly compositions.

How was collage perceived in painting? Was it an opportunity to fit many narratives into one frame?
One of the things that really fascinated me about this way of approaching collage as a form was the opportunity to bring multiple forms of visual and material culture from across distinct periods into dialogue. Still-life painting, in particular, has a really clear relationship with later papier collé, as the recent MET exhibition Cubism and the Trompe L’Oeil really reinforced. The show brought together Cubist works with early modern painting in this beautiful juxtaposition. As a painterly mode, the collagic absolutely encourages the presentation of multiple narratives, but also multiple moments, multiple perspectives, multiple ways of seeing, something which is absolutely echoed in later work.

Is there a fundamental distinction between collage and assemblage?
The traditional answer here would be to stress a distinction between the “flat” and the “fat,” that is, between the two-dimensional and the three-dimensional. I can absolutely see this as being an important way of distinguishing between forms, but for me, I’m interested in how these forms are united by a shared mode of creation through the various acts that combination encompasses. Both collage and assemblage are united by a series of material and visual gestures that include acquisition, selection and arrangement, and those are the compelling relations between these modes to me.

Hannah Hoch is one of my collage heroes. What made her work modern?
Hoch is actually super interesting in that she’s often cited as being directly inspired by earlier modes of the fragmentary, specifically homemade photomontages, so I actually wouldn’t emphasize too strong a distinction between her work and that which preceded it. Nevertheless, what I think makes her work so distinctly of its period is her presentation of the modern feminine subject. Using images from contemporary women’s magazines, Hoch is literally reconstituting what it is to be a woman at a time when the contours of this were shifting and being redrawn. It’s that perfect culmination of art and the time and place in which it was made.

You suggest that collage is a woman’s language of art. How so?
Here, I’m drawing heavily on Miriam Schapiro and Melissa Meyer’s essay, published in the 1970s, titled “Waste Not, Want Not: An Inquiry Into What Women Saved and Assembled — Femmage.” This is an absolutely foundational text within the feminist art movement, and it’s one that strongly shaped my thinking about how the various kinds of crafts and art-making women engaged in throughout history might be thought of not only as a distinctively feminine mode, but one that stretches across time. I wouldn’t say that collage is necessarily a woman’s language of art, but I would say that it’s one that folk who have often been excluded from mainstream art history engaged in, and that’s significant.

Can you explain what a “collage intervention” is? With punk, collage appeared to be vernacular. Was there something other than a DIY aesthetic at work?
I think what is crucial in punk collage is the end to which that DIY aesthetic is employed, namely in the interrogation of the socio-cultural hegemony, whether that is thematically or in its mode of representation. The work of Linder Sterling really emphasizes this to me—her work doesn’t necessarily have a DIY aesthetic (no more than all collage does), but her work is employed by bands like the Buzzcocks precisely because in skewers the mores of the day in its subject and attitude. On Sterling’s cover of the single Orgasm Addict, for example, we see a nude woman, her head replaced with an iron, whose objectification is rendered in a literal form in her collage.

Where is collage situated in the continuum of art today?
This is a difficult question that I try to address in the conclusion. There are undoubtedly more collagists than ever before. As a form it continues to be highly accessible and so there is an implicit equitability in its undertaking. Thanks to the work of craftivists and socially engaged artists, it continues to be a power tool for critique. But what does the future of collage look like? I guess in order to answer this question, I’d say we should look to the past, and the mutability and transmedial vitality that collage has always had. The development of increasingly sophisticated AI generators will inevitably affect these forms, as it will across all genres of art, but I think this will only be one more transformation in a form that has such a long and varied history.

The post The Daily Heller: The College of Collage appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

But what if I told you it didn’t have to be this way?

Armin Vit and Bryony Gomez-Palacio, the charming pair behind the Indiana-based graphic design firm UnderConsideration LLC and beloved design blog Brand New, are on a mission to reclaim conference culture and are succeeding with carefully considered flying colors. I had the privilege of attending their most recent event in October, the Brand New Conference in Salt Lake City, UT, which was infused with a familial sense of warmth and thoughtfulness.

The two-day affair was held at the glorious Abravanel Hall and featured an eclectic line-up of speakers from various corners of the design industry. Some standouts for me included Ragged Edge‘s Max Ottignon, Dhiya Choudary formerly of Magic Spoon, Violaine Orsoni and Jérémy Schneider of Studio Violaine & Jérémy, and Andy Pearson of Liquid Death. The multi-dimensional diversity of the panelists made for a rich presentation of perspectives and experiences for the 600 or so of us in the audience, with maestros Vit and Gomez-Palacio setting the tone in between.

Hand-dyed programs, T-shirts, and tote bags, a truck turned into an all-blue photo booth, a design book swap station, and a handful of design-related games peppering the lobby, were just a few of the inviting details infused into the conference. At the end of the event, I found myself reflecting just as much upon the display of Vit and Gomez-Palacio’s prowess as conference facilitators as I was the pearls of design wisdom shared by each of the speakers. I reached out to the duo afterward for more insights into their process and what went into the event. Vit and Gomez-Palacio’s thoughtful responses are below.

Every aspect of BNC24 felt so carefully considered and thoughtful. Can you shed some light on your thought process for these considerations? What’s your overarching mission for BNC, and what tone are you trying to set for attendees?

The overall goal is to create the experience we would like to have at someone else’s conference. We’ve been to our share of conferences, and have experienced things that work and things that don’t work, so we try to have as little discrepancy as possible in all of the various interactions our audience has, whether in person or online, all delivered with as much attention to detail and craft as possible. 

We even choose our outfits based on each year’s color palette.

We are not perfect at it by any means, but we try to take care of as many things as possible. We want people to feel like they are entering a mini universe where all parts are connected and add up to the overall experience of being in the same building for more than ten hours each day for two days straight to make it more enjoyable and memorable. We even choose our outfits based on each year’s color palette, and our audience really appreciates how hard we commit to making each year distinct. 

Our biggest fear is becoming repetitive because we have so many people that come year after year, we never want them to feel like they are getting the exact same experience over and over.

I know that this was the first year BNC didn’t have sponsors. Can you share a bit more about that decision? How did the conference feel different this year than in the past by not having sponsors? 

First off, we have to say how appreciative we are of our past sponsors as they provided a financial boost that was integral to being able to develop and grow the conference, but our main struggle with having sponsors is that there were two very different experiences during the event: one inside the auditorium with the speakers, and one outside in the lobby with the sponsors, and the two were not particularly in sync. We felt that we could integrate those two experiences in a more memorable and relevant way for our audience. 

We left a lot of money on the table—like, A LOT—but we are lucky that we have an audience that shows up for the event so we felt comfortable risking profit in favor of a more curated experience. The energy in the lobby this year was amazing and the one goal we had, based on feedback we have received over the years, was to provide more opportunities for attendees to interact with each other and have shared moments of joy and design nerdiness to make it easier to strike up new conversations. 

We are also stubbornly independent and want to do things our own way with as little outside influence.

We are also stubbornly independent and want to do things our own way with as little outside influence as possible so this move puts us in a position where we are in total control of the results, good or bad. So far, first year, it’s been all good.

How do you curate the speakers for the conference? What do you hope to achieve when developing the presenter line-up?

We keep an ongoing list all year long of people that catch our attention, whether they were featured on Brand New (the blog), whether we ran unto their profile on LinkedIn, or whether doom scrolling on social media paid off and we saw someone’s work that we hadn’t seen before. Usually in November or December, we make an initial cut of that list to make sure we have diversity in every aspect of the word: race, gender, location, specialty, age, types of clients, styles of design, experience level, anything that will make it feel like each of the 20 speakers we have on stage has something different to offer. 

We want to create opportunities. There is nothing we love more than to have a first-time speaker being as nervous as they’ve ever been right before presenting and then being awesome on stage.

Our goal is to portray the breadth of possibilities of what one can be and do in the branding industry. We don’t try to be all things to all audience members with every single speaker, but, as a sum of all the presentations, we want everyone to be able to take at least one thing back from each presenter. We try to also provide a mix of designers and firms people have heard of along with others that none or few have heard of. We are never looking only for seasoned speakers who have done this a million times; one because that’s just boring and, two, because they’ve already gotten enough opportunities. We want to create opportunities. There is nothing we love more than to have a first-time speaker being as nervous as they’ve ever been right before presenting and then being awesome on stage.

This isn’t Adobe Max or TED and we love that it NEVER feels like a super slick corporate event. 

Now that BNC 2024 is in your rear-view mirror, what are you proudest of about this year’s conference? 

Seeing people interact with all the weird stuff we came up with for the lobby to replace the sponsor booths and swag. We spent a lot of time thinking about what these things could be and how we could bring them to life within our budget and means, which means some things were rough around the edges but that’s part of what we love about doing this ourselves and with tight budgets… we are putting our skin in the game and we are not aiming to make everything pitch-perfect and flawless. This isn’t Adobe Max or TED and we love that it NEVER feels like a super slick corporate event. 

Digressing though… our biggest pride every year is seeing new speakers get the opportunity to explore this side of themselves—folks like Eleazar Ruiz or Dhiya Choudary or the duos behind M — N Associates and Violaine & Jérémy—and realize how much they have to offer others. Equally fulfilling is the insane amount of work that our volunteers put in the day before the event and the days of the event. They leave with huge smiles on their faces and new friendships. It sounds cheesy but it really is quite something.

The post The Brand New Conference Reclaims Conference Culture with Warmth and Joy appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“When I dreamed up this idea, there was no place for Muslims of a left-leaning political ideology to engage in critical discourse about the world we live in and how we want it to look different,” she says, noting that there were indeed magazines focusing on Black Muslim identity like Sapelo Square, or gender identity, like altMuslimah—but nothing broadly focused on the left side of the political spectrum. “Islam informs so much of my political values, and I knew the same was true for others. I saw that magazines such as Jewish Currents had created this space to critically reflect on community and politics, and I thought that was so needed in the American Muslim community.”

Ahmed partnered with creative director Arsh Raziuddin—former AD of The Atlantic and The New York Times’ Opinion section, and former creative director of Bon Appétit—and Acacia was born online and semi-annually in print.

Its first issue released earlier this year, covering a broad spectrum of politics and culture, with fiction, poetry and art to boot: In “The Myth of Bodily Autonomy,” Natalia Latif explored the impact of the overturning of Roe v. Wade and the Muslim response; Sarah Aziza penned an essay on growing up the child of a Palestinian Muslim father and an American Christian mother; Shamira Ibrahim documented the use and impact of “Arab scales” in Western music; Mariam Rahmani and Lamya H discussed Hijab Butch Blues: A Memoir.

The latest issue, released this month, meanwhile, focuses on Palestine. There’s Sanya Mansoor’s “Fury at the Ballot Box”; Matene Toure’s interview with scholar Zoé Samudzi on the historical use of the word genocide; Maira Khwaja’s look at torture, from Guantanamo to Gaza; a profile of poet Mosab Abu Toha.

Underscoring it all: Raziuddin’s deft design and art direction, supplemented by visual contributions from some of the industry’s best creatives. 

Below, Ahmed and Raziuddin tell us more about the publication, which is further building out a community through sold-out launches and other events. 

Tell us about the need for a publication like this today.
Ahmed: It’s no secret that Muslim-, Arab- and Palestinian-allied journalists are being censored in mainstream media, especially in the last year. We think in light of that censorship, it’s more critical than ever that Muslim voices have a platform to report honestly about the state of our world. 

Raziuddin: This kind of censorship seeps into the world of art, affecting what stories we can share visually and how they are commissioned. It’s important to involve Muslim artists and photographers in a wide range of topics, so we aren’t limited to narratives of war, pain, and exoticism.

Arsh, at what point did you get involved? How did the two of you first connect?
Raziuddin: Hira and I had a meet-cute in an elevator. We were both going to another literary magazine party and introduced ourselves. I asked if she was a writer and she said she’s starting a lefty Muslim magazine. The rest was history. 

Tell us about the significance of the name Acacia, and how it represents your overall mission.
Ahmed: Our name is a reference to the acacia tree (Vachellia seyal). It’s generally thought to be a tree under which Prophet Muhammad and early followers of Islam sought respite and prayed. In that same tradition, Acacia is a gathering place.

Raziuddin: I imagine the tree taking on various forms, adapting alongside different letters, abstracting itself into varied versions as the magazine evolves.

What made you decide to launch Acacia in print?
Ahmed: Publishing a print edition allows us to build a tangible and enduring legacy of American Muslim political, cultural and artistic production. The internet may seem like forever, but everything on it is ultimately ephemeral. Because most of us don’t own the platforms that host our data, apart from some commendable archival efforts, we have limited tools to preserve our stories for future generations.

We hope that years from now, the back issues of Acacia will tell the story of what it meant to be a Muslim in America during critical political and cultural moments. 

Hira Ahmed

Tell us a bit about the editorial breakdown/architecture of the magazine, and how it’s arranged.
Raziuddin: Acacia is broken down into different sections, similar but not necessarily dependent on the front, middle, and back of a book, like a traditional magazine. We have a mix of personal essays, reported essays, feature stories, interviews, poetry, and a photo essay.

How have you selected the issue themes so far?
Ahmed: Our first issue was finalized before Oct. 7, 2023. In some ways, that feels like a different world, and the American Muslim community is certainly in a very different place since the beginning of the genocide. But in the pre-Oct. 7th world, we wanted to tell stories that were affecting us intra-communally. Our cover story “Navigating Culture Wars” from the first issue really captures that effort. It was about rising homophobia in the American Muslim community and specifically an open letter penned by prominent American Muslim imams condemning queerness. I think it resonated with readers because it was something everyone was talking about in the group chat, but, prior to Acacia, there was no space to formally unpack and analyze the subject matter of that story. 

The second issue is about Palestine. The genocide has been an all-consuming issue for American Muslims in the past year. It’s hard to imagine how that isn’t the case for everyone. As the genocide worsens, Gaza moves further back into the pages of newspapers. It’s a real shame. 

What has been your approach to the stories within? You have assembled such a powerful collection across a broad swath.
Ahmed: We are lucky that such incredible writers want to work with us! There is no shortage of talent in our communities and it’s been such an honor to be able to highlight that. A lot of writers are already thinking about the issues we discuss in the magazine, and we provide a home for that writing. Other times, as fans of certain writers, we will commission pieces that we think our readers would want to read. We have a brilliant group of editors who commission pieces and we deliberate together about what makes it into the issue. 

What are your favorite pieces that you’ve run to date?
Raziuddin: It’s hard to pick just one favorite, but I really loved Shamira Ibrahim’s piece on the Arab Scale from Issue 1, and Matene Toure’s interview on genocide in the latest issue. Amir Hamja’s portrait of Noura Erakat in this second issue was absolutely stunning and complemented her interview perfectly.

What has been the most challenging part of the whole endeavor so far?
Ahmed: It’s a logistically large undertaking.

Raziuddin: Especially with a small team, we’re really breaking new ground. There aren’t many folks doing what we’re doing in this way, and we’re creating our own path.

Tell us about the look you set out to achieve through the design.
Raziuddin: I want to strike the right balance between showcasing our community’s artwork and styles that we cherish, while also embracing a modern editorial language and design system. It’s a tricky line to walk.

Tell us a bit about the first two covers.
Raziuddin: In our inaugural issue, we were so lucky to feature Cassi Namoda as our cover artist. Her work is so beautiful—steeped in history and rich with narrative. Sad Man With Roses (awaits his beloved), 2020, captures a tender, poetic quality that was a perfect fit for our first cover. …

For our second cover, we were honored to feature a photograph by Taysir Batniji, a gifted Palestinian artist born in Gaza. His photo essay, Fathers, carries a haunting depth. Each image tells a story of lineage and family, echoing profound themes of loss and memory. It captures what we leave behind in times of war and genocide, highlighting how we, as a community, navigate and reshape our history. This issue confronts the ongoing devastation in Palestine and its broader impact on the Muslim world, while also addressing the rising tide of Islamophobia. We’re thankful for the artists who help us uncover and share the truth through their work. This series was captured back in 2006, many years before Oct. 7, 2023. 

Overall, what has the reception been like so far?
Ahmed: We’ve been really moved by the response. There’s nothing more rewarding than having a journalist or a fellow reader express gratitude for Acacia. My favorite anecdote is when we heard from a college student that he was going to cite one of our stories in his senior thesis. 

Raziuddin: A friend shared that a young Muslim girl, a budding artist, cried when she held the magazine. It made me cry!

Editor’s Note: PRINT Magazine is committed to publishing a diversity of opinions.

The post Meet ‘Acacia’, a New Print Magazine for the Muslim Left appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Welcome to the DesignThinkers Podcast! Join host and RGD President Nicola Hamilton as she digs into the archives of the DesignThinkers conference, reconnecting with past speakers about their talks and ideas that have shaped Canada’s largest graphic design conference. Follow the RGD on Instagram @rgdcanada or visit them at rgd.ca. Purchase tickets to the upcoming DesignThinkers conference at designthinkers.com.

The post DesignThinkers Podcast: Debbie Millman appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

These are some of the questions UK-based graphic designer Conor Foran found himself asking, spurred by his own journey with stammering. This reflection led to his development of the Dysfluent Mono typeface along with his wider project, Dysfluent, in 2017.

Through art, design, and curation, Dysfluent intersects the lived experience of dysfluency with creativity, activism, and social justice. Through Dysfluent, Foran collaborates with people who stammer, artists, speech therapists, academics, activists, organizations, and allies. One component of the Dysfluent project is an independent magazine of the same name, that explores the lived experience of stammering. Designed by Foran, the publication deploys the Dysfluent Mono typeface throughout its eye-catching and thoughtful pages, that visually portray the sounds, rhythms, patterns, and experiences of a stammer.

Foran has released two issues of the magazine, with a third currently in production. A digital version of issues one and two are available through Dysfluent’s online shop, with a hard copy of issue two distributed in the UK, Europe, Asia, and North America by Antenne Books.

More than a magazine, Foran has created a movement. Using his skills as a graphic designer and keen editorial design eye, through Dysfluent, Foran has helped cultivate a community centered around celebration and reclamation for those who stutter.

Stammering pride contends that verbal diversity is rich with meaning in its own right, and deserves to exist outside of a clinical lens of needing to be “fixed” or “cured.” 

Today, October 22nd, marks International Stuttering Awareness Day, a moment dedicated to sharing information about the realities of stuttering more widely and honoring the stuttering community at large. We’re thrilled to highlight Dysfluent and Foran’s work as part of the international celebration. Foran answered a few of my questions about the Dysfluent story below, including reflections on his editorial design, developing the Stammering Pride flag, and what he has planned next for the project.

Can you describe Dysfluent and its mission? What are you hoping to accomplish with Dysfluent?

Dysfluent is a collaborative and creative practice about stammering, a speech disability (also known as stuttering). Through art and design, it intersects the lived experience of dysfluency with creativity, activism, and social justice. So far, it has produced a stammering font, a magazine, a stammering pride flag, and, most recently, a billboard for Whitney Museum’s 2024 Biennial in New York City.

Dysfluent is led by me, Conor Foran. I collaborate with people who stammer, artists, speech therapists, academics, activists, organizations, and allies from around the world to contribute to a growing stuttering culture based around pride. Stammering pride contends that verbal diversity is rich with meaning in its own right and deserves to exist outside of a clinical lens of needing to be “fixed” or “cured.”

What’s the origin story of Dysfluent? How did the idea for a magazine reflecting the stammering community come about?

Dysfluent as a project happened very much organically, as I investigated my relationship with my own speech. While I am a proud person who stammers now, I wasn’t back in 2017 when I started creating the Dysfluent Mono typeface and magazine in college. Looking back, the project was a form of self-therapy that I still practice today. 

My experience with speech therapy was limited, and I wasn’t part of the stammering community as I am now. When creating content for the magazine, I met another person who stammers for the first time. What was an intensely personal project naturally evolved into a community-facing one. I’m very grateful to the stammering community that has embraced all the Dysfluent projects, from everyday people who stammer and parents of kids who stammer, to academics and therapists. 

The typeface is used in the magazine to proudly represent the voice of the interviewees. The magazine explores the lived experience of stammering through interviews and essays, facilitating contrasting and challenging views. It has published two issues so far. 

When it comes to the design of the magazine (and your beautiful website, merch, flag, etc.) can you speak to some of the visual choices you made to reflect stammering and how those were developed?

The typeface Dysfluent Mono is based on the three kinds of stammering: repetitions, prolongations, and blocks. I made special letterforms that repeat parts of themselves until they form the actual character, as well as characters that stretch their forms. Blocks are represented as multiple spaces. While ideas of stammering pride didn’t really exist when I created the typeface, looking back, the approach I took was very pride-coded. I interpreted my speech as forming over time, rather than being fragmented or broken. To consider stammering or dysfluency as not the antithesis of fluency is still a radical idea for a lot of people. 

To consider stammering or dysfluency as not the antithesis of fluency is still a radical idea for a lot of people.

For Issue 2 two, I asked how can a magazine itself stammer? The cover unfolds to reveal an inner dialogue amongst stammering letterforms. The issue’s title stammers across the spine. The “pull quotes” remain in their paragraphs, challenging the idea of the perfectly said phrase. Each interview is set in Dysfluent Mono. The expressive, typographic illustrations are inspired by the uniqueness of the interviewee’s voice. The magazine creatively questions society’s obsession with hyper-fluency, which leaves little room for organic moments in language.

Outside of the magazine, the typeface has been used in ZEIT and the “Stuttering Can Create Time” billboard for Whitney Museum’s 2024 Biennial with the collective People Who Stutter Create.

How have your skills as a graphic designer given you the power to make such an impact in stammering awareness?

My interest in typography in college laid the foundations for me to reconsider how my own voice could be represented in text. Making stammering visually beautiful, striking, and in some ways appealing empowers, me (and other people) to be proud of how I talk. I think it also speaks to a wider idea of what it means to be legible in both a linguistic and typographic sense. There is value to be found in visual and auditory dysfluency.

Making stammering visually beautiful, striking, and in some ways appealing empowers, me (and other people) to be proud of how I talk.

The medical model of needing to “fix” the stammer has dominated the stammering community up until a few years ago. As such, the graphic design of stammering only existed in clinical or organizational spaces. A lot of this visual design relies on tropes such as mouths, speech bubbles, and splintered, fractured, or broken typography.

There is now an emerging stuttering culture of visual art, design, music, poetry, and literature that explore the generative power of dysfluency by people who stammer, such as JJJJJerome Ellis, Willemijn Bolks, Paul Aston, and Jordan Scott. I consider my work in the stammering community to push past awareness and instead instill action. As the world becomes more and more accepting of difference, why shouldn’t stammering be included too?

I consider my work in the stammering community to push past awareness and instead instill action. As the world becomes more and more accepting of difference, why shouldn’t stammering be included too?

What was the development process of the Stammering Pride flag like? Can you unpack the design for me a bit?

The Making Waves flag was made by seven people who stammer from various countries: JJJJJerome Ellis, Kristel Kubart, Laura Lascău, Patrick Campbell, Paul Aston, Ramdeep Roman, and myself. We’ve titled it “a stammering pride flag” as it’s up to people who stammer if they identify with this design and approach we have taken. This flag is an invitation.

Water has long been associated with stammering and speech. We were eager to build upon work by the stammering community in a meaningful way, emphasizing that stuttering is as natural as whirling waves and calm creeks. The design visualizes three values: the sea-green symbolizes the existing community that has used this color for stuttering awareness since 2009; the wave motif symbolizes stammering as a natural, varied phenomenon; and the ultramarine symbolizes the progress and passion of the stuttering pride movement.

The flag has been flown by people all around the world. Kids who stammer and their parents have also responded to it so well, which has been a really amazing surprise!

What has been the biggest challenge you’ve faced with this project so far? What’s been the most rewarding aspect?

The biggest challenge I’ve faced is finding time to work on it! While I feel like I’ve produced a lot under the Dysfluent name, I still have so many ideas I want to develop. But because it’s a niche, there isn’t much money to be made, so it can be hard to devote time to the work.

My biggest reward has definitely been finding community. It still amazes me when I get an email or message from someone in a far-away country wanting to collaborate or just describing how Dysfluent represents them so well. The project also allows me to be a designer, artist, writer, facilitator… basically anything that needs to be done. While I enjoy being a generalist, it’s also taught me the importance of collaboration. 

What do you have planned next for Dysfluent?

The next Dysfluent-ism is an upcoming visual art exhibition in London, titled “Wouldn’t You Rather Talk Like Us?” with painter Paul Aston. It’s opening on November 29 and is supported by Arts Council England. The hand-made Making Waves flag will be on show in addition to some new work I can’t wait for people to see!

I’m also excited to start working on Issue 3 of the magazine next year. Overall, I’ll continue to position Dysfluent as a collaborative practice— forming alliances with people who stammer, therapists, and academics, to create work that both celebrates and challenges what we think about stammering.

The post Conor Foran Spreads Stammering Pride through ‘Dysfluent’ Magazine appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

A great title captures the spirit, psychology, mood, and inner-logic of the show in surprising, powerful ways. Something you feel, not something you necessarily know or understand. 

When season one of The White Lotus first aired on HBO in 2021, it quickly became the it show of the summer, with a scenery-chewing ensemble cast and incisive social commentary. But while many people were coming to the series for Jennifer Coolidge’s line reading and showrunner Mike White’s dark humor, they were staying for the show’s opening title sequence. Mike White worked with creative studio Plains of Yonder for the opening titles of both season one and season two of the hit show, each of which broke through the title sequence space and into mainstream culture.

Plains of Yonder is far from a one-hit wonder with The White Lotus, having designed equally impressive and impactful opening titles for other series as well, including seasons one and two of Amazon Studios’ The Rings of Power and Netflix’s The Decameron. The studio received two Emmy nominations in 2023 for Outstanding Main Title for Rings of Power and The White Lotus.

As an opening titles obsessive myself, I leapt at the opportunity to connect with Plains of Yonder Creative Directors Katrina Crawford and Mark Bashore to learn more about their process. Their responses to my questions are below.

What makes a successful opening title sequence?

For us, a great title captures the spirit, psychology, mood, and inner logic of the show in surprising, powerful ways. Something you feel, not something you necessarily know or understand. 

Building excitement and bringing viewers into the world of the show is also crucial. Main titles are unique in that if they hit the mark, they are watched repeatedly. We keep this in mind when creating. “Do I want to watch this again?” “Do I get something energetically or detail-wise with repeat viewing?”

Sometimes, a viewer sees a title and feels an immediate connection, as if an internal secret message has been sent, to the point that the viewer can say to themselves, “This feels like it was made exactly for me!” It actually does happen once in a blue moon, and we’re in the game for those moments. 

What’s your team’s typical development process for a given title sequence?

Each main title project is a puzzle, which can be solved in different ways. And like a puzzle, we start experimenting.  An idea can start with the psychology behind the show, music, emotions, or even a contextual component of the show, like a time period. 

We focus on mood, feeling, pace, and psychology way more than “design.”

We focus on mood, feeling, pace, and psychology way more than “design.” We try not to actually “design” any imagery until the idea is well set in our mind’s eye. 

I’m interested in your old-school approach and how you still mostly create your titles by hand. Why do you continue to use these processes? What do these techniques bring to a title sequence that is lost with more digital, modern-day alternatives?

More than old-school techniques, we are attracted to timelessness in work and titles that are concise in their concept. Each main title is so catered to the show, that it demands different techniques, pacing, and mood. We like the goal of keeping viewers less aware of the techniques used for creation, and more able to enjoy the feeling of a title. Truth be told, they are often more complicated to execute than meets the eye. 

Additionally, Plains of Yonder attracts a lot of makers! When we decided to use the phenomenon of Cymatics for Rings of Power season two, it was a dream come true for a lot of us. Getting to play with sand particles, physics, and robotic camera arms is a lot of fun! For The Decameron, we loved this puzzle of mixing super tech particle flow 3D with basically ink and paper. Perhaps it’s seeing the craft— the idea that our team sat down, often starting with something physical, with the audience in mind, and then attempted to make something just for them. Does that humanity show? Or perhaps it’s the joy we have in creating, but it draws people in. 

When we do create CG and technically complicated work, we oftentimes find ourselves engineering flaws back into the work, such as compositing feral live-action sand into the CG for Rings Of Power, or making rats in The Decameron rougher and choppier than when they were born in CG, including having them stray randomly from the pack. 

Can you share more about how you combined hand-drawn frame-by-frame animation with 3D/particle work in The Decameron title sequence? How and why did you land on this specific hybrid process?

Combining techniques that were born hundreds of years apart was hugely ambitious. It was a real leap of faith. We knew we wanted a sense of personality and cuteness, with a sense of “story,” so those required close-up shots of rats doing what rats do: scratching, going down holes, cuddling, scurrying around endlessly … and mating. Then, we wanted hundreds, or thousands of rats completing imagery and forming the hoard that represented the pestilence. We thought, “Maybe the rats are completely unaware of what they are making.” They are still behaving crazily and scurrying around, but what they form is epic and beautiful and highly metaphorical.  

It’s the combination of those two ideas that makes the title. The mundane mixing with the resplendent. The sacred mixing with the profane. You love the cute close-up rats, and you’re slightly terrified of the endless, ever-evolving, pervasive hoard.

We feel like we completed a bit of a magic trick in portraying pretty intense imagery and themes that have viewers smiling through it the whole time. It’s a show about the plague, but it’s also funny, so little scenes that have both darkness and levity were important. When the rats are forming a gravesite, we have them enter the scene in a campy way. They enter two by two to the gravesite like a somber funeral procession in time to the music. We had a lot of fun with the way they transition between scenes as well; having them back into a scene, pop up as a nipple, tumble, express confusion, and get sneezed out to form a new scene.

Why do you think The White Lotus title sequences have been such a massive hit, breaking through the open titles discourse and into the mainstream cultural consciousness?

It requires a show to break into the culture first. The title and the title music sort of act like a book cover or a great album cover used to do. The White Lotus titles (for both seasons) were simple in concept, but very deep in metaphor and meaning that can be appreciated by the viewer. The imagery, like the music, is simple but weird. It’s out of left field, but when the imagery and music combine it feels like they were destined to be together. 

Perhaps a more hidden reason the titles struck a chord is the wide range of emotions and themes hidden within them. There’s joy, sadness, lust, laziness, sex, jealousy, violence, death, and beyond, all portrayed in a way that is beautiful and pleasing to the eye.

It hits your heart, it hits your ears, and it hits your eyes…and they combine and detonate into a feeling that is way more powerful than the rational sum of the parts. 

What was it like working with The White Lotus team to land on the concept for those original titles?

For season one, we pitched several concepts to the showrunner Mike White, who chose one of our ideas around fictionalized beautiful wallpaper patterns embedded with hidden stories and darkening themes. 

From there, we were given a tremendous amount of freedom to design and edit as we saw best. Our original concept simply advanced for season two, incorporating more of the themes and capturing some of the imagery at a location that was shot for the show, and then creating the rest of the paintings. 

As you were working on it, did you have a feeling it would resonate so strongly with audiences or were you surprised by the response?

No. We are so focused on the show and making sure our titles laddered up to it that we don’t go there. We did, however, really like what we were making while we were making it. We knew that we had not seen anything like it on a TV title before, which is what we strive for. Sometimes, you have to just shut out the noise or any distractions with the uncontrollable landscapes of the entertainment industry and just say, “Let’s make something we think is great and that we would love to see,” and then release it out to sea in the hopes of delighting audiences. 

Is there a hidden gem or detail in either of The White Lotus titles that you’re particularly proud or fond of? 

We had a male naked statue for the Theo James character in the season two titles, which fit well. Then Katrina came up with the idea of a dog lifting his leg on the statue and it just became so much better. That synergy is fitting, as the character was both vain and aggressively marking his territory throughout the show— at least metaphorically. It’s commenting on toxic masculinity but in a playful, subtle way.

The scene in the season two titles with Jennifer Coolidge’s title depicting a leashed monkey and a blonde woman trapped in a tower was pretty deep. There are about ten things going on in that shot. We were happy with the idea of Jennifer’s credit picking up from season one, where there was a frolicking monkey in the jungle, and now that monkey is on a leash, albeit in a really nice place…or is it the lady in the tower that’s the metaphor? We like keeping the imagery in play for viewers to work out.

The post In Conversation with Plains of Yonder, Title Sequence Creators for ‘The White Lotus’ appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Tell me about the origins of this project.
For many years, I have investigated issues surrounding the loss of identity and privacy in the context of global monitoring of people and information. These issues have become increasingly relevant as technology continues to evolve and security concerns arise. The kinds of technology that are implemented for the sake of security often rely on the imaging of the human body and personal items. While maintaining public safety is an important concern, the introduction of physical security inspections, body scans and X-rays of personal possessions introduces an erosion of privacy. 

As an illegal immigrant, one exists in a constant state of uncertainty, inspiring the name “Incited” for the first project addressing immigration and privacy. This project begins with a tragedy: on Feb. 24, 2015, a cargo van carrying 54 illegal immigrants from various countries crashed near Leskovac, Serbia. “Incited” presents this accident from several perspectives, one of which is through animation using computer game technology. Viewers see a bird’s-eye view recreation of the event, emotionally distanced from it through augmented reality. This interactive AR experience allows the audience to visualize individuals inside the van, resembling an X-ray depiction. This concept extends to VR and printed installations on large glass surfaces, where transparency enables dual imagery, switching between normal and X-ray views based on the light source. Spending time in the gallery during late afternoons enhances the effect, revealing the full range from transparent to opaque imagery.

With the LEGO Immigration series, I am pushing this recreation concept further, bringing games and playing outside of the computer and technology.

At the core of my art projects is exploring empathy and reflection. The issues concerning immigration, security and privacy are complex and multifaceted. The individual must consider many angles and perspectives, but the discussion is not always approachable, or at least it hasn’t been until now. 

There is nothing more friendly, more approachable than the concept of play. While playing with LEGO bricks with my sons Maksim (17) and Toko (9), I realized that the LEGO building system is a perfect vehicle to tell a story that LEGO itself will likely never address. We had plenty of LEGO pieces, and with the help of my young apprentices, Maksim and Toko, I started a family business of building LEGO sets related to illegal immigration. In a fusion of the familiar and the unexpected, I decided to use LEGO brick as a medium for social commentary within the Immigration Series, made up of the sets “Human Trafficking,” “Border Wall,” “Migrant Boat” and “Migrant Raft.” Additional sets exploring stowaways, river crossings and semi-truck human trafficking scenarios are currently under construction. This project aims to address the issues of illegal immigration in a way that is accessible to the average person. While the Immigration Series depicts scenes of the peril, struggle and vulnerability that illegal immigrants face, it does so in a way that is meant to encourage interaction. Many of us grew up with these delightful building blocks. We understand them as vessels for wild ideas and creativity. This medium aims to transport the viewer to a child-like moment where they can imagine these issues in a learning environment without preconceived notions. With education at the heart of this project, adults and children alike are encouraged to engage with the complex issue of illegal immigration. While the idea may seem uncomfortable to some at first, it also teaches us not to be ignorant. Empathy, compassion and change only arise when we face hardship.  

At the forefront of all these projects is the effort to place us in the shoes of others, to not simply ignore problems because they do not personally affect us. This work encourages us to initiate a dialogue around personal privacy and the dehumanizing process of immigration and displacement. These issues, albeit uncomfortable to confront, offer opportunities for meaningful interaction and personal transformation.

LEGO is a registered trademark—are you using “parody” “satire” and “fair usage” to get around the trademark? In fact, can a work of art be your justification?
I use all of those legal means to criticize our society without anyone being spared. Without the freedom to express and point to injustices through art and design work, I think they would not be visible to as many people. This work is critical and political, utilizing a known system of building worlds to explore realities parallel to the positive and carefully crafted worlds of official LEGO sets. While there is nothing wrong with the prioritization of “positive” learning that LEGO seems to be invested in, it can sometimes come across as a one-sided and performative endeavor. With this work, I offer an alternative form of play that isn’t inherently positive or negative but instead does not shy away from the idea of conflict. The educational component of these sets might be the best part of the attempt to bring these issues to young minds that will be tasked with solving many of the problems we are facing today.

Where will this be exhibited?
So far, I have shown the LEGO Immigration Series of work in several university shows, where I wanted to test its value and impact on the targeted population. I am just entering the real-world art scene with this project and have had conversations with several museums and contemporary art centers. 

What has the reaction been to date?
I received a very positive reaction from the audience. Most of them are college students, so I believe they understand and appreciate the hidden messages in these LEGO sets. The college crowd has the background and education to understand the complexities of the message while also being familiar enough with the medium to appreciate the subversion of the beloved LEGO brick. 

Many of them approach the sets with familiarity. I even had one student who worked at the local LEGO store tell me she didn’t know the company had come out with an immigration set, just to find out that they indeed had not. What struck me about this interaction was the blind trust that came with seeing the familiar “brand” and toy. People are curious enough to approach the issue because of their association with bricks, but they stay for the dialogue that the topic and presentation inspire. It was very satisfying to see the students’ interest in the project and how believable the packing and presentation turned out to be. A lot of care went into finding the specific materials for this project, trying to get that nostalgic feel just right.

A lot of research and trial and error went into formatting the packaging of these sets. I noticed that LEGO has a very specific way of angling and positioning the character figurines and backgrounds depending on the audience they are trying to reach. This was a very interesting challenge to face. Packaging often comes secondary, but in this case, it felt essential to the project because it gives it that feel of legitimacy. The initial believability of the project as an official set is what puts the audience in the specific mindset of trying to reconcile the project as a work of art but also a toy that they could dare to interact with. 

The post The Daily Heller: Toying With the Southern Border Crisis appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“Letters are magic” is the watchword of Jessica Hische, one of the world’s leading lettering artists. “Letters are an amazing playground,” she says, “a playground for art and creativity. They’re an art form that gets kids — and everyone — believing they’re artists.” But it’s inaccurate to call Hische “just” a lettering artist. She’s a bestselling author, a graphic designer with an enviable client list, and an illustrator with a delightfully sophisticated style.

She’s also the mother of three school-age children, which gives her an insider advantage when it comes to creating books that kids will love and parents will want to buy (and read aloud and collect and display). It’s no accident that her books‚ which are one hundred percent Hische productions from the cover and spine to the acknowledgments page — have sold up to 200,000 copies each.

On October 22 — that’s next Tuesday — her fifth picture book, My First Book of Fancy Letters, will be released by Penguin Random House, and Hische is currently on tour.

What places does she most enjoy visiting? Elementary schools, of course, like the two pictured above, where she’s introducing her 2021 New York Times bestseller Tomorrow I’ll Be Brave. “Kids at first don’t know what a lettering artist is,” she explains. (For a detailed explanation yourself, please see her 2015 book In Progress: Inside a Lettering Artist’s Process from Pencil to Vector.)

To break the ice at a school visit, Hische might ask, “Who has letters on their shirt?” Many kids always raise their hands, so she explains, “An artist drew those letters and made them into what they wanted to express.”

She then demonstrates that letters can have all kinds of forms and meanings. As long as the basic shape of the alphabet letter is clear, it can be Athletic, Bubbly, Creepy … or whatever you, the artist, want it to be. I personally appreciate that each letter is shown as a grown-up capital and a baby lowercase because 95 percent of the letters we read in text are lowercase. Kids who start first grade only knowing the uppercase letters are at a big disadvantage.

Spreads ABC and DEF from My First Book of Fancy Letters, © Jessica Hische, 2024

Hische might then ask, “What’s your favorite thing?” If a student says, “a rainbow,” she might encourage them to draw an ‘R’ made from a rainbow, like the one in the spread below. If another student answers, “A rocket ship,” you can already visualize the kind of ‘R’ the child will draw. This game has only one rule: you must draw the alphabet letter that matches the concept or word. So, if the word is “Prickly,” like in My First Book of Fancy Letters, in which each letter illustrates an adjective, the ‘P’ is a prickly green cactus.” The ‘F’ is definitely Flowery. And the ‘Y’ is as Yummy as a cookie with pink icing and sprinkles.

Spreads PQR and XYZ from My First Book of Fancy Letters, © Jessica Hische, 2024

“I’m not there to sell books,” Hische says of her school visits. “I’m there to inspire the kids, especially when they’re still at the age when their brains are mushy sponges. Even if the book is not specifically about letters, they’ll walk away inspired to draw letters.” Her way of organizing a talk or pitch — totally involving the audience in a creative process — could be a model for all of us.

A quick stroll through Hische’s website tells you that “lettering artist-author-designer-illustrator-mom” is still an incomplete bio. Hische is a true entrepreneur. In addition to 20 years — and counting — as a design firm principal, creating logos, posters, book jackets, packaging, and all kinds of cool stuff like holiday cookie jars for A-list clients, she owns two retail stores in her adopted hometown of Oakland, California. She describes Drawling as a kids’ art supply store and Jessica Hische &Friends as a showcase for her books and lots of flourish-y things she’s designed: limited-edition prints, posters, apparel, jewelry, and note cards. Many of the products are on the ‘shop’ section of her website, where font packages of her six original typefaces are available for sale and download — so that you, too, can design with very fancy letters.

A few examples from the extensive Jessica Hische portfolio. (l-r) Top row: Spread from the book Tomorrow You’ll Be Brave; Popcorn can from the Neiman Marcus 2022 holiday packaging suite; Poster for all-star Scott Rudin film. Center: Neiman Marcus Christmas cookie jar, based on a ceramic tree that Hische’s grandmother put out every holiday season; Promotion for a master class she teaches for Skillshare featuring her hands refining the Mailchimp logo. Bottom: Poster for the American Red Cross encouraging vaccination; Main title design and poster for Lionsgate film; Poster for Comcast used as set decoration in a film in which E.T. reunites with Elliott’s earth family; Limited-edition print.

Hische is the first to admit that from kindergarten on, she was the one whose art was most often displayed on school bulletin boards. After attending public schools in the small town in Pennsylvania where she grew up, she became “a design major who did illustration on the side” at Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia, graduating in 2006 with a BFA. In 2007 she came to New York to be a junior designer at Louise Fili LTD, bringing her own historically-based swashes and ligatures to the firm’s work in logo, book, and postage stamp design. Not surprisingly, the job soon became a full-time senior designer position.

“When I’m looking to hire a designer,” Fili says, “I want to see at least one portfolio piece that I wish I’d done. Jessica’s was a set of postcards for the Twelve Days of Christmas, a showcase of her skills. From day one here, she was fearless. To anything I asked of her — Can you make this type look like spaghetti? Like embroidery? Oatmeal? Ribbons? — I received an affirmative response. And the lettering was always, of course, perfect.” 

In 2009, Hische began freelancing in New York, making a name for herself and winning just about every award and accolade in the business. In 2011, her husband, the musician and web designer, now Meta design director Russ Maschmeyer, was hired by Facebook, and they moved to the Bay Area.

Hische and Maschmeyer began growing their family in 2015, now with kids aged nine, seven, and five. “I have a complicated life,” she admits, “but I could never miss one of my kids’ first steps or birthday parties. We’ll even make the cake together. Part of the reason I’ve kept my businesses small — mostly just me — is to have a ton of flexibility around family stuff. I love going to their school plays, volunteering at the school, and bringing them to sports. I’m even taking karate with my middle son!”

Letters are an amazing playground.

Jessica Hische

Portrait of the family, © Rasmus Andersson

What are the most important things Jessica Hische wants everyone to know? One: that every letter in her books is hand-drawn, first in pencil, then in Illustrator or Procreate. Other than the glyphs in the font packages, each letter is a unique work of art. Two: that she hopes that the kids (and grown-ups) on your gift list will make their own fancy letters. And have lots of fun doing it.

With Hische, even an interview can be lots of fun.

Images courtesy of Jessica Hische, except where noted.

The post Letters are Magic in Jessica Hische’s New Children’s Book appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Arlen Schumer may not have indulged in the ice milk ritual, but he is proud to have joined the fanbase at the same time, when he was 4-and-a-half years old. A comics-style illustrator by profession, he remained a loyal fan well into his twenties, at which time he stepped over the line separating substance from. imagination and became an expert. By expert I mean he has published two books, writes profusely and lectures extensively on “The Twilight Zone.” His latest, The Five Themes of The Twilight Zone, is a collection of astute essays on the over- and under-currents of the show’s essential plots.

He is reluctant, however, to allow himself the “expert” moniker.

“The first visual image I can recall in my childhood was seeing the black-and-white ‘Twilight Zone’ ‘eyeball’ in outer space, from the series’ 1963 opening.” Years later, in junior high school, “I remember having to write a paper on an American artist for English class, and chose the sculptor George Segal, whose ghostly white plaster figures made from real people’s molds, I wrote, had a ‘Twilight Zone’ feeling. Then, in high school, we had to make a 16mm short film, and I basically made my little version of the classic ‘Twilight Zone’ episode ‘Eye of the Beholder,’ about the hideously ugly woman getting plastic surgery (she’s revealed to be beautiful, while all the doctors and nurses, previously seen only in shadows, were pig-faced creatures themselves).”

In his film, he played the central character. So I’d say he’s an expert.

I have watched the “Twilight Zone” marathon on New Year’s eve and day ever since Syfy began doing it. I suspect Schumer has done the same. But that’s not what I asked him about in the interview below. I am more interested in how his new, insightful book came together. So put your reading goggles on, you are about to enter a discussion that we call “The Twilight Zone.”

How long have you been a “Twilight Zone” expert?
In the fall of 1980, I’m fresh out of Rhode Island School of Design (having majored in graphic design) and working in New York City in the art department of PBS’ flagship station, WNET Channel 13. I hear through the pop culture grapevine that Bantam Books was going to publish a book, The Twilight Zone Companion, an episode guide to the series (at the time, there was only one book about a television show, 1968’s The Making of Star Trek). Immediately I imagined that if I were art director/designer of such a book about my favorite TV series of all time, I would art direct/design “the concrete book,” in which every aspect of a book’s design, from font selection to page layouts, should reflect its subject matter. Ergo, a book about a surreal black-and-white television show like “The Twilight Zone” should have the look and feel of a small black-and-white television set—and its beautiful black-and-white television images should be treated like black-and-white art photography.

So in my after hours at Channel 13, I created an accordion-style folded book dummy/proposal with those concepts, and sent it off to Bantam. They promptly returned it with a short note thanking me for my interest, [but] they were going to design the book in-house. Though obviously disappointed, I realized that their book would be a trade paperback of mostly text, accompanied by black-and-white publicity photos shot off set back in the day—certainly not the type of hardcover coffee table art book I wanted to do.

That set me on a 10-year odyssey to get my (first) book about “The Twilight Zone” published, which would happen in 1990 with Chronicle Books (San Francisco). [That was]Visions From The Twilight Zone, in which I also transcribed dialogue and narration excerpts from the run of “The Twilight Zone,” ones that contained the philosophical and metaphysical aspects of the series, then typeset and designed them to read like poetry. [They were] “illustrated” by images I had photographed right off a black-and-white TV screen, in an attempt to graphically communicate the scan-lined nature of the television image itself. But it was during that 10-year trek that I was introduced to you (Steven Heller) in the fall of 1987, when you were still art director of The New York Times Book Review, by the editor of PRINT magazine, whom I had pitched (successfully) the idea of PRINT doing a special issue on the recent explosion of comic book art and graphic novels (caused by the 1986 confluence of Art Spiegelman’s Maus, Alan Moore’s Watchmen, and Frank Miller’s epic, The Dark Knight Returns).

PRINT sent me to you because you were going to write one of the articles in the special issue. When we met, I showed you my portfolio of graphic design and illustrations, as well as my Twilight Zone book dummy that I had been schlepping around throughout the decade to various agents and editors, with no success. But as soon as you saw it, you lit up—because you were a massive “Twilight Zone” fan! You immediately asked me if I had ever lectured on Rod Serling’s legendary series—I hadn’t—but nevertheless invited me to put together a lecture about “The Twilight Zone” for a Fall ’88 symposium you organized for the School of Visual Arts, “Modernism and Eclecticism”!

That lecture at the SVA symposium was my first professional lecture, and the first of so many live multimedia presentations (and eventually webinars) on various aspects of “The Twilight Zone” I’ve been doing ever since. But it was only after that first lecture that I could honestly call myself a ‘Twilight Zone’ expert”!

I presume that you’ve seen every episode, including the inferior hour-long ones?
Of course, because I was a kid who grew up on “The Twilight Zone” through reruns. I must’ve seen every episode (there were 156) the proverbial thousand times since, more for the episodes I like/love (68, the number of essays in my book, The Five Themes of The Twilight Zone) than those I don’t, which include 15 of the 18 one-hour episodes that you noted were indeed “inferior.”

I presume you had to do a lot more TV watching for the new book?
So even though I have seen all those 68 “Twilight Zone” episodes the proverbial thousand times, I re watched them all freshly for my book, while taking copious notes, and then incorporated any related outside research and input I collected, allowing for the many allusions and insights into the surrounding past and present social and popular culture—and both high and low art—that these rich “Twilight Zone” episodes riffed on and provoked in me, and out of me. If I’ve succeeded, even the most ardent aficionados of the series will glean something, learn something, feel something fresh and/or different about “Twilight Zone” episodes they’ve known and loved for years, or decades, causing them to see those episodes anew.

If Rod Serling had not died, how much longer do you think he’d have been able to keep the series going?
Well, “The Twilight Zone” had ended back in 1964, and was never revived, up until Serling passed at the age of 50 (from all those cigarettes he smoked!) in 1975. But had he lived, he would’ve seen the enormous and ubiquitous influence “The Twilight Zone” had on a new generation of television and filmmakers, directors, authors and artists of all types, who didn’t really emerge until after Serling’s death: the Steven Spielbergs, the Stephen Kings, the David Lynches and James Camerons and J.J. Abramses, and so many more, all of them Serling’s metaphorical children, whose creative imaginations were sparked by his brainchild when they were teenagers. And had that happened, I’m convinced that the original network [of “The Twilight Zone”], CBS, would have revived the show with Serling at the helm in the early 1980s—instead of the couple of horrible “new” “Twilight Zone” syndicated series that were actually produced in ’85 and 2000, both entirely dismissible (as was the recent new “Twilight Zone” one hour series that aired on CBS’ streaming service for two seasons in 2019–2020, creatively led by writer/director Jordan Peele, who was given the keys to Serling’s kingdom because of the success of the very “Twilight Zone”-ish film Peele wrote and directed in 2017, Get Out).

You declare in your new title that five themes exist in Serling’s portfolio. What are they?
With this book, I was inspired to curate what I thought were the best episodes of “The Twilight Zone,” collected in a framework that would separate my “greatest hits” of the series into distinct themes that would encompass the diversity—and similarity—of the best episodes by Serling and company. Of course, one can argue that there are more than just five themes of “The Twilight Zone” that the breadth of its 156 episodes would suggest, but I decided rather quickly on the following five, almost as if they suggested themselves: “Science and Superstition,” “Suburban Nightmares,” “A Question of Identity,” “Obsolete Man,” and “The Time Element.” (Of the five, “Suburban Nightmares” is the only one I coined that does not have a direct “Twilight Zone” connection; bonus points for recognizing that “A Question of Identity” comes from dialogue spoken by the protagonist of [the show’s] debut episode, “Where is Everybody?”)

Which five episodes are your favorites?
Asking me to choose even five of the greatest “Twilight Zone” episodes is like, yes, having to choose your favorite child. But duty calls: For the theme “Science and Superstition,” I would choose the first episode (Oct. 2, 1959), Rod Serling’s “Where is Everybody?” about an amnesiac trapped in a totally deserted American town, without any knowledge of how he got there. After a series of harrowing experiences, he’s revealed to be an astronaut in training, in an isolation tank for two weeks to simulate a solo space trip to the moon and back—and so the entire episode was his nervous breakdown delusion, visualized for us, the viewers, upsetting the tacit agreement between creator and audience that what you’ve been watching was “real.” It’s the first great “Twilight Zone” twist ending that the series became renowned for, and perhaps the most perfect pilot episode in television history, in that it included virtually all the existential and surreal motifs that “The Twilight Zone” would become associated with: isolation, fear of the unknown, confusion with mannequins, hallucinogenic delusions that seem all too real. “Suburban Nightmares”: Rod Serling’s acute ability to identify both primal and Postwar American fears and crises, then build stories around them, set in commonplace surroundings—a psycho-American Gothic of sorts is perhaps the single factor most responsible for the success and longevity of “The Twilight Zone.”

Ergo I would choose “The Hitch-Hiker” that Serling, a master adapter (a dozen of his 41 episodes represented in my book are adaptations), based on the 1941 radio play by Lucille Fletcher (of “Sorry, Wrong Number” fame), about a woman (the incandescent Inger Stevens) driving cross-country from New York to Los Angeles, plagued all the while by the recurring sight of a foreboding, dark-suited man hitching a ride. At the end of the episode she comes to realize she’s been dead the entire time (shades of Bruce Willis in M. Night Shyamalan’s The Sixth Sense!), killed in a highway blowout back in Pennsylvania, and the hitchhiker was, of course, Death personified.

“A Question of Identity”: When author Jonathan Lethem wrote in the online journal Gadfly in 1999, “What Serling created was a homegrown vernacular of alienation, identity slippage and paranoia … the titles of the best episodes read like a found poem of All-American dread,” he might’ve been thinking of the dehumanizing dread inherent in the chilling, clinical title of the great Charles Beaumont’s “Twilight Zone” episode, “Person or Persons Unknown.” It’s a taut, tense, noir-ish tale in which he posits his take on “Twilight Zone” creator Serling’s “worst fear of all … the fear of the unknown working on you, which you cannot share with others.” In doing so, Beaumont writes the quintessential episode of one of The Five Themes of The Twilight Zone, about “a man who has just lost his most valuable possession … the matter of his identity,” to quote from Serling’s on-screen introduction. “Obsolete Man” is Rod Serling’s most recurring theme throughout his career—alienation of the individual through bigotry, racism and corporate and technological oppression. In this quintessential Serling “Twilight Zone” tale of a near-future totalitarian state where individualism is scorned and books are banned, a librarian is condemned to death by the fascistic chancellor of “The State,” with its most memorable, monotone mantra, “YOU ARE OBSOLETE!”

“The Time Element”: If time travel was a cornerstone of “The Twilight Zone,” a dimension Serling described as “timeless as infinity,” a strong case can be made for his first-season episode “Walking Distance” being not only the best time travel episode of the series, but the best episode of “The Twilight Zone,” period. Serling’s most autobiographical episode, about a thirty-something Madison Avenue adman who can’t take the rat race, and returns to his upstate New York hometown (Serling grew up in Binghamton), where he literally walks back in time and visits himself as a boy. In all facets of television production—concept, story, dialogue, acting, direction, photography, lighting, editing, music (one of the great Bernard Herrmann’s greatest soundtracks)—”Walking Distance” is simply a masterpiece, the Citizen Kane of television.

We have “Black Mirror” on TV. But could “Twilight Zone” be made as well today? Or are these episodes locked in the prison of time?
The British anthology television series “Black Mirror” (which debuted in 2011, with only 27 episodes over six seasons), stories about technology run amok, is literally the only post-original “Twilight Zone” series to deserve the branding of “a 21st-century ‘Twilight Zone’”— because Black Mirror has a unique, singular vision stemming from a single creator, just like Serling vis-a-vis “The Twilight Zone,” Charlie Brooker, the creator, showrunner and head writer of “Black Mirror.” While his series has its fair share of clunkers like Serling’s had, “Black Mirror” has more than a handful of great, brilliant episodes that measure up to the pedigree of “The Twilight Zone.” So in a way, “Black Mirror” is filling the void where a new “Twilight Zone” series should rightfully be. As previously mentioned, CBS’ 2019 2020 attempt to revive the series on its streaming service with writer/director Jordan Peele as showrunner was a creative flop. I’ve always thought the brilliantly bizarre David Lynch was Serling’s only legitimate heir his two greatest films, 1985’s Blue Velvet and 2001’s Mulholland Drive, are both “Twilight Zone”-esque fever dreams, not to mention the two versions (1990 and 2018) of his sui generis TV series “Twin Peaks”—and therefore would make perhaps the perfect host and showrunner of a new “Twilight Zone” television series. I can dream, can’t I?

As to whether my great “Twilight Zone” episodes are “locked in the prison of time,” I take issue with the premise of the question itself—because like all great art in any medium or genre, the 68 episodes I write about in The Five Themes of The Twilight Zone are both of their time, and timeless, their ideas and issues and morals and messages that Serling and his fellow writers imbued in their 25-minute meditations on all the great themes since man first told stories, still speak to us and our societal and interpersonal concerns in the 21st century, 65 years after “The Twilight Zone” debuted. Buy the complete series on DVD, or stream it on CBS’ Paramount Plus, and use my book as a viewer’s guide; watch each episode as I’ve ordered and organized them, then read each one’s essay, and see if you don’t agree.

Click here for tickets to Schumer’s New York City screening and book signing on Oct. 27. And to order a signed copy, click here.

The post The Daily Heller: Your Next Stop, The Twilight Zone appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

In today’s rapidly evolving creative landscape, the importance of collaborative teams and de-siloing design departments is becoming increasingly clear. As agencies seek to break down barriers between creative, strategy, and design, the role of design has shifted from a final aesthetic touch to a core driver of the entire process. At McCann NY, design is not just a service but an integral part of the creative journey, embedded within the agency’s core teams. By fostering cross-department collaboration, McCann has created a culture where design not only informs the work but also elevates it, challenging traditional agency models. This approach has resulted in more cohesive brand identities and inventive campaigns that drive meaningful client outcomes. I was thrilled to chat with McCann New York’s Shayne Millington, chief creative officer (left), and Matt van Leeuwen, head of design (right), to discuss the transformative impact of de-siloing design within McCann and the lessons other agencies can learn from their approach.

In what ways does McCann Design integrate design processes throughout the agency and within various departments?

Shayne Millington (SM):
At McCann, design is not an afterthought. It’s not just there to make things look pretty or to dress up a deck at the end of a project. From day one, our goal has been to make design a true partner in the creative process. 

We are becoming more visually driven, so design has become a necessity rather than a nice to have. It is crucial to a brand or agency’s success. Our team of about 20 designers is deeply embedded within the agency. They are present in every corner of our business, from new business pitches to social strategy.  

To make sure the practice is integrated, you can’t overlook where they are physically placed within the agency. That is why our designers sit alongside our creatives—at the center of where everything happens. This isn’t a separate department tucked away somewhere. It’s an integral part of our creative brain, collaborating closely with the teams to shape work that’s both visually compelling and conceptually powerful. 

For us at McCann, design is about making things that challenge people to look twice, experience things deeper, and connect with brands in unexpected ways.

How does McCann Design’s de-siloing approach challenge the traditional agency model, and what specific benefits have you observed from integrating design across all aspects of your work?

Matt van Leeuwen (ML):
In the traditional agency model, design and creative operate separately or not at all. And often times, the design team is siloed and brought in after the fact. On the other hand, if you’re working with a brand design agency, what often happens is that they will design the brand identity, then hand it off to the creative agency, who will take it and often times break the rules by giving it its own spin. It’s not efficient. Coming from a branding background, the disconnect comes when the work is different than what we designers intended.  

SM:
At McCann, we knew we wanted to take a different approach. With timelines getting shorter, we noticed that the craft and experimentation were starting to become an afterthought. So we took a different yet simple approach. We combined creativity and design under one roof with McCann Design embedded within the creative teams. We’ve brought on some of the best brand designers in the industry and have created culture-defining work for our clients like TJ Maxx with its first custom font inspired by its logo, Smirnoff’s entire global design system, and the Last Prisoner Project’s Pen to Right History campaign.

ML:
It creates exciting work, but also new ways of working and types of work. We are currently helping multiple clients with the design of their brand identity. When you combine that, with crazy cool creative ideas, the sky is the limit.

In an industry often segmented by specialized departments, how has McCann Design’s commitment to removing silos transformed the way you collaborate internally and deliver value to clients?

SM:
Designers are some of the most conceptual people in the industry. We include design from the beginning of every project. From conception to execution, it’s a collaboration between the teams. It allows for greater debate and challenges the work and learning on both sides. You start to see the lines blur and that is when you know it is working. 

The success of this is creating new opportunities within the agency. We have begun to take on design specific assignments and are entering new areas with our client’s business. In the last year, we have been embedded in all of our clients’ design systems and brand architecture.

ML:
I think of creative and design as cross-pollination, inspiring and challenging each other. For the client, design is an awesome added value; we can truly look at a client’s brand in a holistic manner. From the communication side and the purer brand side, we are bridging those worlds.

Can you share a case study or project where de-siloing had a significant impact on the outcome? What lessons did you learn from that experience that could inform other agencies looking to make similar changes?

ML:
Our work for TJ Maxx on their visual identity is a great example of creative and design collaboration from the beginning. Surprisingly it didn’t start as an identity exercise. Our work was born out of our campaign work. We noticed that the retail space TJ Maxx was operating in, was flooded with Helvetica typography. So we wanted to change that – especially as designers, we wanted to create something unique and ownable for the brand. We proposed something simple; a bespoke typeface, born out of their iconic wordmark. 

The simplicity of the typeface, designed with Jeremy Mickel, forced us to revisit the identity. We couldn’t typeset things the old way. Step by step, we are working through the visual world of TJ Maxx, ultimately resulting in new brand guidelines. In parallel, we are developing campaigns in the same new look. It’s extremely exciting, the way this all comes together. 

To me, it’s living proof that silos don’t have to exist, but we can operate fluidly.  

SM:
Another great example is our most recent work for the New York Lottery. As its agency of record for the last decade, we’ve produced some of the category’s most impactful campaigns. Now, we are incorporating ideas around the design for the scratch cards (most recently for the “Grande” games) that align with the creative communication allowing for a much more holistic and surprising way to engage with the brand.

As agencies continue to evolve, what do you believe are the most pressing challenges to fully integrating design across all functions, and how is McCann Design addressing these challenges?

SM:
One of the most pressing challenges is breaking down the siloes between departments and fostering a culture where design isn’t just an afterthought – it’s a core driver of the creative. When you include more creative voices in the conversation, something amazing happens. It ignites the culture of the agency. The conversations get richer and the solutions become more unexpected. You can move quicker, and the community grows. It’s because you are bringing new experts with new capabilities and new energy to the table, which allows for impactful creativity to flourish.

In the last two years, with Matt heading up the McCann Design practice, we’ve done that. Built design from the ground up – the team, the capabilities – a home for design to shine and a culture where design is celebrated.

ML:
It’s very hard to explain the amount of craft and time that goes into design. The development of a visual narrative, the workings of color, typography, and image. It’s a delicate exercise that doesn’t always abide by the same timeframe of let’s say a campaign idea. So, time. Time to develop, tinker, and play, is of extreme importance. I like to say that design is a playground. We don’t have a house style. We don’t operate within a fixed framework. Every project is unique with its own set of challenges. With all those variables, it’s important to create time to make the best work. If we truly are creating a playground for design, we need to make the time to play.

Bring design into the process as early as possible. This gives designers the time they need to create and iterate throughout the creative process.

How does the de-siloing of design at McCann Design influence your agency’s creative process and strategic thinking? What role does leadership play in fostering a culture of integration and collaboration?

SM:
As soon as a project kicks off, my first question is – where is design? I bring them in from the beginning and they are with us for the journey. Collaboration across all departments is key to getting the best creative product.

McCann Design has been recognized by Fast Company’s Innovation by Design Awards, MONOCLE’s Design Awards, and leading industry creative accolades like ADC’s Best in Show, Designism, Best of Discipline in Typography, Cannes Lion for Design Driven Effectiveness, Epica’s Grand Prix, and One Show’s Best of Discipline, to name a few, and there’s no doubt that their approach to collaborative creativity is a reason for these accolades.

I’m all about tearing down walls, and I have no doubt that more agencies and big corporations will follow suit—especially with today’s remote, agile workforce making it easier than ever to rethink how we work together.

The post De-Siloing Design: McCann Reimagines Collaboration in the Creative Process appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The narrative is all too common in this country: an old building steeped in history gets demolished, only to be replaced by a cookie-cutter “luxury” apartment complex, filled with grey flooring and chrome cabinetry. There’s little to be done about the fate of most of these buildings, but what if they got one last hurrah before their demise? And what if that last hurrah benefited the artists and creative community within that city?

This was the very concept concocted by the RiNo Art District in Denver, CO, when they created their NO VACANCY program in 2021. The initiative partners with real estate developers to provide local artists with funding and studio space in Denver buildings that are slated for demolition. The innovative artist residency program transforms these vacant warehouses into temporary studios for vibrant installations and has paid out more than $100K to local Denver artists to date.

The third and most recent iteration of NO VACANCY wrapped earlier this month, in which 10 artists were provided a $5,000 stipend along with two months of free studio space at two buildings in Denver, courtesy of Uplands Real Estate Partners.

Upon hearing of NO VACANCY, the idea seemed like a complete no-brainer to me, that should be replicated across the country. I recently had the pleasure of speaking with RiNo Art District Executive Director of Programs and Partnerships Alye Sharp and Programs Manager Kiah Butcher about the impact of NO VACANCY on the artists they host and on the Denver arts scene at large. I was also able to chat with two artists who were in the midst of their residency at NO VACANCY, artisan, seamstress, and crafter Kate Major and musician Marcus Moody, about their experiences with the program. My conversations are below, lightly edited for clarity and length.

Alye and Kiah, can you shed more light on the genesis of NO VACANCY and its mission? 

AS: One of the main parts of the mission of the RiNo Art District is carving out and preserving space for artists in the community, and providing them with paid opportunities. So back in 2021, one of our board members was like, “Hey, I have this warehouse, it’s just sitting empty. It’s going to be demolished soon, but would you have any use for it in the meantime?” And our first reaction was a resounding “Yes!” We had no idea what we were going to do with it, but then we decided to make a temporary art installation and provide working space for artists. 

This is the third iteration of NO VACANCY, and they’ve always looked a little different year to year based on the space. In that first iteration, we did four months of four artists each month, so 16 total artists, along with an immersive theater group who did pop-ups throughout the four-month residency. 

KB: I’m new, so this is my first experience working with NO VACANCY. Coming from the fine arts world, and having worked in contemporary art museums, the thing that most artists need is space, time, and resources. Then, providing a pretty healthy stipend and budget for all of the artists to really utilize that space and time to the greatest effect, is such a gift to give to the community. 

NO VACANCY is the gift that keeps on giving, because it’s bringing art, it’s bringing awareness, it’s showcasing all the different wonderful expertise in art, cooking, sewing, whatever, in the district itself. 

So with each iteration of NO VACANCY, there’s a different empty building that’s slated for demolition you’re able to use for the residency? 

AS: Yeah— it’s kind of a bummer that ultimately these buildings are coming down, which speaks to the Art District as a whole; we’re in a rapidly gentrifying area. It’s our way of giving one last breath of life to these cool, old warehouse spaces and helping write their final chapter. We’ve gotten a little goofy with it; we had a funeral for the last building to send it off. But it’s a beautiful thing too, that artists get the last chapter in these spaces. 

It’s our way of giving one last breath of life to these cool, old warehouse spaces, and helping write their final chapter.

Alye Sharp

KB: Historically, these areas in Denver were the hub for so many artists, because there were affordable spaces within the warehouses. All of these buildings have so much history with artists and creatives in the area, and so it just feels like a good nod to historic Denver, bringing artists back into them. 

I’d imagine the concept also allows the artists to really let loose and create with reckless abandon since the buildings are coming down anyway. 

AS: Yes, go wild! That’s become the joke; we say, do whatever you want in here! Be safe, but fuck it up!

That must be so refreshing, even for the artists who have access to a space or a studio setup, where there might be rigid rules around what they can and cannot do. Only certain types of artists doing certain types of work are allowed in certain spaces, so it’s great that NO VACANCY encourages doing things that others wouldn’t allow. What’s better as an artist than to have the stamp of approval to be free?

KB: There’s nothing more exciting than just pure potential, right?

What sort of criteria do you use when selecting artists for the residency? 

KB: This year, we had massive interest; we had about 200 artists submit proposals. We then had a selection committee of RiNo staff, local artists, and previous NO VACANCY artists go through and decide which artists would work well within the space, but also complement each other. They work through demographics, mediums, what level in your career you’re at, if you’re more emerging, if you’re a more experienced artist, to try to find and curate the correct people that can work together and have a focus on community. 

Trying to define and figure out which of those artists would work well together is a big part of that puzzle piece because it’s a hugely collaborative residency. It’s ten people in a building, and you have to work together; you’re sharing space and resources, so it’s good to be mindful of that collaborative and community-forward-thinking artist.

I’d think that one of the best aspects of working in the space is the synergy with the other creatives. I’m a sign painter in addition to my writing work, and up until recently I was painting in a classroom with a lot of other sign painters for the last two years, and it was so much more exciting than now. I’m not in that class anymore, and I’m just lonely!

KB: I’m a curator and a video artist as well, and video art is always so collaborative, so it’s always pretty inherent in that practice. It’s pushing people to realize that they can do so much. Creativity knows no bounds when you work with others.

Creativity knows no bounds when you work with others.

Kiah Butcher

AS: I’d also add that, in the second year, a lot of the artists from the first year showed up to the openings to support and be like, “I’m so excited that you all are part of the alumni of this program now!” Some of them will ask to come in after the residency is over and add their own collaborations. It’s a really cool community. 

Why do you think Denver is particularly well-suited for the NO VACANCY program? 

KB: Denver is still a burgeoning art scene; it’s really rich and really connected, and there’s a lot more than people think, but it is still burgeoning. It’s still working its way to becoming something bigger than it is now. But because it’s in this particular state, I think people are more apt to be collaborative, they’re more apt to be supportive and work together. 

We all know working within the arts can be a bit cutthroat, but I think, specifically in Denver, “lift as you climb” is an ethos within the art community, because we’re all working to elevate the art scene itself. This residency, because it’s based in collaboration and community and also activating historic parts of Denver, so many people feel that emotional connection and that aspiration to be a little bit bigger and a little bit better. 

Specifically in Denver, “lift as you climb” is an ethos within the art community, because we’re all working to elevate the art scene itself.

Kiah Butcher

AS: The timing is good for something like this too. I like to joke that Denver is in its awkward teenage phase; we’re experiencing pretty exponential growth that really hasn’t slowed, so artists are also trying to carve out their space and find where they fit in a city that’s becoming rapidly unaffordable. So as much as we can take the role of helping create these opportunities and provide space for them to work that has no rules or boundaries around it, that’s our big goal with this project as well.

KB: It’s a great platform for artists too, because so much can come from it. When you have a space to showcase your work, you can start to invite gallerists, curators, museums, etc. to experience your work, and then it’s just moving forward from there.

Since NO VACANCY is dependent on a building opening up that you can use for each cycle, what is it like navigating that uncertainty when planning the next iteration?

AS: This hasn’t been a straight line, annual program, as much as we would like it to be. As these spaces come online or we get connected to a property owner, we have to move quickly to get all of our permits in place and get the call for artists out. We do try to set aside funding every year, just banking on the fact that we will find some opportunity. 

Our hope is that this program grows into something that’s more than just buildings that are going to be raised, but also existing buildings that are long for this world; how do we continue to try to carve out space for artists everywhere?

What aspect of NO VACANCY are you proudest of?

KB: Paying artists is the greatest gift ever, because so many people expect so much from artists on such little pay. Being able to give to artists, because they always give back, is really fulfilling. Putting funding where it’s really important for the arts and culture, especially when it comes to the vibrancy and the health of the city.

AS: I’ve been involved in the RiNo Art District for almost ten years, and this is, by far, my favorite project that we do; it’s just an all-around feel-good project. When you come to one of the openings and events, there’s so much diversity of art that’s happening in the space, it really does kind of bring me to tears. Seeing everyone all together in the space, and everybody’s having an amazing time, and just being themselves; we usually have drag performers in there! It’s just a really cool thing.

I think the fact that we’re in a building, making all of this stuff, putting so much energy into it, and we’re just going to demolish it. That’s amazing.

Artist Marcus Moody

Kate and Marcus, how did you first discover NO VACANCY, and why did you decide to apply?

KM: A friend of mine, Shadows Gather, who I believe was an artist in the first year of NO VACANCY, sent me a link and was like, “You need to apply.” Shadows is a photographer in the Denver area, and she’s come to a lot of the fashion shows I’ve put on. She was like, “I think you would do amazing things here. I think you could do so much cool stuff.” And she’s right!

MM: I was doom-scrolling and I saw an ad, and there was something about it, it really popped out, it just had an energy to it. Then, the more I read about it, I was like, “Oh, we’re gonna get a warehouse? It’s gonna get demolished? Impermanence?” It was all these things that are big themes in my work right now; coming out of impermanence on more of the resurgence, resurrection side, really examining the grief of change. 

I think the fact that we’re in a building, making all of this stuff, putting so much energy into it, and we’re just going to demolish it. That’s amazing.

KM: I love that too!

MM: I’m really happy to be here. It really fell into place. And some of the work being done in this warehouse… It’s wild. 

What has the collaborative nature of the residency and working amongst the other artists been like for you so far? 

KM: I do a lot of wearable art—costumes, fashion, I tend to even be weirder than fashion—so inherently I need somebody to wear it, it has to be collaborative or it’s nothing. Clothes are nothing without people to wear them. I love having a building full of people, and I can be like, “Put this on! Let me see it!” It’s fabulous.

Denver is so great for collaborating. I’m from New York where we don’t talk to each other, we’re actively trying to bring each other down, because it’s so cutthroat. But here in Denver, everybody wants to be together. They want to help each other. Like if I have a show, I’m going to have a friend put in work too. We want to build each other up. I had a friend come by the site yesterday, and they said, “The vibe in here is so good.” And it really is. Everyone’s the best.

MM: The vibes in the warehouse are great. It’s very honest, vulnerable, and safe. It’s been beautiful. Kate’s making a head for me! I’ve never been around anybody who had the skill, and then to be curated into a group of people who have all of the skills that I feel like I need right now, I’m just like, alright, universe, God, Buddha, whatever, thank you. I’m really excited to even just take photos with it! 

It’s been very intimate because what I’ve been asked to do with my music is intimate. Like Nadia, we’re collaborating on putting her father’s poetry into a song. To me, that’s intimate as hell. But that’s the kind of work I want to do, I want to make stories out of this stuff, and I’ve always wanted them to be stories that mean something to people. 

What has been the most unexpected value of NO VACANCY so far?

KM: I have more ideas than I could possibly do in the amount of time, which kind of surprises me. I’m working toward the pitch that I put into the application, but then I’m like, Oh, so I could do this! And also, I could do this! And I think that speaks to the potential of a raw building that has no potential anymore— it’s slated for demolition, but we’re making it a fun, cool space to hang. I didn’t expect that. 

MM: It’s like when you get really bad news, and you know you can’t do anything about it. There’s this moment of acceptance, and this makes me think of that. That moment in grief when you’ve found out that your thing is going to be destroyed— how are you going to act in the meantime? What this project teaches is you can make something beautiful, you can still do something that’s never been done. And I think that’s an awesome message. That’s the unexpected thing: this connection to grief, and I’m understanding mine more, even before we finish the process. It’s been emotional as hell.

The post Denver’s NO VACANCY Lets Artists Write the Last Chapter of Buildings Set for Demolition appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Miller’s new historical memoir, Here: Where the Black Designers Are, is part of this topical resurgence with Cheryl Miller at the helm, but it’s also the story of a woman coming into her purpose, a reflection on all she’s learned, and a passing of the baton to the next generation. Steven Heller and Debbie Millman will discuss the book with Miller at our next PRINT Book Club on Thursday, October 17.

Miller and I chatted recently; excerpts from our conversation are below.

Advocacy and activism are just part of Cheryl Miller’s DNA. Growing up in Washington D.C. (her father, what she called a “highbrow negro politician”), Miller’s upbringing was somewhat insulated amidst the backdrop of Black nationalism, “I’m Black and I’m Proud,” and Nina Simone, her father scooting out the back door to attend the March on Washington. She was busy “dancing and graduating” when MLK was assassinated. “I was a kid,” Miller said, “I didn’t realize I was deep in a big part of history.”

Design was also a central theme of Miller’s childhood. Dansk flatware, ceramics, and jewelry filled her family home, carefully wrapped in local newspapers and shipped by her West Indian grandmother, a perfumier. The juxtaposition of the muted, minimalist, function-forward Scandinavian housewares with the newspapers’ Afro-Caribbean iconography and the family’s traditional, patterned textiles of the Danish West Indies (now the Virgin Islands), planted the seeds of design. However, she wouldn’t realize this until she landed in the commercial/graphic art program at MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art).

Often, we have to go back to move forward. We all have those foundational things that shape us, and if we’re listening and open to the world as adults, these things tend to bring us to our purpose. Talking about her childhood resonances made me curious. Miller’s career could’ve gone in a myriad of different directions. I wondered about those moments of change, choice, and struggle in Miller’s life—what, in hindsight, does she believe made the most significant impact?

One of those pivotal moments was the death of her father. Miller was in her first year of art school at RISD. “I went up to RISD to paint,” she says, utterly unaware of the conversations swirling around the school about the value of Black art, the ongoing civil and human rights violations, and the Vietnam War. Moving to Waspy New England from D.C. was a culture shock, and she felt the isolation of being one of very few African-American students. Her father would soon be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and would pass away ten months later. Miller moved closer to home, where she would study graphic design at MICA in Baltimore (the only regional school with a commercial art program). There, she met Leslie King-Hammond, a woman who would serve as her academic mentor (and still does).

Moving to New York with Phillip, the couple met in high school, was juncture number two. The move required her to leave her burgeoning broadcast design career in D.C. to start over essentially. Miller could’ve picked up the broadcast career in NYC without a beat—she had a tempting offer at ABC—but she felt the pull towards publication design. “I wanted the dream of what New York could be.” She contends that had she taken the ABC job (a job that, by any account, would’ve set her up for a successful and financially rewarding career), “I wouldn’t have made the contribution I did, had I taken it.” Miller decided to go to grad school instead, entering Pratt. Many of the things she’d seen at RISD and in Baltimore coalesced with what she was experiencing as a Black designer in NYC.

Being in New York really brought into light that Black designers were underexposed and under-educated in the field of graphic design. My community was suffering and I had something to say.

Cheryl D. Miller

On the cusp of finishing her graduate degree, her advisor threw her a gauntlet: instead of a graduate design project, Miller was to undertake a written thesis. She called King-Hammond, who encouraged her toward scholarship. “I started learning how to write history, about social justice. I started owning my skillset,” Miller said. “Leslie gave me the heart and the rigor for the work. The only way I was going to be able to make a difference was in the footnotes. Data and scholarship move the needle.”

Miller at the helm of her successful design studio, Cheryl D. Miller Design (1984-2000); In 1992, Miller was commissioned by NASA to create the poster for Dr. Mae Jeminson, America’s first African American woman astronaut.

I may not look radical, but I am.

Cheryl D. Miller

The third moment is our current moment, the resurgence of the social justice conversation in the wake of the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and far too many others. The next generation is asking many of the same questions as Miller and her peers have asked in their time, “There’s nothing new about this,” Miller contends. She readily admits that after fifty years in the business, she doesn’t expect that 3-4% representative number to jump up suddenly. “Where the Civil Rights Movement pushed the idea of equality, it didn’t mean that it would then be equitable,” she said. What is Miller’s prescription for what needs to happen now so our industry can bolster the equity of opportunity for Black creative talent? “We need to diversify design organization boards, we desperately need professors who are versed in a broader cultural perspective, we need more inclusive curricula, we need network affiliations that will offer us business opportunities, and we must carry on,” Miller said.

So, what would Miller like to dismantle in this time of sustained awareness and activism, her “Confederate statue”? “I want to take down the players who make you feel with intentionality that you’re not supposed to be here and the cult of the mid-century male designer,” Miller said. “It’s the imagery of my oppressor.”

But Miller is also an optimist, and she believes, as does Kamala Harris, “We’re not going back.” To close her book, Miller includes a quote from her commencement speech, an inspirational baton passing, to the RISD class of 2022:

Be better than the history I’ve traveled through and make your history far more inclusive and welcoming for everyone to encounter.

Cheryl D. Miller to RISD’s class of 2022

Cheryl Miller is still writing, researching, and advocating for recognizing and celebrating the Black designer and artisan’s contributions to society. Still, she’ll admit, “On this side of the story, I’ve done more finishing than starting.”

There is always more to do.

It is always essential to have people like Miller remind us to look and to see things as they are, not as they are curated for us.

I have only scratched the surface; there is much more to Cheryl Miller’s story. We hope you can join us next Thursday, October 17, for the first of two PRINT Book Club events this month!

The post “Be Better than the History I’ve Traveled,” a Chat with Cheryl D. Miller appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

My photography is deeply community-connected, so none of this is worth it if my community doesn’t feel rightfully represented.

Los Angeles-based photographer Thalia Gochez bought her first camera at a flea market for a buck and never looked back. Raised just outside of LA in Pasadena in a Mexican-Salvadorian household, her Latine heritage is the central force behind her point of view as a photographer and the worlds she captures in her work. After seeking refuge in the art form while in college, Gochez unlocked the power of the medium for herself and has continued to hone her unique perspective as an image maker.

Coming upon Gochez’s recent collaboration with stylist Kaamilah Thomas in a series entitled “Yo Soy Latina,” I was instantly entranced by her subjects and the love she so clearly bathed each within in every photo. I had to reach out to learn more about her journey and ethos as a photographer; her responses to my questions are below.

When did you first get into photography? What inspired you to pick up the camera?

I’m self-taught and started taking photographs back in 2017. Photography found me when I needed it most. I never really excelled in academia, but decided to go to my local community college to take some courses that were of interest; I took a fashion styling class and started to find my creativity.

During an assignment for the class, I had to work closely with a photographer for a photoshoot I conceptualized. I couldn’t help but feel an urge to take the camera away from him and start taking the photographs myself. The next day I went to my local flea market and got a film camera for a dollar. After that, I started taking photographs every chance I could, like in between my two jobs, before school, after school, truly whenever. 

Simultaneously, I was going through a lot of anxiety, and I realized photography was the only time I was truly able to live in the moment. It’s been a huge source of liberation for me. 

How would you describe your personal aesthetic and style as a photographer? 

It’s really important to me to always photograph style and story. I’ve always been interested in photographing beyond a fashion-led visual, to honor and highlight various BIPOC identities and experiences. I’d say my photographic aesthetic is docu-style, with a fashion editorial contemporary twist.

There’s a palpable warmth, intimacy, and love infused in your work. How have you achieved this, both from a technical photography standpoint and in terms of the person-to-person trust with your subjects?

I always say our greatest photography tool is to engage in genuine conversation. In my first year of image making, I used a cheap, $1 Minolta film camera. It’s never been about the equipment, but more about learning the story and connecting with people beyond when the cameras are turned on.

I always say our greatest photography tool is to engage in genuine conversation.

If I’m building genuine connection and community, the photos will always be the bonus. A lot of times I’m photographing folks in environments that they are connected to and rooted in; the location mirrors their identity. I view the location as another talent, always trying to highlight it the way I would highlight a model. 

I love a soft, even light and I tend to go warmer to highlight the subject’s gorgeous skin tone. 

How do you find and identify the people you shoot? What’s that process like? What details or characteristics about someone typically catch your photography eye?

Casting is super important to me; it’s the foundation of every photoshoot. 

Who I’m photographing informs the creative. 

Who I’m photographing informs the location. 

Who I’m photographing gives the project a heartbeat and pulse.

I’m always interested in photographing all BIPOC identities and tend to gravitate toward women-identifying individuals because that’s who I feel I connect with most organically.

Casting varies depending on the project, but sometimes it’s a friend of a friend, a cousin, someone I find on social media or someone I scout on the street around my neighborhood. A lot of times I feel like we find each other and the project just unfolds so naturally. I find that a lot of the projects I create focus on evoking a sense of nostalgia, so typically what interests my photographic eye is highlighting the latine experience. It’s often a deeply shared lived experience amongst many people.

I first discovered your work through your “Yo Soy Latina” series. Can you tell me a bit about that project specifically– how it came about, your vision, collaborating with stylist Kaamilah Thomas, the execution, etc?

Kaamilah and I were fans of each other and had such a genuine urge to collaborate. She told me a bit about her Afro-Latina side, and how she wanted to highlight that in some way for a project. I instantly knew this was something I wanted to highlight as well.

Historically, we often only see white or light complexion Latinas represented in mainstream media. Our goal was to honor and celebrate deeper complexion Latina identities. Through months of planning, “Yo Soy Latina” was born. It was a true collaboration in every sense of the word. We connected on styling, hair, casting, make-up— every aspect of the photoshoot was collaborative.

Kaamilah is an incredibly talented person and took the styling to another level. It was always important to me to incorporate culturally specific items that wouldn’t be traditionally fashionable into the creative. The creative was meant to feel very nostalgic but with a contemporary twist. It’s truly some of my favorite work I’ve done this year.

What sort of experience do you hope viewers of your photographs have? What are you hoping to communicate with your images? 

I hope the viewers feel the love and care I have for the people I photograph. 

I hope the right people feel represented and beautiful. 

I hope I inspire others to create with integrity and respect. 

I hope the people I photograph feel properly honored and their story never gets misconstrued. 

My photography is deeply community-connected, so none of this is worth it if my community doesn’t feel rightfully represented.

The post Thalia Gochez Honors Latine Identity Through Her Immersive Photographs appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

For more on Steven Heller, you can also read PRINT’s recent interview with Heller, his wife Louise Fili, and their son Nicolas Heller (aka New York Nico). Grab a coffee or a cup of tea, the Heller-Fili family roundtable is worth a diversion.

Welcome to the DesignThinkers Podcast! Join host and RGD President Nicola Hamilton as she digs into the archives of the DesignThinkers conference, reconnecting with past speakers about their talks and ideas that have shaped Canada’s largest graphic design conference. Follow the RGD on Instagram @rgdcanada or visit them at rgd.ca. Purchase tickets to the upcoming DesignThinkers conference at designthinkers.com.

The post DesignThinkers Podcast: Steven Heller appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The exhibition is co-curated by Sadie Williams, director of the Ralph Steadman Art Collection (and Steadman’s daughter), and Andrea Lee Harris, curatorial and exhibitions coordinator. Also available is a beautiful full-color, eponymous 207-page companion publication.

Below, Williams and Steadman tell us more.

Sadie, as co-curator and also Ralph’s daughter, how did this exhibition come together?
Williams: Between 2016 and 2019 we were touring a retrospective of 110 original artworks to venues in the USA, including the Society of Illustrator in New York and the Jordan Schnitzer Art Museum in Eugene, OR. It was incredibly well-received, but in 2020 the pandemic meant we had to cancel the last two venues. That exhibition was sponsored by United Therapeutics because their incredible CEO, Martine Rothblatt, is a fan and has become a friend over the years.

Early in 2023, Martine said she would like to see a new exhibition put together and that, once again, United Therapeutics would sponsor it. It was great to assemble the team again including co-ordinator Andrea Harris (she’s a force of nature), and start booking in venues. It is so special to launch it at the AU [American University] Museum, where we had such an amazing reception in 2017, and also get the Bates College Museum of Art in Maine into the schedule, as that was one of the venues we had to cancel.

Was the scope of the material always as retrospective and encompassing?
Williams: Yes, we always planned it would be a retrospective, but last time I had less input, as the exhibition was originally curated by Anita O’Brien at the Cartoon Museum in London and then adjusted slightly to travel to the USA. This time I could put in some of my personal favorites and tell some different stories. The writers portrait section is a particular favorite, especially the portrait of Frederico Garcia Lorca. It is a collage using old pieces of backing sheets from Dad’s drawing board, which Dad has then drawn into. It is an intense piece and I love it.

How does it feel seeing the full measure of the work in real life and time?
Steadman: I did not realize how much I had done. I am a serial polluter. It is strange to see some of these pieces that I had almost forgotten I had done.

Williams: I hope people, even dedicated fans, will be surprised by the scope of his work. At the launch I overheard some ladies comment as they went around, “Surely, that’s not a Steadman?” It was very gratifying.

I worked with Ralph when I was art director of The New York Times Op-Ed page, so I’m fairly familiar with his political side and some of his apolitical narrative and fantasy work. What were the criteria for what would be included in the show?
Williams: Anita O’Brien did such an amazing job with the original exhibition that I used that as a template. I am quite practical in these things, and I find having something visual to work with very helpful. I literally took one of the old catalogues from the last exhibition and replaced like with like, sticking in print-outs of pieces to replace the existing ones with. Then I pulled in a few additional pieces to bulk out some areas, like the writers, and the presidents of the United States. Then Andrea came over for a week and helped edit it and add in some alternatives. Some choices are quite personal. Finally, we handed the mockup over to Dad and he made his comments. 

Ralph, you were influenced early on by Ronald Searle. Searle, of course, was less abrasive in his humor. How does your work differ otherwise?
Steadman: Searle was definitely an inspiration to me. I met him once and we drew each other. I think his drawing of me was kinder than mine of him, but he did not seem to mind. He is less messy than me. I just loved his wit and poise in what he did. There is an elegance to his work that really influenced me. 

What has been the public response to the exhibit and the more “angry” pieces?
Williams: So far, it’s all been great. I have not heard any negative comments, but then Trump has not seen his Rotten Blot portrait yet! You have to be ready for the criticisms, though. 

Steadman: Ugh, Trump is one of the worst human beings I have ever seen. I hope he gets upset by the drawing! But these are only drawings, after all; I am not physically hurting anyone. I hate bullies, and that is what I try to unmask. At school I had this terrible headmaster who regularly caned the boys, including me. It was terrifying. I have always carried that with me and the thought that “authority is the mask of violence,” and I loathe it

When the Rolling Stone/Hunter S. Thompson drawings were first published in the late 1960s, they represented the intense feelings of my generation—a kind of churning in the brain. How do they seem with the passage of time?
Steadman: I think we were both very driven back then. We were on our own mission to pull back the hypocrisies in politics and we jumped into every situation completely without fear or worry. Every drawing was a direct response to the situations we encountered and to Hunter’s writing. He just had this way of saying things that I responded to. Nobody could capture a moment quite like him. I miss him, a lot.

I’m also glad to see the “Paranoids.” They beg the question: Are there any other experiments now that digital media is so prevalent?
Steadman: I played around with Photoshop a bit. I used to use the paint bucket tool a bit, and it’s good that I can send images digitally now instead of sending the originals. That’s how so many went missing in the early days. They never got sent back. 

Williams: I know it’s a bit controversial, but we have done a few NFT projects, too. I love engaging with an entirely new audience, most of whom were not even born when the original artworks that we turn into NFTs were created. I am sure there is some irony in that. There is a place for them, and there is a very creative community working in that field, so I remain optimistic.

What is the future of the work on view? Where will it go next? Is there a provision made for securing and archiving this important collection?
Williams: Yes, we have three more venues lined up and are looking for more on the West Coast to take us through to 2027. I love traveling to these places I might not otherwise visit. Washington D.C. is iconic, of course, but I like visiting smaller, more obscure areas. I am excited to travel to Stillwater in Oklahoma next year.

We also have an archivist, Holly Craven, who researched and wrote all the copy for the exhibition catalogue, working on a full digital archive. It is a slow process, but we hope to be listing the beginnings of it in a dedicated online archive in a few months’ time. Also, we work with Bridgeman Images on licensing artworks and trying to get the art to realize its commercial potential. It is exciting to see works get a second or third life in that way.

The post The Daily Heller: “Serial Polluter” Ralph Steadman Gets the Last Laugh appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I haven’t watched SNL for decades (it’s past my bedtime) but was reminded of this milestone by Marlene Weisman, who was an in-house designer at the show for seven seasons (1988–1994).

These were classic years for the perennial NBC hit, and Marlene—who worked on on-air titles, parodies and props (not least of which included graphics for Wayne’s World)—was a pre-Mac master of hand-lettering, Letraset, phototypesetting, and even vinyl lettering machines.

The industry standards have come a long way since SNL began a half-century ago. I asked Weisman to recall those madcap golden days.

How did you get the job doing graphics for SNL?
After a few scrappy, punky years in the ’80s creating graphics for NYC music scene–related clients—The Bottom Line, Peppermint Lounge, Tramps, New Audiences, jazz concert promoters, a variety of indie bands, and the American branch of UK’s Stiff Records among them—I wanted to move on to something new.

I noticed an evening course being offered at SVA called “Creating Television Graphics,” being taught by Bob Pook, who was quite the television legend—he was the original graphics “show lead” at both “Saturday Night Live” and “Late Night with David Letterman.” He was also the originator of those innovative (back-from-commercial) “bumpers” that were witty and fun.

I decided to sign up for the course and, unbelievably, there were only a handful of students. Among the assignments, Pook (he was always “Pook,” not Bob) asked us to create and storyboard a television show opening of our choice. Channeling my subversive punk energy, I of course chose one for an imaginary Howard Stern TV show. Pook himself was a bit of a Belushi-like rebellious figure—waist-length pony tail and leather motorcycle jacket—so we hit it off creatively.

After the course ended, he told me he liked my work and wanted to hire me to do some freelance work. (I forget on which show—I think it was for David Brenner’s talk show.) Soon after that, he told me he was working on getting me hired at SNL. When that finally happened, it was very exciting!

And as things were back then, I received my official confirmation that I got the SNL gig at 30 Rock’s downstairs watering hole: Hurley’s Bar (long gone and now a Magnolia’s Bakery). Welcome to the crazy world of SNL!

Pook passed away in 2023—and I’ll be forever thankful to him for giving me the opportunity for a design experience of a lifetime.

How much of your creative time did you spend on the sketch titles?
It varied. Since creating the show’s graphics was a multi-step process in those days, you had to think—and work—very fast. It helped to have a visual encyclopedic knowledge of design and styles, and pop culture in general—along with a subversive Mad magazine–like sense of humor, an aspect I really enjoyed.

Thursday morning began with a production staff meeting, helmed by the show’s director (Davy Wilson for most of the years I was there). That meeting provided an overview of what was needed for the week’s sketches by the production crew.

After that, we’d then receive an itemized graphics list from the graphics coordinator. On the list, there’d be, say, half a dozen sketch titles to create, a few hand-held props (maybe a book cover, an album cover, a grocery product, etc …). Essentially, we’d immediately have to get to work and create all that over the course of a day and a half! We also received a few specific reference materials brought in by the graphics coordinator or prop department, including some actual products to create our parodies onto.

It was pre-computer, so in-house at our creative disposal we had sheets and sheets of Letraset, an in-house phototypesetting machine, a vinyl lettering machine, a huge room-sized stat camera, paste-up and drawing art supplies, and the ability to fabricate 3M custom transfers for props. It was all there—a wonderland of an art department!

I’d be remiss if I didn’t also give kudos to my colleagues Doug Zider and Ira Rappaport, who were a big part of my SNL graphics co-production team, too. They were masters of the Quantel Paintbox—then the state-of-the-art graphics system in television. And they also originated some of the graphics, too—along with Pook and I. It all depended on who got assigned what.

I’d travel up to Doug or Ira, both working side-by-side on Paintboxes on another floor, to bring them the actual hard copies of what I’d created or drawn. They would capture them via a flatbed camera attached to their equipment, and then my newly digitized designs would come alive for television by their addition of color and dimension.

So, as you can imagine, this “think fast” boot camp was amazing training for my creative thinking up to this day. As the famous SNL adage goes: The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready; it goes on because it’s 11:30.

We didn’t get Macs in our art department until the mid-’90s, and when we finally got one, it went into an office deemed “the Computer Room.” That Mac was not yet even connected with the show’s control room—what a long way we’ve come since then!

Fun fact: I chose the “cheesy” font (available on our art department’s vinyl lettering machine) for the Wayne’s World logo. Pook said “italicize it,” and I can’t recall which of us added the globe. Who could know it would become the global phenomenon it became as the years rolled on? 

Did the writers or cast have any input into what you did?
Yes, some of the writers and cast wanted to have input, and some weren’t as interested or were too busy with rewrites.

I did have a close working relationship with Mike Myers, who basically wrote his own sketches—and would come down to our art department to talk to me about the graphics. He wanted to approve everything himself. He was very specific in what he wanted, and I truly enjoyed working with him.

I clicked with him on where he was coming from creatively. I loved establishing the Euro-style SPROCKETS graphics for him, and creating all his Simon drawings for that series of his sketches, which was really fun. As someone with a similar passion for UK ’60s pop culture, I also loved drawing and creating the title sequence for his “1960s Movie” sketch, which I have a hunch was the seed of the idea for his Austin Powers movies!

The others writers I have fond memories of working with were Jack Handey—who I also worked a lot with—Robert Smigel, and Al Franken. I even got to meet the real “Toonces,” which was Jack and his wife Marta’s (non-driving) pet cat.

Had you done other TV or film work prior to this?
No, not at all! Due to how things were done, it was easier to make the leap from print to television back then. Plus I was very eager to learn quickly.

So, nothing before … but everything escalated rapidly as my SNL years rolled along.

During my non-production SNL days, I also got booked regularly to work on visual comedy bits (including Bookmobile and FDA Rejected Products) for “Late Night”—both Letterman and Conan editions. And during SNL’s hiatus times, I also worked at HBO Downtown Productions, on the famously “underground cult” “Night After Night with Allan Havey.”

And another fun fact: I actually did end up doing some freelance work on an actual Howard Stern pilot TV episode, which never got picked up at that time.

Why did you leave SNL?
There were a few reasons as to why I ended up leaving. There was a concerning spate of bad press—including Entertainment Weekly, New York Magazine—that the show was “dead” and would be ending! Many of my favorite writers moved on, and I think much of the cast was being replaced.

Also, NBC had just dismantled 206W, our wonderful communal spacious playground of an art department. Besides the demolition of that huge room-size stat machine and other printing equipment, you can’t even imagine the treasures they threw into their dumpsters, cleaning out a wall of files that held years of vintage television graphics—show cards, credit scrolls and other history items from the 1950s on! Plus, us designers were now being moved to separate small offices on the tenth floor.

At that same time, I was contacted by a headhunter that an exciting new project—related to something called, um … “the internet”—was looking to hire graphic design talent, no experience needed; training would be provided. The salary was quite attractive—and fearing I would be one of those people from the days of yore who stubbornly wouldn’t leave radio for television, I decided to make the leap. Needless to say, it wasn’t one of the best decisions of my life, as SNL’s Season 50 is now rolling out, and the mega-corporate website entity I left for has long gone out of existence.

But on the other hand—having my life back to be married and have a son was the redeeming bright spot! Because that’s something that’s really hard to do on SNL hours.

Do the sketch graphics have the same look today?
Wow, yep—things are decidedly different. Back in our era, most of the sketch titles were static “supers”—which didn’t animate, but just mostly popped on and off the screen. There were also sitcom-y sequences with full-screen stills—we’d call that a “build,” which was accessed from the control room “still store” that introduced some of the sketches. I also remember designing “lower thirds”—which today, you mostly see on the local news. A lot of this was due to the simplicity of the technology then—the word chyron comes to mind.

I was so lucky to be in the last generation to have the freedom to do stuff like handlettering—and have had free reign to learn on the job graphics-wise, simply springing from my print design background as a graphic designer. And SNL’s unique situation then was that it was a huge staff of people who each contributed a particularly specific part of the production at SNL, so you could specialize in one thing. I suppose it’s surely not that way there today; you’d need to be so thoroughly trained and multi-platform–ready to even approach the kind of opportunity I had. It was all so much fun.

The post The Daily Heller: 50 Years of SNL’s Graphic Parodies appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The accomplishment Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr. is most proud of, is that 6,000 Americans display his prints on their walls. There’s perhaps no better anecdote to describe Kennedy’s humble, generous, thoughtful spirit, on full display in the pages of the gorgeous monograph Citizen Printer and in our Book Club discussion.

If you missed our live conversation, this one was truly special and worth a watch!

Kennedy was exposed to letterpress printing as a ten-year-old in Louisiana with his Cub Scout troop. He rues that in our contemporary, digital culture, people don’t always have access to see how things are made. “I just watched him work,” Kennedy said, “The pride that he took in making these things, in workmanship, I picked that up.”

One doesn’t realize what effect an encounter will have on our lives.

Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr.

Kennedy talked about his career trajectory from a “one-time business bureaucrat,” to taking what he deemed the easy path: “I decided to do what made me happy.” He’s a practitioner of bad printing, a term he uses to describe his lack of formal training, his use of layering, and his self-described sloppy, hurried technique.

There are other followers of “bad printing,” notably the Dutch experimental artist and typographer HN Werkman. Kennedy, like Werkman, values the power and influence of printed matter, saying, “Printing is always a dangerous business. The dissemination of information is dangerous.”

Dangerous, and important. Kennedy’s manifesto is passionate and provocative: I PRINT NEGRO. “Those voices that have been suppressed, I have to use my press to put those voices out in the world,” he says.

He considers himself an agitator (and our culture is better served with his hard truths). Listening to Kennedy, one can’t help but absorb his palpable joy and contentment in his work.

I try to put ink on paper everyday. Then it’s a complete day.

Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr.

We’ve only scratched the surface of this incredible conversation. We hope you’ll register here to watch the recording. Psst: Kennedy offered a free postcard print to everyone who attended. You’ll have to watch it to find out how!

If you haven’t purchased your copy of Citizen Printer, order one here. Your design bookshelf will thank you!

Links & diversions from this live stream:

Kennedy refurbished an old building as his print shop, starting in 2016. Check out the photo album.

Clear some space in your studio. Posterhouse NYC has two Kennedy prints in the shop. We Tried to Warn You! (2023) and the Posterhouse 2021 anniversary print. Smaller in scale, Kennedy’s Sista Said postcard set at Letterform Archive offers words of wisdom from Black women in social justice and the arts.

Go see the gorgeous exhibition that accompanies this monograph at Letterform Archive in San Francisco! On view until January 2025, Citizen Printer showcases 150 type-driven artifacts produced throughout Kennedy’s career, including broadsides, maps, church fans, handbills, and oversized posters.

The post PRINT Book Club Recap with Joyful Agitator, Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr. appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Design legend Steven Heller served as an art director at the New York Times for 33 years, primarily for the New York Times Book Review. He is the author or co-author of over 200 books, the columnist behind “The Daily Heller”, and the co-founder and co-chair emeritus of the MFA Design program at the School of Visual Arts in his native New York City. Among his many accolades, Heller was just inducted into the One Club Creative Hall of Fame earlier this month.

In 1982, Heller met graphic designer Louise Fili, and pretty immediately the two fell in love. Fili is a typography specialist, designing nearly 2,000 book jackets while working for Random House as the art director at Pantheon Books. She then launched her own eponymous graphic and digital design firm, Louise Fili Ltd, in 1989.

Meanwhile, Heller and Fili’s son, Nicolas Heller, is a prolific filmmaker and social media sensation under the moniker New York Nico, cultivating a platform that honors the uniquely flamboyant sights and characters of New York City. He’s publishing his first book this October, entitled New York Nico’s Guide to NYC, which depicts his top 100 New York places and businesses, and the people behind them. (This book is set to be our PRINT Book Club selection for November—stay tuned for dates.)

I recently had the treat of chatting directly with Steven and Nick about their memories of Heller-Fili family life during Nick’s adolescence in New York City, with additional insights from Louise via email. I was curious to learn about what lessons the design power couple imparted to Nick, how New York shaped his upbringing and the artist he’s become, and the energy with which their creative home was infused. Our conversation is transcribed below.

(Conversation has been lightly edited for length and clarity).

First off, would you mind sharing your love story with me, Louise and Steven? How did you two meet?

LF: Steve was art director of the NY Times Book Review, and I was art director of Pantheon Books. He wrote me a fan letter in March of 1982. Two sentences. We got married one year later in October 1983. The letter is framed on my desk in the studio.

SH: The fan letter was about her book jackets. We’d met at one of the exhibits I curated, introduced by Ed Koren. Then I invited her to a book party I was given at the Plaza Hotel. Finally, Marshall Arisman arranged for us to meet at an American Illustration judging. That’s when everything clicked and we moved in shortly thereafter.

Where in New York City were you two living when raising Nick? 

SH: Nick likes to call our neighborhood Union Square. We call it west of Fifth Avenue; we live a block away from Union Square, 16th Street. Nick was kind of the Mayor of 16th Street

LF: Starting at age three, Nick was known to the community as the Mayor of 16th Street. On his daily walk home from nursery school, he would pass through Union Square and check in at his regular haunts: Steak Frites, where, on seeing him, the manager would take out a tub of ice cream with Nick’s name scrawled on it. Next was Bill, the affable guard at Country Floors, who would tip his hat. At Lord of the Fleas, a vintage clothing store, they would turn around the standing mirror so Nick could see his reflection. 

SH: Would you agree that you were the Mayor of 16th Street, Nick?

NH: I don’t really remember. I remember you telling me that I was. I would say “hi” to a couple of people on 16th Street, and because of that, you gave me that title. I don’t know if I really deserved it.

I remember Bill vividly for some strange reason—because I forget most of the people from that period of my life—but I remember him. He was the security guard for this tile store, I think it was, right? And I think it might still be there?

SH: No, it’s gone. 

NH: I don’t know why a tile store needed a security guard, but for whatever reason he was always there, and he had this flashlight thing that would blink red and green colors, and he would always show it to me, and I was always captivated by it for some reason. That’s been a lasting memory for 30 years.

Louise and Steven, why was raising Nick in New York City important to you as parents?

SH: Well, I was raised half a mile away in Stuyvesant Town, and I wasn’t about to leave New York City. And Louise was ensconced. The building we lived in was this wonderful, old townhouse that had been a boarding house for actors and actresses long before we moved in. There was no alternative. 

The best thing we could do for Nick was to send them to a good school that we wouldn’t have to worry too much about. So we sent him to Little Red, which was the first lesbian-run school in New York. Elisabeth Irwin, who founded it, was one of the progressives that hired blacklisted teachers during the McCarthy era. 

How was going to Little Red for you, Nick?

NH: It was great. As you mentioned, it was very progressive. So progressive to the point that you could kind of get away with doing anything in the name of art. And that’s how I kind of got started in filmmaking. I wanted to make films that would scare my teachers, so I would discuss very unsuitable topics just to freak my teachers out. I wanted to keep pushing the boundaries and see how far I could take it.

That was in high school, but even in middle school, I remember in seventh and eighth grade, that’s when I started getting into film and writing scripts. I never finished any, I would just write scenes, and I would share them with my teachers. Even though the scenes were about very mature but immature topics, my teachers were very encouraging because they could tell that I was passionate about this art form. My parents were the same way. I think the stuff that I was making probably made you uneasy, but I think you kind of knew that I had a good head on my shoulders and it would lead to something more positive.

How did you first get into the film medium, Nick? 

NH: My earliest memory of really getting into film was, I believe, in the seventh grade, and I had a knack for memorizing the casts of movies, even very obscure movies. So that was kind of a talent that I had, and I liked the idea that I was better than everyone else at one thing, which was just remembering actors in movies. So, I would challenge students in my class to name a movie and I would name the cast. 

That was also around the time that Direct TV came out, where you could pull up a guide on your television and see what movies were playing and it would tell you the cast in each movie. So I would go on our TV and try to memorize the cast of these movies that I hadn’t even seen, and then that turned into writing scripts of my own. I would fantasize about movie ideas and cast them with real actors. By the time high school came around, I actually had the opportunity to start shooting my own stuff, and that’s what really set me on my path. 

I think I was destined to get into some kind of art, just based on who my parents are.

SH: We also had a couple of video cameras, and there was one time when you were in grade school where it was “Turn off the TV Week,” and you made your own movie with your cockatiel. 

NH: I think I was destined to get into some kind of art, just based on who my parents are, and maybe subconsciously, I didn’t want to follow in their footsteps so I decided to go another route.

Being raised by artists and surrounded by creativity your whole life, I don’t know how one wouldn’t be influenced by that. My parents are both journalists so that’s my background to an extent as well. At what point did you become aware of your parents being this creative power couple?

NH: I remember when I was a teenager, one of them mentioned that Molly Ringwald was a fan of my dad’s, and that was surprising to me; to think that this celebrity actress was a fan of my dad.

I always knew that they were prolific in their fields, but I don’t think I really realized or appreciated it until college, maybe even late into college. I think it was from people telling me that they had my parents’ books and that they looked up to them, and what have you. That’s really when I realized how important they were. 

Louise and Steven, as artists, were there any salient lessons you remember imparting on Nick once it was clear you were raising a creative child? 

SH: There wasn’t any prescription. There were no rules I wanted to instill. I was just interested in him following what he wanted to do, and as long as he could make it through high school without getting screwed up, and make it through college (which I never did), I was happy to see where this thing would take him.

All of a sudden Nick started doing music videos, and they were mostly rap videos. My strongest memory is Nick wanted to use our apartment for one of his rap videos, and I think we were going away that weekend, or at least going away for the day, and Nick suggested we didn’t come back until a certain time. When we did, there was a whole group of rappers sitting in the living room, and one of them said, “I hope we haven’t disturbed your apartment, Mr. and Mrs. Heller.” We later learned that they had been throwing spaghetti all over the place. But even though we may have had certain trepidations, we never enforced strong discipline. 

NH: I can’t remember ever really being scolded by you guys because I think, generally, I was pretty well-behaved. The one instance that does come to mind, though, where Mom was very angry with me, was when I carved my name into her conference table at her studio.

So, Nick, obviously, you’re incredibly successful in your own right, and working in a different creative field than your parents, but I’m curious if you can point to any sensibilities or ideas from them that have influenced who you are as an artist?

NH: I think the biggest thing is my work ethic. Work is really important to me, reputation is really important to me. I never want to let a client down. I never want to let my crew down. If I’m doing a project that requires a crew, like a commercial or something, I always try to make it a really happy environment where everyone feels respected and has a good time. I like to think that I’m very on top of things, too. I’m positive that I got that from my parents. I think it just rubbed off on me in one way or another because, obviously they’re very hardworking and reliable and have a great reputation. 

SH: Where did you get the guts to go up to the people that you go up to? When you’re making movies or videos and befriend them?  

NH: That’s where we’re very different because I feel like you don’t really like people. Maybe when you were my age, it was a different story. So I don’t know who I got that from, maybe it was just wanting to be different from my folks. 

Where would you say your knack for observing originated, Nick? You’re not only capturing these wonderful little vignettes and characters on camera, but you’re noticing them in the first place. How did you hone that eye?

NH: I think just growing up in New York and being surrounded by stuff. I don’t know where the curiosity came from, but it’s kind of just right in front of your eyes here. Have I always been like that, Dad?

SH: You were certainly always more curious than I was. Things kind of just happen naturally. Nick lived on 16th Street, and there were lots of people coming and going. Fifth Avenue became a mall, and Union Square was a place where characters kind of resided. When I was younger, it was called “needle park,” but then it got cleaned up so we would let Nick go to Union Square.

NH: I remember being very curious about the people that I would cross paths with, and when I became of age that’s when I started chatting them up.

SH: You became very industrious. He would put on talent shows, bringing some of these people together and they would form a traveling troop. 

It’s interesting to hear you say you don’t think you’re very curious, Steven, when you’re so clearly one of the most curious people there is, constantly writing and diving into different corners of design, and endlessly learning and sharing. It’s a different kind of curiosity and manifestation of that curiosity than Nick’s, but it’s extreme and genuine curiosity all the same. 

SH: Well, I appreciate that. I was just watching a film that was done during my show at SVA, and they interviewed somebody who said that my curiosity was “neurotic,” and that’s what it tends to be. It tends to be about producing stuff. I don’t know if Nick has the same production need or obsession. 

NH: Yeah, of course I do. 

SH: I just keep having to get stuff out and onto a piece of paper, no matter what it is. 

NH: I mean, that’s what my Instagram is. That’s why as soon as I film something, I have to put it up immediately.  And it’s not for any other reason than I’ve become impatient, and I just want to get more stuff into the world.

SH: Part of it is saying something to somebody, and part of it is expunging it. There’s the egotistical part of it, and there’s the sharing part of it, but they go hand-in-hand. 

Louise and Steven, you must be immensely proud of the person and artist Nick has become. How has his success felt to you as his parents?

LF: We are especially proud of all that Nick has been able to achieve on his own. What he contributed to the city during the pandemic was singularly admirable. 

SH: “Immensely proud” is a good way to describe it, ecstatic and overjoyed as well. I saw him make something from nothing. We could have helped him get his foot in the design field, but that’s not what he wanted. I never wanted help from my parents either and did whatever I did on my own. 

Nick has shown himself to be not just creative, but a real human being, and that came through in COVID when he went out and did what he felt he had to do. It was more than prideful, it was a word that I can’t even pull out of the air. He’s gone on to defy the Millennial stereotype of living in your parents’ basement ten times over. We can share certain things; there are certain things that he teaches me. 

I always wake up every morning and look at his feed to see where he’s been. He’s a very modest person, he isn’t always forthcoming with what’s going on, and that’s okay because I was like that as well. When I do see what he’s produced, I get all shaky inside.

The post A Steven Heller, Nicolas Heller, and Louise Fili Family Roundtable appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Close down Sabrina Ionescu from three-point range.

Box out Breanna Stewart and Jonquel Jones in the paint.

Nothing can stop Big Ellie.

Who’s “Big Ellie,” you ask? A new top draft pick from the NCAA? A key signing from abroad? She’s neither. Big Ellie is the New York Liberty’s mascot.

Ellie the Elephant, affectionately known by her throngs of adoring fans as Big Ellie, has had a breakout WNBA season this year, though Liberty loyals have been on Team Ellie since her rollout in 2021. Ellie replaced the team’s previous mascot, Maddie (named after their then home court, Madison Square Garden in Manhattan), when the franchise rebranded from playing at MSG to the Barclays Center in Brooklyn. The Liberty’s chief brand officer, Shana Stephenson, was one of the team members who originally conceived of and developed the Ellie character and persona, though she has evolved beyond Stephenson’s wildest dreams into a viral sensation entertainer extraordinaire and downright diva. “I’m also a fan of Ellie, of course, but I’m also often blown away by her ability to just continue to blow minds and exceed expectations and rise to the moment,” Stephenson told me recently as we chatted about Ellie’s star power.

Ellie sets the exuberant tone for the game day experience at NY Liberty games, from her drippy arrival tunnel fits, iconic on-court dance performances, and mid-game antics on the sidelines and in the stands. As a result, the games appear to be more like parties than sporting events, with the packed stands overflowing with joy. Ellie’s popularity is indicative of the seismic growth in the WNBA over the last few seasons. With the 2024 regular season wrapping this past weekend, ESPN has reported that this has been the most-viewed WNBA regular season ever across their various platforms, with games averaging 1.2 million viewers. That marks a ridiculous 170% increase from 2023.

Of course, most of the credit goes to the athletes for these skyrocketing stats, but feats in the teams’ branding and entertainment value, like Ellie, have critically bolstered what the players are doing on the court. The rest of my conversation with Stephenson is below, where she reveals details about Ellie’s development and evolution, and why she thinks Ellie has connected with the masses in ways she never could have imagined.

(Conversation has been lightly edited for length and clarity).

An elephant mascot for a Brooklyn-based sports team isn’t the most obvious choice. Can you walk me through how the idea of Ellie first came about?

Our previous mascot at Madison Square Garden was Maddie, who was a golden retriever. When we knew we were relocating the team to Brooklyn, we knew we couldn’t bring Maddie (who was named after Madison the Square Garden) to the Barclays Center. Maddie was very beloved by our Liberty loyals, our fan base, and we also knew that we had to be really thoughtful about how we sunsetted Maddie, and introduced whatever this new mascot would be. There were big shoes to fill (no pun intended), and we didn’t want our fans to hate this new mascot.

So from that moment, we knew we had to think up a new mascot; not having a mascot was never an option. Mascots have always been key to WNBA teams, so we knew that it was important for us to dream up something different. As we were thinking of what were viable mascot replacements for Maddie, we tossed out everything that you could think of that’s New York related, from rats and pigeons to apples, just naming anything that New York was known for, but none of them hit in the same way that Maddie did. 

Our CEO, Kia, who never sleeps, was up late one night and Googled “Brooklyn and animal” and this story about the Brooklyn Bridge came up where Barnum and Bailey executed a stunt with elephants walking across it to prove that the bridge was sturdy, safe, and strong enough to withhold all the weight and traffic. She came into my office the next day saying, “Okay, I think I got it. Hear me out: what about an elephant?” And I immediately dismissed it. But then she told me the story. So then we thought of the name Ellie because of Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty (since she’s our muse) and “Ellie” being short for elephant. It just all made sense. It went from being an “absolute not” and immediate “no,” to a no-brainer.

Once you landed on the idea of Ellie, what was the character’s development process like? 

First, we had to pitch the idea to ownership and get them on board with this idea of an elephant as the mascot of the New York Liberty. We were successfully able to convince them that this was a direction that we should go in as an organization, and they gave us the green light. That was in 2019, and then in 2020 the pandemic hit, so we had a bit of a lag and some lead time in terms of when we actually had to start developing Ellie. 

We found an artist who sketched Ellie out and then put together a prototype model to show what Ellie could look like with the crown, the ears, the lashes, and the sea foam and black-and-white J’s. And we were like, she’s cute! We love her! Then we went into the phase of playing around with proportions and different things, and then we found a costume maker. We ended up working with a costume maker out of New York, and at that time there were so many challenges with ordering materials with the supply chain issues. Different pieces that we ordered from overseas were delayed, and we were really nervous if we would be able to complete the costume in time for the start of our season once things started to ramp up. But luckily we made our deadline.

How did your team handle launching Ellie to replace Maddie from a brand storytelling perspective?

There was a whole campaign and story around it. We had to figure out what the story was behind sunsetting Maddie and having her pass the torch to Ellie because, again, we wanted fans to really embrace Ellie. We wanted fans to love who Ellie was. So we came up with the idea of having Maddie film herself at Madison Square Garden, get on the subway traveling to Brooklyn, getting off at the Atlantic Avenue Station, and coming up the steps out of the subway at the Barclays Center. Meeting Maddie at the top of the staircase in front of the Barclays Center was Ellie. Maddie then literally passed the torch to Ellie, and then Ellie went inside the Barclays Center and waved to Maddie. When Ellie walks inside the building, all of the LEDs say, “Welcome home, Ellie!” 

The fans initially, like most people, were confused by the idea of an elephant, but after they actually read the press release and we explained the story behind it they got on board with the concept of an elephant. 

It’s brilliant to use the mascot storyline to not only explain the mythology of Ellie as a character, but to encapsulate the wider rebrand the NY Liberty was undergoing as a franchise in the transition from Manhattan to Brooklyn. Those boroughs have such different identities, and New Yorkers know that better than anyone, so I’m sure every aspect of that rebrand rollout needed to be handled with the utmost delicacy and thoughtfulness. 

Exactly; Ellie could not exist at Madison Square Garden. It’s such a different culture. Her personality is very New York, but it’s also very Brooklyn. And that brings me to the mascot tryout.

I think you have to be a really interesting individual to want to be a professional mascot.

We held auditions for different people who wanted to be Ellie, advertising at different entertainment casting agencies, and posting it on social. The tryout was one of the craziest things I’ve ever been a part of; I think you have to be a really interesting individual to want to be a professional mascot. We were able to identify the person, and they’re still Ellie to this day. They were a mascot prior to becoming Ellie, so they had that unique experience before transforming Ellie into this major character who’s an entertainer, a performer, and a dancer. 

When we first met with them, we asked to see what ideas they had. We already knew that we wanted Ellie to be female and we wanted Ellie to dance. It wasn’t that important to us for Ellie to be athletic just because we were a basketball team. Most basketball mascots can dunk, they can dribble, they can do all the things. But we definitely wanted to do something different. 

Obviously, the love for Ellie has blown up now, but after the reveal of moving from Maddie to Ellie, what was the initial reaction from the fans?

The first season we introduced Ellie was in 2021, and we were still dealing with a lot of the effects of Covid, and we had a lot of restrictions in place to protect the players. So that meant we were still testing players every day and testing everyone who was in direct contact with players every day. As a result of that, there were tiers of people who could be down on the court, and our entertainment, dance teams, and Ellie weren’t able to be on the court. 

So when we introduced Ellie that season, we had a stage built on the baseline where she performed. She couldn’t interact with the fans in the way that she does now, so it took a little bit of time for people to understand who Ellie was, what her strengths were, what her personality was, and how her character was evolving into what it is now. 

In time, we’ve continued to try new things. When Ellie was introduced, Ellie had typical mascot shoes, and by season two, we ditched those completely and realized Ellie should just rock some sneakers. It just felt more authentic to her, especially as a dancer. She likes to move around, and we didn’t want those shoes to hinder her in any way. Ellie also initially had a little curl on the top of her head, and, quite honestly, we couldn’t keep it curled, so our senior director of entertainment, Criscia Long, came up with the idea of getting hair extensions and braiding it, and that’s how Ellie’s ponytail braid was born. So, out of a need to solve a problem or just ingenuity, we’ve been able to continue to find little tweaks here and there that bring more of Ellie’s personality to life. 

Also, because the person who embodies Ellie was a mascot before, they have ideas. They’re from Brooklyn, which was also very intentional. We wanted someone who really understands the culture and the core audience we’re hoping to connect with. 

“Authenticity” is the key word that comes to mind when I analyze Ellie— it so clearly has driven every choice you and your team has made in creating her. I’m sure that’s what resonates with your fans and why they love her so much. 

I’m just as blown away by Ellie on most days as everyone else is. For example, when Ellie performed with Ciara, she went backstage and met her, and Ciara completely fangirled out about meeting Ellie. And then when Ellie took the stage and performed, she truly owned that moment. My jaw was on the floor. I was like, Ellie is performing in front of 18,000 fans right now! I’m often blown away by her ability to exceed expectations and rise to the moment. 

The players love Ellie too, and they love sharing the player tunnel fit moment with her. They shouldn’t be watching Ellie during the games, but it’s hard not to! I sit not too far from the player bench, and sometimes they just look over at me and shake their head like, What is she doing now? 

I sit not too far from the player bench, and sometimes they just look over at me and shake their head like, What is she doing now? 

You mentioned before how you didn’t necessarily want Ellie to be conventionally “sporty,” dribbling around and dunking the ball like other mascots do. Instead, you’ve played up her femininity with her styling, outfits and bags, her signature braid, her lashes, the way she moves, etc. I love how she’s reflective of so many athletes in this era who are also embracing glamour and presenting so femme, even as they play. It feels like they’re reclaiming the power of femininity, dismantling binaries, and defying stereotypes about what types of women are good at sports. 

We’re seeing a lot more femininity in sports right now, and that’s always been a goal of mine as a chief brand officer. Even in terms of the photography and how we talk about our athletes, I always wanted to highlight the femininity of those who identify as feminine (because not all of them do), but you can also show them as being strong. It’s not an “either-or,” it’s a “both-and.” They can exist together.

It’s just really fun that our game has evolved to a place of acceptance and celebrating, pushing boundaries and trying new things. 

One aspect that makes women athletes different from men is their hair, their nails, their lashes, and their makeup. It’s important to me that we really lean into that and celebrate that. So in the photographs we’re taking, I want them to flip your hair if you have braids or locks. I want us to show the multidimensionality and the diversity with which all of the players show up as women in sports. It’s just really fun that our game has evolved to a place of acceptance and celebrating, pushing boundaries, and trying new things. 

Your team has struck gold by creating such a powerful brand-building tool with Ellie. How have you capitalized on that outside of her entertainment value as a performer? 

We are definitely consistently thinking through ways we can integrate Ellie into the rest of our brand outside of just being in the arena. Integrating a new drop into Ellie’s tunnel fit, for example. So if we’re launching a new merch item, maybe Ellie can wear that on her way into the arena when we’re capturing the player’s arrival. We’re strategically placing these items on Ellie and having these moments, continuing to innovate and elevate around it. 

The Jets released a new uniform this season, and they asked if they could gift Stewie a new jersey and have her wear it. And I was like, “Yeah, but what do you think about Ellie also wearing it?” and they were like, “Oh my god, yes!” so then they gave Ellie a custom jersey. So it’s not just us who are recognizing Ellie’s power and influence, but other teams in New York are seeing it, other brands. Brand Jordan customized a whole Ellie fit for her, and Jordan doesn’t collaborate with just anybody or any athlete; it’s a very specific and elite group of people that they often work with, so for Ellie to be on that list it’s like, yeah, we have something special here. 

The social media aspect of Ellie’s meteoric rise can’t be understated, considering almost every video of her seems to go viral. I’m sure there’s a whole team dedicated to that part of her persona, but I’m curious about the voiceover you’ve chosen to give her in those videos and how that’s pushed her character forward.

Our ultimate goal with Ellie is for her to have a show like Sesame Street, with a puppet sitting on a stoop in New York City interviewing people. But at first, we were like, but Ellie doesn’t have a voice so we can’t do that. As a workaround, the person who plays Ellie suggested we use a trending TikTok voice. 

We were a little uncomfortable with it at first, but the first video they used it on was really funny, and the reaction that it got was amazing, so we just decided to go with it. That’s just another one of those risks that we took, because in the mascot world mascots don’t speak, they’re nonverbal. So this was something that hadn’t been done before; it was unexpected, but the reaction has been great, so now that’s the voice of Ellie.

The voice is very New York, it’s very Brooklyn, and I think that’s also what people are drawn to. I speak to people who sound like Ellie every day. Her accent is so thick; I’m from New York, and even when I listen to it I’m like, Ellie’s accent is out of control right now in this video. 

The post The NY Liberty’s “Big Ellie” Takes the Big Apple By Storm appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Letterform Archive in San Francisco is currently showing a retrospective of Kennedy’s work in an exhibition entitled Citizen Printer, curated by Kelly Walters. On view through January, the show features over 150 type-driven artifacts created by Kennedy throughout his career and is accompanied by a monograph of the same name. This book has been selected for our September PRINT Book Club, which will feature a virtual conversation with Kennedy moderated by Steven Heller and Debbie Millman on Thursday, September 19, at 4 p.m. ET. Learn more and register to attend here!

As a primer to the Book Club, check out my conversation with Kennedy about his background and the exhibition below! (Conversation lightly edited for length and clarity.)

What first brought you to printmaking?

I didn’t enter into letterpress printing until about 1988, and prior to that, I’d worked in corporate America as a computer programmer. I discovered it in Williamsburg, Virginia. Williamsburg is a historical village based upon the 18th-century colonies, and they had an 18th-century print shop. I saw the docent doing a demonstration of letterpress printing, and then I just started doing it. I’ve been doing it ever since!

Before that, I had dabbled in calligraphy for a number of years, so I had a background in letters and letter forms. But for some reason, letterpress printing really resonated with me. I also had very minor experience in commercial printing at the university that I went to; my neighbor was the university printer, so occasionally, I would pop into his shop while he was working, and he would explain some of the rudimentary principles of printing, but I didn’t actively pursue it.

After you discovered letterpress printing in Williamsburg, how did you start printing yourself?

I was staying in Chicago at the time. There was an organization called Artist Book Works, a community-based book arts program that taught letterpress printing, bookbinding, paper decorations, and things of that nature. I took two of their letterpress courses, and then I was on my own.

I continued to work in corporate America, and then I was forced out by the downsizing of the company. I tried to set up a print shop at home in my basement, but I was very unsuccessful at it. So then, like any good person, when you don’t know what you’re doing, you go hide out in graduate school. So I did that. I got my MFA in graphic design from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. 

I had my own letterpress shop, even when I was in graduate school— I had it long before I went to graduate school. That’s one of the things that distinguished me from other students; they were using the equipment that was at the university, so once they left, they had to find equipment to use. But I already had my equipment—I had a Vandercook 4 and a Heidelberg 10×15 Platen—and so once I left, I could continue to pursue learning the skills and learning the craft. 

How did you acquire those two presses? 

When I started, the zenith of letterpress printing had waned, and offset printing had taken over, so people were getting rid of this equipment. But a school had one, and no printer wanted it, so they just offered it for free. I saw the notice, and then I went and picked it up. I paid about $5,000 for the Heidelberg from another printer, which was an exorbitant price at that time.

Do you still have them?

I have the Heidelberg, but I gave the 4 to a community print shop, and I have no idea what happened to it. 

What was the turning point that allowed you to go from your unsuccessful print shop in your basement to the successful artist you are now?

A complete abandonment of any goals. I just gave up and started printing because I liked printing and needed a modest income to support myself.  Everything else has been the result of me doing those two things: getting up every day and printing and enjoying it. I also tried to become an academic, but I found that to be too stressful and too confining.

How did you develop your signature printmaking style? When did that distinct aesthetic coalesce for you as an artist?

Well, to begin with, I don’t consider myself an artist. I consider myself a printer … kinda. I don’t even consider myself a printer; I consider myself a person with a printing press. Printers are very professional, careful, and sincere about what they do, and I just mess around. I have fun. And I’m fortunate that people see the merit in what I do and want to hire me and buy the things I make.

I don’t consider myself an artist. I consider myself a printer … kinda. I don’t even consider myself a printer; I consider myself a person with a printing press.

I was formally trained in what they call fine printing and book arts, but when I moved to Alabama, I transitioned to what I’m doing now. The reason I do what I do is out of necessity. I had a commission that I was working on, and I made a mistake, but I didn’t have any more paper, and I didn’t have money to buy it, so I had to do something with what I had. I decided to carefully print another layer over everything so you couldn’t see the mistake and put the corrected text on top. After I did that, I found it interesting how the letters overlapped in the shapes that were made, so I continued doing that. It became one of the styles that people recognize me for. 

Your activism is a central part of your printmaking practice, and you use your printmaking as a form of abolition. Where does your drive to communicate those ideas and themes in your work come from? 

It comes from my humanity. It is a part of the universal humanity in all of us: the humanity that cries out for justice, the humanity that cries out for liberation. We all have that within us. It is what makes us human.

I’ve always been that way. How do I separate my skin from the rest of my body? It’s just the nature of the beast that I am. I was raised in a family that, foremost, was truth, respect for individuals no matter what their so-called social class was, you do not infringe upon another person’s rights, and you show generosity and gratitude at all times.

Can you tell me a bit about your exhibition at Letterform Archive, Citizen Printer?

The exhibition includes works from as early as 1988, so it’s not just posters. It shows the artist books I’ve done and the wider swath of my work. It’s a retrospective, and that’s the first time this has ever been done. All of the exhibitions I’ve done to date have been site-specific, in that if an organization or a university or a museum asks me to do an exhibition, I will do it, provided that they identify grassroots organizations that need to have their message disseminated. I will then create promotional materials for those grassroots organizations to be exhibited as posters in the museum. Then after the exhibition is over, the museum gives those materials to the organizations to use as they see fit. 

I tell them, If you want me, then you have to do something for the community. And I don’t mean the United Way or the NAACP. I mean, grassroots organizations and small organizations that may not even have a 501(c)(3), but they’re out there helping their community.

The reason I do that is that traditionally, museums have excluded Black people, but now, they want Black people, brown people, those populations that they did not actively recruit in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, to come and take advantage of the services and the offerings of the museum. But when you’ve told somebody for 40 years that they can’t come in, you can’t just stay, “The door is open! Please come in!” You have to actively go and get them. 

So I tell the museums that that’s what this is about. It’s about them going to the community and saying, “We value what you do. We value your words. And we hope that you have a degree of trust with us, and you’ll come and visit us and utilize the services that we have here.”

It’s commendable that you’re using these opportunities to exhibit your work to uplift others. 

That’s basically the way that I do things. When I work with organizations or museums, it’s about expanding the audience of that institution and bringing in new people to experience the services that that institution has.

The post Letterpress Printer Amos Kennedy Jr. Makes Art As Statement appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

As a lover of all manner of bars, pubs, dives, speakeasies, and cocktail lounges, I was eager to learn more about this latest endeavor from the Murrays and get my hands on my own copy. The pair’s responses to my questions about Great Bars of New York City are below.

Why bars? What is it about bars that you find so compelling and reflective of NYC culture and history?

We chose to publish a book highlighting New York City bars as we consider them to be the heart of New York City’s culture and neighborhoods. Historically, bars have always been melting pots and places where people from all backgrounds and cultures can mingle and share stories while enjoying a drink, and where relationships often start. For many New York residents, their neighborhood bar serves as a home away from home, where people can choose to be alone together. 

For many New York residents, their neighborhood bar serves as a home away from home, where people can choose to be alone together. 

We also feel the need to document these special places, similar to our work featured in our previous book, Store Front NYC: Photographs of the City’s Independent Shops, Past and Present, as many beloved bars have been forced to close in recent years due to economic pressures and rapidly changing neighborhood demographics.

You’re known best for your exterior photographs of storefronts. How is documenting interiors different when it comes to capturing tone, mood, and telling a story?

We approached our interior photography of the bars with the goal of capturing the essence of each location as well as including often overlooked details, especially ones that even regular visitors may have missed. We included an establishing photograph, often showing the overview of the space as you would walk through the door, and also photographed areas where patrons would spend most of their time while drinking, either at the bar itself or at a specific booth or table.

We photographed each bar using only available light, not bringing any additional equipment inside so that our photos would mirror the way the bar would appear during a typical visit.

What sorts of details typically capture your photographic eye?

We always seek out interesting architectural details, including handcrafted woodwork such as the mahogany balcony with its quatrefoil design inside The Campbell, the stained glass windows and back bar insets made by Tiffany at Peter McManus Cafe, and even the shoulder-height porcelain urinals in the men’s bathroom at Old Town Bar and Restaurant.

We also focused our lens on many of the items hanging on the walls and from the ceiling of the bars as they also provide insight into the bar’s history, including the turkey wishbones hanging at McSorley’s Old Ale House and the old saloon licenses at Fanelli Cafe.

How did you approach curating the 30 bars included in the book? What was your selection process?

In choosing which bars to include in our publication, we decided to concentrate on only the borough of Manhattan and focused on historic establishments, former speakeasies that sold illegal alcoholic beverages during the Prohibition era, as well as bars immortalized in film and literature. 

We additionally featured many lesser-known spots and dive bars including Rudy’s Bar & Grill, one of the city’s last affordable “working man” bars. Of course, there were numerous noteworthy locations we would have loved to include, but those will have to wait for another book!

Of the 30 bars cataloged in the book, do you have a favorite?

It’s so difficult to pick a favorite, but Pete’s Tavern holds a special place in our hearts as it not only has a beautiful historic interior, but also a welcoming staff and great food and drink. We try to stop by as often as possible and especially love visiting at Christmastime when the bar is strung with hundreds of lights and decorations.

Why does creating physical books continue to be so important to you both as photographers?

Since our journey as photographers began with documenting the streets of New York City using a 35mm film camera, printing our photographs and studying them has always been important to us. We have always felt that sharing our work in book form complements the subject matter by staying “old-school,” similar to the stores and bars we have photographed, while also capturing the patina and texture of the locations.

The post James and Karla Murray Raise a Glass to NYC’s Storied Bars in New Book appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“Quiltmaking is a tradition and a mode of expression that is both intimate and esteemed,” says Mazloomi on the power of the medium. “Every human being has an intimate relationship with cloth. It is the first thing we are swathed in at birth, and the last thing that touches our body upon our death. Through the nuance of textile, difficult stories can reach audiences across identities and generations from a place of care, hearth, peace, and nurture.”

The Claire Oliver Gallery in Harlem is set to present a solo exhibition of Mazloomi’s work from September 3 through November 2 entitled, Whole Cloth: Narratives in Black and White. Marking Mazloomi’s first-ever gallery exhibition, Whole Cloth features a collection of her large-scale quilts that recount the oft-overlooked impact of Black civil rights activists, leaders, and revolutionaries on American history. Mazloomi reflects on her practice as a quilter, the power of the medium to address tough subject matter, and the Whole Cloth exhibition below.

Through the nuance of textile, difficult stories can reach audiences across identities and generations from a place of care, hearth, peace, and nurture.

How would you describe your ethos as an artist?

 I am committed to using quilting as a means of storytelling and cultural expression.

You were trained as an aeronautical engineer before becoming a quilter. How did that major career pivot come about?

I was trained as an aviation engineer and was very unhappy with my work. I worked with no one who looked like me, and most importantly, working took me away from my three small boys. I wanted to do something that would keep me close to my children; I didn’t want them with a nanny or in a nursery. My first obligation in life is to my children and my role as a mother, and everything else must fit around that parameter.

My brother and sister were artists, so I decided to give it a try. Instead of paints, I use textiles. Making art afforded me the opportunity to work at home and be with my children. I made the decision to become an artist 55 years ago, and I have no regrets.

What does quilting offer you as a medium that other art forms don’t?

Quilting offers an endless variety of materials and techniques available to create work. Most people are familiar with quilts. Since I like to make work that revolves around social and political issues, using quilts to tell a story makes way for a soft landing for difficult subjects. Issues dealing with race are particularly difficult for people to accept. Viewing a narrative quilt makes it a bit easier.

Using quilts to tell a story makes way for a soft landing for difficult subjects.

What themes do you address in the Whole Cloth: Narratives in Black and White exhibition? What was your process like for assembling this show?

Most of the work in the show deals with Black history— the good, the bad, and the ugly. The work is pulled from my sketchbooks and notes. Over 30 states have placed restrictions on teaching Black history, making it so important that these stories be told, otherwise they would be unknown. There will be 55 quilts in this series and I plan to write a catalog. I also hope the exhibition will travel.

Over 30 states have placed restrictions on teaching Black history, making it so important that these stories be told.

What experience do you hope viewers of the exhibition have?

The exhibition is about educating the public on aspects of American history they may not be familiar with, and raising awareness around social justice issues. I want viewers to understand and challenge social injustices so we might alter oppressive systemic patterns of racism in this country.

What legacy do you hope to leave in the art world? 

It’s my hope that the quilts I’ve made will be a catalyst for social change, raising awareness, challenging norms, and fostering dialogue. As the Founder of the Women of Color Quilters Network, the oldest and largest organization of Black quilters in the country, I have played a major role in documenting and preserving the history of African American quilts, ensuring these stories and traditions are recognized and valued. 

Through the books I’ve written and exhibitions curated over 40 years, I’ve fostered a sense of community among Black quilt artists. The Women of Color Quilters Network has become their home, and the network is my legacy.

Header image:
Hands Up … Don’t Shoot #2
2024, Poly-cotton fabric, cotton thread, cotton batting, fabric paint.
58 x 102 inches | 147.32 x 259.08 cm

The post Carolyn Mazloomi Uses the Power of Quilting to Honor Black History appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Welcome to the DesignThinkers Podcast! Join host and RGD President Nicola Hamilton as she digs into the archives of the DesignThinkers conference, reconnecting with past speakers about their talks and ideas that have shaped Canada’s largest graphic design conference. Follow the RGD on Instagram @rgdcanada or visit them at rgd.ca. Purchase tickets to the upcoming DesignThinkers conference at designthinkers.com.

The post DesignThinkers Podcast: Glenda Rissman RGD appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Hostile architecture is a design element in a public space that is intended to keep people away. It’s primarily an effort that targets the houseless community and makes sleeping and simply existing even more challenging than it already is for such a vulnerable and under-supported group.

The always thoughtful and impassioned Semple answered a few of my questions about the awareness campaign, shedding light on the evils of hostile architecture and why he felt compelled to do something about it.

(Conversation lightly edited for clarity and length.)

Can you define “hostile architecture” for our readers?

Hostile architecture is the practice of designing things to create environments that discourage people from being there or using the space in specific ways. 

An example would be installing spikes in a doorway so homeless people couldn’t sleep there. Or using a high-pitched sound in a city center that young people can hear yet older people can’t, which is used to discourage skateboarding. It could be a metal bar on a bench so nobody could sleep on it. 

I like to call it “hostile design” because I see it as a subversion of design, and when we refer to it as architecture, we think about buildings. I think of it more as a perversion of creativity, something used against humanity and tends to appear in things like street furniture. 

[Hostile design] is a perversion of creativity, something used against humanity.

Why is raising awareness around hostile architecture so important to you?

I believe our towns, cities, high streets, and civic centers are really important. They are social spaces that we all use, and they are becoming increasingly hostile. As an artist and a designer I’ve always tried my very best to use what little talent I have to make things better for people and solve problems. Hostile design is the opposite of that; it’s using creativity to cause harm. 

I want to raise awareness because hostile design can be invisible until you understand what you are looking at. It hides in plain sight. Once you see it and know what you’re looking for, you literally see it everywhere. Once we become aware of something, we start to change it. I’ve seen a lot of cities and towns changing track now because they understand the issue, and they know they won’t get away with creating cruel spaces. 

The more the public understands this, the more our leaders will be under pressure to stop doing it. I hope that in the future, we start to look at proper solutions for homelessness and anti-social behavior rather than using design to move the problem on to somewhere else. I want to see our public spaces being inclusive, compassionate, and helpful. 

How did your idea for this campaign develop?

I was working with a big US city, and one of the things I was doing was designing a train station. I found myself in quite bureaucratic meetings with the transit authority. It wasn’t long before they started trying to co-opt my design and make sure it repelled homeless people, skateboarders, and drug users. My scheme was much more humane than that, but they pushed back hard. I remember telling them I didn’t want the gig, even though it was (and probably still is) the biggest thing I’ve ever walked away from. I couldn’t bring myself to be part of something like that.

I got home to my hometown of Bournemouth, where I noticed metal bars on the benches in the high street. I’d probably walked past them a million times. But this time, I could see they’d been retrofitted so homeless people couldn’t sleep on them. I took a photo of it, put it on Facebook, and explained what it was. The next day, I woke up, and the post had a million shares. People all over the world were saying they had similar things in their local areas. I knew it was important and something that needed to be challenged. 

I launched HostileDesign.org and worked with the homeless community in Bournemouth to decorate the benches, turning them into art installations called ‘love benches.’ It was all over the news, and the council took all the bars off the benches in the middle of the night. People from all over the world started ordering the stickers from the website and tagging hostile design in their communities. Recently, I teamed up with TBWA, and they installed posters over doorway spikes in London. 

The potency comes from the fact that the photographs are life-size; you are confronted with the harsh reality of a human coming into violent contact with the spikes.

What was the installation process like?

It was quite easy. Sadly, the spikes themselves are so nasty that pushing a poster through them wasn’t hard. What I really like about the campaign is how direct it looks and that the posters are made to measure the [installation] site. 

How has the campaign been received so far? 

It’s been incredible. It’s got a lot of people talking and helped push the campaign and dialogue forward. The potency comes from the fact that the photographs are life-size; you are confronted with the harsh reality of a human coming into violent contact with the spikes.

The post Stuart Semple Calls Out Hostile Architecture with Powerful OOH Campaign appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

-Andy Saunders

Andy Saunders created his first-ever custom car before he was old enough to hold a driver’s license. At just 15 years old in Poole on the South Coast of England, Saunders took to car customization like a Mustang with a full gas tank takes to an open road. He unearthed a preternatural ability to bring out-of-the-box, creative concepts to life and push the bounds of what a car can be.

Saunders, the son of a secondhand car dealer (with an interest in the slightly unusual), was raised in his dad’s forecourt, fixing up and selling secondhand cars. For over four decades, Saunders has produced some of the most innovative and imaginative automobile interpretations the industry has ever seen, from Picasso’s Citroën (see above) unveiled at the 2007 Goodwood Festival of Speed to the historic X-2000 to the world record-breaking Claustrophobia. Saunders’ designs and convention-busting point of view will have you trading in your silver Prius for a retro-fixer upper someone’s offloading on Craigs List. Or maybe that’s just me …

I spoke with the car magician a few weeks ago to learn more about his road to custom car supremacy. Our conversation is below (lightly edited for clarity and length).

How did you first get into the world of custom cars? When did you start tinkering with them and letting your imagination run wild? 

When I was a kid in the 70s, the custom car scene in England was vast. I don’t know what about custom cars mesmerized me, but I just went, Wow, that’s my dream to have a custom car.

My first custom car came about when I was 15. At school, I had to do a 3,000-meter cross-country run, and long story short, I virtually collapsed. I couldn’t do it. I had palpitations, which went on for probably two and a half days; they just didn’t stop. I went to the hospital, and subsequently, I learned I was born with a hole in the heart. 

I had to go in for specialist attention, and the chap said, “For you to have any life after the age of about 25, you’re going to have to have open-heart surgery.” I was so petrified and so were my parents. I had a year before the operation. My dad had a little forecourt where he sold secondhand cars, and he took in a black Escort with a white stripe down the side and a fiberglass flip front and said, “We’re going to build a custom car.” So that’s how the first one came about; it was for everyone to focus on outside of this impending doom, to give positivity. 

Neither of us knew what we were doing, but we worked on it all the time and finished it very quickly. At the very first show it went to, it won runner-up custom over 350 other cars, and then we went to a show the following weekend, and it won again. The chap who gave out the prize said, “This young man really needs to have eyes kept on him, because he’s obviously got a lot of talent.” 

It sounds like you were a sort of custom car prodigy. Were there any indications of your creative ability before then?  

I was quite creative. But I didn’t realize how controlled I was by my dad. I wish I had gone to art school, but I didn’t because I loved working with my dad. I loved cars and working with my dad on his forecourt; at 15, I could spray cars better than the professional sprayer. I just worked with him all the time. I would come home from school and work with him until seven at night rather than do homework. My interest in creativity was funneled into work because that’s what I wanted to do. 

I’ve worked most of my life, and I like work. Every car on my website, even the commissions I’ve done for the big companies, have all been done outside my daily job. For 41 years, I ran a service center and an MOT station, so I did all my cars in the evenings and weekends. I love work. It’s funny; I’m retired and can’t tell you how little time I’ve got. I have a new project in the garage, which has been there for six months, and I’ve managed to spend ten days on it. If I’d have been running the garage and running around, doing this, that, and the other, I’d have built it by now. I can’t work out what’s happened to time!

Where does your knack for funky and unique-looking cars come from? 

Back in England in the 70s, we had companies like Jensen Interceptor and Gilburn; all these little, small-time companies were making cars. Occasionally, you saw them on the forecourts, which excited me. Car sales sites now are so boring. There’s the silver Audi, the black Range Rover, the black Audi, the silver Range Rover. There’s no choice! They look the same! They’re all ugly! 

Some have described your custom cars as “controversial.” I’m curious: what aspect of your work has been controversial? 

I seem to upset car clubs very easily. If I get hold of a car, they don’t want me fiddling with it. I bought a 1936 Hudson Roadster recently; it’s super, super rare, and it’s beautiful. The English Hudson Owners Club have got right on their stuffy, Victorian-thinking, high horse about me owning it. They even rallied around their members to see if they could get someone to buy it from me, rather than leave it in my hands. What is so ridiculous is that they don’t even know what I am planning for it, which funnily enough is just a “Show Car” restoration! I’m not chopping it out, it’s too rare to chop up.

What’s your workshop setup like? Are you working entirely alone? Do you have a trusted team of people to help you?

Every detail of design is mine, something I love doing so much, and every inch of body work I build myself using my trusty welder and angle grinder.

I used to carry out my own paint until the introduction of 2-Pack. The little double garage behind my house where I do all my work does not have these facilities, so for several years I’ve used John Bethell for all my straight paint, Mike Wareham for all metal flake, and the talented Scott Lloyd for my interiors. I literally have no idea how to use a sewing machine! 

More recently, after meeting the talented artist Maxime Xavier (who became my wife in Vegas earlier this year), our latest cars are now being adorned with some of the wildest and most beautiful custom paint this country has ever seen. Last but not least is Matt Edley, an artisan sculptor. I enjoy his swoopy, avant-garde chrome trims, which I know have taken my cars to another level. 

Do you have a favorite car you’ve worked on or a project you’re proudest of?

One is Claustrophobia. I bought that car when it was on its way to the scrapyard and paid ten pounds for it. I had this ridiculous idea, and I thought if it works, it works, and if it doesn’t, I haven’t lost anything. 

Back in the ’60s, there was a man called Neville Trickett, and he made a car called the Mini Sprint. It was a mini that was roof-chopped about three inches, and then they cut it in half around the middle—called sectioning—and then lowered the body, but they only lowered it about two and a half inches because they still wanted it as a road usable car. I thought if I were to do the same to Claustrophobia but take out as much as I could get out of every car, I would have a stupidly low car. 

As soon as I finished it, it went for a photo session for a magazine feature. They had me sit in it for the cover photo; I had my arm out the window, my head through the roof, and my fingers touching the ground. The title was: “Claustrophobia, the Lowest Car in the World.” The magazine made that up, but about three weeks later, I got a phone call from the Guinness Book of World Records office asking me to send them a picture with a measuring stick next to it, which I did. It was 34 and a half inches tall. Then they contacted me again and said, “We’re going to come down,” and they sent down the official chap. He said, “This is officially the lowest car in the world.”

When I was a little boy, I used to be absolutely fascinated by the Guinness Book of World Records. If there was one thing that I wanted to do, it was to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. I don’t know why that is. My gran used to buy me the new edition every Christmas, and I loved it. As if Claustrophobia getting in isn’t the best thing that could have ever happened, they do a smaller version called Guinness Book of World Records: Extraordinary Records, and on the front cover of that year’s edition, there’s Concord, George Michael, Bob Geldof, and Claustrophobia; it’s actually in the collage on the front cover of that book. Bloody hell!

Saunders has gone on to hold three Guinness Book of World Records titles.

What’s your favorite aspect of bringing a new (old) car to life?

I sometimes wonder if my workshop has become some time travel equipment. Because I would walk in on a Saturday morning, walk out later that weekend, and find out that I’ve been in there three months. On a large project, it’s nothing to do 12 hours of physical work without stopping. You lose time! You lose time, and it’s fabulous. There isn’t anything more exciting in my life. Nothing has ever been more exciting than when it’s just flowing, and you don’t know your name, you don’t know what time it is, you don’t know if you’re hungry or not, you’re just there, and you’re one with it. Passion and creation at this level is something so few will ever be lucky enough to experience.

Saunders’ book The Automotive Alchemist (2023) is available for purchase here.

The post Andy Saunders Creates Custom Cars Beyond Your Wildest Dreams appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I had the treat of speaking to Martz recently about her vegan art practice and her journey to this mindfulness. Our conversation is below (edited lightly for length and clarity).

How did you first come to fiber arts and sculpture?

I’ve always been quite creative. I grew up in a very creative, liberated household, so my parents really nurtured my desire to express myself through an artistic art form. That inevitably led me to art school, and I went to Tyler School of Art at Temple University in Philadelphia. 

Going into college fresh is such a wildly exciting and vulnerable time when we don’t know ourselves yet, and so getting thrown into school with so many different options for that creative outlet, I had no idea what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I was drawn to three-dimensional forms, organic forms, things found in nature. I love irregular movement, lack of consistent edges, repetitive shapes, and a lot of color. I experimented with different mediums, from wood, glass, welding, and ceramics to printmaking, but nothing clicked. Then, I took a fibers class. 

Tyler School of Art has an incredible fibers department, and they go beyond traditional methods. The school really engages with students who yearn for more contemporary, experimental approaches. And it just clicked! I realized that everything I had been trying to make in those other mediums wasn’t successful because I needed fibers to make my vision come to life.

I was drawn to how forgiving and adventurous the medium can be. I feel very fortunate to have been taught in quite an alternative way. I didn’t do weaving, macrame, crochet, or knitting. I chose more experimental classes, where I burned fabric, bubbled it, and dyed it with unusual plant dyes. That’s where the foundation began for me, and for the past 12 years, I’ve continued forward as an artist blending fibers and sculpture. 

You say your parents helped cultivate your creativity. Were they also artists?

My dad is a sculptor, painter, and “Art Brut” music composer. He’s very radical and experimental in his art form, and he’s always practiced various art forms since I was a child, so I was very influenced by that. My mom is a writer and editor within Hearst Corporation; she worked in fashion magazines. There was a time when I did a lot of couture—wearable art sculptures on the body—probably partially because of her industry’s influence, though I eventually shifted away from that.

I know that being a vegan artist is central to your practice. Why is that such an important aspect of your artistic POV?

Veganism is the next chapter of my practice after I identified my passion for textiles, fibers, and sculpture in a contemporary, abstract method. Honestly it was a very personal journey before it even linked within the artistic realm of my life. 

My parents empowered me to be a vegetarian in the 90s and 2000s. That was unusual when I was a kid, and it’s amazing that it’s way more normalized and accessible now. So I was raised feeling empowered by this ethical decision. When I reached my mid-20s, through social media, I fell into the rabbit hole of visually seeing these industries for the first time through undercover investigative footage of the egg and dairy industries. I’m thankful for social media and the veganism movement that educated me and inspired me to go all in, specifically for ethical reasons, but also for environmental, of course, and health reasons. 

Everything shifted for me—from what I ate to the companies I supported, to the clothing and products I bought—making sure they weren’t tested on animals or had animal products in them. Then I had this ah-ha! moment when I thought, how am I not thinking this way in my fiber art practice? Some of the most prominent materials in this sector of the art industry are wool, silk, leather, mohair, and alpaca. In school and the industry, these materials are held on a pedestal of being the better option. I see their allure versus synthetic materials, which are incredibly problematic. But I had this realization that I didn’t want my art to contribute to a part of the textile industry that’s heavily linked to animal agriculture, which we know is incredibly cruel to animals, unsustainable, and unethical to workers. 

initially used synthetic alternatives because they are the most readily available. I was focused on the ethical side for the animals, but it didn’t feel right with my pursuit to be more sustainable. Polyester and other synthetic materials are absolutely horrible, and they’re part of the oil industry, which is a monster within itself. So I shifted toward researching more sustainable plant fibers, like flax, linen, organic cotton, and kapok fibers, one of the materials I’ve used the most (it’s a fluffy stuffing that’s an incredible replacement for wool or polyester stuffing). But even using plant fibers didn’t feel like I was progressing enough with my goal to reduce my environmental impact, and that’s where I started to shift toward prioritizing secondhand clothing as my biggest source for materials.  

What does the process of sourcing secondhand clothing as your primary material entail? 

When I have a new project or commission in mind, I will go to local thrift stores and source what I can. Overconsumption is incredibly problematic and horrifying for our planet and the fashion industry. Ninety-two million tons of textile waste is made annually around the world. I recently read that this is equivalent to the weight of over 61 million cars, which is catastrophic. 

I would like to do as much as I can to prevent items from going into landfills, but it’s also through my artistic activism that I can spark dialog, be a catalyst for cultural transformation, and inspire more sustainable thinking and conscious consumerism.

As fast fashion came into place, it produced four collections a year that went with seasons. Now, companies are doing over 100-plus collections a year. Overconsumption of clothing is just rampant around the world. People are buying, buying, buying these cheaply made products with the excuse of, it’s okay because I’m going to donate it, and it can be reused. The big disconnect is that about 85% of donated clothing goes to landfills. Only 15% of all donated clothing worldwide is actually being purchased at secondhand stores and reworn. That’s so alarming to me. On a personal level, I buy secondhand clothing because I would like to do as much as I can to prevent items from going into landfills, but it’s also through my artistic activism that I can spark dialog, be a catalyst for cultural transformation, and inspire more sustainable thinking and conscious consumerism. 

I would imagine shopping at secondhand stores for your materials would yield more exciting and unexpected fabric discoveries. There must be a thrill of the hunt and the unknown that’s so much more exhilarating as an artist than shopping at Joann Fabric. 

You’re spot on. I was drawn to doing this from a sustainability standpoint, but I was also fed up with the fabric options that I have in my rural part of Southern Vermont, and buying fabric online is a gamble when it comes to color, texture, and weight. Shopping secondhand made the most sense, and it’s guided many of my art pieces. Sometimes, I’ll go in with a color palette in mind, but other times, I go in, and I think, let me see what I find, and there’s this beautiful kind of collaboration between me and these articles of clothing. 

There’s also this poetic storyline that comes along with using secondhand clothing, in that each article of clothing has the history of its wearer…

Different textures often come out within my art because I’m working with sweaters, sweatshirts, sheets, and pants. A nice variety of different weaves comes through in the artwork, which is quite captivating. There’s also this poetic storyline that comes along with using secondhand clothing, in that each article of clothing has the history of its wearer and sometimes multiple people who have worn this clothing with their own life experiences. Bringing that spiritual energy of different people and their lives into an art piece is quite beautiful and mysterious, in a way. That’s an element of buying secondhand clothing that’s been really inspiring for me.

I had a client reach out recently who saw that I was working with secondhand clothing after her father suddenly passed away this past winter. She’d been unable to think of what to do with his clothing because he was an avid thrifter; they’d go every week together, and he loved fashion. So she’s sending me some of his clothing so I can make a few wall sculptures for her and her family so that his clothing can have a new life after his passing and be an heirloom they can pass on. It’s just such a beautiful, special project that I hadn’t even considered offering to people until recently.

Hopefully, more artists start thinking about the environmental impact and sustainability of their art practice and materials in this way. 

Many of us get trapped in the cycle of this is just how things are done; this is traditional. People glorify tradition in certain realms, and it’s kind of a scary decision to choose to go against tradition and not only do it privately but also vocalize it and advocate for it.

Using my online presence to advocate for choosing plant-based over animal-derived materials and choosing more sustainable alternatives is a vulnerable thing—to take that stance in an industry that’s wrapped up so heavily in tradition. But it’s also really empowering, and I have seen such a shift. When the conversation is sparked, people are like, well, internally, I’ve been thinking about how this isn’t right, but now hearing others talk about it makes me feel more confident that I can change these options for my health, for the planet’s health, for animals, and so on.

In the past, I wasn’t guided as much by my materials and I didn’t give them as much thought as an artist. That’s quite common in the art industry. I hope I see more artists take sustainable approaches. I think it’s an inevitable path within this industry, with artists, collectors, and buyers being guided more by the materials and being more thoughtful about what they’re using, how they were made, whom they were made by, and their impact. 

What advice would you give artists about developing a more sustainable art practice?

Trying to be more sustainable within your life and art-making can be intimidating for people because they feel like they have to dive right in and change everything they’re doing drastically. That’s not an approach that’s achievable for a lot of people. For me, it’s been an evolution from switching to plant-based materials and plant fibers to secondhand clothing, and now I’m working with eco-friendly paint and compostable plastic. Each month or so, I make a slight switch in what I’m using toward something more sustainable. Because, in the end, there’s no perfection. We’re all living and navigating life within a very imperfect system. So, it’s about striving to make small changes in our lives to be more thoughtful.

Header image taken by Joy Masi.

The post Fiber Artist Sienna Martz Takes a Stand Against Tradition with Secondhand Materials appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Welcome to the DesignThinkers Podcast! Join host and RGD President Nicola Hamilton as she digs into the archives of the DesignThinkers conference, reconnecting with past speakers about their talks and ideas that have shaped Canada’s largest graphic design conference. Follow the RGD on Instagram @rgdcanada or visit them at rgd.ca. Purchase tickets to the upcoming DesignThinkers conference at designthinkers.com.

The post DesignThinkers Podcast: Ellen Lupton appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Van Dalen moved to New York City’s East Village in 1966. And he has not moved since. He’s become a landmark of this now-gentrified former Beat Generation Bohemia and hippie psychedelic haven. The neighborhood, once the epicenter of alternative culture (and trained pigeons), today retains some of its past grungy glory, with the exception of super-high real estate prices.

Van Dalen has painted the paintings, collaged the collages and made the graphics that were and are emblems of the East Village. He was a founding member of the painting scene at the legendary P-P-O-W Gallery, and if you walk south down Avenue A, his monuments to the city can still be seen.

He is still going strong. But I have another agenda in posting this piece. For 30 years he was the cine qua non of artist assistants. In that time, while creating a name for himself, he was the assistant to the very private artist Saul Steinberg, which, out of respect, he kept secret until Steinberg’s death in 1999.

Upon arriving in New York from his native Holland, there were two men that the young artist was determined to meet. One was Weegee, the New York street photographer, and the other was Steinberg, the cartoonist and artist. Unannounced, van Dalen called upon Weegee at his Hell’s Kitchen apartment, and to his surprise was invited to spend about an hour. Conversely, Steinberg, who he blindly telephoned (as he was listed in the phonebook) proved a bit more elusive, but persistence paid off and van Dalen was eventually invited to his apartment for a two-hour visit. With these goals achieved, van Dalen was content to follow his artistic career, but fate intervened.

A few months after their initial meeting, van Dalen ran into Steinberg on 57th Street and was invited to the opening of his exhibition at the Sidney Janis Gallery. It was here that Steinberg asked van Dalen if he could recommend someone to work as his assistant. To which the young artist said, “Let me do it, I will do anything.” And so began (at his studio at 33 Union Square West, the same building as Andy Warhol’s “Factory”) a 30-year working relationship that would have made van Dalen the envy of many artists, if only they knew. Instead, it was a closely guarded secret. Given Steinberg’s want for privacy and van Dalen’s need not to be totally overshadowed as an artist, only a few confidants were ever told about his daily whereabouts. In turn Steinberg so trusted van Dalen that he became the beneficiary of certain artifacts and his one-on-one tutorials (although van Dalen’s artwork shows no overt Steinbergian characteristics).

After Steinberg died in 1999, van Dalen inherited his entire library and some of the tables and chairs from his studio. Last year, after keeping this secret for so long, he decided that it was time to tell all, to celebrate his employer through a showing of books, drawings, sketches, printed matter and other work that sheds more light on Steinberg’s passions. Yet rather than exhibit at a museum or gallery, van Dalen decided to mount the show at The School of Visual Arts in order to introduce Steinberg to a brand-new generation. In this interview, van Dalen talks openly about the role Steinberg played in his life and the intimate side few people have seen or read about.

You were born and raised in Holland. When did you become aware of Steinberg’s work?
I was introduced to Steinberg’s art at 13 by my older brother, who studied at the Rietveld Academy of Art in Amsterdam. The innovation Steinberg brought to us was the idea of drawing with a single line, no shading, etc. We were struck by the graphic clarity of his art and the worldly use of various drawing techniques, but mostly by the exuberance and boundless curiosity of his mind. In 1954, when I was 16 years old, my family immigrated from Holland to Toronto, and it was there that I saw his just-published book, The Passport, which revealed the breadth of his thinking. Also The New Yorker, for which he had begun to work in 1943, projected the enormous unequaled power of American ideas and influence. Steinberg was for many of my generation a representation of America. His art epitomized the post–World War II optimism—an optimism that in the 1960s grew dark, as it did in his art, and reflected the cultural shift and loss of innocence.

Did he employ other assistants during your 30-year tenure?
I was the only one who worked regularly for Steinberg at his Union Square studio and then at 103 E. 75th St. He did occasionally have a carpenter who built his tables. These tables, beginning in the 1970s, were an integral part of his work, upon which he attached his art. At his Amagansett summer house and studio he had a second assistant, also a carpenter, which worked for him on a regular basis. He built for him many tables and glued upon them Steinberg’s drawn, painted, cut and carved wood elements. Steinberg always did his own drawing and painting. No one ever did that for him.

Steinberg was quite a private artist. Did he demand confidentiality from you? How did you earn his trust?
Steinberg was extremely private, but I also sought to have our relationship private. Whereas he revealed his privacy on his own terms through his enigmatic art, for me privacy was a matter of survival as a person and an artist. Because of his powerful personality, renown, and his 23-year advantage over me, I kept a certain distance with him to keep my identity intact. Also, I was self-conscious that people might think that either I was shaped by him or advantaged through him—I would not allow either. So few people—only close friends—knew of my relationship with him. During the 30 years I never went public with it.

You are an artist and you are Dutch. Was there any connection between you and Steinberg’s work?
In Steinberg’s complex art there are several layers that derive from his affection for Dutch art. The skies of his watercolors (with rubber-stamped figures) are clearly taken from the 17th century landscape paintings of Jacob Ruisdael, with their low horizon and dramatic effect of space. Also, on occasion through the years, Steinberg did imaginary portraits of Vincent Van Gogh. In fact, he adopted a way of drawing where each line is a description of the nature of the subject rather than rendered real life. Mondrian was also a recurring influence. In fact, when I first met Steinberg he had just made a number of fake Mondrian paintings and was amused that people assumed they were the real thing. At that time he had begun to make the so-called “tables” with trompe l’oeil objects arranged in a Mondrian way on horizontals and verticals. Like the Dutch artist M.C. Escher, Steinberg explored the ambiguity of reality as a puzzle. All of which made me wonder at times if my being a Dutch artist was another manifestation of that interest, and if all that “order” he often asked me to make around him, where I put everything in horizontals and verticals—the Mondrian in me—which in turn influenced his tables.

One of the things that set Steinberg apart from other cartoonists, illustrators and painters was a language that seemed to be totally his own, but it had to come from somewhere. In the collection of his books and other materials that he left to you after he died, the roots become evident. What are these roots?
Steinberg grew up in Bucharest, Romania. The Romania of his childhood was culturally isolated from the European centers of power and a remnant of the former Turkish Ottoman Empire. Plus, it was a country with a relatively small Jewish community without a worldly center like Vienna or Berlin. Leaving for Milan at age 19 in 1933 to study architecture represented a huge leap into the then-modern world. He often expressed embarrassment and shame of his homeland’s culture, which he never returned to visit after he left for America in 1942. When I asked him why he had not gone back, he told me that he would if a travel agent could sell him a 1922 ticket. It was in his later years that he did touching drawings that spoke of his childhood home life and the personages of his family. Because of his interest in postcards, he had me find cards of the Bucharest streets and buildings of the 1920s and 1930s, which he then studied with pleasure through a magnifying glass. At the very end of his life, a friend got him a large map of Bucharest from the New York Public Library, which he then had me photo-enlarge the neighborhood of his childhood. From this he drew in pencil on a large piece of paper his last map, which was his last drawing.

What were some of his influences, and who did he truly respect in the art world?
Much of Steinberg’s art was his invention, and a deliberate misleading and blurring of his actual personal history. It was these disguises that gave him the freedom of many points of view. Picasso and James Joyce were among his most profound influences, both explored ideas on multiple planes and identities, and with ferocious curiosity towards all manner of means and sources. Of the generation of artist that came after Steinberg, it was my impression that Andy Warhol most held his interest and respect. Both were social and political artists. I remember one time Steinberg was pondering on a series of Warhol paintings about the Communist hammer and sickle symbol. In the works, Warhol had separated the two objects and laid them down as a still life, on which Steinberg said that he was surprised he had not thought of this idea.

There is a lot of history in Steinberg’s work. How would you describe his method in relation to art history?
Steinberg’s method of work was to not realistically render imagery from a fixed perspective, but rather to construct a picture by a coded system derived from art history. In this way, within one of his drawings, several art histories coexist. For example, as I mentioned, for the skies of his watercolor landscapes (with rubber-stamped figures) he mimicked the Dutch painters of the 17th century, but then the people on the ground represented as contemporary postal markings. For panoramic scenes, the French 17th century engraver Jacques Callot suggested the peopled open plain, but then above that will be curled clouds in classical Chinese brush style. Steinberg’s buildings maybe were influenced by the Italian 18th century etcher Piranesi, or a Bauhaus style, or just drawing on graph paper. Artists as diverse as the popular Mexican printmaker Jose Guadalupe Posada, or French social artist Honore Daumier, and Picasso with his own rich mix of art histories, allowed him to stage on paper a complex world. He was like an alchemist mixing the unexpected, and this way he used history as his grammar to assemble a picture.

Being so close to Steinberg, did he present you with any of his work?
Yes, during the 30 years that I worked for Steinberg he generously gave me original artworks. He did so once or twice a year, as he did for many of his close friends. He called these gifts “little collections.” Now when I look over my “little” Steinberg collection—the variety and the dates they were done—I am struck by how balanced a representation it is of his art. When he gave me a picture it was always a big event for me. At his home he would surprise me and walk over with a drawing. It appeared that he had taken time to decide as to what to give. In later years he forewarned me not to display histrionics, as he called it. So I simply thanked him, but then when I got home I called on the phone to thank him warmly.

After so many years of discretion—in fact, some people who know you did not even know that you worked for Steinberg—why are you now going public with some of these private things?
For many years Steinberg experienced eroding pleasure from life, and darkening view of the public exposure and uses of his art. Arne Glimcher of the Pace Gallery, who was devoted to Steinberg as an artist and man, pleaded often with him to exhibit, but he resisted or postponed again and again. So now after his death, only the work remains, and which now needs to be introduced to the next generation, which is the reason I have now gone public to help restore the pleasure both he and his art gave to me and my generation.

Speaking of his darkening views, what about Steinberg’s imitators? There were many who copied the style. Indeed, he went to court over the flagrant abuse of his New Yorker “New York map” cover. How did he feel about imitators? Was he flattered or angered?
During most of his lifetime he was one of the most widely copied artists, which was a constant irritant, and many have contributed to his evolving new styles and subject matter to stay ahead. When The New Yorker came out with a poster that became his most recognized cover, “View of the World from 9th Avenue” (March 29, 1976), it spawned a flood of renegade copies, which were sold at every poster and frame shop in New York. Of course it was without his permission and he was not compensated. He did show me how to recognize the fakes by the blue band of sky across the top, which unlike the original had a hard edge, not the soft fade-out. In time the poster was also endlessly imitated as “take-offs” for most major cities around the world. The “take-offs” did sour him. Yet years later he grew intrigued by the influence of his idea and how it reverberated around the world.

His work is so playful. Was he as pleased with his printed work at the end of his life as he must have been in the beginning?
He was mesmerized by the print medium. Many a time I watched at the arrival of the proof-print of his latest New Yorker cover and how he held it flat on his palms turned up, as if a silver tray, and eyeing it with minute interest. In contrast he treated his original at very casually, and piled it in flat files, often with minimum protection.

Steinberg’s work was filled with such joy, indeed passion. What did he take the most pleasure in doing?
Steinberg would speak of having an “appetite” to make art, or conversely he might say, “I am not working right now.” He worked in episodic ways. Throughout his life his curiosity towards the world was to me always surprisingly deep and entirely unbridled. He had read just about every book, on every kind of subject, and traveled to about every place in the world. I always perceived his lifetime work as an encyclopedia of life on Earth in the second half of the 20th century. Any given interest, be it baseball or Tolstoy, would be complete in his mind. He spoke of the importance of an obsession. In person this intensity of interest and insight was expressed with monologues that I made sure not to interrupt with questions, because if I did that moment would be over. His drawings are very much like the way he spoke, with gravity, irony and with unexpected turns of humor. He spoke of making his art as a means to escape boredom, and it appeared to me that his working episodes were a retreat to document his then-current obsession. During his lifetime he filled hundreds of sketchbooks, where he distilled his private images of subjects that most interested him. He would build upon these for his large public drawings. I never saw him do what artists generally do, which is to sketch an overall plan. Instead he improvised, and brought these independently developed elements into context, just as a theater director moves actors and props around a stage, or in his case, paper.

The post The Daily Heller: The Assistant, Anton van Dalen appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

It takes a whole team to create the fastest woman in the world.

USA Olympic sprinter Sha’Carri Richardson’s 100m silver medal win in Paris was thrilling to watch. Richardson’s incredible accomplishments on the track come down to grit, persistence, and countless training hours. But there’s also a team of coaches, nutritionists, family, friends, and many others who help Richardson soar. A core group within Team Sha’Carri is her trusted nail technicians, whom she turns to for her signature press-on nails she dons for all of her races. Nail technicians might strike outsiders as less important to Richardson’s success, but they would be sorely mistaken.

Paris 2024 has given us a lot to take in, including the exuberant ways many athletes have chosen to present themselves as they compete. Richardson has been known for her flashy fingernails since she quite literally burst onto the scene during the Tokyo Olympics in 2021, and she’s continued to push the boundaries of her signature accessory every time she takes her mark. I recently had the joy of speaking to one of the nail technicians, Kinaya Haug, who has designed a few sets of nails for Richardson. Richardson wore Haug’s designs while competing in the US Track & Field Olympic Trials in Oregon this past June, in which she won the 100m and secured her spot in Paris.

The Oregon-based Haug works with many athletes, primarily track runners affiliated with Nike. She loves having the power to help these athletes feel their best as they compete, and she relishes the intimate moments she shares with them as she does their nails before races. Check out our conversation below!

(This conversation has been edited for clarity and length.)

How did the opportunity to work with Sha’Carri first come about? 

I had a client named Raven Saunders, an Olympic shot-putter, and we just hit it off and became friends. She took me to the track with my daughter one day, and we saw Sha’Carri, so I ran up to her. She’s always been a dream client of mine as a nail tech. Sha’Carri is our modern-day Flo Jo! Also, I became more involved in activism starting in 2020, and Sha’Carri is a big voice for Black women. She’s always been someone I was super attracted to, wanting to do her nails.

This year, I was invited to the Olympic Trials. I met so many cool athletes when I went, and it was so special to provide my service and my art to people who are literally donating their bodies for their sport— they deserve to be taken care of! While there, I ran into a woman who asked if I was a nail tech because she needed some press-ons for somebody. As soon as she asked I already knew. There’s only one Press-On Queen out there doing that.

They told me they wanted them long and to match her uniform. I busted my ass from five o’clock to one o’clock in the morning in my shop, messing with stuff, trying to figure out what I wanted to do, trying to plan it out. I finally finished and presented them. A couple of days later, she came back and asked for a couple more for the 200 meter. She ended up wearing my press-ons for the first 100-meter heat! I was just so jazzed that I could be the one to provide her with multiple nail sets for this event, and she finally wore them on the track. It was a really big moment, so exciting for me.

It was so special to provide my service and my art to people who are literally donating their bodies for their sport—they deserve to be taken care of!

You weren’t given much guidance and were encouraged to freestyle. What was your design process like? How did you come up with the ideas for press-ons that would be worn by one of Team USA’s biggest stars?

I have to make these so bougie! I want this to be over the top! They have to be flashy and get people to look and ask, what is that? So I went to the craft store and got as much stuff as I could. I just let it free flow. I grabbed a bunch of stuff that matched—kind of—and put it all together. It’s really exciting to do freestyles, but it’s nerve-wracking because you never know if what you create will be something somebody else likes. I had to sit there and think about every single nail. They’re all mismatched, but they all have to go together. 

The second pair of nails I did for her are rainbow airbrush, Black hippie-esque. Erykah Badu style!

I’d imagine that applying these nails to the athletes and interacting with them in an intimate one-on-one moment before they run is a fun and rewarding aspect of your job. What’s that part of the job like for you?

That’s actually my favorite part because I am a yapper! I love to talk. I get so excited to get to know them on a personal level. When somebody is in the spotlight, I wonder what they’re actually like.

Since I’m a mom, I see everyone as somebody’s kid. To me, these are all just a bunch of kids running track and having so much fun. I get to know where they came from, how they like the area that they live in, and if they’re being treated right. The conversations are amazing; I love to get to know them. It’s so personal, and they’re all very nice people.

We’re all just people. We’re all at different parts of our lives and careers, so it’s really nice to relate. At the end of it, I’m like, that’s my friend! That’s how I feel about my clients. It’s so great to get that connection.

There seems to be a movement right now in which many athletes like Sha’Carri are reclaiming the power of presenting themselves in overtly feminine and glamorous ways, whether through their nails, make-up, hair, etc. They’re using their time in the spotlight to express themselves and their culture as they compete. What are your thoughts on this, and how does being part of that feel?

My favorite part is that everything that Sha’Carri does is deeply embedded in Black culture. That’s why I love this gig too, as a Black woman specifically— I get to work with many Black women. We love our nails, we love our hair, we love our lashes. We love to look so good and blingy and extra. But that’s also something we’re consistently ridiculed for.

For Sha’Carri to be like, I don’t care what any of you have to say. This is me, and I’m Sha’Carri, and this is my legacy. It’s so iconic.

For Sha’Carri to go out there and be like, yeah, my lashes are touching my eyebrows, and I have a bright orange wig on, and my nails are long as heck, and I have all this bling and the biggest smile on my face, and I’m doing what I love, and I feel great— that’s exactly what we need for little Black girls to be inspired. And she’s bringing it to sports! She is reclaiming that energy and showing her culture, roots, and where she’s from. That’s what Flo Jo did. Flo Jo was authentically herself and really collided worlds with beauty, fashion, and athleticism. She was like, I can be strong and be a bad bitch as well. It’s very powerful to watch, and I love being a part of it.

Black women are creative. We have so much creativity. In the beauty industry right now, there are a lot of Black women killing it out there, doing it for each other, supporting each other, and pouring our art and creativity into one another. It’s nice to see Sha’Carri support other nail techs—she supports so many beauty collectives. It takes a whole team to create the fastest woman in the world and help her feel good. What she does is mental, too! If you don’t feel like you look good, or if you don’t feel good about yourself, you’re not going to perform well.

Especially in this day and age, with all eyes on athletes across so many platforms, with every inch and angle captured, of course, they’d want to look however makes them feel their best.

Everyone always has something to say about you, even when you look good. Those nails are ugly! Those nails are too long! How does she do anything with those? How does she see with those eyelashes? For Sha’Carri to be like, I don’t care what any of you have to say. This is me, and I’m Sha’Carri, and this is my legacy. It’s so iconic.

The post Meet One of the Artists Behind Sha’Carri Richardson’s Signature Accessory appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I loved how a common piece of paper can be transformed into something precious, valuable, and imbued with meaning.

Paper and scissors are two of the most foundational elements of creativity. From the moment we have the motor skills to hold scissors at pre-school, we’re cutting shapes out of construction paper, folding paper into fortune tellers, and collaging with old magazines. At a certain point, most of us grow out of this art practice and move on to more “advanced” materials. Interdisciplinary artist Imin Yeh stayed with paper and scissors and, to this day, creates 1:1 replicas of everyday objects out of paper as part of her sculpture practice. Yeh uses handcraft and mimicry to explore themes of unseen labor and production that go unconsidered and under-appreciated in many of the material items surrounding us.

 “Conceptually, I chose this material because in its transformation from a commonplace material into a precious Art object, it retains a human and bodily investment of time,” Yeh says of paper on her website. “More honestly, I choose to work with paper because of a lifetime of confidence. It’s the material of a childhood spent cutting and building, with an almost 100% guarantee of no major loss to either bank account or limbs.”

I was immediately captivated by Yeh’s work and her thoughtful point of view, so I reached out to learn more about her process and ethos. The Pittsburgh-based artist is an Associate Professor of Print Media at Carnegie Mellon University School of Art, and she recently showed a solo exhibition at Catharine Clark Gallery in San Francisco entitled A Salty Rainbow. Her responses to my questions about practice are below.

A small object, a gesture, or a voice from the margins can reclaim a space, be a catalyst of thought, or at the very least, provide a bit of wonder and magic.

What’s your origin story as an artist? Have you always been preoccupied with handcraft media? 

Growing up, I went to Chinese school on Sundays, and my favorite part of those courses was the “culture” classes, where we learned about Chinese arts and crafts. I don’t remember when I was exposed to the folk craft of Chinese paper cutting, but I remember quickly moving to the more complicated imagery and using an X-acto blade over scissors.

I loved how a common piece of paper could be transformed into something precious, valuable, and imbued with meaning depending on how you worked it. Physically, I find the act of intricate paper cutting relaxing. In many ways, the physicality of how you make an image drew me to woodblock printing and printmaking in college, which was my first official “art love.” All of my sculptures come from a printmaking and book-making skill set, tradition, and conceptual ethos. 

But I think you can go further: paper is a material of childhood, a time when, without overthinking, you can make yourself anything you ever wanted. I remember playing “Library” as a child, sticking folders with stamped index cards on the inside covers of every book. My mother tells a story of how, when I was four, I would take these white plastic bunny scissors and spend all afternoon completely engrossed in cutting out coupons.   

When did you first start recreating everyday objects with paper in earnest? 

In 2010, I made a work called Paper Mahjong. It was a PDF of a complete set of Mahjong tiles, free to download and print. If you were willing to cut out the 144 tiles and sculpt them, you could also play the game. Before that, I worked in traditional printmaking, but then the work moved away from multiples on paper and toward sculptures and participatory projects. Paper Mahjong was the first project where I wasn’t trying to illustrate an idea but enact it through participation and play, through making a physical (albeit still designed, inked, and printed on paper) object.

In 2014, the piece was recommissioned for a show called Project Mahjong at the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco, as a celebration of the popularity of the game within Jewish American communities. In 2020, a decade after it was first designed, this project came full circle. A young man in India, in COVID lockdown with his parents, wanted to learn to play Mahjong, but he was unable to buy a set on his town. He found my design online, downloaded it, and built it, sharing pictures of himself playing with his family. From that project, I found how playful generosity can distill heavier ideas of labor, work, value, desire, and utility.

In 2011, I made a copy of a power outlet while at an artist residency without an internet connection. My studio was in a boathouse and I stared at these outlets for a long time, thinking about how the outlet is what makes this simple building a productive place for work. That outlet was the beginning of looking for more and more everyday objects to recreate.

How do you decide which objects to recreate in paper sculpture form? What elements or aspects of an object compel you to reproduce them this way?

I look for objects so common that we don’t notice they are there anymore. Some of my earliest paper sculptures were outlets, light switches, phone chargers, and discarded orange peels. I’ve made paper copies of the functional objects that share the space of the art objects we are supposed to be studying deeply— outlets, temperature controls, radiators, I-beams, stanchions, and track lights. I’m interested in the objects of the unintentional archive found in our parents’ basements, spare rooms, and home offices. 

But small things can accumulate into big ideas.

I work primarily in a 1:1 scale, but I am often interested in small things. This could have been born from a studio practice found in the short and interrupted chunks of time between teaching, administrating, and parenting. But small things can accumulate into big ideas.

What’s your studio set-up like?

I am extremely privileged to have a studio on the campus where I teach, adjacent to many print and sculpture facilities. My artwork tends to look clean and reduced, and it’s made with Fordian efficiency and logic. My studio is chaotic, and I think I might be a very messy person. As someone who can be quite singularly focused on getting something done, the tidying and cleaning up can wait.   

Since the sculptures are often made from repetitive tasks, I can work from many different places. I like working on things from the bed, on the floor while I play with my daughter, on the kitchen table, outside on a picnic table, etc.  

Your solo gallery exhibition A Salty Rainbow just wrapped at Catharine Clark Gallery. What was it like seeing all of your work presented in a show like that? I would think that art like yours that’s inherently bringing attention to objects that typically go unnoticed makes for particularly interesting fodder for a gallery setting, seeing it all presented together in such a formal format.

A Salty Rainbow contains, quite literally, thousands of sculptures, one-to-one copies of objects built out of paper. It was hard to imagine how so many small things could fill up such a large, cavernous space, so seeing that even the smallest things can hold space and be the carrier of wonder was rewarding. 

The show was a culmination of four years of studio output. My daughter was born four years ago during the COVID lockdown, so everything had stopped and changed. It’s amazing to imagine that this studio practice built out of a few precious minutes between everything else, could eventually culminate in thousands of small works. 

The nature of paper is so accessible, it isn’t this expensive and rare material, it doesn’t require rarified access to technologies or fabrication facilities.

Why do you think your work resonates so deeply with people?

The work is legible to many people, regardless of their fluency in contemporary art. The objects I’m drawn to are familiar to people. The use of craft that things are hand-built and clearly handmade makes it relatable to many people. They might not understand why I would make it, but they respect how it was made

The nature of paper is so accessible; it isn’t this expensive and rare material, and it doesn’t require rarified access to technologies or fabrication facilities. I’m glad that children have enjoyed the show, too, that they see they already have the skills and materials to build the objects they want.

The post Imin Yeh Honors Everyday Objects with Mini Paper Sculptures appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Take, for example, the scrunched-up, squinting mug of the late Gilbert Gottfried on the cover of Drew Friedmans’ most recent book, Schtick Figures (Fantagraphics), which, together with Gottfried’s high-pitched, scratchy vocal delivery, was his comedic signature. Whether you’re familiar with his brand of humor or not, the drawing of his face is caricature enough to trigger an appreciative laugh.

This quality is central to Friedman’s brand of representation, and most of his portrait-caricatures are exacting recreations of fascinating faces. His new volume is a who’s who (and who’s that) of all kinds of punims that comprise his comedie humaine.

What I love about Schitck Figures is who I know, who I think I know, and who I have never heard of. I know you are a maven, but is there anyone in show biz you have avoided?
I’ve tried for a mix—the famous, the kinda famous, the never famous. I drew a few comedians in this book that I hadn’t even heard of, several under-the-radar, lesser-traveled mid-20th century comics from the waning days of regional burlesque. What I think they all have in common, what’s always been important to me, what ties them all together, is that they have great expressive faces, even if they’re not necessarily famous or funny. With me it always comes own to the face. There’s nothing worse than rendering a bland face. [That’s] why I love drawing R. Crumb, Gene Baylos, Jerry Lewis and Gilbert Gottfried. I’ve never drawn Mike Pence and probably never will [laughs].

This book is certainly not a complete showcase of Schtick Figures—that book would be over a thousand pages, and many I’ve already drawn in the past. This book is a random sampling.

Conversely, are there ones who you’ve elevated? And why?
I think so. Of course, the book doesn’t only feature comedians. To me, the title Schtick Figures is a loose one and cuts a wide swath. Aside from comics, also included are actors, directors, musicians, artists, cartoonists, wrestlers, authors, editors, photographers, a movie memorabilia store owner, an art gallery owner, and some journalists. Some of the drawings were assignments, some private commissions, but most were specifically drawn for the book. My Chosen People. You might wonder why the esteemed Edward R. Murrow is included. I actually wrestled with that one … the art was done a few years back for the New York Observer, and updated. I decided that since he conducted interviews for Person to Person, bantering with the likes of Milton Berle, Harpo Marx, Sid Caesar, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, that was enough to qualify him as a Schtick Figure himself, or at least a Schtick Figure by association. 

Kurt Andersen, a Schitck Figure?
Well, that portrait of Kurt was drawn for my book of portraits of All the Presidents five years ago, to run with his foreword to the book. The portrait ran very small, so I wanted to give it the full-page treatment this time around. Kurt is certainly a funny and amusing writer, so, yes, a Schtick Figure. But I think his legacy will be that he was the one who coined the phrase “short-fingered vulgarian” for SPY magazine almost 40 years ago, the first journalist to point out Donald Trump’s tiny hands. 

Why are so many comics Jewish?
You know, scholars have had theories about that, many books have been written … the haunted smile … laughing through the tears … attempting to survive a dreary life in the shtetl through jokes and schtick. I’m not dismissing that, but not totally buying into it. My theory has always been that basically Jews are, and always have been, hams. Demanding, at times desperate for attention. But mainly it probably comes down to the fact that the funny guys attract the girls.

How do you decide who to draw and at what ages?
I’m certainly not locked into just comedians, or even just Jewish comedians. I drew three books of Old Jewish Comedians, but the old part is no longer essential to me. Maybe it became too expected, or maybe because I’m getting older myself … whatever the reason, I’ve tried to move away from that. There are a few Jewish comedians depicted as older in this book, among them Milton Berle, Murray Waxman and Elaine May, but I think drawing them younger now presents more of a challenge for me. There are just so many liver spots one can render in one’s lifetime, and I think I’ve eclipsed that number.

Liver spots are my Ninas.

I love your take on Rubber Soul. I recently watched a bunch of Batman shows (and saw Robin’s screen test on FB). Oddly, it was funnier now than then. Why do you think that is?
Thanks. I drew that image… four TV stars from popular 1966 shows standing in for the Rubber Soul posed Beatles, Mike Nesmith, Adam West, Joe E. Ross and Leonard Nimoy for the cover of a friend’s book on 1966 TV shows, the first season every new network show was brought to you in living color. The publisher got cold feet though and chose not to use it, probably because they were worried about Batman rights issues, or whatever…

Honestly, I was never much of a fan of the Batman TV show, aside from the actors and comics who played the over-the-top villains including Frank Gorshin, Julie Newmar, Vincent Price, Otto Preminger, Milton Berle…

Even at age seven, Batman was just too campy for me, and too aware of it’s campiness. I vastly preferred the Adventures of Superman, which always seemed more sincere. But I haven’t watched Batman in years, maybe It’s aged well? I should give it another shot.

You are an amazing artist, and come from a funny background, but how would you rate yourself on the humor spectrum?
I don’t really set out to make my work funny. If someone wants to derive humor from my work, that’s great, but not really important to me. Unlike other cartoonists or humorous illustrators, many who I admire, I don’t stare at a blank piece of paper and think about drawing something funny. I never once heard my dad (the author Bruce Jay Friedman) tell a joke, but he probably was the funniest person I’ve ever known; it just came naturally to him. I’d like to think in my small way that I’m following in his footsteps.

Is wit and humor today as funny as it was yesterday?
It’s pretty subjective. I adore Jerry Lewis but I completely understand why people hate him. As Kliph Nesteroff, who wrote the foreword to Schtick Figures, wrote, “Jerry Lewis is the comedian you love to hate, and hate to love.”

My wife Kathy and I can watch a Netflix comedy concert and not once crack a smile, as the audience howls at every utterance the comic makes. I do love a few contemporary comedians—Larry David and Gilbert Gottfried come to mind. (OK, one is 75, and the other one is dead.) But I also love Marc Maron, Nikki Glaser, Bo Burnham, Jeff Ross, Dave Chappelle, and a few others. 

A comedian being funny is not a prerequisite for me, though. Some of my favorite comedians have never made me laugh. Georgie Jessel is a great example. I’m fascinated by the guy, his long, long career, starring in The Jazz Singer in the original Broadway production and then turning down the film version, which happened to be the first talkie. Brilliant! Later he’d become the toastmaster general, and finally, inexplicably donning a general’s uniform as he sat pontificating on TV panels. He also penned no less than 11 autobiographies, most of them self-published. Fascinating. He’s of course featured in my Jewseum, my museum of old Jewish comedians within my studio. 

I once did a panel with Robert Klein and mentioned that “I liked unfunny comedians.” He glared at me until I continued:  “… like Georgie Jessel.” With that he smiled. I asked Joe Franklin a few years back what was so special, what was so great about Georgie Jessel, because … I just didn’t get it. Joe responded, “Drew, when you saw Jessel perform live, he was ELECTRIC … ELECTRIC!” Now, when I think of performers who might qualify as electric, I think maybe Bob Dylan in 1965, Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, Jimmy Page … but not really Georgie Jessel. But, I accepted Joe’s answer. 

There are so many humorologists, especially comedians, like Seinfeld, who try to explain timing, etc. Does this help or hinder the enjoyment of schtick (in the broadest sense)?
I know. I don’t like to have things explained to me, though, especially by absurdly wealthy comedians. Funny is funny, but again, it’s all subjective. I adore the Three Stooges and the Marx brothers, for different reasons. I have close friends who hate the Three Stooges and Jerry Lewis, but I’m fine with that. I don’t argue.

What makes Shemp Howard, Stanley Myron Handelman and Fyvush Finkel funny?
When I was a kid, I remember I really enjoyed watching Stanley Myron Handelman show up on the Dean Martin Show or the Tonight Show; this slight, nervous nerd donning a cap, he seemed like a real guy you’d run into on the street, and he was funny with his deadpan, monotone delivery. I drew him for one of my Old Jewish comedians books, for some reason standing in an airport holding his luggage. I really didn’t know much about him though, but recently saw a photo of him online wearing the same cap, posed with Lenny Bruce and Buddy Hackett and another comic back in a 1950s nightclub—four happy, carefree pals. I became more intrigued by him. I had no idea his comedy career stretched back that far, so I started looking more into his background, which led to creating this new portrait of him as a young comic.

Fyvush of course had that funny Jewish name and a long showbiz career, both a Catskills comic as well as a performer in the Yiddish theater, and later achieved fame on two network TV shows. I can’t honestly say I know what made him funny; I don’t think there are any recordings from his early comedy days, but he certainly was a gifted and likable actor.

Shemp is an entirely different animal. My friend, the biographer Burt Kearns, has a biography of Shemp coming out a little later this year from Applause books that I wrote the foreword to. This is a portion of what I wrote, which might help explain why Shemp was funny: Shemp looked like a real guy—maybe the lively relative you would see at large family gatherings (weddings, seders, bar mitzvahs), drinking, dancing, flirting, having too much fun, inevitably making a fool of himself until his poor wife had to drag him out. While Moe, Larry and Curly looked like comedians—broad caricatures of human archetypes—Shemp was more accessible, a garrulous fellow you might see working in a crummy restaurant, shoe store, or cigar store. Shemp did have an expressive, rubbery comic face, but with his greasy parted hair, baggy-eyed, pockmarked face, short stocky build and wobbly gait, he came across as an oldfangled New York neighborhood character who had somehow wandered onto a Hollywood movie set. 

I have to know more about Joan Davis. I watched “I Married Joan“ as a kid and loved it, but don’t know why. Was she a poor man’s Lucy? Or was Cara Williams?
Right. I Love Lucy was so huge that it spawned imitations, among them “My Little Margie” and “I Married Joan” with Joan Davis and Jim Backus as her Judge husband. Joan Davis was a Fanny Brice type, tall, talented, energetic, funny, but when she got to Hollywood they instantly turned her into a blonde. She was great in some early Abbott and Costello films, a great foil/love interest for Lou Costello. But I wanted to depict her before she went blonde, a younger and a still frizzy-haired brunette. 

Oh, and as far as “I Love Lucy” … I love “I Love Lucy” … except for the parts with Lucy.

I know it’s a dumb question, but who are your five faves in this book … as images?
Not dumb, but my answer today might be entirely different by next week. But right now … Lenny Bruce, R. Crumb at the drawing board, Curly Joe DeRita, Terry Zwigoff, and I’m very pleased with the front cover border. Those border faces were mostly drawn at random. Some of them, like Robert Mitchum, isn’t even in the book. Also, my old friend, comedian Bob Greenberg, who I went to SVA with 45 years ago, is the only still-living face included on the border. That’s him just to the right of the ‘k’.

What’s next for you? Household name status?
My main goal is to get Phil, who pumps my septic tank, and Benji, who cuts my hair, to at least once laugh at something I say.

The post The Daily Heller: For Drew Friedman, Comedy is in the Face appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Grace Han crafted one of the most intriguing and enigmatic jackets in recent memory for The God of the Woods (that drip!). And it just so happens that the much-hyped book is also now a bonafide hit, with rave reviews from outlets galore and a spot on The New York Times bestseller list.

Han proves that great mainstream books can also have great covers that break staid genre norms—and this cover perhaps passes the ultimate design test: It leads you right back to the book to unravel the riddle on its surface.

She tells us more about the cover below, and the rest of our favorite jackets of the month follow.

Official publisher description:

When a teenager vanishes from her Adirondack summer camp, two worlds collide. Early morning, August 1975: A camp counselor discovers an empty bunk. Its occupant, Barbara Van Laar, has gone missing. Barbara isn’t just any 13-year-old: She’s the daughter of the family that owns the summer camp and employs most of the region’s residents. And this isn’t the first time a Van Laar child has disappeared. Barbara’s older brother similarly vanished 14 years ago, never to be found.

As a panicked search begins, a thrilling drama unfolds. Chasing down the layered secrets of the Van Laar family and the blue-collar community working in its shadow, Moore’s multi-threaded story invites readers into a rich and gripping dynasty of secrets and second chances. It is Liz Moore’s most ambitious and wide-reaching novel yet.

What was the brief for this book? 

The cover had to be atmospheric and mysterious, yet human. It was important for the cover to draw readers into the world that Liz Moore created. 

How did you select the type treatment? (And did you manipulate the face at all?)

I love typefaces by VJ-Type. They’re an independent foundry based in Paris. The font, Sud, designed by Jérémy Schneider, is bold and unexpected, which perfectly echoes the energy of the book. I didn’t feel the need to alter it in any way.

Who did the handwritten elements? 

I lettered those elements. Even if it’s a small detail, I love including hand-done work in my projects. 

Where did you source the painting in the background?

I was doing image research on Bridgeman and came across this painting, where I homed in on the left corner detail: a pastoral depiction of the woods with ominous-looking clouds. I felt that the art had the right human touch and atmosphere.

And finally—the drip. It’s so striking.

The drip! The drip is something readers will have to find out for themselves! As a design element, I thought it added tension and signaled that something was amiss. 

There was a lot of anticipation for this book—does that ever add extra pressure when designing?

I like to design while thinking about the audience—more specifically, someone who’d most need the book I’m working on. I think this mindset lifts some of the external pressures and helps me focus on the task at hand. It’s also not lost on me that I work with a great team. Even when there is some added pressure, it feels like a shared responsibility. I don’t feel like I’m in it alone. 

The post Best Book Covers: How the Summer’s Biggest Lit-Mystery Hit Was Designed appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Nguyen is the artist behind Beaded Bodega, a project in which she recreates the packaging of beloved snack items in hand-beaded form. As an ode to her Vietnamese heritage, New York City bodegas and handcraft, Nguyen’s creations illuminate the beauty of junk food packaging that’s otherwise overlooked. In doing so, she has amassed a robust following of fellow snack lovers, tapping into the nostalgia inherent in these products and charming all manner of sweet tooths beyond.

I asked Nguyen a few questions about Beaded Bodega and the hand-beading art form she’s immersed herself in. Her thoughtful reflections are below.

When did you first get into the wonderful world of hand-beading embroidery? What’s your origin story?

My talented mom used to hand-sew all her clothes growing up in Vietnam, often adding embroidery details. As a child, she would hand-make all of my Halloween costumes. So growing up around a needle and thread was always familiar. Because of my mom, I always found myself crafting something right beside her.

It was love at first bead.

In 2020, when we were all stuck at home and craving creative outlets, I rediscovered traditional hand-embroidery. I took one workshop years ago, but wanted to learn new techniques. As a self-taught artist, during my research learning, I stumbled across the glitz and glam that beads provided to embroidery pieces. It was love at first bead.

Diving into this new art, I saw a lot of incredible wearable beadwork out there, but knew that wasn’t my personal style. For me, there was no sense in creating something you wouldn’t wear yourself or enjoy making. I wanted to make something that felt “me,” but could still connect to others. As someone fueled by snacks, that’s what truly resonated with me, and I could only hope it would with others— and to my delight, it did!

Also during this time, I had moved from New York back to California, and this was an ode to everyone’s beloved community bodegas. A New York bodega— a small owner-operated convenience store— is the staple part of everyday life in the city. From morning bagels to late-night snacks, a lottery ticket, or a last-minute household essential, bodegas have it all. Leaning into the bodega idea gave me an area of focus when creating— beading snacks first, but the bodega concept provides endless creative opportunities.

Welcome to your newest corner store, Beaded Bodega! 

I love the idea of transforming food and everyday essentials into an unexpected and fun medium.

What is it about the medium of beads that you love so much? What’s your favorite part about the beading process?

I love the idea of transforming food and everyday essentials into an unexpected and fun medium. Something familiar viewed through a different lens. Beads turned my designs from feeling flat into something with amplified, bright and shiny colors and texture. I like how beads can really attract the eye and make you look just a little closer. 

My favorite part of the beading process is beading typography. I find it the most challenging but I enjoy the challenge, as it helps me refine my skills. When I start beading a new piece, I typically start with the logo. Pulling that first bead through a fresh piece of felt is just as satisfying as beading that last bead in. 

It’s amazing to see these tiny glass products pull together and create something beautiful. 

What is it about the design of kitschy packaging that you find so compelling? Why does that source material inspire you to recreate it in a beaded form?

Packaging design is often what attracts a buyer, probably now more than ever. For me, as an artist, packaging has so many different elements to transform into beaded embroidery, from shapes, colors, typography, characters and the food itself, all in one picture. Even some packaging designs of my favorite snacks, where I thought the designs felt “too minimal to bead,” turned out to be my favorites once transformed into beaded art.

I never feel stagnant in creating, especially since companies will go through a rebrand at some point. With my luck, it’s right after I complete beading their product. 

I like how beads can really attract the eye and make you look just a little closer. 

Why do you think your work has resonated so strongly with the masses?

There’s a big nostalgia factor in what I create, especially with my Asian- and vintage-inspired snacks. Nostalgic memories can evoke a feeling of connection or belonging. I love that my work can conjure up a memory and bring people back to a time in their lives.

I also think food is such a common ground for so many things. The truth is, we all eat! In my world, when getting together with friends, family or even strangers, food of some sort is always involved. I believe exploring different foods is an incredible way to learn about other cultures and communities, or even just an individual person. 

 Nostalgic memories can evoke a feeling of connection or belonging. I love that my work can conjure up a memory and bring people back to a time in their lives.

Lastly, the aspect of community is what I’ve loved the most about diving into this new art. I’ve gotten to interact with a community of snack and food lovers, other creative artists, chefs and everyone in between through this art. I’ve been blown away by the different communities that Beaded Bodega has reached and resonated with.

I love asking people, “What’s your favorite snack that you’d like hand-beaded?” It’s a great conversation starter because everyone has an answer and a story to accompany their choice. It’s a fun way to connect and get to know someone.

Now that Beaded Bodega has amassed such a following, do you have any long-term goals for the project?

Yes, my next step is to get my art out there and into the hands of snack and art lovers.

I want Beaded Bodega to embody that aspect of community. I hope to host art shows so folks can come gather, mingle, snack, enjoy, and purchase my art. I will be having my first art show soon, which will be my first go at selling my art. Stay tuned!

The post The Beaded Bodega Reimagines Kitschy Snacks as Hand-Beaded Works of Art appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

If you’re not excited by designer Yinka Ilori, you’re simply not paying attention.

The British-Nigerian phenom is known for his signature use of bold color and pattern in his multi-disciplinary work, that’s infused with his cultural heritage. Vibrant, uplifting, and playful, his focus as an artist is on bringing people together through joyful design. Ilori helms Yinka Ilori Studio based in London, where he and his team of “color-obsessed architects and designers” strive to carry Ilori’s mission of spreading and creating happiness with each project.

This year, Ilori has continued to share his joyful gospel, while pushing himself in new directions as an artist and designer. In June, his stint as the headlining artist of ART on THE MART launched in Chicago, in which his immersive commission entitled Omi Okun is displayed on the facade of the Merchandising Mart along the Chicago Riverwalk. Omi Okun is a deeply personal project for Ilori, in which he used new and innovative technologies to reflect on his past. It will be on view through September 11.

Ilori also launched a collaboration with Momentum Textiles and Wallcoverings at NeoCon in Chicago last month, which features textiles and wallcoverings designed for commercial use in public spaces such as offices, hotels, and lobbies. But wait, there’s more! Ilori and his team also designed a pavilion for Haus der Kulturen der Welt’s festival in Berlin, Ballet of the Masses, About Football and Catharis. Entitled Reflection in Numbers, the pavilion invites visitors to embark on a critical and artistic journey that explores the complex themes of racism in sports and personal accountability.

Somehow in the midst of all of this, Ilori found time to chat with me about Omi Okun, his collaboration with Momentum, and the power of dreaming. Our conversation is below!

(This conversation has been edited for clarity and length.)

I’m a storyteller, and I’m always looking for new ways to tell stories within the work that I do.

Clearly you have a lot cooking in 2024! Is there an aspect of what you’re working on this year—a specific project, a theme, a technique—that you’re particularly excited about?

I’m super excited about a project I’ve been working on that will launch in June for ART on THE MART, it’s called Omi Okun. It’s my first time working with stop motion and AI, and it’s probably my most personal project to date. It’s looking at my family experiences of going to the seaside of Margate in the UK with my church congregation. We’d go every other Sunday to pray by the sea, connecting with nature and connecting with our community. I’m telling that story through AI and through this film, which will be debuting in June.

What was so nice about this project was I was able to use AI and a number of different techniques and processes to create my landscape across characters and sound. It’s a full 360 experience where it takes the audience on a journey inside my mind and my childhood. That’s an area I’m looking forward to because I’m a storyteller, and I’m always looking for new ways to tell stories within the work that I do.

Considering these technologies are a new frontier for you as an artist, was it a big adjustment exploring AI and digital world-building?

It was quite new for me as far as trusting a machine or a system to reimagine what I’m thinking or what’s in my head or what ideas I have on paper. I’m used to being in control of my process because it’s physical, and it’s me with a pen and paper. But it was a really exciting process to tell this story. I’ve been working with a really talented animator and 3D designer, Ted Le Sueur, and he’s been instrumental in helping me realize this story and narrative. 

Are you enjoying these AI processes enough to keep working in that space, or did you get your fill from this project and want to return to the physical work you’re more accustomed to? 

I know you previously covered my Flamboyance of Flamingos playground, and I’m actually doing another playground which will be in the AI space. It’s with a well-known tech company brand, and will be launching later this year either at Frieze or the London Design Festival. We’re taking a project and turning it into an AI space so that people can access my playground around the world, and can build their own playground. It encourages people to play. I’m a big believer in play being a tool for people to come together and to play collaboratively. So that project will sit online, and you can access the playground all over the world.

The problem with the work that I do in the play space and product space, is that not everyone is able to access a playground or a slide or a swing. So the power of creating this online playground using AI, is it makes my work and my play space accessible. It allows me to engage with new audiences and people and make new friendships. I’ll also learn how people play around the world; the way we play in England might be very different from how kids play in America, or how kids play in Nigeria. I find it really interesting to see how different kids play in this AI space I’ve created.

I’m always obsessed with how kids play, how kids dream about playing, and what they do to facilitate that world of play.

It’s interesting to think about how the way children play has changed over the last decade or so. I’m sure how I played as a kid in the 90s is very different from how a kid in 2024 plays. Your work encourages play, but still embraces modern-day technology in doing so. 

I grew up in an era of playing Nintendo 64 and Super Nintendo and PlayStation, but also, I played outside; we played all sorts of outdoor ball games. The way we play now is always evolving and changing, and I’m always obsessed with how kids play, how kids dream about playing, and what they do to facilitate that world of play. 

Obviously Omi Okun is a departure from what you’ve typically created, but I’m curious if you can still identify a common throughline that’s present in all of your work, no matter the medium? 

The biggest theme throughout my work is this theme of dreams and dreaming. I will never stop emphasizing the power of dreams. With the world I’ve created and am still trying to build, it’s about making people understand the importance of dreaming, and how much it can change the world.

I will never stop emphasizing the power of dreams.

With the work I’m doing now, I’m very interested in looking at themes of mindfulness and peace and nature and being outdoors; reconnecting with the everyday things we might take for granted. The AI piece I did for ART on THE MART is very centralized around water and the sun and connecting with different people. The work I’ve been creating over the last decade is personal, but in the next few months you’re going to see a much more personal Yinka, with much more personal stories that people might not know about the work or me or my experiences in the past. I’m really looking forward to how people respond. 

What inspired you to go into this more personal direction with your recent work? 

I’ve spent the last few months traveling; I went back to Nigeria in January, and I hadn’t been since COVID. I was really inspired. I went to the beach, and I felt the most peaceful and appreciative of life and my presence of being there and for my loved ones. 

 I want to try to create work that people can feel connected to, individually but also as a collective.

When I sat down at the beach, I noticed all of the kids running around, people going into the sea. I looked at everyone, and everyone felt very at peace with themselves. That’s what water can offer. The biggest takeaway for me is that I want to try to create work that people can feel connected to, individually but also as a collective. 

It’s almost as if the more personal and vulnerable you are with your work, the more universal it becomes. Those might seem like opposite ideas on the surface but when an artist shows their unique humanity, it lets people in to really connect to them.

Growing up in my house, I was always encouraged to express my feelings and emotions. Especially with art, there are so many topics; sexuality, or conflict or war or identity. But the biggest thing for me right now that I think we’re all looking for in the world is peace, and that’s something that we all need. In the world but also in our personal lives, we’re looking for that inner-peace. That’s something I’m still trying to find and discuss within my work. The work I’m creating now, I’m ready to talk about some of these more personal things related to pain and joy and community. I want to give the audience something a bit deeper.

You also have a collaboration with Momentum Textiles and Wallcoverings at NeoCon 2024 in the works. Is designing textiles and wallcoverings a new avenue for you too? 

It felt like a natural progression for me. I’ve been working with textiles like swiss lace and vlisco and all of these fabrics I’d grown up with as a kid at my parents’ house in London. My mother was a fabric and textile dealer, so she would travel around the world and sell it to her friends and family for church services and weddings, anything exquisite and special, they would wear it.

I’ve always been obsessed with the power of cloth, and what it symbolizes in different communities. For me, it symbolizes identity, power, status, wealth, culture, community, integration. Being around that from such a young age, and then working with it within furniture and upholstery, I was like, This is a no-brainer, I have to create my own textiles.

I wanted to create a collection of textiles that celebrated the themes of community, joy, and affirmation. I always think of Joseph and his technicolor dreamcoat— textiles are like a super power to me. With these textiles, I’m hoping that they will be a tool to make people dream within the workspace and uplift their mood in the workspace. We spend a lot of time in our offices and we spend a lot of time thinking and dreaming. So I’m hoping that the textile collection can be a tool that can add to that experience when you’re in the office. 

You’ve said that this textile collection has an emphasis on community. In what ways do you think color and design have the power to bring people together and create community? 

I’ve seen it firsthand within my culture. When I look at my Nigerian community—let’s say that it’s somebody’s 50th birthday party—they would go to a market and buy fabrics, and 10 people would wear the same color and fabric to that party. There was this idea that in order to celebrate someone or something, you want to do it together. So I think that’s where the idea comes from for me; fabric can be a tool to tie people together. Within the workspace, what you find is that people search for a sense of belonging and community, and textiles offer that.

You’ve been so prolific and done so much in your career, how have you achieved this longevity as an artist? How do you maintain the momentum to keep creating without burnout? 

When I travel, I am the most creative. Travel feeds new ideas, new themes, and new places for research and points of reference. Being able to travel a lot and going into a country with no ego, opens my eyes to new themes and new ideas. I spent my whole life in London, but when I went to Morocco two weeks ago, I was so inspired by the culture and community, and then I went to Nigeria. Traveling keeps me going.  

In my studio right now, we’re also trying to be a lot more selective in the work that we take on, working with people who are really able to challenge me, and who are there to take risks and shake up the art and design industry.

The post Architect of Joy Yinka Ilori Will Never Stop Dreaming appeared first on PRINT Magazine.