2. A
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bout a year ago, I participated in a student portfolio
review involving nearly a dozen American schools, many
(most?) exhibiting the classic projects that characterize all
intergraduate design programs—
all of which teach the students about the most essential design conceit:
letter forms, and how to use them.
the color studies, the poster problems, the typographic exercises.
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nd here, I quickly discovered that something had gone horribly wrong. One
after another, bright-faced young hopefuls displayed the products of their
long hours in the studio. Book after book spilled forth with content ranging
from how to cook a frittata to how to understand Freud.
here were personal books, commercial books, literary and poetic books, serious and silly books,
childrens books, how-to books, and everything in between.
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hen Paul Renner
released the typeface
Furtura in 1928, he was
inspired by the stream-
lined geometric forms
that celebrated the
newly-minted wonders
of the machine age.
Futura was important
for a number of reasons:
arguably the first sans-
serif font to be widely
distributed, it has since
its inception influenced
countless other type-
faces and remains, to
some, the epitome of
modern design.
ave for a bried revival sometime in the 1970s (no doubt a reaction to the
nostalgia-laden excesses of macramé, big hair and Victorian clip-art) and
its dazzling persistence throughout the oeuvre of Barbara Kruger, Futura
remains a typeface of its era: smooth and sleek, round and uncompromising.
(Renner, and early member of the pre-Bauhaus Deutscher Werkbund— was
guided by a strong belief in the union of art and industry, and was, as Futura
brilliantly demonstrates, a staunch opponent of ornament.)
ruger notwithstanding, I found it vexing to see what amounted to a
miniature Futura-fest in all these student portfolios, and began gently
questioning those responsible.
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“What made you choose
this typeface?”
I inquired of a lovely young woman whose senior project
involved a series of book jackets for Sigmund Freud’s
Interpretation of Dreams.
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“Did you read the book?”
She blushed, shook her head no, and looked down at her lap.
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I tried a different approach.
“Do you know what year this
book was published?”
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gain, she shook her head, and apologized for the lapse
in research. But I wasn’t so interested in the apology (a
common refrain, Particularly among students) as I was
concerned that she was about to graduate and had no
fundamental knowledge of design history— a failure of
the curriculum, and by conjecture, of the faculty.
explained that when Freud’s book was published in 1899 (and
in it’s first English edition the subsequent year) it’s impact was
significant— that the whole notion of addressing the subconscious
was seen as wholly unprecedented, even radical at the time.
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nd yes, broadly speaking, such a
novel concept might be considered to
be “modern”— and what might that
entail, typographically?
could see that an abbre-
viated lecture on the rise
of modernism in America
would be as pointless
as quoting George San-
tayana— or even Harry
Truman— and besides,
the next student was al-
ready awaiting his turn for
review— but the bottom
line was: Why Futura?
“I just kind of liked it.”
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12. C
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learly, designers make choices about the appro-
priateness of type based on any number of criteria,
and “liking it” is indeed one of them. There are an
infinite number of considerations to be taken into
account, from readability
ollowers of the Beatrice Warde school of thought
believe that typography should be invisible, while an
equal argument can (and should) be made on behalf
of expressive typography— type that extends and
amplifies its message through more robust gestures in
form, scale and composition. (Guillaume Apollinaire’s
calligrammes preceded Renner’s Futura by more than a
decade: might not these be considered modern too?)
to copy fitting
to concerns over what works on a screen
to what translates into other languages.
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t’s not the designer’s voice that
concerns me here so much as the de-
signer’s understanding of history— a
body of knowledge that once ac-
quired, can be edited, modified,
even jettisoned at will, but only after
giving it a good, hard think.
here are those who believe typography, like
beauty, rests in the eye of the beholder. And
while it is not now nor has it ever been science,
there are certain typographic tenets that remain
somewhat protected by, well, the vicissitudes of
cultural civility. In general, we like to be able to
read our typography. Organizational conceits—
like headlines, bylines and pull-quotes— offer
scalable options in editorial design, while book
designers guide readers to different points of
entry through things like chapter headings and
running heads.
esingers in general (and students in particular) have
an overwhelming tendency to consider anything
that’s been achieved in the past as a kind of “been
there, done that” straitjacket, while the opposite is
not only true, it’s surprisingly actionable.
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Branding and identitydesigners have to do it all—
their task involves orchestrating visual language so that, say, the
same word is recognizable whether reduced to a website icon,
printed on a business card or emblazoned on the side of a truck.
nd yes, the starting point for all of it-- whether it’s a student assign-
ment or a massive re-branding of a corporation— is likely to be the
designer who says, “I just kind of liked it.”
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16. 15
evertheless, one assumes that, at a certain point
in the evolution of a visual idea, a certain amount
of judgment intervenes, and appropriateness is
questioned— even though appropriateness can be
boring. (Even some of the world’s most fastidious
typographers know that.) True, we live in a multi-
cultural, aesthetically pluralistic world now—
one where form-to-content relationships aren’t so
But does that make it right?
N easily identified, let alone made visually manifest.
Nor, perhaps, should they be: nothing really mod-
ern has ever been easy, has it? It is highly likely
that the majority of the general public will never
know— or, for that matter, care— that Paul Ren-
ner designed Futura nearly 30 years after Sigmund
Freud published his seminal book on dreams.