Ways & Means - Offset Special Edition

WaysAndMeans.

Issue One

WaysAndMeans.

Issue One

Produced exclusively for OFFSET Dublin 2015

by Ways & Means

Ways & Means Issue One Editor & Design Bren Byrne Contibuting Editor Brian Heron Contributors Lisa Haran, Lauren Pritchard, Tess Purcell, Gav Beattie, Steve Heller, Adrian Shaughnessey, Pam Bowman, Matt Edgar, Julia Sagar, Brian Nolan, Rob Alderson, Micheal Beirut, David Smith, David Wall, Andy Stevens, Nicole Bachmann, Liam Geraghty, Niall McCormack, Peter Maybury, Micheal McDermot & Kate Coleman.

Thanks Ciarรกn Smith - Plus Print Alan Clarke - IGI Paul Scharf Cover stock supplied by G. F. Smith

Cover photo by Nicole Bachmann www.wehavethewaysandmeans.com

Printed in Dublin by Plus Print

Sue Murphy.

The most eminent agencies in the world have opened their doors to art director and designer Sue Murphy.

All it took was passion, enthusiasm, drive and some globe-trotting. As she starts her new role at Wolff Olins in NYC and San Fran, Brian Nolan caught up with her to talk about design, creativity and ‘making it’.

Your career to date has been a whirlwind, it’s hard to keep up. Give us a an outline of the story so far, and what you are up to in your new position at Wolf Olins.

I’m from Cobh, a small town in Cork, Ireland. Since I was small I used to play around on the computer. From that I managed to put together a collection of things – which I didn’t know was design – and that got me into IADT in Dublin, a great college for Visual Communications, without doing a portfolio year.

I graduated from there with first class honours. I wanted to learn more about strategy and branding theory.

I was looking into Masters programs, the Savannah College of Art & Design seemed like a good fit.

I had life-changing year there, then moved to Amsterdam, to work at the branding and design agency, Edenspiekermann.

After a year and a half there I moved to New York to join

Ogilvy as an art director for IBM. After two years of crazy ad agency life, I felt I needed a change and I was hearing from some dream companies.

Now I work at the creative agency Wolff Olins. Our role as a company is to be a creative partner with big brands – which is pretty damn cool. Not in a million years would I have thought I’d be working along side multiple companies I really admire.

What are you enjoying most?

A key thing for me is creative culture. I love this at WO – we actively organise design shares, speakers, workshops and even have a brand school called Kitchen. Since joining I’ve been working predominantly on tech. I’m based out of the New York office but have relocated to the San Francisco office for a couple of months on a project. We’re building up the office here (it’s new) so it’s a whole different experience and hard work, like being at a start up. Because of that, we all flex in multiple roles, whether you’re design or strategy or program management.

How did you get your big break … the right place at the right time or was there a master plan?

There was definitely no plan. To start off, I graduated in a glorious recession. When I was in college in the States, The difference between me and the Americans was that they would discuss their dream jobs, and my aim was to get *a* job.

Not much more thought beyond that. While at SCAD, things started picking up for me from projects I was doing in my free time and in class. I saw on Twitter that Edenspiekermann were looking for a designer, not really thinking I’d even be considered, I sent along my URL. From that I had a some Skype interviews and had a job lined up for when I finished grad school. Since then it has been fairly non-stop.

lann ously for pureign’ e to utch eak n you

Was it a significant tipping point on a personal level?

I don’t think I appreciated the role, or how much my bosses at Ogilvy had taken a risk on shipping me over until I was there. It was a learning curve going from being a designer to an art director, suddenly having to have a strong point of view on so many areas, like video, photography, sounds, tech. Having to manage teams and dealing directly with large clients. I read a lot and am constantly connected to the internet, so being an art director allowed me to bring all of this up in my job – from finding the right people to work with to having wide-ranging ideas.

You are a self proclaimed ‘nerd’, and you love learning. Is there anything you know now, you wished you learnt sooner? And do you have any advice for emerging design graduates?

I’m only now learning to not worry so much, I definitely wish I’d started picking that up sooner. Presentation skills are something I would encourage students to have a go at; take an improv class! I took one and it was nowhere near as embarrassing as expected. And I spoke about poos.

Being able to present is so valuable and definitely differentiates you, if you have a handle on that when you’re younger.

“

Sadly the lan guage of design didn’t miraculous transcend that fo me. Even in a pur ly ‘graphic design sense, you have t understand Dutch to be able to brea the words when y typeset.

You have worked in the worlds of design and advertising – not always compatible bedfellows – what’s your view of the relationship?

Seeing it from both sides gives you the wide perspective. When I was on the advertising side as an art director, design was a big part of my job.

“

You joined Ogilvy in New York to work with the IBM team – was that daunting, particularly because of the design legacy of the brand?

I was excited to work on IBM because of the legacy, and knowing that my executive creative directors were some of the brightest and wittiest thinkers I’ve ever come across – this combination made Ogilvy seem like a place that would keep me interested every day.

At Wolff Olins, art direction and other Adlobs (ad like objects) are also a daily thing.

Unfortunately, the industry both camps generally holds a disdain towards the other, when it could really be like hazelnuts and chocolate – combined they make Nutella (had to get a reference in there). It can vary widely on the agency and the team you work with, of course.

In advertising it can be a hard slog to get your voice heard on design, but the best work comes from appreciating both. Designers can have a snobbery towards advertising – I certainly felt like a black sheep for a while – but I see that designers are acknowledging that advertising is a whole different world these past five years to what it was for the 50 years before that.

You have studied and worked in many countries, dealt with language and cultural differences – does the language of design transcend all this?

In Amsterdam I was the only native English speaker in the office and our work was in Dutch. To make up for this I studied it at the university at night. I like to do a lot of research and work conceptually – I felt that not understanding the language completely meant I was losing the insights I would have had if I could understand it, like I do English. Sadly, the language of design didn’t miraculously transcend that for me.

Even in a purely ‘graphic design’ sense, you have to understand Dutch to be able to break the words when you typeset.

Their words are fucking long.

Is there anything about being Irish that works in your favour? Or not!

Being Irish is always a positive thing, I can’t emphasize that enough!

We’re a very lucky bunch of buggers. A nationality that people immediately think is great craic. From moving around a lot the last six or so years, this makes it easier.

Do you have any practical tips for graduates to help them take the right first steps in their career?

If you’re passionate about a place you’d like to work at or people that inspire, reach out. Passion and enthusiasm is what stands out a mile when looking for talent. If you’re a dickhead get your attitude in check – people won’t want to work with you.

I make a lot of effort to help graduates from the colleges I’ve been to, and people who reach out to me. When emailing, I recommend not being too stuffy and don’t copy and paste the same Dear Sir/Madam emails over and over, that email gets sent straight to the bin.

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things howsueisnow.com Minute by Minute @howsueisnow Interview by Brian Nolan detail.ie

Niels Shoe Meulman.

“

To my surprise, the passion I had for calligraphy back in the eighties came back with a vengeance, and at that moment Calligraffiti was born.

Did writing tags on walls start as an act of rebellion or expression, or both?

In the late seventies, early eighties, there was a huge graffiti scene in Amsterdam that was rooted in a strange mix of subcultures: punk bands, football hooligans and squatters. I was one of those kids that made a transition from that scene, when hiphop came along, and met with our advanced counterparts from New York like Dondi White, Rammellzee and Keith Haring. So, I think it all began with a very primal urge to express my existence but soon found myself playing a role in a world wide art movement.

In 2009, you were working with us on a project in Dublin, and you visited The Book of Kells. Do you feel a connection with the long tradition of handcrafted calligraphy?

The desire to fool around with letters – which is at the heart of Calligraffiti and Abstract Vandalism – is certainly a reaction to the advertising and potpourri of urban signage that congest our modern day surroundings.

But equally significant is its archaic lineage to the preprinting penmen of medieval scriptures and ancient oriental calligraphy.

I feel a direct connection with the scribes who worked on master pieces like the Book of Kells and the Lindisfarne Gospels.

In 2009, I read the poem Pangur Bán for the first time and it hit me right between the eyes, exactly because of that. Another aspect graffiti writers and medieval monks share, is the urge to travel.

We’ve seen first hand how your finished pieces can come to life very quickly.

What is the balance/ratio between pre-planning a piece and the final execution?

The great painter Cy Twombly – who was named after legendary baseball pitcher Cy Young – said it like this: “When I work, I work very fast, but preparing to work can take any length of time.” That goes for me as well.

Describe Calligraffiti as a concept and how it developed?

I coined this phrase in 2007 when I was visiting New York artist Eric Haze. We both

“

had been working in graphic design and advertising and were looking for ways to create without any client’s involvement. We decided to get a shit load of art supplies and do some paintings in his studio in Brooklyn. To my surprise, the passion I had for calligraphy back in the eighties came back with a vengeance, and at that moment Calligraffiti was born. Since then, a lot has happened. Thousands of people worldwide are calling their art Calligraffiti now, and I have no problem with that. But my work has been evolving and I’m now influenced much more by painters like Pierre Soulages

and Christopher Wool than graffiti and calligraphy. I am therefore launching a new direction called Abstract Vandalism and curating a show with that title. It includes artists Nug from Stockholm, Egs from Helsinki, and myself and is accompanied with a manifesto that I wrote.

Abstract Vandalism will also be my main topic for my OFFSET talk.

Scale is an important factor in your work – you’ve worked on everything from shoes to buildings – can you describe the variety of tools you use?

I have a huge broom collection and I’ve painted a parking garage in Italy with squeegees. In Paris I found a pair of brushes that come with a strap to put under your feet. I guess they are meant to polish wooden floors or something. Also, I find myself handling gardening tools a lot. Like that detergent spray backpack I use in the first Calligraffiti video, and - more recently - a seed dispenser on wheels which makes nice parallel lines. You can paint with anything, really. I once did a series in the Belgian Ardennes with different types of mud and twigs on paper.

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things calligraffiti.nl Interview by OFFSET. Portrait by Søren Solkær

Tomi Ungerer.

DRAWING

FROM THE EDGE.

When I was a kid I knew Tomi’s work very well from The Underground Sketchbook, which I spent a lot of time copying. And thanks to Tomi I got thrown out of Hebrew School. Particularly, the picture of the woman shooting a bullet through her breast has stuck with me forever. But Tomi’s work obviously has influenced many people. He has been such an important figure in American graphic humour, graphic commentary and satire, and it is just

The following is an edited version of an hour-long conversation between Tomi Ungerer and Steve Heller before a packed standing room only gallery on January 17th, 2015 at The Drawing Center New York.

Your work was on the street as billboards and in many magazines during the mid to late 60s; your advertising campaigns for the Village Voice, for The New York Times were brilliant, so why was it that you were essentially banned and had to leave New York?

These were the McCarthy years and the witch-hunt and actually I might just as well tell the story: General de Gaulle, the president of France was the first one to recognise Red China [in 1965] as a state. And me being a French citizen, Newsweek was going to send me to China to make a reportage. I went to Paris and I got my visa, but there was a telex from the State Department stating that if I went to China I would never be allowed back to the United States. So I gave up my trip and came back. In those days Kennedy was Idlewild Airport; I went through customs and I was in the middle of the hall and – this was just like a scenario out of a movie – there was one man on my right, one on my left, one in my back, really the caricature of these kind of guys, you know, with …

stopped but ever since then I remained in the customs book of unwanted people.

… Fedoras, and black suits. … the same suit. And one says in my ear, “Drop your suitcases and follow us quietly.” So I dropped the two suitcases. The guy behind grabbed them and immediately the other ones grabbed me on the arm and schlepped me into a car. I don’t know where they took me. I was brought in a white room with a lamp.

I had to undress. They even opened up the soles of my shoes because they were looking for hidden messages or something like that, and then after that my telephone was tapped; that

So, how did you catch on quickly?

It was very fast. The moment I arrived, I came off a Norwegian cargo boat and the next morning I was already out there. My first step was going to a newspaper kiosk and looking at all the papers I would like to work with and just write down the telephone number and the name of the art director. My office was like for many other people was a telephone booth because I lived in a basement, and there was no telephone there.

Were you doing work at that time that might be considered subversive?

I think I was already into my Vietnam posters. I’ve never had a great sense of time. For me a second can take the shape of an hour or whatever. And as you noticed, I’ve never put a date on any drawings, and I never put a date on any letters, only on cheques or official documents.

When you came to the United States for the first time, you were looking round for work and you managed to do very well.

I came with a big trunk. I joined the army originally and in the army I had this big cantine in French, which is this metal trunk, that was full with drawings and books and ideas for books and even manuscripts as well that I came over with.

And who did you go to see first?

I can’t quite remember but everybody was so absolutely incredibly nice. At first they would tell me it was too European but someone advised me that I can sell this or that in America.

And immediately someone like Jerry Snyder at Sports Illustrated said to me, “Oh, you’ve got to see Bill Golden and Columbia,” and others also said, “Oh, go and see Leo Lionni at Fortune” or “Go and see Henry Wolf at Esquire,” everybody was like that.

Regarading Crictor, I have a story you may not have heard. Fritz Eichenberg, who was an amazing wood engraver and illustrator and who loved your work, was on the jury of The Herald Tribune best books.

When Crictor came before them, the other jurors threw it out because it had a snake as its main character, and he brought it back to the table. He said snakes were as equal as any other characters and it won as one of the 10 best books that year.

That’s editorial, what about kids’ books?

The children’s books in those days were ghastly.

But the biggest outfit was Golden Books, they still exist.

I went to the editor there and he said, “Listen, what you are showing me here is not publishable in America, there’s only one person who would publish you and that is Ursula Nordstrom at Harper.”

This was my whole point.

Maurice Sendak said that as well.

And that’s when I met Maurice Sendak. We were embarked in the same boat, like an Ark of Noah for illustrators. Ursula told me the book I had, The Mellops, was a horrible story with the butcher that locked the brothers up and all this. But she said, “Why don’t you do another story? Why don’t you write another story with the same characters.” And this is what I did and I was lucky because in a year I had a first book came out and it won; it was honour book at the spring book festival. And the second one was Crictor about the snake …

I’m Alsatian, you know, and I lived with the fact that the French collaborated with the Germans, that we Alsatians never did and with my accent after the war I was literally ostracised as a sale boche.

So I know how it feels to be different and I must say that all the children’s books I did after that were all actually ostracised animals. I did one about the rats, about a bat, about a vulture – there we are. It was only the other batch of other children’s books later which became really blatently political or historical. Like Otto is about the Shoah, for example.

Is everything about making a point? About busting the taboo?

I don’t know, sometimes. I must say in the children’s books I did over the last 20 years, I wanted to make a point. Making Friends is the story of a little black boy that comes in a white neighbourhood. I knew I wanted to do that. And with the Otto, I realised there’s no book about the Shoah, and

about the war.

Everybody says, no, you can’t show this to children. So I showed the war. I witnessed this. I saw the war, I saw everything. I know what it is to be in the last bridgehead of the Germans across the Rhine and being in the middle of a battle for three months without electricity, without water and all that.

And I know what it is to be called to the Gestapo.

You saved many of those drawings from that time that are on view at the Drawing Center.

Very early, my path, which turned into a highway, was straight. I couldn’t stand injustice or persecution or violence.

It raises an issue that I always wanted to ask you – you did a cover for Monocle magazine, titled Black Power, White Power, which depicts a white man eating a black leg and a black man eating a white man’s leg. I could never figure out if you were on any side, or not.

A lot of my drawings are cryptical and can be interpreted in many ways, but this is, in a way, my version, that the two races are equal and that we will eat each other forever because as always there will be strife.

Let’s not have illusions about humanity. We can only survive because of exceptions.

The poster series, in which this image was included, was done on your own, right?

I decided I would print some at my own cost, sold them at a friend’s poster shops and they spread like mad.

But one must not forget that in those early 60s, late 50s, there was the United States and then there was New York.

And New York was a fortress of refugees, anybody who felt that he had to say something, or state something or fight for something, they all came to New York. I arrived here as an immigrant, welcomed by the Statue of Liberty and realised only later on that the Statue of Liberty is turning its back on America. Everything has its other sides.

“

It made me sick.

Several papers called me and I couldn’t even formulate. I just couldn’t sort it out.

“

You did a picture as an immediate response to the Charlie Hebdo shootings …

It was drawn just before I arrived. A lot of my posters were conceived with anger.

But I did the shooting of Charlie Hebdo with an incredible sense of sadness, really. Well, sadness for what happened, but as well for why it happened.

Why do you think it happened?

Well, that’s exactly why we have to atone. Excuse me, there’s no terrorism without roots. And it’s most likely too late now, but I think in France there’s a very strong racist current and this is where it’s ending now. I do personally think that we are now at the beginning of a third world war. The First World War was in the trenches, you might say the Second World War was in the air and the third one is electronic and underground – it’s out of pure frustrations.

What was your sense when you heard the news about the massacre at Charlie Hebdo?

It made me sick. Several papers called me and I couldn’t even formulate. I just couldn’t sort it out.

What about in relation to your own work, I mean you’ve done some very raw pieces over the years. you’ve taken shots at folly and hypocrisy but have you ever felt physically threatened?

I’ve always been very involved in the FrenchGerman reunification and peace which is a phenomenon that in the whole of world history has never happened. The two nations that have been really at each other’s throat at the price of millions and millions of people have come to collaborate and work in friendly terms. I’ve dedicated a lot into this project and in those days it was anathema, I got death menace letters from French patriots saying, “You come back. Tu reviens en France, on va te descendre. You come back to France, we’ll mow you down.”

So it was as if you were still a child in Alsace.

I always say I’m Alsatian, but with Europe, what does it matter if you are French or German? Europe would not exist if it was not for the France and German reciprocity. I mean one must forgive but not forget, of course.

How do you feel cartoonists should act now?

It’s not only cartoonists. I think, especially in children’s books, we need more children’s books, like I was saying, you know? I’ve been very busy in France kind of culturally-politically. I’ve been what you would call an adviser, chargé des missions to the Ministry of Education. And the Ministry of Culture and I had set up a whole commission there to teach children, already in kindergarten, respect. You know, to teach respect of elderly people, of food, even money, of religion, and with some basic books. And we had a whole list of subjects like that, of teaching respect through books. And we had already authors lined up to bring up that special series but then there were elections and my boss Jack Lang, the minister, the éducation nationale, well …

I don’t know how it is in America, but in France when you have the election, one minister has three days to move out of his office. They don’t sit down with the new minister to discuss, “Hey, we had already television spots for respect for children.” And all that was stopped because everything the guy did before is no good.

A lot has happened in your life. Has anything changed in terms of your attitudes, from when you were young to now, that is a profound change in your point of view?

There’s one element I was able to eliminate: hate. And to hate ‘hate’ because there were times when I was hateful. When I’m angry I lose my marbles, I get out of control, that’s really one of my worst aspects.

But on the other hand, don’t forget, something like this is fuel – anger was for me fuel for my work because it’s really great for people like us to be able to express, whether in writing or drawing. To just get it out of the system. For me everything was always something to fight for, like for eroticism too, this is another thing I fought for.

Well, that’s a very important point because you were banished from American children’s books.

When you were doing those erotic pieces,

I understand the children’s book establishment was not too pleased.

An editor at The New York Times responsible for the children’s books refused to review Moon Man. He said the guy who did the Fornicon had no rights to do children’s books. He terrified everybody at The New York Times.

And it’s J.C. Suares who was working too in the book section who arranged for the Moon Man to be reviewed

in the adult section. And the irony is that an independent jury had chosen it as one of The New York Times ten best of the year.

Well, that editor was very powerful. But also the librarians were very powerful and your career as a children’s book illustrator, at least in the United States, was over.

Yes, but everything I do has always been a sideline. You cannot say just that I’ve been doing children’s books, and all that. In America, I would be more a children’s book author

because my other books have not been published like Babylon … so it’s all relative.

Now you have a museum dedicated to you. There’s a wonderful film out about you. How do you feel about these accolades, the museum, the film?

I’m very insecure. I love accolades and I love to be decorated. Now, in Europe I’m very heavily decorated, but not so much, not because of

my books but because my cultural, political activism.

Jack Lang gave me carte blanche for all cultural initiatives between France and Germany. And I didn’t do this alone, I mean all this political thing, you have always a team and people are working.

How did the museum come to be? You donated a lot of work to your home town.

I think that would be the reason why. I gave the museum something like 13,000 drawings and my library to my home town.

And the museum was financed, half by my home town and half by the French government.

You told me there’s an ongoing programme there, that it’s not just a reliquary.

Every four months there’s another exhibition so it’s not a museum where you just go once. We had Saul Steinberg, R.O. Blechman, William Steig.

I’m surrounded by wonderful people. My curator is Thérèse Willer, and she knows every drawing by heart, I wouldn’t know anything.

And she takes all these initiatives and it’s very handy if somebody wants to organise an exhibition.

Please talk more about your influences?

The artist is just like milestones on a big road of culture and every artist is a funnel from so many influences and then at last, you know, and it is, he leaves his own mark. But I would say that my mark is … for me the style is not the question. For me the question is to get an idea clearly on paper and stated. So for me a drawing is most of the time is an intellectual statement and this is where Steinberg has been the most influential – I would say dessinateur – drawer. I don’t like the word ‘cartoonist’. His greatest influence consisted in showing that you can take a whole concept, even a philosophical context or an opinion or something, and with the clarity of a few lines you can just settle it there, So I would say Steinberg was a great influence of mine, intellectually. And I still think he’s the greatest of the last century.

You’re working in collage now.

Well, I always did, but now I have drawers and drawers of things I’ve cut out for use of collages and even for sculptures too. And a lot of things are things I already brought with me via Canada from New York, as if I knew some day I would just need that element. And it’s very funny, like, I do sculptures of objects which some think … you’d say, “Why would he travel and carry that stuff? That garbage?”

Because I love garbage! I love leftovers. Even in food I think with leftovers you do the best meals. And as I said, this is really a show of leftovers, you know? And I, as a person, am a leftover of my leftovers.

Do you have something, a book, that you’re working on right now?

There’s one that’s called Skelly, which comes from skeleton. And this is a book that I would still like to come out with, to familiarise

children with death. It’s a guy who’s an undertaker amongst other things, and he’s in the cemetery. He died a while ago and one night he gets out of his tomb because he finds it so boring, so he goes back home, you know, and his wife is asleep and he pinches her nose and says, “It’s me, darling.” And he’s a skeleton, so of course she doesn’t recognise him and all that.

And so now be becomes very popular. Especially, he gives a whole boost to his business. You can imagine an undertaker who’s a skeleton – there’s nothing more reassuring than that. I had a horrible ending that I can’t use. It was a terrorist coming in the school ready to blow it up and he goes in there and of course the terrorist couldn’t shoot him because the bullets go right through, because he’s a skeleton. But I cannot do that in a children’s book. So I came up with the solution that his wife is very seriously ill and dies, and what does he do? He decides now, his wife is in a big coffin and then she says, “But the coffin is a bit bigger than the other ones.” Because she had a double floor, so he puts himself under his wife so they can be buried together forever, and he can stay with her forever.

Further Reading & Credits.

So, it raises the question about children’s book publishing today. A lot of your children’s books are, as you said with Crictor, an adult book, or can be read and appreciated by adults. You’re being published by Phaidon in the United States.

This is what changed my life. Phaidon, for the last four, five years, they’ve been printing three, four titles a year to catch up with time, which is an incredible thing. So really I’m a spoiled brat. All my life I always say I’d rather deal with a barricade than with a traffic jam, you know, and then it seems for all these causes I fought, like in France and Germany I’m decorated instead of being in jail.

Not bad.

Look at lovely things tomiungerer.com Minute by Minute @tomiungerer Interview by Steve Heller printmag.com/daily-heller Studio Photography © Nicole Bachman nicolebachmann.ch/

Gallery.

From 10AM Friday 6th March until 6PM on Sunday 8th of March, OFFSET takes over Dublin’s Bord Gáis Energy Theatre for its seventh event. The main stage will host a line up of 23 passionate, talented and generous professionals, and the auditorium will overflow with insightful and original thinking. Our speakers will demonstrate their vision and ability to creatively drive everything from huge global campaigns to awe-inspiring personal projects.

Say “hello” to them.

Aisha Zeijpveld.

Andrew Rae.

Andy Altmann. Why Not Associates.

Angus Hyland. Pentagram.

Annie Atkins.

Bjรถrn Engstrรถm & Anders Eklind.

Forsman & Bodenfors.

Chrissie Macdonald.

Declan Shalvey.

Edward Barber. Barber & Osgerby.

Emily Oberman. Pentagram.

Ian Anderson. The Designers Republic.

Matthew Thompson.

Matt Willey.

Niels Shoe Meulman.

Peter Maybury.

Rory Hamilton. Boys & Girls.

SNASK.

Steve Doogan.

Sue Murphy. Wolff Olins.

Tomi Ungerer.

Tomm Moore & Paul Young. Cartoon Saloon.

Veronica Ditting.

Ver贸nica Fuerte & Ricardo Jorge. Hey Studio.

Massimo Vignelli. Memories.

Last May we learned the sad news of the passing of Massimo Vignelli.

In 2009, when we launched OFFSET the dream of inviting Massimo and his wife Lella to Ireland was one of our original goals. When they said yes to our invite, we were overjoyed. Over the course of their stay they were so generous with their time, passionate about their work and supportive of their fellow speakers. It was both inspiring and humbling. In time, his legacy will far outweigh the personal loss of his death but for us at OFFSET we’re still mourning the man who made our inaugural event so very special.

We asked a number of people who knew Massimo, or witnessed his talk at OFFSET in 2009, to share their memories.

Aiden Grennelle, Image Now. We staged a small show of Massimo & Lella’s work as part of the first OFFSET in 2009, and Massimo addressed a gathering of his fellow speakers here at Image Now’s office on the eve of the opening day over a few drinks. He cast a spell over the assembled group that night. He was incredibly charismatic, brimming with energy, joyful and optimistic. He urged us designers to fight the good fight, as he saw it: the fight for refinement, for clarity, for timelessness. He singled out Danny & Marieke from Experimental Jetset that night, thanking them for flying the flag for modernism. I’m sure it’s a moment they will always savour.

Over the following three days at Offset, Massimo sat in the front row of the auditorium, attending every talk, and staying late into the evening, engaging, enlightening and entertaining all around him. I marveled at his energy at the time as I found the festivities hard going, and I was 44 then. Massimo was 78.

Two weeks after we had said our goodbyes and Massimo & Lella headed back to New York, a large parcel arrived in the post for me, it was the Rizzoli tome Design: Vignelli, with an inscription from Massimo. It’s a monumental book showcasing four decades of their work, a testament to their vision and discipline, and a personal treasure.

Massimo was possessed of the most elegant and refined mind. His body of work has attained the timelessness he so rigorously worked for, and his place in the pantheon of design legends is assured.

Micheal Beirut. Pentagram I learned how to design at design school. But I learned how to be a designer from Massimo Vignelli.

In June 1980, I graduated from the University of Cincinnati with a bachelor’s degree in graphic design, and moved to New York City to take a job at Vignelli Associates. I can barely picture the person I was 34 years ago. I was from a middle class suburb on the wrong side of Cleveland, Parma, Ohio, the newly-hired, lowest-ranked employee at Vignelli Associates.

The tasks I would be doing at my new job would be barely comprehensible to young graphic designers today, menial operations involving rubber cement thinner, X-acto knives and Photostat developer. I was a schlub, a peon, a punk. I knew nothing. Massimo and his wife Lella were to discover very quickly that Parma, Ohio, and Parma, Italy, had very little in common.

Today there is an entire building in Rochester, New York, dedicated to preserving the Vignelli legacy. But in those days, it seemed to me that the whole city of New York was a permanent Vignelli exhibition. To get to the office, I rode in a subway with Vignelli-designed signage, shared the sidewalk with people holding Vignelli-designed Bloomingdale’s shopping bags, walked by St. Peter’s Church with its Vignelli-designed pipe organ visible through the window. At Vignelli Associates, at 23 years old, I felt I was at the center of the universe.

I was already at my desk on my first day of work when Massimo arrived. As always, he filled the room with his oversized personality. Elegant, loquacious, gesticulating, brimming with enthusiasm. Massimo was like Zeus, impossibly wise, impossibly old. (He was, in fact, 49.) My education was about to begin.

At Vignelli Associates, I was immersed in a world of unbelievable glamour. If you were a designer – even the lowest of the low, like me – Massimo treated you with a huge amount of respect. Everyone passed through that office. I met the best designers in the world there: Paul Rand, Leo Leonni, Joseph Muller-Brockman, Alan Fletcher. And not just designers. I remember one time Massimo was working on a book project with an editor from Doubleday, and he decided to give her a tour of the office. He brought her to my desk and introduced me. It was Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. “Mrs. Onassis, this is one of our young designers, Michael Bierut,” said Massimo. “It’s an honor to meet you,” said the former First Lady. I think I just said, “Guh, guh, guh.”

From Massimo, I Iearned that designing a book wasn’t about coming up with a clever place for the page numbers. He taught me about typography, about scale, about pacing, about refinement. I learned to think of graphic design as a way to create an experience, an experience that was not limited to two dimensions or to a momentary impression. It was about creating something lasting, even timeless.

Most importantly, I learned about the world. From my hometown I knew only the Parmatown Mall, anchored with Higbee’s and May Company. Massimo taught me about the Galleria in Milano. I learned about architecture, fashion, food, literature, life. It was with Massimo that I had my first taste of steak tartare and my first taste of stilton with port. Imagine, raw meat for dinner and cheese for dessert! For Massimo, design was life and life was design.

Finally, from Massimo I learned never to give up. He was able to bring enthusiasm, joy and intensity to the smallest design challenge. Even after fifty years, he could delight in designing something like a business card as if he had never done one before.

It was Massimo who taught me one of the simplest things in the world: that if you do good work, you get more good work to do, and conversely bad work brings more bad work. It sounds simple, but it’s remarkable, over the course of a lifetime of pragmatism and compromise, how easy it is to forget: the only way to do good work is simply to do good work. Massimo did good work.

I intended to stay at Vignelli Associates for 18 months and then find something new. Instead, I stayed there for ten years. I loved my job. But I had finally reached a point where I realized I had to move on. Quitting was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I had a speech all prepared, and the night before I was driving on Interstate 87 and rehearsing the speech in my head. Suddenly I saw the lights of a police car right behind me.

I was pulled over. “Do you know how fast you were going?” “Um, 65?” “Try 85. You pulled up right behind our squad car” – it was a marked squad car, by the way – “passed us on the right, and then cut us off.” They made me get out of the car, checked the trunk, and took me to the State Trooper barracks for 90 minutes while they ascertained that I wasn’t a drug addict or a terrorist.

Massimo had that kind of effect on people.

The next day, when I told him I had decided to leave, Massimo was the same as he always was: warm, emotional, generous.

He had had many other designers work for him before me and would have many others afterwards. But for me, there would only be one: my teacher, my mentor, my boss, my hero, my friend, Massimo Vignelli.

Massimo died this morning at the age of 83. Up until the end – I saw him four days before he died – he was still curious, still generous, still excited about design. He leaves his wife, Lella; his children, Luca and Valentina; and generations of designers who, like me, are still learning from his example.

As we walked Massimo spoke generously of Ireland, Dublin and the people he met. I tire of the clichés assigned to our national character but he spoke with deep sincerity in regards of how friendly everyone had been; of the lengths OFFSET went to, to accommodate both him and Leila; and the great effort Aiden had made for his exhibition at Image Now Gallery. We spoke of travel and then, of course, of his lecture. His lecture that, I completely missed. Why did I say yes.

Dinner. Finally an opportunity to relax. But the nerves were back only twelve hours to go. Oliver Jeffers entertained us.

Leila spoke about education, Italy and their Summer Schools.

Aiden and Massimo spoke design, typography, Europe vs US. I tried to contribute – occasionally we spoke of my education and training in Paris, my Swiss professors and my ‘grá’ for the rigour and integrity of European modernism. I promised that it would all make sense in the morning. I’m sure he was unconvinced. Why did I say yes.

Sunday morning. First up. No idea of how few or how many rolled out of bed to be there. Got into my stride pretty quickly.

David Smith, Atelier David Smith.

Nervous. That’s really all I can remember. Being nervous.

Unsure and nervous. Three whole days of “creative inspiration”.

Great. But I was bloody nervous – for whatever reason I assumed some responsibility, along with Scott Burnett, that with our talks we would put the best foot forward for the local design community. Nerves. More doubts. Why did I say yes.

Scott had the unenviable task of opening the inaugural event, while I got off lightly with the first slot Sunday morning. Surely the venue would be half full considering the early start?

Everyone hungover? Maybe I’d get in and out under the radar.

Or maybe I wouldn’t. Why did I say yes.

As I settled into trying to enjoy the first day – Scott, Anthony Burrell and Experimental Jetset done and dusted – it dawned on me that there was one constant for every presentation.

Front row, centre stalls, two seats to the left. Massimo and Leila Vignelli. Why did I say yes.

I essentially missed best part of Saturday. Concentration shot and increasing nerves. I spent the day criss-crossing Abbey & Gardiner Street to my studio. Checking, re-checking and practicing my talk. Having professed to Richard & Bren that week that I was thinking of pulling out it became clear I should have said no. Front row, centre stalls, two seats to the left. Why did I say yes.

Saturday night. I made it back to Liberty Hall sometime just before 6pm. Speakers dinner was soon after 7. Hanging around I found myself in the company of Aiden Grennelle, Massimo and Leila. Energised after his talk, Massimo refused to take a cab and insisted on walking to the restaurant. It was November and cold, but he insisted – how else would they see ‘authentic Dublin’ if we didn’t walk across the city? The very last thing I wanted was for any of us to have ‘an authentic Dublin experience’ as we negotiated the throng along the quays.

Please take a cab. Why did I say yes.

Nerves pass, but still unsure. Front row, centre stalls, two seats to the left – the occasional nod, concentrated, no smiles but listening. Keep both of them engaged and you have a chance … or does this make any sense? Why did I say yes.

I run over time. Wrapping up quickly I stutter over my closing comments. Applause. A quick snatch and grab for the selection of my posters offered to the crowd. Finally I’m off the stage. Nod and thanks to my colleague Oran, then straight towards front row, centre stalls, two seats to the left. They are both standing.

I offer my hand. He embraces me. “Great. Great. Great”. Massimo Vignelli has me in a bear hug. “Great. Great. Great.” It must have made sense. Relief. The day passes with a big smile and laughs courtesy of Oliver Jeffers and Chip Kidd. Then it’s over. What an achievement for the OFFSET team. I wait back to say my goodbyes to Massimo and Leila who are in conversation with Richard and Bren. Bren call’s me over – “you were his highlight.”

I turned to Massimo, “Aah, the highlight.”

So glad I said yes.

David Wall. Conor&David I met Massimo Vignelli once, for about 10 seconds. I shook his hand and thanked him. It was after his presentation at Offset 2009 – the first OFFSET. After 5 years and dozens of amazing presentations, it still sticks in my mind as one of the best Offset moments, and the one that affected me more than any other.

He bounded energetically about the stage, chuckling and cracking jokes as he spoke through himself and Lella’s practice and life since the 1950s. The presentation was delivered with vitality and enthusiasm that a designer of any age might be proud of.

He spoke through the story of his work, broken down into five or ten year segments, starting in 1955. The first slides showed his work as a designer for a Venetian glassware manufacturer

(as he paid his way through architecture school). Even at this early stage, the striking timelessness of the output was evident. Indeed – throughout the talk – only the hairstyles and outfits in occasional self-portraits tied the designs to any given era. The work felt fresh, relevant. It seemed to exist largely outside of the chronology of 20th century design.

vernacular.

I had come to the presentation with a fairly shallow knowledge of the Vignelli canon: a ‘greatest hits’ comprised of projects for American Airlines, the US National Parks Service, and the iconic NYC Subway signage system. In his hour and ten minutes on the stage, he devoted a combined total of just 5 slides to these projects.

My mind got changed a decade or so later when I saw Massimo speak again, this time at Design Indaba. After having set up and run our own studio in the interim period, I was this time won over by the sheer quality of this body of work that he had amassed. All as commercial projects with hard nosed clients and deadlines and budgets – all the stuff we had been battling with. It was a body of work that was principled, and pragmatic and precise and just beautifully done. And it was done with personal modesty and good humour and great spirit, as I managed to find out first hand. This time I had the chance to speak with him and the very wonderful Lella.

A more significant portion was dedicated to the communication of an optimistic worldview; that of the designer as a person with an ability and responsibility to improve ‘everything that surrounds us’. To an audience comprised mostly of designers this was indeed an intoxicating idea: the designer as someone with the knowledge and position to affect real change. Perhaps playing to this, he

The third and final time I encountered Massimo was in Dublin at OFFSET when really I just remember his magnetic presence and good times. I’m so glad I came round to appreciating his contribution to design and seeing it could be done with warmth, humour and seriousness all at once. I’m still working on this, though I don’t think I’ll go as far as making us all wear black – it would make us look like designers for a start.

was sharply critical of lazy practice in marketing, saying “A focus group can only tell you what they have seen before: a designer has vision, has imagination, has knowledge — they do things in a responsible way. This is why design is such a great profession… and marketing is a lousy profession.” He also reserved some vitriol for artistry in design, ‘vulgar’ typeface uses, unnecessary updates to his work — practices which ’reduced graphic design to misery‘.

That said, the overarching message was of opportunistic, inventive and imaginative solutions, and practice that was not bounded by narrow definitions or specialities. ‘Design is one, you can do it’ – this was the message and the instruction.

Designs were created not as monoliths but as platforms. They were devised to facilitate outcomes where the user could participate without eroding the identity of the work.

Seeing Vignelli in the foyer after the talk – as an elderly gent shuffling through the crowd with his wife on his arm – reminded me of why OFFSET is so inspiring. OFFSET speakers are not distant notions but real people, fellow designers with much in common with us mortals. Seeing a hero of that stature in the flesh humanises them in a way that a book, a video or a piece of writing rarely can. As a legend, an icon, a untouchable design deity, it’s easy to disassociate their practice from our own. Seeing them in person – as a person – challenges us to aspire to practice at their level.

Andrew Stevens, Graphic Thought Facility My first encounter with Massimo Vignelli was as a ‘full of it’ RCA student. He came to give a talk to the college – a fantastic speaker – he was everything I was against at that time. The notion of received good taste, only allowing the use of less than a handful of suitably ‘approved’ typefaces and having his staff wear a dress code of monochrome shades, amongst other ‘designery’ crimes was to me and most of my peers, an outdated path. We were all busy veering wildly off into the

Looking with Jan.

When Jan de Fouw died last month, it really felt like a part of the chain had been broken. The chain of people and events that conspired together to create the circumstances that led to my career as a graphic designer.

Jan was probably the first graphic designer in Ireland I became curious about. He had a studio, he had clients, he had a nice letterhead with a nice logo, he made a living from graphic design—how did he manage to do that?

Not many people in Ireland did that back in the late 1970s and Jan had been doing it since the 50s. He was independent, he had no fear, he was persuasive, he worked hard and he was Dutch.

When I left school I thought about calling him up and asking him for what we now call ‘work experience’. I didn’t have the guts _ imagining this furiously busy man from ‘the Continent’ who would have no time to talk to or teach a young man thinking about a career in graphic design. Of course years later when I came to know this generous, warm, enthusiastic man I often regretted not

making that call. Jan however was never particularly interested in looking back, he was far more concerned about his next project – a magazine, a book, a series of etchings, a sculpture, a poem – he was obsessed about ‘making’.

He didn’t need to worry about strategy or marketing, he was too interesting for that. He knew more about the history, politics and folklore of Ireland than many Irishmen.

Sitting at the board table with leaders of industry was easy for Jan because he had plenty to say.

He emerged as a designer, as Ireland emerged as an independent nation and modern economy – bringing Bauhaus design principles and standards of professional practice to an industry that had previously been unheard of. Jan could talk the talk and walk the walk. And deliver on time.

When I proposed a book project on the connections between Ireland and Holland in graphic design, Oranje & Green, Jan was the most enthusiastic of collaborators.

We spent a lot of time looking

at work, work that Jan hadn’t looked at himself for over 30 years – he had been too busy.

Work made by hand, handlettered, with flat colours bleeding off the edge of the page and with just enough detail to communicate the message. Garech Stone of The Stone Twins last week described Jan’s posters for Aer Lingus in the 1950s as underrated masterpieces.

High praise. And they were.

The original artworks were quite stunning to look at: bright, optimistic works that radiated Jan’s infectious enthusiasm for his craft.

We spent days and weeks

looking at, discussing and analysing his design work – advertisements for Philips, illustrations for The Irish Times, calendars for John Hinde, packaging for Guinness, annual reports for RTÉ, icons for the IDA, sculptures made of type, etchings, prints. And then we spent days and weeks looking and talking about how I cropped his work, the layouts, the balance of image and type. Looking and talking.

Talking and looking.

Precious days.

Conor Clarke

Design in 20th Century Ireland.

Further Reading & Credits.

Irish design has grown in confidence over the last decade and is making strides internationally. Government support for the Year of Irish Design 2015 and the addition of design to the remit of the newly renamed Design & Crafts Council of Ireland are both positive signs for the future.

But what of the past? Irish designers often have little sense of Ireland’s design history or how their work relates to it. Lack of an historical context can lead to a perception that indigenous design was of a parochial or mediocre quality and hence unworthy of investigation. Yet, there is a strong history, much of it still to be uncovered. And only a fraction given any real consideration.

On Sunday a panel discussion moderated by Niall McCormack (Designer & archivist) and with contributions by Linda King and Mary Ann Bolger will focus on graphic design developments in Ireland during the last century, showcase some of this vibrant work and examine the importance of design history to today’s practitioners.

The arrival of a wave of Dutch designers to Ireland in the 1950s transformed the Irish design landscape.

Guus Melai, Jan de Fouw, Piet Sluis, Gerrit van Gelderen and Cor Klaasen were among the talented émigrés who brought their Bauhaus influenced education to bear in their Irish work.

Look at lovely things www.hitone.ie Minute by Minute @hitoneie Victor Penney (ca. 1940s).

Courtesy of the Penney family archive.

Karl Uhlemann (1960).

Hi-Tone Collection

Less familiar today is an earlier generation of designers who pursued lasting careers in commercial art in the often austere environment of the Irish Free State.

George Altendorf, Victor Penney, Richard King, Norah McGuinness, Olive Cunningham and John Henry studied in the 1920s under Harry Clarke and Austin Molloy at the Metropolitan School of Art, Dublin. Other practitioners of note, in this overlooked era, include advertising and book designer Karl Uhlemann, fashion illustrator Margaret Dardis and children’s book illustrators Marion King and Eileen Coghlan.

Linda King and Elaine Sissons’ 2011 book Ireland, Design and Visual Culture has gone some way in addressing the dearth of material available on the topic but much remains to be rediscovered, reassessed and celebrated.

Eileen Coghlan (1946).

Hi-Tone Collection

Cor Klaasen (1970).

Courtesy of the Klaasen family archive.

Guus Melai (1953).

Courtesy of the Penney family archive.

Ian Anderson.

Through the 90s a small group of graphic designers in the north of England became internationally renowned, inspiring a generation of young graphic designers. Designers Republic were founded in Sheffield in 1986 by Ian Anderson, and their computer-driven postmodern sci-fi aesthetic was hugely influential and much copied. The new century would bring disruptive technological shifts allied with economic uncertainty that would fundamentally change the nature of the business. Shifts within the music industry and demands of new clients saw DR transform from a studio to an agency, bringing it’s own kind of risk and creative dilemmas. When it closed their doors at the start of 2009, Anderson claimed that it hadn’t been DR for the last two or three years; that it had gone too far from its origins.

Like many of your contemporaries, you went into graphic design through music. How stable was that and how did you work?

I think the optimum time for that was in the nineties, which is probably when we became stable. The music industry was there for us. So a lot of stuff that people know the Designers Republic for, was done in the nineties. Around that time we were usually around five designers and one admin. I’d meet a client, thrash out something, come back into the studio, and reinterpret the brief rather take direction. There’s some direction, but it’s a bit boring if every time you say to somebody, “you’ve got to do it exactly that way,” and all they do is “that way”. For me, I don’t really want to know exactly what I’m going to do until I’ve done it, so there’s no point surrounding yourself by people who are told to do something. They’re just going to give you back exactly what you want. You need there to be some kind of twist in there or something that you’ve learnt, and as long as it’s still within the parameters of the brief that I’ve given them, then I know it’ll still be within the parameters of the response that I’ve given the client.

So you were the account handler?

Yeah. But the difference is that I’m asking the questions.

There were no account handlers because they dealt directly with creatives and then depending on the people involved, and the nature of the job, then either I would continue to do it or I’d say, “Well, OK, so and so’s doing this now, so talk to them.” Because most of our clients weren’t sort of big corporate beasts and you weren’t talking to their ‘people’, you were talking to the decision makers.

Then you don’t need account handlers. The problem with account handlers, in general, is that they’re not that creative. Some of them aren’t creative at all; they’re just really good at handling accounts and people. Some are failed creatives who’ve drifted into that and found they can do it. For them to be talking to the client and interpreting the client’s brief to then give to somebody who is creative, seems to be a complete nonsense, to me.

How did that change as you got bigger?

When we got bigger, in sort of the ‘lost years’, you realise that the person you’re speaking to, who’s representing the client, isn’t a creative person. You’re just playing Chinese whispers. In that sense you might as well send an account person to talk to their person, because neither of them understand what the fuck they’re talking about. But it’s their job and if they can just keep going for another few weeks, then they can go skiing together or snowboarding or whatever the cunts do, I don’t know.

You’ve got a complete disconnect. So you say, ok, the reality is that’s what happens; what do you do then? Are you ok with that, or not going to play that game?

I can only give people what they want me to give them, if I can talk to them and ask questions.

Do you wish you’d kept control and stayed smaller?

In hindsight I do. The reality was that the music industry was not able to support The Designers Republic anymore.

Typically, album and threesingle budgets used to be thirty-five grand, I think you’d get. We were still doing that. But they slipped down to ten grand. But that’s still ten grand. Eventually you would get, “there’s a problem because we’ve only really got a two grand budget.”

They realised with the young designers coming through, everyone’s got a computer.

And so many people would do it for nothing. Because of the rise of marketing and the rise of video, record covers weren’t seen as that important anymore. So we were pretty much, kind of up shit creek.

How worried were you? Were you having sleepless nights?

Yeah, because I had a staff of six people. My accountant said, “you’re going to go bust next month.” And then literally in the following month we were approached by Coca Cola global, who said, “Do you want to do this project with us?” DR? Really?

But they explained what it was and, yeah, it sounded really interesting. So we started doing that, and then we started doing something with MTV in Italy, and then the University of Sheffield, and a few other things. Between those things we got enough money to basically carry on for a year. We thought it was great. That we could do more interesting stuff but then you can’t because you’ve got to start employing. There was no reason it necessarily should have kicked off this ‘lost years’ thing, but there was a sense that I had to get certain people involved. The idea was that they would use their knowledge and expertise to help us exploit our experience and brand.

But it became apparent that they could only do it their way.

there? I’d sort of say how many do you think? 30? 100?

I should have called a halt to it then, but as I say, I had this thing where I’d been promised a pay-off as part of an exit plan. I’ll laugh about this one day.

Which was?

They were talking about exit plans … I didn’t even know what they were. Really. I thought it was like some sort of suicide pact or something. They said we could sell the business. We went through this whole process of making it appear that the Designers Republic could continue without me, that I wasn’t pinnacle. I stood back and we got all the other sort of people in.

The problem was that you then become an agency.

We started to make a lot of money but we weren’t the Designer’s Republic anymore. And the problem was that people that were coming to us thinking, :I would like to work with Designer’s Republic but they seem to have evolved into an agency.” There were meetings about meetings and wasted days of creative time by going and having meetings with business advisors or business gurus to help build the business – change the structure of the business, get rid of these designers who were just sort of doing weird stuff.

And I just sort of sat there. I lost a lot of confidence and I just felt like: “I don’t really know why I am doing this.” I’d be flying backwards and forward to Atlanta, or wherever we were working and planning, and then come into the office and saying, “No, you don’t need to do that. They can do that, and they can do that.” I just didn’t know what the fuck was going on, really. But it wasn’t what I wanted to do.

All I could think of at the end of the day was – one day this will be over because I can get rid of this and start doing what I want. Then I decided, actually what I would do was do natural wastage: to just let people go and get back to being smaller, and that was my plan for 2009.

I had all that nicely worked out. Then we went bust so I got the chance to go back to being smaller and more hands-on, without having all the alpha males around me. I got the chance to go back to being without them but, unfortunately, without the money.

Interview by Pam Bowman & Matt Edgar

I think lots of people were shocked when you announced it.

I think that’s because one of the things about the Designers Republic was that we always kept a kind of mystique, so nobody really knew how many people we had here. We had news groups where people would say how many people work

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things thedesignersrepublic.com Minute by Minute @iantdr

Pam Bowman is Principal Lecturer, Subject Group Leader for Visual Communication at Sheffield Institute of Arts, Sheffield Hallam University, & Typographer at www.du.st Matt Edgar is Senior Lecturer, Course Leader for Graphic Design at Sheffield Institute of Arts, Sheffield Hallam University, & Motion Graphic Designer

Forsman & Bodenfors.

According to Ad Age you’re the most awarded agency in 2014. What does that sort of statistic mean to you as an organisation?

Anders Eklind: You can imagine, we are all very proud. It’s a victory for our way of working. At the same time, it feels a bit unreal.

How could an independent Swedish agency go all the way to the top?

Do you think this greatly sets you apart from the rest?

Björn Engstrom: What sets us apart is the way that we work. We don’t have creative directors. Each team takes full responsibility for the work, all the way to the client.

We help each other instead of competing. Or a least we try to. When it works, it creates a great atmosphere within the team, and a strong partnership with the client.

It’s similar to how some very small agencies work, but we’ve managed to keep it that way in an agency with nearly 70 creatives, and really big clients.

You’re an agency that really ‘gets’ online campaigns. Do you see this a differentiator for you or just part of the space any creative agency needs to be in right now?

BE: Online is just another way of working for us.

We don’t have a digital department, it’s all integrated.

I think our agency culture, without formal hierarchies, make us open to change, and more willing to try new ways.

We have learnt so many things over the past few

years, and we’ve had a lot of fun along the way.

The Volvo Live Test Series was a B-to-B campaign that was seen by all audiences.

Was this the intention at the start, to target influencers?

BE: Yes, it was an insight early in the planning process to reach influencers all around the world. But how could we do that without a huge media budget for a global campaign? It seemed like the only way was to go viral. A brave strategy, but

Volvo Trucks went for it.

And, fortunately, it worked.

We know from surveys that the campaign reached all the way to the actual target group, the truck buyers. After seeing the campaign, half of them said that they would more likely buy a Volvo truck next time.

ad format. That may sound quite easy, but that’s not the case. On the other hand, I think this is the best time ever to be a creative. And it’s just the beginning.

Further Reading & Credits.

When you’re creating content for YouTube and other social media does the process differ greatly from a TV ad?

AE: You really have to free yourself from the traditional

Look at lovely things fb.se Minute by Minute @ForsBodenfors Interview by OFFSET

Education.

“

If I’m honest, I consistently encourage IADT students to think beyond the local opportunities and consider themselves within the global economy.

“

The relationship between education and real-world design practice is an interesting one. There are a vast array of opinions and viewpoints on how the relationship should work, and high expecations from both industry and academia. Students also have a different take on how their degree will position them following their formal education.

It’s complicated …

Degrees in creative fields remain popular and competition for places is still high, despite an ever increasing number of university places. There may be many more graduates, but there is also a wider array of opportunities in areas that did not exist five years ago.

A degree, currently, is still a stepping stone but now must provide a breadth and depth of learning to benefit all students and support them in their aims, whether that be further study, practice or employment. These are exciting times.

Events like OFFSET help students more clearly define their aims and bring future possibilities just that little bit closer to reality. Being able to see people talk about their work, and more importantly, their mistakes and their career paths makes them human and approachable.

The creative industries are full of generous individuals who are very willing to share their experience, the only thing most of us lack, is time.

Any opportunities courses can provide for students to come into close contact with the real world builds confidence and familiarity, encouraging higher aspirations.

During previous OFFSET visits we have been impressed by Irish students we have met, and how different their horizons are.

Where many UK students see London as the be all and end all, Irish students may, more readily, consider New York, for example, to be a viable option.

Eamon Spellman, Course Leader, Visual Communications, Limerick School of Art & Design: From the 30 or so students who graduate each year, about 70% go either to Dublin, London, Europe, the US or Australia. This, in a lot of respects, is very understandable, given that the majority of people who study in Limerick aren’t from the region and wish to move home or elsewhere once they have finished. This is a very different picture from 20 years ago, when a much larger percentage of graduates would have found work in the region – the decline of the print industry has had a direct effect.

It would be wonderful to see graduates’ careers flourish in Ireland but, being realistic, you have to take the view that, when and if they return home, they are designers who can bring their knowledge and expertise acquired elsewhere to benefit of the Irish design industry.

Brenda Dermody, Lecturer, Visual Communications, Dublin Institute of Technology: We are a small island on the edge of Europe with a long tradition of emigration.

It’s also true to say that the design industry in Ireland is relatively young, we are still in the process of writing our own history, perhaps because of this, Irish designers and design students have always been quite outward looking. Another contributing factor is the 2010 economic downturn which has led to an increase in emigration (in 2014 as many as 47% of those leaving the country had a third level qualification). The decision to emigrate can be a very positive experience, if it is

made by choice and if there is a route back. This is largely based on the economy but perhaps we could do more to facilitate returning designers.

David Smith, Senior Lecturer, Visual Communication, Institute of Art, Design and Technology, Studio Principal at Atelier David Smith: If I’m honest, I consistently encourage IADT students to think beyond the local opportunities and consider themselves within the global economy and the extended creative industries.

PB: For our own part, students at Sheffield Hallam are encouraged to take part in Erasmus, European exchange scheme, Internships and International trips, to engage them in the possibility of continuing their education and career beyond the region and UK borders.

Alumni are a big help in supporting students and highlighting opportunities for consideration. We have found that there is no substitute for visiting studio environments in order to build confidence and feel that, “I could be there.” Like Dublin and other large cities, Sheffield has a healthy creative industry with some very high profile, internationally recognised studios, however the majority of graduates will still head for London for first jobs.

Adrian Shaughnessy, Senior Tutor, Royal College of Art, London, publisher, writer, designer & more: The drawing power of the world’s great metropolises is undeniable. If you want to practice graphic design by working for one of the leading studios you have

more chance of doing so in London, New York or San Francisco. Yet it’s my belief – and hope – that this is becoming less and less of a necessity. In the age of the internet, we can work anywhere. And with the widespread rekindling of interest in localism, it is increasingly possible and desirable to avoid moving to a major city. But it will be some time before the flow is reversed.

DS: I have experience of studios in the Netherlands, US, New Zealand, UK and Germany making direct contact with the programme for our grads. This is a direct result of the quality and ambition of recent graduates, who aim high and seek other experiences and opportunities abroad.

ES: The success of our graduates has an added bonus, in that our current students hear about their success and this gives them a greater confidence in both the course and in their own work.

PB: As educators, we have a variety of concerns about the future of our courses. All of us agree that constant reflection on course structure, curriculum content and approaches to teaching and learning are a requirement. But the need to maintain a rich student experience while ensuring appropriate student numbers is also vital, whether those numbers are large or small.

In the UK most courses have a cohort size of over 100, and some over 200, this has been the case for well over a decade now. Over this period of time, we have learned how to maintain quality while addressing the needs to

large numbers of applicants, students and alumni, Ireland is not yet facing the same challenge.

profession with an growing mix of skills, but it nearly always about communication.

BD: We have to remain aware of developments in the UK and internationally. We are part of a larger institute that comprises a number of colleges with programmes such as engineering and business that traditionally accommodate very large numbers. In this context we have to maintain the delicate balance between keeping our numbers low in order to ensure the ongoing quality of the student experience, and having sufficient numbers to remain viable in the eyes of the larger institute. The possibility of moving away from free undergraduate education is also looming on the horizon.

ES: Both terms describe and confuse all at the same time! Every so often, through projects on the course, we explore what Visual Communication is and each time we have a very different response – it seems that what we do is in a constant state of re-definition.’

PB: It is increasingly clear that to respond to new areas of practice, technology and client demands that what education trains students to do needs to be in an almost continuous state of flux. Education now teaches flexibility and fleetness of foot as well as craft and the skills we traditionally value. The terms we use are also in flux. It is difficult to find terms that are as understandable at recruitment point as they are at graduation, three or four years on, in an everchanging landscape. As we know, the degree title is almost irrelevant and the portfolio is everything.

However, we still need to use titles that are meaningful. Is Graphic Design still relevant?

Is something around communication now more appropriate?

AS: It is indeed an increasingly hybrid

DS: I certainly think Graphic Designer – something I refer to myself as – is a little anachronistic to my mind as, in my view, it refers to a narrow field or practice, narrow skillset and traditional media.

Communication designer is a little less clear, but increasingly I find myself referring to others or my students as a ‘Designer of … ’ There is no question that the soft and transferrable skills of a designer will be amongst their most vital as established design practices evolve, merge and change.

PB: Collectively, our alumni are our ambassadors.

They demonstrate a huge range of potential futures and echo the ambition of current students. The strong relationships between staff and students on most, studio based, Art & Design courses encourage a long lasting relationship, well beyond graduation, running alongside career development and often advising far into the future.

Apart from the excitement, and sometimes dread, of leaving a BA course there is also the option of further study. Currently, international students see this as the expected route. Sadly,

many home students are not in a financial position to undertake MA courses.

However, they can be a valuable space for further development.

AS: It is only of value for those individuals who want to expand their individual practices in a nurturing and critique-based environment.

It’s an environment with lots of peer-learning and lots of different, and often conflicting tutorial voices. I’d never recommend anyone to do a MA unless they wanted to reinvent themselves. If you just want to be a better designer, get a job.

ES: The design industry often has a high expectation of degree graduates which can put a lot of pressure on courses to ensure that students attain skills and knowledge expected of them.

It can leave little opportunity for experimentation, innovation or investigation and that’s where a Masters can be invaluable. If the postgraduate student has a clear and strategic understanding of what they want from it, and can balance the financial investment with the opportunities that can be gained from attaining the Masters, then it’s certainly worthwhile.

DS: What value can you place on Time …

Time to absorb. Time to reflect. Time to make. Time to rethink. Time to accept. Time to reject. Time to fail. Time to understand. Time to discover.

Time to learn. There’s never enough time.

PB: We would like to encourage all kinds of relationships between education and the real world for the benefit of both.

If you want to be involved in shaping the designers needed to continue the development of an enormously exciting future, then do so.

Useful input, to support and guide students, does not only come from academic staff, or just from the high profile designers. The great thing about the creative industries is the huge variety of models of commercial, and noncommercial practice.

Any exposure to this is a valuable learning experience and often the practitioners on the fringes can expand a student’s view of the options are that may be open to them.

The only problem we all suffer from is lack of time

Further Reading & Credits.

Article by Pam Bowman & Matt Edgar

Pam Bowman is Principal Lecturer, Subject Group Leader for Visual Communication at Sheffield Institute of Arts, Sheffield Hallam University, & Typographer at www.du.st Matt Edgar is Senior Lecturer, Course Leader for Graphic Design at Sheffield Institute of Arts, Sheffield Hallam University, & Motion Graphic Designer.

Angus Hyland.

You were part of the team that staged the AGI Open conference in London in 2012. Was there anything about AGI Open that made it different from the normal conference format?

Other than the fact that all the speakers were members of AGI, I’m not sure. As the conference theme ‘dialogue’ was pretty straightforward, I’m tempted to say perhaps that because it was a one-off event in London there was a kind of – Oh God, forgive the dated analogy – a Woodstock quality about it. If you missed it, you wouldn’t be able to catch it again.

Designers seem to have become better at speaking at conferences. They now see it as part of their job, rather than something painful to be endured.

What do you look for in a good conference speech?

For me, a good talk is one when the speaker makes a memorable point or position which I can, in recollection, articulate in a single sentence.

The Pentagram partner talks to Adrian Shaughnessy about, amongst other things, his current reading material, the music he is listening to, a new found interest in the theatre, and Naughty Noo Noo from the Teletubbies.

Who have you heard speak and been impressed by at a design conference?

The illustrator Christoph Niemann is always good because he follows the brief and offers up the unexpected with clarity and charm.

That’s a good point: conferences usually have themes, but often speakers disregard them.

How important is it for speakers to ‘follow the brief’?

I think it’s really important to follow the theme if the organisers have stressed it as a requirement and you are part of a tight format.

However, often it’s a rather loose or abstract theme that

is basically a framework and not an overarching construct. So breath between presentations is rather hardwired from the onset.

Whose work is impressing you currently in the world of design?

Ah, that’s tricky to answer.

I tend to be into a subject – like for instance, botanic art or anime, or folk-rock, or modernist abstract symbols – at any one time. My pursuit of the muse tends to drive me towards graphic or illustration/popular artwork related to the subject, usually either historic or vernacular.

A friend once told me, quite plainly, that she didn’t think I was a fan of design – which, while being slightly disingenuous, was accurate up to a point; I tend to be interested in stuff that is tangential to design.

Your wife, Marion Deuchers, is a prominent illustrator and artist, and you have two sons. Are they showing signs of following in their talented parents’ footsteps, or are they destined to be accountants?

Well, the poor things haven’t much of a hope of escaping – sometimes I feel the house is like an extension of art school. I have a vague, and perhaps twisted hope that they will rebel and then, who knows … an internship at Deliottes? My eldest son drew figurative representations of vacuum cleaners before he was two, which extended out into sculptures incorporating building bricks, coat hangers, pile of clothes, in fact anything to hand. For a short while we were amazed by this young Duchamp until he settled into more conventional creations.

I blame an early obsession with Naughty Noo Noo from the Tellytubbies rather than the Baby Mozart tapes we were playing in the nursery.

Still you’ve got to follow the muse, to reference my previous answer.

What music is currently playing on the Hyland audio device?

It’s just a phase, but: Heron, Amazing Blondel, Forest, Trees, Mellow Candle, and of course The Incredible String Band – although they do grate after awhile. Not forgetting hardy perennials on the Hyland turntable such as Nick Drake, Fairport Convention and Sandy Denny. I really must get out of the late sixties/early seventies soon – too many power cuts.

Printed books or e-books?

Don’t do e-books, Adrian. Too intravenous – they by-pass the palette. As for books, I Just finished The Goldfinch

by Donna Tart, and I’m now about to embark on the new Michael Faber, The Book of Strange New Things. Between times I sporadically read The Tragedy of Liberation: A History of the Chinese Revolution by Frank Dikötter.

It illustrates the horrors of when poets become dictators.

Last design book you bought?

Design Concept Realisation

by Wolfgang Schmittel, published by ABC Verlag.

Cost a prince’s ransom, but I needed it for a talk.

Last non-design book you bought?

The Shape of Content by Ben Shahn – actually my wife bought it but she gets all her Amazon packages delivered to Pentagram, and what’s hers is mine and vice versa.

Are you a movie watcher?

Yes, but not obsessively so. I’ve begun to prefer the theatre. It’s a proper night out and I’m past fifty.

You don’t look a day over 35! Would you care to name a couple of recent theatrical discoveries?

Since it’s about 50 yards from my doorstep, we see an awful lot at the Almeida Theatre in Islington. Recent strong productions have included Little Revolution, about the London riot, and a quite brilliant and hilarious, part-musical Merchant of Venice (my least favourite Shakespeare) recast as an Elvis in Vegas.

What is the secret of Pentagram’s longevity?

It’s impossible to either buy or sell it; so we have to keep the pyramid game going. And it is essential to be adding new, innovative partners. It’s like the quest for the holy grail Let’s end on an up upbeat note. What would you like to have written on your gravestone? And – very important – what typeface should it appear in?

Since I’m not going to have the opportunity of seeing it in-situ, I’ll leave the choice of inscription and font to my heirs. Being a naturalised North Londoner, I would like to be buried in Highgate though.

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things www.pentagram.com/ partners/#/34/ Minute by Minute @angushyland Interview by Adrian Shaughnessey

Annie Atkins.

A lot of people who study Graphic Design might not think that a career in film would be open to them. Can you describe your journey from college to where you are now?

I have two different degrees, one in filmmaking and one in graphic design, so I guess in that sense this was a natural career path for me. But I didn’t always see myself doing this. I worked in advertising for years, and then made the switch after film school. I remember the head, of course, saying on our first day that we might all start the year wanting to be directors, but we’d probably leave the course having found our niche in an area of film we’d never considered before. It sounds crazy to me now that I hadn’t considered graphic design for film until I got my first job in it on the third series of The Tudors. I was so green, really. I couldn’t imagine why a show set in the middle ages would need a graphic designer. I had no idea how big my workload was going to be.

What‘s the typical starting point on a job?

I read the scripts and write my graphics breakdown – listing all the props that sound like graphics, as well as any sets that may contain graphics that aren’t necessarily scripted. Office scenes are always graphics-heavy, because of all the paperwork you see in them. And street scenes too because of the shopfront signage, advertising, vehicle graphics and street signs. This is your chance to note any continuity issues that might arise too, as certain graphics are seen at different times and places,

for example, a letter being written in shot might be seen later being read by a different character, but they don’t necessarily shoot in story order. Your script breakdown becomes your bible for the whole show so you have to work hard to get it right first time and make sure you update it as soon as any new script pages are issued.

Do you work with a production company? Is there direct contact with directors?

I’m hired by the production designer as part of the art department. Usually I work directly with the prop master, set decorator, and art directors. Sometimes I work directly with the director if it’s a hero prop – a piece that’s seen in close-up or has a character of its own. On the Grand Budapest I worked directly with Wes throughout.

How much of the process, from designing to creating, are you involved in?

We have great teams of people on film sets who can make all kinds of things come to life. The process is started by the production designer, who works with a concept artist to draw up, for example, a street scene, which is then draughted and built by the art directors and construction team. I’ll take my lead from the atmosphere and specs in those drawings, and start sketching up shopfront signage with names for streets and businesses, and then the sign painters go in and hand-paint the lettering for the signage once the sets are up. If there’s cast iron signage, then we work with a metalworker. If there’s stained glass patterns, we work with a glazier. For hand-props, I generally print, stitch, and bind myself, unless we need huge quantities, like the hundreds of Mendls boxes – we had them screen-printed and hand-made by a vendor. I also hire calligraphers and illustrators where necessary. It’s a very handson environment, and you’ll be working alongside all kinds of craftspeople throughout the process.

Does your role change from pre-production to production?

Are you involved in post production?

I usually get about six to eight week’s prep, and then work through the production and wrap the day the shooting crew wraps. But on the Grand Budapest I got three months prep and worked through post-production too – we were making the titles and editing some of the graphics we’d already shot, and also adding some more pieces for pick-ups. When I’m not on a film production, I work from my studio in Dublin, creating titles and posters for films that I wasn’t involved in during the shooting process. The two roles are quite separate really. For example, I did the calligraphy for the titles on Noah, but I wasn’t involved in the art of the film during the production stages at all.

Are you ever on the sets while things are being filmed, or are you more removed, working on them before the action takes place?

In the art department we have to have our sets ready days beforehand, so by the time they’re shooting that scene we’re already long done and dusted with it. I sometimes go to set if there’s a last-minute graphic that needs addressing, but time is always against you in this job so you have to be careful not

to get stuck there. Once the camera turns over you’re not allowed to open the door again so you can end up trapped on set for ages, which can feel quite frustrating when you’ve got the following week’s graphics waiting to be taken care of. Watching the action is fun for the first couple of minutes, but it can get very repetitive quite quickly.

Are you a pen and paper kind of person, or do you work digitally?

I mostly work digitally, but because I do a lot of period drama I have to draw lettering by hand too. So I move back and forth between my screen and paper.

What do you understand the more traditional role of graphic design in film to be?

When we make graphics for a film set, we’re creating a world for the actors and director to work in. They’re not necessarily going to be seen in close-up by a cinema audience. I think this is why most people don’t understand that this is a job at all – they just don’t notice graphics because they’re designed to work seamlessly in the period and the world that the whole art department is creating. That doesn’t mean they’re not full of detail and wonder though. I’d love to see an exhibition of graphic props from films over the years. It’s a secret world of design, really.

Can you pick your favourite films where design is an integral part of the film I love children’s fantasy films for graphic design – anything that has a bit of history or magic to it, where you can see the designers had a lot to get their teeth in

to. The Harry Potter films are a good example – all those beautiful magical newspapers and ‘wanted’ posters.

I also loved the production design in Hugo – that must have been a beautiful colour palette to work with. And Tim Burton films are always a treat for design too. And all Wes’s films, of course. I think the films I’m most excited about in terms of design right now are stop-motion pictures. Fantastic Mr Fox, for example, and everything that Laika make – Coraline, Paranorman, The Boxtrolls – it’s exciting to see entire worlds created literally from scratch, and made physically rather than with CGI. What’s the strangest graphic prop you’ve ever had to make?

I like making fake IDs for actors – antique passports or forged CIA cards. I’ve made pieces for characters played by Ralph Fiennes, Saoirse Ronan, Tom Hanks … it feels satisfyingly fraudulent, somehow. You have to get their passport photos and have fake authorisation seals and stamps made up.

For a fictitious country like Zubrowka that’s not a legal issue, but for another movie I had the CIA logo made as a metal embossing die here in Dublin. The suppliers called me up and said: “Er, you realise we’re not actually authorised to make official seals for American government agencies …” You have to prove that it’s only ever going to be used in a movie.

Most inspiring person to work with?

Wes Anderson. The way he experiments with colour and typography is inspirational. We started every single graphic piece in his movie by looking at real pieces of

ephemera – telegrams and newspapers and packaging from early last century – and really exploring how things were typeset and printed and hand-crafted back in the day. He’s fascinated by the tiny details in layouts – both the precision and the inaccuracies. It was like falling in love with design all over again.

You’ve been involved in two Oscar nominated films this year, Boxtrolls and The Grand Budapest Hotel, how did these experiences differ?

The Boxtrolls was a great job, because it’s all stop-frame animation so they were creating an entire 4ft-high world over there in the States. I was actually working remotely from Dublin on it though, developing graphic styles and sending over my drawings. The Grand Budapest Hotel was full-on from start to finish. I went to Germany with Wes and his crew, so it was like actually being in one of his movies. We were in a snowy town on the Polish border for the whole winter. It was very hard, intense work at the time of course, but when I look back now it just feels like magic.

What’s the best part of your job?

Being part of a huge team of people from all walks of life. You get to work with people who have specialised in such weird and wonderful areas – I love talking to the sign-painters and the model-makers and the special effects team and the scenic artists. Everybody has a story to tell. It feels like I ran away and joined a circus.

Where should we expect to see your work next?

The next thing to be released will be Spielberg’s new spy thriller, which Adam Stockhausen brought me back to Germany for last year. It’s set in the 50s and 60s in New York and Berlin, so it was the most modern period I’ve ever worked to, which was fun.

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things annieatkins.com Minute by Minute @AnnieAtkins Interview by OFFSET

Andy Altmann.

What makes Why Not special?

We’re always trying to approach work from this natural place of experimentation, to create something new. It’s an advantage but it can also be a massive disadvantage sometimes.

Why do you think it can be a disadvantage?

Because some clients are too straight for it. I always say to students: “You’re only as good as your client.” And that’s just so, so true. And you do have to have a client – that’s what makes it graphic design. If you’re not taking clients, you’re an artist.

And the client has to say yes or no. They dictate what ends up on the printed page. And sometimes they say “no”.

There’s work on our website that never happened, the job fell through, but we liked it so much we kept it and finished it off because we thought we were right; or it was just a really interesting journey that never really resolved itself, but there’s still something interesting in it.

You just mentioned experimentation – that comes up a lot when you talk about your work, or when other people refer to it. Where does that come from?

I think it comes from the fact that we’ve never worked for anyone else. We came straight from college and we had a very student attitude; we just kept doing exactly what we were doing at college – messing about with typography creating film and not being scared to just try something to see if it works. And if it didn’t, work try again, try a different way of doing it. I’m always after a project that makes my brain go round and it’s always about pushing the brief to make that kinda happen. Obviously, different clients have different needs. With certain clients you can only push them so far, because if you push them too far it actually won’t work. so we’re always very aware, commercially, that it’s a problem that you’re trying to solve – we can’t just self indulge for the sake of it. It’s actually got to work.

How do you deal with clients that have different levels of ‘straightness’?

There’s a certain point – a line – and the line moves for clients. Some clients are more traditional, the line is lower down as it were, but you still have to nudge up against that line. For other clients, like art institutions, the line is a lot further along. But you still have to try to push them as well.

Every client is so different. We’re lucky because our client base is so broad. One minute we’re doing a brand for TV, and then next we’re making a stamp, or a website, or a piece of public art. To me they’re no different – they’re just graphic design problems to be solved.

So does experimenting start with the brief or is it something fundemental about the way the studio works?

We create an environment that’s good for experimenting – we were working for Channel 4 a while ago and we bought a silk screen bed and we just started silk screening on the lunch table here just to try to get away from the computer.

And then I discovered that laser cutting is brilliant and we

just tried to cut some stencils out of thin paper and use those.

The studio has that kind of, “yeah go on, try that, see what happens,” attitude. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.

There’s a need to try to do something different and not settle. I look at how certain design groups operate and there’s this absolute style and ethos and reasoning, that all really works. But our work travels all over the place. We do really, really minimal bits of work as well as doing some really mental things.

And the output is some sort of balance between the client and the experiment?

Yeah, and sometimes the relationships that you build. We have a client now, a Belgian TV channel, they know that they can communicate with us, that we can satisfy their needs, and that we’re not going to throw our toys out of the pram if we push too far and they say, “no”. That’s a massive thing. They’re spending the money and we’re trying to do something, the best we can, that’s going to work for them. It’s a collaborative thing. Sometimes you don’t get that collaboration, you don’t click, you don’t get on, and it doesn’t work. Other times, it does and you form a relationship that lasts quite a few years. Even when you were describing how you were How important is collaboration in your process?

Collaboration is such a vital thing.

We work with Gordon Young, the artist, and he knows that we have skills he doesn’t have and he has skills that we don’t. We know that together we’ll probably end up at some place that we wouldn’t be able to get to on our own. And that’s the absolute beauty of collaboration. You have to have the nerve to let go of your ego and find that pathway together. It’s the same in the studio, it’s a collaborative studio. Ok, David might have the final say over what’s presented and there’ll be some pretty heated discussions over why this is right or this is wrong, but most people end up agreeing because we kind of got there together.

To me the process is more interesting than the final solution, always. That your brain has to go through that process of trying to figure it all out it, ends up being much more interesting in the end. Is that why, it seems to me anyway, that once some technique or style gets easy to do, you move on like you’re trying to make it hard on yourself all the time – I’m thinking about the Next Directory. You could get those effects so fast these days, digitally, but back then you created everything by hand and in camera. I just love making things. When we first started designing we were making things using photography and we were also making the artwork, sticking the bits of type down on the art board – it was the craft thing that I absolutely loved.

And the computer killed that off, which annoyed me. There was such lovely craft element to that work then, it was almost like putting a letterpress together. Designing a book would be this mad labour of love – you’d have 300 pieces of board with artwork on them that you’ve have to carry to the printers. That’s disappeared. Now you just email it to someone.

I think with us, once you’ve done something once, you want to try something else. Try it a different way. One of the people in the studio told me I’m a nightmare to work with. She said it’s like working with someone who’s 15. Then she says, “no, make that five.” And I thought: “good. I still have a curiosity about things.”

In ’92 in an Eye Magazine piece about your work, you said: “My God, it’s going to date!” I don’t think that ‘dated’ is right, but when you look back over the stuff you produced in the early 90s, it’s quintessentially 90s design. Then you look at your work through the decades, and it has always looked of the moment – and I mean that in the best possible way. Is it curiosity that’s driven you and your team to keep that sense of currency?

I don’t know. Compared to other designers we’ve managed to change and keep at that level, while doing interesting things.

I’m not going to name names …

Better not to …

But other designers or design groups, you know what they’re famous for and there’s those key projects. But once they’re past those, they don’t necessarily push themselves any further and achieve anything at that same level again, you know? One of the reasons that we might be seen as doing something different all the time, is the fact that we’ve moved through different media, whether it’s moving image or print or art. We’ve shifted around. And when you work in all those areas, it gives the work a different feel anyway. When I look at our contemporaries I see our work is all over the place, while their’s tends to be, still very good, but very similar. Part of it is, I’m not afraid of making a mistake. That’s the real key thing. Not be be afraid of making mistakes. There’s that brilliant Samuel Becket quote: “Ever tried.

Ever failed. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

We’re trying to do this brand at the moment, the client is a good friend of mine, and he’s driving me nuts because he’s pushing me to try and do something different. And it’s really hard sometimes to do something radical when you’ve been thinking in a particular way for so many years. It’s really hard to shake that off. And it happens with artists. You look at an artist’s work and you think such and such a painter is brilliant and then he tries something else and it doesn’t match up. And it’s also to do with timing.

How do you mean?

We happened to be around when computers started and that was massive – we weren’t scared of computers, which was unusual for our generation to just grab them straight away and start playing with them. Would Nevile Brody be the designer he is without The Face? Would Peter Saville be Peter Saville without Factory Records? These are massive cultural things that they were involved in. The Face wasn’t just about the way it looked, it was about what it said, and the journalists and it was of that moment. And it he did an absolute brilliant job, making something new. And the same with Saville; he had Tony Wilson to collaborate with who let him do all that stuff.

EMI probably wouldn’t have let him do that, too many corporate people. But a brilliant client like Tony Wilson? That’s what I keep saying, you’re only as good as your client. Obviously they’re both brilliant designers and they took that opportunity, and did other great work off the back of it.

It’s timing; the Comedy Carpet wouldn’t have been possible ten years ago – the technology didn’t exist Which on the face off it, given that it’s stone lettering,

isn’t something that you’d immediately associate with technology.

Yeah, but it needed a water cutting-machine to cut it all out. That, and the fact that our computer could talk to its computer, was the key to how we were able to do it at all.

Concrete is just another medium to you though.

You’ve gone through endless variations in material in client work and art projects – from print, to logs, to chairs – it seems like the only constant is type …

That’s what we love. I’d say that we’re typographers.

That’s fundamentally what we are. That’s what we loved at college, myself and David.

It’s type. Type and image – whether that’s moving image or photography – or type as image.

I always thought when I was at St. Martin’s that I wasn’t that interested in typography.

Then Phil Baines, who was in my year, showed me a copy of Herbert Spencer’s Typography and I literally had to sit down because I was so surprised at how interesting it was. I immediately fell in love with it. And I realised that that’s what I should be playing with – type. That was a seminal moment for me. The weird thing is, the same thing happened to people with Typography Now. The amount of guys in their mid-thirties or forties who work in ad agencies and design groups who’ve come to me and said, “Typography Now changed my life.” You’ve no idea when you’re making that kind of thing that that’s going to happen. But now I realise there’s a book for every generation and for me it was Modern typography, even though it was published in the 60s. But for the next generation it was David Carson’s book, perhaps.

And for another generation it was maybe Typography Now. Because there was nothing else like that around that could stop people in their tracks. When you’re doing something like that, you’re just doing it because it seems like a good thing to do; because somebody is paying you.

Of course … which helps.

But that’s the opportunity – like Brody with The Face – with that chance, at that particular moment in time, Typography Now basically changed the face of graphics publishing.

Other publishers suddenly realised that you could make money out of design books for students. There weren’t any before that really. So they all started to cash in. And then, as computers get better, it’s possible to design a book quicker, suddenly you’ve gone from three or four books on a shelf in the corner of a library, to an entire graphic design bookshop in Covent Garden filled with new books. The other thing is being in London, a city that never sits still. That’s another massive influence on us. We’re in this beast of a city that never stops growing or changing. I think that influences you as well.Do you think of environments a lot? A lot of your art projects bring type to life in public spaces – like type is something real and tangible rather than print on a page …

When I finished with college I couldn’t figure if I wanted to go to the Royal College to do sculpture or to do graphics and I ‘ummed and ahhed’ for ages, and in the end I didn’t have the balls to go and do sculpture. I went and did graphics, because I knew I could do it – I took the easy way out. And I don’t know if sculpture would have let me in anyway because I had nothing to show them.

I met Gordon years later, who had done sculpture at the Royal College ten years before I was there, and we really got on. I was really interested in what he did and he was really interested in typography; he was trying to use words in his art but didn’t understand typography that well at the time.

And that collaboration ended up being all about type and the environment – The Comedy Carpet.

Well, that was just a job from heaven. I’m looking around my studio now and there’s a framed picture of Tommy Cooper on the wall and there’s a Carry On poster in the toilet.

And a photo of Ken Dodd on the way to the toilet. It comes from growing up in the North West where all the great comics came from. Lots of them anyway. You grew up with football and comedy. They were the two things that I loved.

When Gordon suggested that he wanted to do this thing, we both did the research because we were both so into it. And I learned far, far too much about British comedy than was good for anyone. The research was the fun bit, the design was the easy bit, and the difficult bit was trying to figure out what didn’t go in.

Is the research always the fun bit?

The joy of these projects is in the process. When I finished it, I didn’t want to go there and look at it. I don’t like looking at my old work. I’m always just looking for the next thing to do. Because I just see the mistakes. I just see the pain. And I think that’s a healthy attitude, you know? Fail better, again.

Doing something like the Comedy Carpet is mad because

you know it’s going to be there for 100 years and very few graphic designers have had that opportunity. It was a one off, a statement piece in a way. And we spent years trying to make it happen. But the really brilliant thing about that project is the idea.

It really touches people because of the content. And you can do something like that because you’ve got great content. If you went into the city and built a similar thing to do with money, it wouldn’t have the same resonance with people because the content just isn’t part of the British psyche. Fundamentally the idea is right. People would interact with comedy when it’s written on the floor. And absolutely The Carpet should be in Blackpool. It’s to do with culture and memories and ghosts.

And those guys were legends, they still haunt British culture in a way. It seems like everyone from that time has, like, a Frank Carson story or something I got pissed with him one time.

Seriously?

Yeah. A mate of mine, who’s older than me, is a printer in Essex and he said he was going to run a charity golf day. He knew that I used to play golf as a teenager, and I knew that he was friendly with Frank Carson. He said that he was going to invite a few celebrities along. One was Frank Carson and one was Pat Jennings. And I ended up playing golf with Pat Jennings.

And Frank Carson was behind us. I could hear him the whole way around the course cracking jokes. At the end there was an auction. And Frank, he was there for three hours selling all this stuff, telling jokes the whole time. It winds up and the printer says, “lets go back to my house.” Frank goes with us, and he’s still telling jokes and we’re drinking and drinking and everyone else disappears. So it’s just the three of us, the printer, Frank and me until the printer goes off to bed and calls us a cab to go back to London – Frank and I are sharing a cab. And that’s fine.

We get in the cab.

The cab driver doesn’t’ know what hit him; he’s got Frank Carson in the front seat and me drunk in the back seat. And Frank leans over his shoulder and starts to tell a joke – it’s about three in the morning as we drive down this sort of rough country road – and Frank falls asleep as he’s mid joke. And I think: “Thank God for that. Finally.” And as we get 300 feet further down the road we hit a pot hole and Frank wakes up, and finshes the joke.

It was unbelievable.

The story carries on, but I’ll tell you the rest in Dublin.

Looking forward to it!

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things whynotassociates.com Minute by Minute @whynotassoc Interview by OFFSET

Hey Studio.

A couple of years ago, I was emailed by someone who wanted to point out where It’s Nice That was going wrong. (These missives arrive from time to time, the observations ranging from the perceptive to the bat-shit crazy.)

The problem, this correspondent decided, was that there were too many creatives who appeared multiple times on the site and he was particularly incensed by the reoccurrence of Hey Studio.

The Barcelona-based graphic design and illustration agency has been featured at least seven times on the site; they were also interviewed for our Printed Pages magazine and spoke at an event we curated for G F Smith. But to you, as to this irate troubleshooter, I make no apologies for that, because Hey is one of the most talented and consistent studios working today.

Hey was founded in 2007 by Verónica Fuerte and Mikel Romero, and they were joined a year later by Ricardo Jorge.

They built a reputation working on graphics projects in and around Barcelona, but things really started to take off when Monocle began to commission their work regularly. Through bold use of colour, direct typography and a taste for geometric shapes, Hey has gone from strength to strength, working for tech giants (Apple, Vodafone, Three), major brands (General Electric and Turkish Airlines) and top-drawer editorial platforms (Mr Porter, The Wall Street Journal and Penguin Random House).

I imagine everyone who buys into the Hey aesthetic feels the same. But there seemed to be something about their work that particularly resonated with us. That’s confirmed when Verónica explains how they came to call themselves Hey:

“Naming your studio is like naming your child – when you actually have to do it, it’s not as easy as you thought.”

“I was sure though that I didn’t want to use my own name or a generic word, so I looked for an attitude – something positive, cheerful and lighthearted.”

This sense of enthusiasm resonates throughout Hey’s portfolio (even at the more staid end of its client list) and manifests itself particularly in their now trademark use of bold, bright primary colours. “It’s true, we work with colours a lot,” Verónica admits. “It’s something that came about pretty naturally really. Colour is a form of expression that we feel very comfortable with; they have their own particular properties and that combines well with the blend that we are always looking for in our projects.”

When a new brief comes into the studio, the trio sit down to brainstorm and research the project on the table, settling on a few key ideas. But interestingly

they then separate to work up three individual routes (under the broader umbrella of the distinctive ‘Hey’ look) and then come together to compare and contrast each other’s solutions.

“There are three of us in the studio and each one of us can arrive at a different solution for the same

concept we have envisaged for a project. Everything happens faster though when you have a very clear style.

“Nearly always there is a favourite within the range of options, but sometimes it just isn’t so clear. We always have a second stage where we where we work on the finer details; this is where the graphic option really starts to grow and take on its own identity.”

I wonder though, with the studio celebrating its eight birthday this year, how they feel their work has changed over that time?

“Eight years! I haven’t been counting,” Verónica laughs.

“I think the essence is the same but the evolution

is constant. With our illustration work we have kept working on our style and trying to do things in new ways. With the graphic design, we have been more meticulous and more professional.”

One way they can explore new creative avenues, particularly as Verónica

mentions in illustration, is through their self-initiated projects. A section of the studio’s website, called (pun-tastically) Every Hey, documents their daily illustrative experiments.

Everything gets posted on Instagram as well as the website. Despite the fact they’re faceless you’ll recognise a host of famous

figures, from Robocop to Jessica Rabbit, Frankenstein to Hugh Heffner (one’s a barely believable monster that mirrors humanity’s darkest traits, the other’s Frankenstein etc etc). From this has grown several realworld projects, such as a 2013 show of their drawings of gods at London’s Kemistry Gallery, and a book of football

players produced with Studio DBD to coincide with last summer’s World Cup. “Self-initiated projects have been, and are, very important to us,” she explains. “They are a way of playing around with new concepts and an opportunity to explore things creatively in a way you might not otherwise be able to. The great thing is that we can then work these ideas and that passion into the work we do for clients. When you are doing commercial work you just don’t have the time to try other things, so we use our own time on our own projects to do this.”

Right now it’s a golden age for graphic design in the Catalan capital, with Hey among a host of studios – Folch, Two Points, P.A.R., Forma & Co, Clase BCN, Roseta Oihana – producing exciting and engaging work. Moreover Barcelona seems to teem with artists, photographers, illustrators and publications; this is the city that gave us Apartment after all. “I think Barcelona is a city that inspires people,” Verónica says.

“It´s a creative loop that feeds back onto itself – the more people there are, the greater the competition, the better you become.”

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things heystudio.es Minute by Minute @Heystudio Interview by Rob Alderson itsnicethat.com

Unit Editions at 5.

By the time we human beings are five years old we have learned the basics of life. We can walk, we can talk, and we’re capable of independent thought. Unit Editions recently passed its fifth birthday.

As a publishing house, we can no longer say we are a baby; we’ve got a mini history. To date we have published 18 titles, and there are four more currently in production, with others planned over the next 12 months. The plan that Tony Brook and I formulated five years ago was to produce the sort of books we wanted to see in print, and to do it independently of the book trade – which means no distributors, no book chains, and no Amazon.

So perhaps we can claim to have stayed true to our ambition. But do we want to do more? Yes. And do we want to make better books? Yes, again. So here are five books that I’m proud to have published.

- Adrian Shaughnessy. uniteditions.com

FHK Henrion: The Complete Designer Author: Adrian Shaughnessy Editors: Tony Brook and Adrian Shaughnessy Design: Spin [Unit 13] FHK Henrion (1914–1990) has no equal in British graphic design history. No UK designer – then or now – can match his sheer depth of accomplishments and range of abilities.

Born in Germany, he trained in Paris as a textile designer before becoming a skilled poster artist. After WWII, and by now a British citizen, he designed publications, exhibitions, household products, interiors and jewellery, and in the 1960s he became the founding father of modern corporate identity in Europe.

At a time when design was still a cottage industry, Henrion had an exceptional talent for rational and systematic graphic design. Almost single-handedly he created the model of the modern professional graphic designer. He created some of the most enduring logos and identities of the 20th century including Tate+Lyle, KLM, Blue Circle Cement and LEB. Henrion was also a notable design educator, and an energetic spokesman for his profession. He published books, wrote articles, lectured extensively and was the force behind numerous design organizations. He was admired and liked by his employees, pupils and associates, and especially by his clients. But he was also a designer with a social conscience, and a designer who rebelled against the overcommercialisation of the design profession in the 1980s. He was the complete designer.

Kwadraat–Bladen: A series of graphic experiments 1955—74 Essay: Dingenus van de Vrie Foreword: Wim Crouwel Editors: Adrian Shaughnessy and Tony Brook Design: Spin [Unit 06] Kwadraat-Bladen was the brainchild of graphic designer Pieter Brattinga (1931–2004). By publishing a journal (Kwadraat– Bladen) that would surprise its readers with its radical content, unusual format, and state-of-the-art production techniques, Brattinga set out to prove that his family’s printing firm was the best in the Netherlands Brattinga was a visionary: he was amongst the first to encourage designers to enter the print works and to collaborate with printers. He invited many of the best Dutch artists and designers to produce editions of Kwadraat-Bladen that pushed design and print to the outer limits. Artists and designers who designed editions of Kwadraat-Bladen included Wim Crouwel, Anthon Beeke, Willem Sandberg, Jan Bons, Otto Treuman, Dieter Roth and Marc Chagall.

This book is the first English language volume devoted to this revolutionary publishing venture, which mixed art and design and used every known print and print production technique.

The book has a scholarly essay by Dutch design historian Dingenus van de Vrie, and a foreword by Wim Crouwel.

Type Only Essay: Mark Sinclair Editors: Tony Brook, Claudia Klat and Adrian Shaughnessy Design: Spin [Unit 12] Type Only celebrates a current trend in typography – type unsupported by illustration or photography. In other words, typography and letterforms on their own. Through the work of around 100 graphic designers from around the world, Type Only explores the communicative and emotive power of type when used in isolation. It is an idea best expressed by the now defunct British design group 8vo: “We believed that typography, the key building block of printed communication, could be the core ingredient of a graphic solution (unsupported by illustration or photography … )” Type Only looks at the historical antecedents of this sort of work. In his essay, Mark Sinclair, deputy editor of Creative Review, provides an overview of how typography has evolved from the early ‘type only’ experiments of the Dadaists and Futurists, via Modernism and Post-Modernism, to today’s radical typographic trends.

The mass arrival of the personal computer in the early 1990s, typography made a quantum leap. What once took hours of manual labour could now be done on the screen in real time.

Simultaneously, designers also realized that many of the old typographic conventions and preferences could be bypassed.

The result is a 21st century typographic landscape with a multiplicity of styles and gestures: today, anything goes in typography – everything is permitted, nothing is forbidden.

Manuals 1 Design & Identity Guidelines Editors: Tony Brook and Adrian Shaughnessy Design: Spin [Unit 15]

TD 63-73: Total Design and its pioneering role in graphic design Author: Ben Bos Editors: Tony Brook and Adrian Shaughnessy Design: Spin [Unit 03]

Manuals 1 is the first comprehensive study of corporate identity design manuals, and features 20 examples from the 1960s to early 1980s – the high-water mark of identity design.

The book includes manuals created for institutions and corporations such as NASA, Lufthansa and British Steel.

TD 63-73 is a unique insider’s account of the evolution of Total Design, one of the most important and influential design groups in the history of visual design. This book, written

by Ben Bos, a key member of the studio, describes how a group of idealistic Dutch designers came together to form a multidisciplinary design studio that helped shape the future of graphic design.

It was my publishing partner Tony Brook who spotted the need for a book on the subject of design manuals, and although I shared his enthusiasm, I doubted that there was a book in it.

Eventually, we agreed to produce a modest publication, but as we began to compile the material, we realized we were engaged in an important work of graphic design archaeology.

These beauties needed to be preserved!

Total Design began in Amsterdam in 1963. Ben Bos joined the founders (Wim Crouwel, Benno Wissing, Friso Kramer and the Schwarz brothers) from the outset. Together, and individually, they set new benchmarks for identity design, cultural design, exhibition design and product design. These benchmarks have rarely been surpassed.

Design manuals – many of them brilliant examples of information design – represent a moment when a new sophistication entered graphic design. Corporate identity in the 1960s demanded a new systems-led approach. It required planning skills, logistical skills, and a vast knowledge of materials and surfaces. The graphic designer suddenly had more to worry about than the choice of typeface for a letterhead. Designers could no longer be inspired amateurs.

They had to be communication experts, production managers, and design professionals. And the great manuals of the second half of the 20th century are the evidence of that reinvention.

TD 63-73 is the story of Total Design’s golden period. It contains hundreds of images from the TD archive, and in Ben Bos’s text the reader is given an up close and personal history of a design group that remains as important today as it did when it launched in the icy winter of 1963.

Emily Oberman.

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things pentagram.com/partners/#/2635/ Minute by Minute @emilyoberman Interview by Julia Sagar creativebloq.com/computer-arts-magazine

Three things run in the blood for Emily Oberman: creativity, laughter and entertainment.

A protégé of legendary graphic designer Tibor Kalman, she cut her teeth at iconic New York firm, M&Co – collaborating with Kalman on ground-breaking work for Wieden & Kennedy, renowned 80’s band Talking Heads and Benetton’s critically acclaimed magazine, Colors She launched Number Seventeen with Bonnie Siegler in 1993, a boutique, multidisciplinary design studio. And in 2012, she joined Pentagram’s New York office as a partner, where she continues to produce award-winning work across every conceivable platform.

Emily specialises in design laced with wit. She’s the force behind numerous branding projects.

She’s created almost two decade’s worth of opening titles for her favourite late-night variety show, the American cultural phenomenon Saturday Night Live. And at the opposite end of the spectrum, an urgent logo for the UN’s Ebola response campaign. She tells Julia Sagar where it all started, and why good enough, is not enough …

You’ve said that you and Bonnie founded No.17 to have your own voice. If you had you pick one project, decision or client that best represents the studio, what would it be?

Again, there are two. The first is the Jane magazine launch, where the client didn’t yet know exactly what they wanted to say about the magazine, or how to describe their audience. They had a name because the editor was going to be Jane Pratt, who is smart and funny. We were able to take that narrow brief and turn it into something very broad. “Hello my name is Jane,” seemed like the perfect way to introduce something called ‘Jane’. We started riffing – “Hello, my pin number is Jane.” And all these different, funny phrases became a way to hint at what the personality and tone of the magazine would be without actually saying anything concrete.

The second is meeting the people of Saturday Night Live. At first we were hired to do parody commercials, then it evolved into the identity of the show, and the logo, and then into us doing the opening sequence.

Of all the TV shows I had loved growing up, SNL was probably the most influential for me in terms of making humour and weirdness part of the way I continue to think today. I remember where I was when I watched the very first episode. And now I’ve been doing the opening sequence for SNL for almost 20 years, first at No.17 and now at Pentagram.

We just completed the 40th anniversary identity and show open, along with a beautiful 500-page book and a documentary as well.

Pentagram operates as a cluster of smaller studios, with each partner sharing income and owning an equal portion of the firm. What are the biggest challenges you face as a partner in this kind of set-up? And what are the creative benefits to working alongside some of the industry’s most talented designers?

Coming to Pentagram, from a small studio like No.17, the stakes get higher. I have moments where I have to just step outside and catch my breath. There is a tremendous amount of pressure. It’s two-fold: one, monetary, because Pentagram is a big machine, and it costs more to run. There are a lot of moving parts and you have to step up your game in terms of bringing in clients and projects.

The other pressure is simply to do great work. Pentagram is designed to allow partners to focus on the work. And when you have people next to you who are legends and heroes – and friends – you really want to step up your game. There are a lot of nights when I’m up at three o’ clock in the morning either working or worrying. But getting to be here is incredible. It’s like walking with giants.

What do you bring to the Pentagram team, in terms of skills, experience and outlook?

I guess there is a level of approachability and a hint of irreverence in the work we do that’s a nice addition to Pentagram. I also collaborate really well with the other partners, which is a thrill for me, and helps unify the office across projects.

What role does social responsibility play in your design practice?

First of all, we never work for a client in whom we don’t believe. I wouldn’t do work for a tobacco company or the Republican Party. So there’s that. And we try to be as responsible as we can in terms of using recycled materials and working with clients who also have green agendas. Recently we got a call from the UN on a Saturday because they were launching their Ebola Response at the assembly and needed a logo immediately – Monday – so of course my whole team and I dropped everything we were doing for the weekend and jumped on it. They had a new logo by Monday and it felt wonderful to work with them to address something so important.

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given?

That understanding the business of design is as important as understanding the creativity of design.

My father, also a designer, was adamant about that.

And it’s become even more important since joining Pentagram. Pay attention: don’t stop listening when someone in the room starts talking about business.

Also, always spell check!

How lucky do you feel to be working in design?

I feel extremely lucky to be paid to do something I still love. I’ve been lucky enough

You’ve said that you and Bonnie founded No.17 to have your own voice. If you had you pick one project, decision or client that best represents the studio, what would it be?

Again, there are two. The first is the Jane magazine launch, where the client didn’t yet know exactly what they wanted to say about the magazine, or how to describe their audience. They had a name because the editor was going to be Jane Pratt, who is smart and funny. We were able to take that narrow brief and turn it into something very broad. “Hello my name is Jane,” seemed like the perfect way to introduce something called ‘Jane’. We started riffing – “Hello, my pin number is Jane.” And all these different, funny phrases became a way to hint at what the personality and tone of the magazine would be without actually saying anything concrete.

The second is meeting the people of Saturday Night Live.

At first we were hired to do parody commercials, then it evolved into the identity of the show, and the logo, and then into us doing the opening sequence. Of all the TV shows I had loved growing up, SNL was probably the most influential for me in terms of making humour and weirdness part of the way I continue to think today. I remember where I was when I watched the very first episode.

And now I’ve been doing the opening sequence for SNL for almost 20 years, first at No.17 and now at Pentagram.

We just completed the 40th anniversary identity and show open, along with a beautiful 500-page book and a documentary as well.

Pentagram operates as a cluster of smaller studios, with each partner sharing income and owning an equal portion of the firm.

What are the biggest challenges you face as a partner in this kind of set-up? And what are the creative benefits to working alongside some of the industry’s most talented designers?

Coming to Pentagram, from a small studio like No.17, the stakes get higher. I have moments where I have to just step outside and catch my breath. There is a tremendous amount of pressure. It’s two-fold: one,

monetary, because Pentagram is a big machine, and it costs more to run. There are a lot of moving parts and you have to step up your game in terms of bringing in clients and projects.

The other pressure is simply to do great work. Pentagram is designed to allow partners to focus on the work. And when you have people next to you who are legends and heroes – and friends – you really want to step up your game. There are a lot of nights when I’m up at three o’ clock in the morning either working or worrying. But getting to be here is incredible. It’s like walking with giants.

What do you bring to the Pentagram team, in terms of skills, experience and outlook?

I guess there is a level of approachability and a hint of irreverence in the work we do that’s a nice addition to Pentagram. I also collaborate really well with the other partners, which is a thrill for me, and helps unify the office across projects.

What role does social responsibility play in your design practice?

First of all, we never work for a client in whom we don’t believe.

I wouldn’t do work for a tobacco company or the Republican Party. So there’s that. And we try to be as responsible as we can in terms of using recycled materials and working with clients who also have green agendas. Recently we got a call from the UN on a Saturday because they were launching their Ebola Response at the assembly and needed a logo immediately – Monday – so of course my whole team and I dropped everything we were doing for the weekend and jumped on it.

They had a new logo by Monday and it felt wonderful to work with them to address something so important.

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given?

That understanding the business of design is as important as understanding the creativity of design. My father, also a designer, was adamant about that. And it’s become even more important since joining Pentagram. Pay attention: don’t stop listening when someone in the room starts talking about business. Also, always spell check!

How lucky do you feel to be working in design?

I feel extremely lucky to be paid to do something I still love.

I’ve been lucky enough to work with a lot of really talented, smart people. They say if you’re the smartest person in the room, then you’re in the wrong room. I feel like I’m still in the right room.

Peter Maybury.

Prompted by Peter’s appearance at OFFSET2015, and as a reader to his exhibition at the Library Project, 2-15 March 2015, Gall Editions has co-published a book with Ways&Means, entitled Make Ready.

Written and designed by Peter, Make Ready is not a scholarly work. Part manifesto, part process journal, it gathers recollections and observations on the making of work and how we experience our often heavily mediated environment.

Beginning with Peter’s training in analogue media, and how this shaped his working process, it includes: Work that was highly influential for him early on; print work from the beginning of his career like Code magazine, the Dublin French Film Festival; and his work for the Douglas Hyde Gallery, Dublin, such as The bread and butter stone.

The process of their coming into being is written about and illustrated.

The text then moves through more complex productions for the Douglas Hyde Gallery and The Irish Museum of Modern Art, and to many long-term collaborations, particularly with visual artists. Film, installation and sculptural works by Gall are discussed, as are many of his recorded music projects.

Throughout the book are interludes, with observations on the development of photographic images and printing processes; recording made through photographs, video & film, and sound; and drumming and music-making. Through these, much of the underlying strategic thought in his approach is revealed.

Peter regards all of his work as a joint-venture, and a cast of regular collaborators emerges.

Despite reproducing images of many books by, or containing works by others, the subject of Make Ready is the methodology in the making of work, and ways that are found to communicate ideas. For this reason all the reproductions are at a remove rather than full-colour, the book is illustrated throughout in tritones.

The book is printed by Marcel Meesters, with whom Peter has collaborated for many years. Marcel will speak on a panel in the OFFSET seccond stage on Friday afternoon alongside Peter and others.

While studying at Central St. Martins in 1992, I made a small book as part of my Masters. It was printed at the University in their litho facility. I remember being greatly struck by the make ready sheets used while setting up the press for the print run. On them, amongst mine, was layer over layer of student projects haphazardly superimposed.

The transparency of the ink made the layers merge into something dense and complicated. Nonsensical on one level, but this stayed with me as an image of

potential energy. It appeared as if all these ideas had been compressed into the sheet and trapped for storage.

Sadly, it never occurred to me to keep any of these sheets, and their fate presumably was a skip. (We didn’t do much recycling then).

The thought first came to me through drumming, but now it seems clear that most of what I do is about energy transfer. In each undertaking there is a sequence of capture, storage and release.

The content is gathered and arranged, is charged

or amplified through the physicality of the medium.

Ink on paper, light emitting from a screen, speaker cones pushing air, an object in space later releases this delayed experience. In the process there is conversion, and some loss, and of course our perceptions change over time.

that is filled with potential, yet to be realised. It is of this moment that Make Ready speaks. In some ways this is closer to actual experience, where everything is essentially in disarray, yet somehow a possible path emerges.

The end result, what we make visible of our work, has been filtered down through multiple iterations. And for the most part is better for it.

There’s a moment though in the process of development

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things petermaybury.com Photo portrait by Lauren Pritchard

An Irish Comics... industry?

Opp: Declan Shalvey Right: Will Sliney

“Being a comic book artist is one of those careers where you have so much to learn, that you need to dream about where it can take you, to inspire you about where to go.”

For Cork artist Will Sliney, that dream started early. “I remember coming home from secondary school and putting on the Spider-Man cartoon – I used to watch it religiously – and my younger brother would say ‘You’re way too old for that!’”

Years later, Will is still not too old for that – he’s the artist on Spider-Man 2099, the latest in Marvel’s Spider-Man comic book series. Will is part of a small but growing number of Irish comic book artists whose work has been appearing on the pages of publications from the likes of Marvel, DC and Vertigo. “I always wanted to tell stories involving superheroes. I just didn’t know what that was,” says Will. For him – and many aspiring comic book artists in Ireland – there was no clear path to making their dream a reality. Drawing comic books for a living? It was like wanting to be an astronaut.

Dublin-based Declan Shalvey, the artist behind Marvel’s Moon Knight, Dead Pool and Thunderbolts, is beginning work on a page for a project he’s working on. He remembers the moment he found out that ‘comic artist’ was a bona fide occupation. “In my early teens, I read this comics-related magazine that interviewed an artist who worked for Marvel Comics, and he mentioned how much money he made in a year. I went and asked my mum if it was a lot of money and she said yes, so I realised: I could draw comics and it could be my actual job. In theory, that is.”

Declan also became aware that the artists in comics he was reading weren’t all American. “There were a lot of British people working in American comics, so I knew that you didn’t have to actually be over there, to work there.”

This realisation, and a rapid advance in technology, for many artists made it seem possible to stay in Ireland and still play in the big leagues. Would it have been possible to do that 10 years ago? Will reckons so: “10 years ago, yes. 15 or 20, possibly not. 10 years ago was when communication really switched from phonecalls, faxes and traditional mailing to emailing.”

Will also cites the Wacom Cintiq and the Cintiq companion – a graphics tablet that allows the user to draw directly ‘on’ the screen – as game changers.

“When I first went freelance, I wanted to go travelling, and the Cintiq was the most portable solution for me.

This is pretty much the way things are for me up to this day. But with the Companion, I got to do a month of work, while on the beach in Thailand last summer.”

For Declan, using digital tools to make his work just isn’t him. “I’m very old-school. Frankly, it was getting a Mac and getting internet access that were the biggest game changers for me.” He says he doesn’t use his computer to make his art – but that it’s impossible to be a comics artist without having a computer to scan, prepare and send work.

“In olden times you’d send the artwork to the publisher by post and they’d reproduce it, but today you’re expected to hand in final production-ready files. That’s fine by me, as there’s less room for someone to screw with your work down the line.”

Whether using digital tools or traditional ones, Will and Declan both agree that drive and ambition are important factors. “Ambition is everything,” says Will. “If you don’t have ambition then you won’t put in the thousands and thousands of hours drawing before you can even think about working.”

“There are many artists far more talented than I am that haven’t been as successful,” says Declan.

“There are also plenty of atrocious artists who have become way more successful than I am. When you’re starting out you have to push yourself, and I don’t think the Irish are good at that. We’re trained to be self-deprecating and to shoot ourselves in the foot. But in order to make it in comics – and, I’d argue, in any creative field – you have to be able to stand by your work with a certain level of confidence, even if you have to fake it. If you can’t believe in your work, why should anyone else?”

And if you’re not that passionate about it, forget about working in comics.

“The sheer amount of work involved would completely discourage you from the job.

You have to have that drive to work hard and succeed,” says Declan.

Upstairs in the Lord Edward pub, overlooking Christchurch in Dublin, indie comic book artists Philip Barrett and Paddy Lynch are chatting away at the Dublin Comic Jam, an event where people meet up to drink – and draw. Philip says that, in his case, he’s not sure that sheer ambition and determination could necessarily ensure that he made a living.

“You have to sell a hell of a lot of books to make a living … and even then, it’s generally Intellectual Property rights and so on that make the money. I don’t think my stuff has a broad enough appeal.”

Paddy says that artists should be cautious of the notion that creative people should just be delighted that they’re drawing all the time.

“We all have a tendency to look at our work this way,” he says, “especially when you’re establishing yourself or if it’s a project that you’re very personally attached to. I do think artists need to be wary of this attitude – you run the danger of undervaluing your efforts.”

For indie comic book artists, there’s definitely more of an interest in their work right now, than at any time before.

In recent years, Irish publishing house O’Brien Press has started to hire indie comics artists for a string of historical graphic novels – Paddy and Phillip both being cases in point.

At one point, says Phillip, graphic novels were the only growing sector in regular, that is non-comic-book, bookshops and that, despite all that, Irish work was woefully underrepresented.

“I think it’s a reflection both on the increasing acceptance of comics in mainstream culture and the burgeoning pool of talent we have here,” says Paddy.

Back at Declan Shalvey’s studio, he’s finishing another page. “I did feel a bit frustrated in the earlier years – there was nothing happening in Ireland. I had to go to the UK to get my first comics gig. No one really seems to give a toss about comics in Ireland. But as the years have gone by, people are a lot more aware here.” The no-surprises-here aspect: “It’s mainly superhero stuff that people know.”

Working with Marvel is definitely something that turns heads – but Declan feels that it’s the brand, rather than the medium, that people are responding to.

“The medium itself is very under-appreciated, so the work of a lot of people in the field is glossed over. The fact that a comics artist is on the OFFSET Main Stage this year means a lot – it’s wonderful to see someone from my field up there with world class illustrators and designers.”

He smiles: “The fact that it happens to be me is a pleasant bonus.”

Further Reading & Credits.

“O’Brien have gone some way to addressing that,” he says.

O’Brien Press is a publishing company with a solid reputation and a trusted distribution base. “Working with them has got a lot more eyeballs on my work and has definitely led to opportunities. Despite living in an increasingly digital world, having a physical book, in a bricks and mortar shop, still earns a lot of kudos.” He pauses. “Royalties are not to be sneezed at either.”

Look at lovely things blackshapes.com patrickl.net sliney.blogspot.ie dshalv.tumblr.com Minute by Minute @declanshalvey @WillSliney @philip_barrett @PaddyLynch4 Interview by Liam Geraghty liamgeraghty.com

Top & Bottom: Phil Barrett

Above: Paddy Lynch

Steve Doogan.

My first major memory of Steve Doogan, illustrator, was your travelogue diary, that was shared around online. You were in Asia somewhere – Thailand?

All around the world. It was an around the world job. In 2004, I was an illustrator, mostly working for advertising and I just hated what I was doing. I didn’t like it. I was quite unhappy as a person. I felt very stuck and I realised that I didn’t have a choice to do nothing. I had to do something, because I was going a bit crazy in Dublin. So I went for a walk and I decided there’s no reason at all why I shouldn’t go travelling for a couple of months. And then, after about a day, that turned into six months. And by the weekend, I was going to go round the world for a year. I kind of wanted it to be an experience that shook me out of where I was at, you know, because I needed something.

You were really seemed to be capturing everything in such incredible detail and technical skill. Whatever cobwebs you wanted to shake out, they seemed to be getting shook out pretty hard.

Thanks. 95% of it was done on the spot. And some was done from looking at my camera in some little squalid hotel room somewhere. But I couldn’t constantly just take snaps and draw from snaps.

I would be stopping people in parks and just saying: “Excuse me, can I draw you?”

They might sit for about forty minutes to an hour.

I used to be a portrait artist in London and Edinburgh, one of these cheesy guys who works in Leicester Square and on the Mound. So I was very used to drawing fast on the spot. And getting a good likeness. It didn’t worry me too much to ask people to be honest.

It wasn’t that terrifying and people were invariably flattered.

What do you think of the work now looking back?

I mean, yeah, a lot of the drawings in those books, they’re quite nice drawings. I had to kind of stay clear of – I know that another illustrator talked about this before at OFFSET – the ‘James Jean sketchbook syndrome’, where you’re consciously of making this overly precious, beautiful object. Which isn’t very helpful. I didn’t want to get into that mindset of creating overly precious drawings. I remember one time, I was drawing some people doing Tai Chi in Hong Kong. to me those are some of my favourite drawings, because they’re just gesture drawings.

I think they’re lovely to be honest. The other issue was, the books were also my personal diary. Again partly inspired by James Jean’s. A certain visual look of drawing next to writing has always charmed the hell out of me.

I think it looks lovely. And I would just write my diary on the same pages. Whenever I’ve showed the books to people after that, I had to be really, really careful, because sometimes there’s revealing personal stuff in there. I’d have to snatch it back. The funny thing is, in retrospect, I just didn’t work as hard as I should have worked when I was travelling. It’s just travelling by yourself is a full-on experience.

How did you get to the point where you wanted to drop it all and leave Dublin? You were commercially successful, but obviously you weren’t happy.

I was doing mostly advertising work and I was doing very little personal work. When you do too much advertising work, it’s pretty bad for you. I mean, I was always surprised to turn out to even be an illustrator. And when I discovered I could make my living from illustration I was overjoyed, because I’d started life as an art director. When I came to Dublin I was about 32. I’d been a mature student and I’d never really had many jobs before, I’d been working in galleries and cafés. A bit like Morrissey, you know: never had a job, never wanted one. I had just completed my honours degree in Glasgow Art School, and I get into advertising which I was hopeless at.

I was a really bad art director. Then I realised I could be an illustrator and it was fantastic. So I spent several years doing

that. But you can get overkill in advertising. They pay a lot more money but the work is overly-controlled by other people, so you relinquish a lot of control. I wasn’t doing enough personal work to balance that up.

You were having issues working under someone else’s creative instigation or direction, or just working on other people’s ideas wasn’t satisfying?

I enjoyed showing off

technically. I’ve always been a bit of a show off and I know I can draw reasonably well and I liked showing my range of styles; it was kind of like a little point of pride with me. But there comes a saturation point with that as well where you’ve really overplayed it and it’s time to start doing something for yourself.

You were a storyboard guy, working in advertising. Was there a sense that what you were doing was somehow disposable?

Oh, it’s very disposable. Advertising is extremely disposable and certainly storyboarding is just about the most disposable; it’s only for a panel of a couple of people who want to buy, or not buy, an advertising idea.

And your trip was a way of re-claiming your passion somehow. Do you still feel driven?

You’ve got to get on with what you want to do. Otherwise there will come a point where it’s just on going to happen for you. I always like to still believe that my best work is ahread of me, never that I’ve reached a peak and that it’s over now. I look back at almost everything I do, and give me a couple of weeks or a couple of months and I really don’t like it. You know?

I know you had an interest in what you call pranks.

Can you tell me a little bit of where that came from, and maybe some examples.

Towards the end of my time at college – again there’s a terrible sad human story here – I had a very long-term girlfriend and she dumped me in the last year of college.

I was studying graphic design and and I realised then that I had zero interest in graphic design; I was very bad at it. I had been slightly sidelined into graphics from illustration, which I’d gone to art school to study in the first place.

Because of her?

Not because of the girlfriend, but because of a tutor who said: “Hey, you’d be great at being a graphic designer.” I went, “Really? OK.” Because you’d be able to be an illustrator too as well as a designer. I thought that was true, and no. So I had another kind of meltdown, and I threw all the design and even the illustration to one side. I was very taken by the likes of people like Chris Morris and a certain book that I’d have for a few years called Pranks

by Research Publications.

And it wasn’t pranks as we understand it through the telly now, like cruel, stupid fraternity pranks. It’s not that. It was more like social experiments and usually quite …

Sinister?

Yeah, can be, yeah, yeah.

You’re not quite sure what you’re getting sometimes.

But I was thrilled to discover that anyone did this at all. I didn’t know anyone who was doing it locally, so I started to do various stunts, just experimenting with stuff, you know? I hijacked a poster on the subway and pretended

that this was a subway endorsed event, where they were trying to cheer people up and get people to talk to each other by hiring this guy, called The Lucky Guy, who was going to sit there in a suit underneath a poster of himself, offering mystery prizes to anyone who would say “hello”. So I was there handing out toys to anyone who would say hello to me.

It was terrifying for me to do because a lot of what I was doing was in a bid to stop being so bloody shy. Like, I am reasonably shy, and anything like this prank is very scary to me. Being the focus of a lot of strangers in the subway is something I would never have done before. So that went well. I was having chats with people on the subway and it was fantastic.

Just for once I wanted to see what would happen. And just love the idea of this ridiculous job that this guy would have, which is to sit there and hand out water pistols and lucky bags to grown adults. And I did a few more things like that. I liked the whole area as well of hoaxes, just making stuff up and seeing how far it could go. Again kind of benign stuff The way you’re talking about this, it was almost a deliberate construct to alter your personality.

Yeah, to be braver than I actually was. Because I admire bravery, I admire courage. So it was a mechanism to force me to stop being … it was therapy.

That was the second time you were in college, right?

What was the first time like?

The first time I was 17, way too young. It was still at Glasgow School of Art. All

I did with my grant was eat curry and smoke stuff.

Amazingly, luckily, they threw me out, because I would have wasted all my grant.

In Scotland at the time, and maybe still, you got four years of grant for free. And I would have used it all up and wasted four years.

I got to pause it and I went back when I was 27 or 28.

When I went back and it blew my head off, it was amazing, it was so good being at art school again. When I was a 17 year old at art school, I was a little pretentious conceptual guy and I was making sculptures out of dog turds. But it was painfully … not pretentious. I don’t like the word pretentious, if people weren’t pretentious nothing interesting would happen you know? If there was no pretentiousness there would be no David Bowie.

So, that need to create and express your own personality through work was behind some of your stagnation in Dublin, and the trip was a way of getting back to that.

I completely had to smash it up.

When you come back was it different? Did this experience of being away get you to be back to the kind of artist that felt you wanted to be? Because, I mean you still work in advertising …

Yeah, still work in advertising.

And you still do storyboards …

Yeah, it’s a steady wage.

I mean, OK, I never became an illustrator with a distinctive style. So it’s much, much harder to sell yourself in that regard. What

was definitely selling was the storyboard stuff; that’s very easy to make money from, and that just freed me up. I used regard that as the day job, which allows me to pay for the other things I do – like etchings and all the rest of it. No, there was no massive shift for me as a person, I just became gradually more confident that I could make interesting work that I could feel good about. There wasn’t any kind of epiphany, apart from the one where I realised that I can pretend all I like that I can do without people, but I really can’t. Now, as I’m saying this, I’m working in a studio by myself and I love that solitude as well.

I have learned to not be as social as I used to be. A lot of my life now is about the family; I’ve got two little girls now and that really takes up all my time, doing that and working to bring in the wage. It’s really a balancing act of making a wage, being responsible for a family, and also trying to somehow be true enough to myself in terms of art. I nearly said ‘artistically’. It’s funny, I don’t know how many people you know avoid calling themselves an artist. I never call myself an artist at all, I’ve never got round to that idea.

Never been at peace with that idea, anyway.

Maybe part of the issue is that illustration, even though it is the thing that everyone sees at the end of the advertsing process, is almost the last thing that gets considered?

Yeah, it’s not respected enough. I mean, we’re not France. We’re not a country that sees it as a grown-up art form. Sometimes it’s a wee drawing that gets tossed in. And it’s declining in some areas, like editorial

illustration. I’d hate to be an editorial illustrator and have to rely on the magazines in this country. There used to be a time when people would talk about illustration in really grandiose terms, that the illustrator is there to supply almost a piece of art which is an adjunct to the text. Now, it’s a piece of decoration that really doesn’t comment at all; there’s no engagement with the text beyond just being attractive to the eye. So the critical function of illustration has declined certainly in this country, if it ever existed, I don’t know.

Is that because the industry doesn’t understand how important it could be?

Well, do you know that I think the answer to that really is? The best argument for more illustration, is good illustration. Precedents where the illustration has really, palpably worked.

You mentioned that you’ve never built up a consistent feel to your work.

I have like huge respect for the illustrators, that we all know, who maintain generally the same style. It’s something I can’t do. I realise that they’re not staying the same, they are mutating and changing very slowly.

Gradually, yeah.

It makes incredibly good sense. It’s a form of intelligently branding yourself as a person and as an artist, so that people can say, “OK, I want you to replicate that style,” and that’s all well and good. I’m at, you know, the middle to late phase of my career. OK, let’s call it the middle phase of my career. I don’t have a signature style. It makes it very hard for designers and

art directors to go, “Oh, yeah, that stuff that Steve Doogan does,” because when people call me and say, “We’d like you to work on something.”

“Well what style are you talking about? Which piece did you like because … ” I did an embroidery piece with you guys because I’d been doing so much stuff digitally that I was like, “Shit, I don’t have any stuff sitting in drawers that’s is a physical object.” I really wanted to get back into objects and making things that sat in the hand. This is nothing new, people do it all the time, but I wanted to get it all analogue again. And hence the printing press came in and, round about the same time, I got an etching press – and that was just absolutely … I was in love with that. I abandoned it for a while – I’m a flake and I get a bit ADD about my art. I go off in too many directions at once, but getting into etching was incredible because that’s such a processbased experience. You’re dealing with acids, well not even an acid, it’s like a salt, ferric chloride, and I had a beautiful big etching tank and you’re working with copper and you’re working with turps and white spirit and cloths, and ink that gets all over you. It’s so much more satisfying,

and the process takes longer too. It’s like embroidery thing.

You’re forced to be patient. But you also get all this free stuff that comes with it; you get free textures and the plate comes out the mirror image of what you drew. So there’s all kinds of accidents, and accidents are great because overly-controlled work is boring. Which is funny, because I’ve done a lot of overly controlled work too.

Printing can come across, to someone who doesn’t do it, as very controlled and predicatable. It’s reproducing identically, but from an artistic point of view.

Yeah, take monoprints, where you just do one edition. You can get a few ghost images off the same print. I’ve got this series of monoprints that are kind of very gothic and dark, because you start off with a piece of glass and it’s covered with a film of black ink, or whatever colour you want, and then you draw by removing the ink, so you’re working in reverse – you’re making white parts by wiping it off. And it’s very hard to control that but sometimes you’ll get a cracker from it. There’s just so many techniques that you can use, which are not at all controlled and anal, and it’s very, very free and very painterly.

And in these old techniques, is there a need to feel like you belong to a tradition that goes back beyond your own time?

No, it’s just exciting. I don’t think there’s any identification, as such. I like to look at old Rembrandt etchings and Lucian Freud etchings and things. They’re fantastic.

And in the future?

If I picture myself as an old man, which is very easy for you to do because you’re looking at me, I definitely would want to grow old being a portrait artist. I never, ever, ever get bored looking at faces.

Back in Leicester Square?

Ha, yeah, in Leicester Square. Do you know what it is? It’s licence to stare at another human being and it’s a nice neutral situation. There’s nothing more interesting than faces, nothing. So I would happily …You know, when you enjoy what you do it shows. When you enjoy the drawing you’ve made it shows. If it’s overly-controlled it dies, you know?

Sounds like a quote to end it on, doesn’t it?

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things doogan.ie Minute by Minute @doogsby Interview by OFFSET Photo portrait by Lauren Pritchard

Aisha Zeijpveld.

Your work is predominantly portraiture. What draws you to people?

Whenever I work on a personal portrait, I have to understand what personality hides underneath their skin. I study – as much as possible - their life and relate to them in order to sense their character. This gives me needed input to shape images specifically for this person and associate ideas in the resulting visuals. In other occasions, commissions ask me to visualize a certain feature for a magazine article, like back pain, spending money, being assertive or getting bold. In that case I mostly use my methods and visualize ideas through a real model. That is why my portfolio is, consequently, filled with portraits of this kind. Nevertheless I consider most of my work as portraits of merely ideas, and associating visuals using models as objects not considering the human aspect.

What do you look for in a model?

A lot of my portraits are portraits of well-known personalities. I get these commissions from magazines. I do have my own way of portraying them though, and my signature is always present.

When I choose my own models for other purposes, it always depends on the concept of the shoot. But in general I always look for models with an eccentric and intriguing look.

You work mostly with a limited colour palette. What attracts you to these specific tonal ranges?

I have a preference for pastel secondary colours. It’s a part of my signature so it always prevails when choosing the colours.

The low contrast with muted colours characteristic for my prints, is a deliberate result of the multiple printing and reshooting technique involved in my method.

There is an element of the surreal in your photographs.

Where does this come from?

Before studying photography, I started out as a student of fine art at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts, The Hague, doing the usual painting and drawing. From early on I developed an interest in surrealistic images and the mystique aspects of life.

I developed a specific taste for the Belgian painter Magritte, who got me intrigued by his amazing surrealistic paintings.

What fascinates me in this is the possibility to create your own artificial, fantasy world. By mingling fiction and fact, and using modern media one can combine orthodox photography with art crafts – thus trying to lure the spectator in my fantasyworld.

You work as a freelancer. Does this give you time to pursue your personal work as well?

It is not really necessary to make time for personal work when the work through commissions usually results in quite a personal style. Moreover, I get these commissions because it’s expected to give the outcome my signature. Sometimes – due to limited budgets – art directors allow me a stage to display my work. I kind of take this opportunity to get more attention and promotion for my specific style and work. Usually, they tend to like the results and my use of artistic freedom. In the end they often approve of my sometimes absurd take on people. Now the clients expect me to take the initiative and have trust in my unorthodox approach.

What are your favourite types of commissions?

I guess the ones where I get the most freedom and trust to experiment. It is very inspirational and I love working on commissions from designers and musicians. They understand and use the same artistic vocabulary, having the same creative mind-set. It saves a lot of discussion on start-up and provides the needed synergy, in a sometimes cumbersome processes, to work to a mutually satisfying result.

All your images seem to be studio based, have you ever experimented with the outside world?

Not so much yet. I prefer working in my studio where I have more control of the stage. On some occasions I have used landscapes from postcards figuratively to act as décor for settings, but the real life outdoor world hasn’t been conquered yet. It is definitely on my list to explore the outdoor possibilities in the future.

Can you describe the planning process from concept to production and the timeline involved in your shoots?

Firstly, I will have brainstorm sessions to come up with the basic ideas. This results in the making of so-called ‘mood boards’. Extra drawings support the ideas and help to communicate them to other participants in a project.

Sometimes I perform a test shoot beforehand. If all results in the concept-idea are up to my standard, I search for the right co-workers, like a hair and make up artist or a stylist.

When the concepts have been discussed and approved by the art director, I perform the final shoot, followed by selection of the final pictures. I use Photoshop to fine-tune my images to give them the important finishing touch.

Lastly, the final images are sent to the client for a final approval. When working with the so-called ‘hands-on direction’ – where I use a more elaborate procedure, as described above - a more time consuming and less predictable method is used. In most cases making of Photoshop sketches is needed to communicate my somewhat abstract ideas. These sketches are printed to deliver the materials for the handcrafting part.

In this stage, the printed sketches are worked upon and manually cut and pasted into a mock-up. Finally the modelling and a re-shooting session is performed.

Ultimately I select the pictures that best suit the initial ideas.

A final edit in Photoshop is the last step in the process.

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things aishazeijpveld.com Interview by OFFSET

Veronica Ditting.

How would you describe what you do?

I’m a graphic designer and art director and my work is very editorially driven. No matter if I’m working on a publication, a visual identity or simply an invitation to a gallery show, I work in close collaboration with artists, photographers, writers and editors. Next to art directing The Gentlewoman and COS magazine, I run a design studio in London working for a range of clients in the cultural world and fashion.

Did you always want to work in magazines?

I wasn’t always aware that I

At what stage in the development of The Gentlewoman was consideration given to the design aesthetic of the magazine? From the beginning or once the editorial angle was established?

Within the magazine, it’s so much about the dialogue.

Consequently both happened at the same time and kept influencing each other. We’re a small team and work very closely together. We discussed the approach at different stages of the development and everything was considered – how image and text work with each other, from the tone-of-voice of the headlines to length of a caption. Design and editorial both kept influencing each other until the end. It definitely took two or three issues to figure out what exactly we were doing though.

Can you describe the process of choosing a cover? Have you a favourite?

It’s hard to describe in any other way apart from trusting your intuition. There should be some kind of connection with the sitter, something that pulls you in as a viewer. Often when we’re receiving the photographs, it’s directly apparent which

wanted to work in magazines, but I knew in which way I wanted to be involved in a project – being part of a constructive dialogue between the people involved.

My studies in Amsterdam at the Gerrit Rietveld Academy definitely helped me to define my approach within design.

image should be the on the cover. We discuss as a team what works best and why, and can disagree at times.

I can’t name one favorite of our covers, just because I like them all for different reasons. Of covers that aren’t ours, I’ll have to go with an art book I came across years ago, when I was working on a project on Andy Warhol for the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. The cover is depicting the portrait of a young, gasping Andy Warhol shot by John Coplans and has no text on it. It’s a captivating image.

Describe a day in your studio.

It depends on what stage of a production I’m in. Even if I handle the same approach, each project is different.

Usually I’m caught between never-ending streams of emails (especially just before or during the magazine’s productions), meeting photographers or editors, designing, evaluating and revising paper samples and dummies, looking into production methods. One moment I might be thinking of the editorial concept of a 300pp publication, another I’m thinking of the thickness of a business card. The range is slightly absurd at times.

Magazines are currently going through a renaissance – particularly, beautifully crafted niche publications. Do you agree and what do you put this down to?

It’s brilliant how much attention niche magazines get these days. Magazines focusing on a specific subject matters keep popping up. I can hardly keep up. Magculture.com does a great job at keeping the overview and pointing out new discoveries.

I guess no matter how well, and user-friendly online magazines are designed, nothing can replace the tactile quality of a printed publication

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things veronicaditting.com Minute by Minute @veronicaditting Interview by OFFSET

Chrissie Macdonald. otherwise?

Andrew encourages me to lighten up and stop concerning myself with the minutiae of everything. I’m not really sure how I influence him, he’d have to answer that one.

List your favourite book, film and band.

Three Amigos.

I prefer books with pictures in them, like Eames Design.

Nick Cave, PJ Harvey, Portishead and Bjork.

It’s probably accumulative advice rather than one specific golden nugget, more often than not from my family, like, “A fully functioning Mini is better than a half-built Rolls Royce.”

tape lots of paper/card/foam board, send designs off to be laser cut, spray paint shapes and forms, send rough workin-progress, set up composition, light/shoot specific elements, upload images, send email, fingers crossed.

List Andrew’s favourite book, film and band.

Film: An American Werewolf in London Book: The Craftsman by Richard Sennett Band: The Lighthouse Family.

He he.

Describe Andrew’s work methods and processes.

Sit at computer. Draw endlessly. Occasionally stop for food.

What are you working on at the moment?

Commissions for the Guardian and Scientific American, some charity projects, like: Secret 7”, an exhibition and secret sale of bespoke 7”covers; and Do the Green Thing, a poster campaign to engage people into making positive social and environmental change. .

a bank card. So I took them all down to the bank and handed them in. About a week later, I got a phone call from a window cleaner who cleaned the windows for the old man whose card it was. He wanted to thank me on his behalf as the man was pretty grumpy and would never thank me himself. So everyone was left feeling all warm and fuzzy, though it makes me less proud of course by telling you about it.

Describe how you and Andrew first met.

On the first day of University.

We must have got on alright as we hung out after college that day, though it was a year before we got together.

Describe your work methods and processes.

Read emails/take phone calls, smile or panic depending on the brief, read article, work backwards from the deadline, book photographer, make a mess, design, cut/score/glue/

Do you wish your methods were more like Andrew’s or do they drive you mad?

I really do sometimes. I’m so envious of his ability to remain in one place with only a computer set-up, some pens and a sketchbook.

How do your studio spaces differ?

My space is full of stuff; various materials and boxes of old models, with room for a couple of cutting mats and a laptop to one side. Andrew’s is more about his computer set up – screens, screens, screens – surrounded by piles of books, sketch books, pens, paint, paper, music equipment and instruments.

How do you influence each other professionally and

What is Andrew working on at the moment?

An art history book with Lawrence King – that endless drawing I mentioned – a series of animated ads for Stolichnaya vodka and dozens of editorial commissions.

What’s the best piece of work advice Andrew’s ever given you?

You should put some eyes on it.

What’s the best piece of work advice you’ve ever been given?

What’s your proudest/ most embarrassing moment?

Proudest: I found a bunch of bank notes floating around in the street. Each time I picked one up I saw another, and finally

Most Embarrassing: Either starting a new school halfway through the term and having to do PE in my pants and vest as I didn’t bring a gym kit.

What’s Andrew’s proudest/most embarrassing moment?

His proudest moment would probably be completing his graphic novel Moorhead and the Music Machine (published by Nobrow in various countries). Most embarrassing moment: when his mum insisted he wear white tights to complete his Danger Mouse costume.

Who is more likely to deal with a spider?

Probably me.

MRS

&

&

Andrew Rae. Describe how you and Chrissie first met.

We met on the first day of university.

Describe your work methods and processes.

I draw simple line drawings on paper with felt pens and colour them with watercolours. Or I go straight into Photoshop with a Waccom screen. Sometimes I make animations and music as well.

Describe Chrissie’s work methods and processes.

Chrissie makes models out of various materials like card and wood and then works with photographers to create the final image.

MR

Do you wish your methods were more like Chrissie’s, or do they drive you mad?

No way. They drive me nuts.

It takes so long and there’s so much carrying stuff around and buying materials, then realising she’s got the wrong thing and having to go out and get another and then painstakingly build the model, organise a shoot with the photographer then send it on to a retoucher before sending the final image to the client.

However, she does seem to have fun on the shoot and she has some really lovely people working for her so it’s a lot more social and fun than sitting on my own drawing all day.

How do your studio spaces differ?

Chrissie has rooms full of stuff, reams of paper, card, glue, tools, pointy things, old models in various states of repair and she always needs more stuff. I just need a felt pen, a piece of paper and my

computer and I’m good to go.

How do you influence each other professionally and otherwise?

I think we’re pretty good at giving each other honest advice when it’s needed and we’re always there as a sounding block for frustrations and all that blah, blah, blah. You need to get out sometimes.

List your favourite book, film and band.

The Codex Serafinianus, American Werewolf in London, and Owen and The Eyeballs.

List Chrissie’s favourite book, film and band.

Probably a book about Charles and Ray Eames, The Three Amigos, and Cypress Hill.

What are you working on at the moment?

An art history book published

by Laurence King Publishing and an editorial piece for the New York Times.

then delete it and write a nicer one. (Don’t put the recipient into the To: box until the last minute so you don’t send it accidentally.)

What’s your proudest/most embarrassing moment?

I guess my proudest moment was the last few marks I made as I was finishing my graphic novel. Embarrassing moment, is probably playing the wrong chord when I played guitar at Chrissies sisters wedding. Ergh!

What’s Chrissie’s proudest/most embarrassing moment?

Proudest moment, is probably running kids’ workshops on the estate we live on.

Embarrassing moment, is maybe her impromptu Michael Jackson impersonation on stage at a Brighton University illustration party.

Who is more likely to deal with a spider?

Chrissie put one outside this morning. I quite like them so I tend to give them a name and let them stick around.

What is Chrissie working on at the moment?

Editorial pieces for the Guardian, Scientific American and a collorabative project with Eley Kishimoto.

What’s the best piece of work advice Chrissie’s ever given you?

Chrissie’s a really good gift giver. She’s helped me send thank you gifts to people when I probably wouldn’t have got round to it.

What’s the best piece of work advice you’ve ever been given?

When you’re frustrated write the email you want to write

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things chrissiemacdonald.co.uk andrewrae.org.uk Minute by Minute @mac_chrissie @drewrae Chrissie Portrait by Jenny Lewis Interview by OFFSET

Gallery.

OFFSET is delighted to present, over the following 23 pages, a special selection of the Illustrators Guild of Ireland’s finest work from the last year – it’s part of a drive make the world more aware of how wonderful they are.

Deftly wielding pen, pencil, paintbrush and stylus, IGI members represent the best of illustration talent in Ireland. In the past twelve months alone, individual members have been recognised with awards from The Society of Illustrators NY, ICAD, The Silent Book Contest, 3x3 magazine, Creative Quarterly, The Irish Book Awards, and The AOI. And as a group they have held highly acclaimed exhibitions throughout Ireland, as well as in London and Liverpool. IGI members work in a diverse range of fields from packaging design to fine art, from children’s books to fashion illustration. Whether a brief is completely straightforward or the most abstract and nebulous, they possess the skills to conjure images of beauty, function and dynamism that are magically pleasing to even the hindmost part of your nether-brain.

Enjoy.

To view full portfolios of all IGI members please visit www.illustratorsireland.com

All images: Lauren O’Neill illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/lauren_oneill

Matt Griffin illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/matthew_griffin

Sunless illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/PaulOReilly

Opp: Ale Mercado illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ale_mercado Above: Mario Sughi illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/mario_sughi Right: Sunless illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/PaulOReilly

All images: Alan Clarke illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/alan_clarke

Mark Rehill illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/mark_reihill

Olivia Golden illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/olivia_golden

Clockwise from top left: Damian O’Donohue illustratorsireland.com/ portfolios/gallery/Damian_ ODonohue Rachel Corcoran illustratorsireland.com/ portfolios/gallery/Rachel_ Corcoran Niamh Sharkey illustratorsireland.com/ portfolios/gallery/niamh_ sharkey Sarah Bowie illustratorsireland.com/ portfolios/gallery/sarah_ Bowie Adrienne Geoghegan illustratorsireland.com/ portfolios/gallery/adrienne_ geoghegan

Top left then Clockwise: Fintan Taite illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Fintan_Taite Brian Fitzgerald illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Brian _Fitzgerald Steve Cannon illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ steve_cannon Olivia Golden illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ olivia_golden Eoin Coveney illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Eoin_Coveney Jennifer Farley illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Jennifer_Farley

Top left then clockwise: Niall McCormack illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Fintan_Taite Peter Donnelly illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Peter_Donnelly Peter Donnelly illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Peter_Donnelly

Following page clockwise: Steve McCarthy illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Steve_mccarthy Paula McGoin illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Paula_McGoin Chris Judge illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Chris_Judge Cathal Duane illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Cathal_Duane

Opp: Shona Shirley Mcdonald illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ ShonaShirleyMacdonald Top: Brian Gallagher illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/ Brian_Gallagher

Bottom: Jesse Campbell-Brown illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/jesse_ campbellbrown

All images this page: Fatti Burke illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/fatti_burke

Top Left: Margaret Anne Suggs illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/margaret_ annesuggs Top Right: Nicola Colton illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/nicola_colton

Bottom Left: Margaret Anne Suggs illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/margaret_annesuggs Bottom Right: Sheena Dempsey illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/sheena_dempsey

All images: The Project Twins illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/the_project_twins

All images: Steve Simpson illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/steve_simpson

Joven Kerekes illustratorsireland.com/portfolios/gallery/joven_kerekes

THE SNASK MANIFESTO Illustrations by Gav Beattie tinylittlehorse.com

#1

If you don’t like your job – quit.

#2

If you love someone – let it show.

#3

Generosity always pays itself back.

#4

Always achieve greatness yourself before pointing out the faults and mistakes of others.

Bureaucracy is spelled Bureaucrazy.

#5

Talk with clients like you talk to your family, friends and pets.

#6

Social skills are as important as being good at setting type or knowing how to spell.

#7

#8

See people as people, not as target groups.

#9

Just because you wear a black suit, doesn’t mean you’re a goddamn professional.

#10

Having enemies is a good thing.

It proves that you stood up for something sometime in your life.

SNASK.

Can you explain a little about the Snask manifesto?

It originated from me and Magnus being a bit upset about how the world worked and how fucked up so many things are because of conservative and closed thinking.

So we started writing a list on how we saw the world, and lots of advice to people on how to live their life to the fullest without any stupid BS pressing them down. At one stage it was more than 80 points. We later reduced it to the top 10 and that’s our manifesto today. It pretty much sums up what we think about lots of different shit.

challenged or we’re stuck.

Old men believe that young women get inspired by them.

It’s partly true, but more wrong. As long as it’s not 50/50 between genders on speakers stages something is fucked up. Same goes for young vs old.

No particular genius thought behind it. Just us spilling our thoughts out for anyone to see, piss on, or lick up.

great levels of design and film. But with that said the reasons they hire us are like every other product or service, based on emotions.

They buy into our brand, our lifestyle, our way of thinking and our way of being. They don’t have to play adult.

Because let’s face it, a huge part of the world is walking around acting like adults, at the same time acting as an adult is extremely childish and precocious and there’s nothing less sexy than that.

People should stop acting their age and just simply become whoever they are inside when no one sees them.

We are also not afraid of our clients and always tell the truth. That’s something we hear after every project that the client really appreciates.

We don’t go there and talk bullshit.

How difficult can it be to challenge the industry and why does it need to be challenged?

It’s not difficult at all. It’s just to ignore them and go your own way. When the whole industry is sailing east, even though it’s obvious and logical to sail west. Go your own way. They will eventually turn around and follow you but they are conservative and afraid to lose power. So everyone doesn’t really have to challenge the industry, it’s more important to choose to ignore it. However, it’s important to embrace opinions as well as trying to get people with you. It’s a start of something new, something fresh, something modern.

Away from the old men with too much power. Every industry has to be constantly

There are a lot of adjectives that we might use to describe your work distinctive, vibrant, fresh – but they could sound like clichés. What do you think that clients are buying when they hire you?

Of course the quality of our work is a key factor since they know they’re buying

You seem have a playful approach to brands, putting them in unexpected places and seeing where they can survive. Is it right to say that you see brands as almost living things, or is it just a pragmatic extension of an identity?

Hmmm, it depends. We see brands as persons. They have to have opinions, be likable, stand up for their values and have enemies.

The identity is the container of the actual brand. It helps people identify them, like a face and appearance of a person. Often brands don’t look like they are, and they aren’t what they’re supposed to. So you have to start with what they are today, what they should be, or want to be, and then start becoming that. The discrepancy between who they are and who they want to/should be, measures their brand challenge. If you want to change a shy introvert into an extrovert rock star you can’t just change his/her clothes and haircut. You have to build their persona and self-confidence so that they start to walk with that swing and talk with that voice. You have to do all this without creating a distance from his/ her friends and family and making them leave.

From your client roster, to your visual outputs, to calling out stop motion as one of your agency’s offerings, craft seems to be a huge part of your creative make up – is that because you enjoy the process that goes into making something, or a quality in the finished product that you like?

It’s both. We love to make things by hand. Back in the day, you sketched on paper and then took it into the computer. We want to sketch it, put it in, and then take it out into reality again. For us it’s much more fun to work with our hands. But unless you’re a fucking genius in 3D it also looks better when it’s real. Small mistakes become charming. We’ve actually made a stop motion too perfect with too many frames per second and without any mistakes. It became too good and only looked like a computer-generated animation.

Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things www.snask.com Minute by Minute @ snasksthlm Manifesto Illustrations by Gav Beattie www.tinylittlehorse.com Photos supplied by Shutterstock www.shutterstock.com Interview by OFFSET

Le Cool Guide to Dublin.

There’s something in the air in Dublin at the moment. There’s a new exhibition opening every night, a thriving coffee scene with a community of passionate and (highly caffeinated) baristas, and a food scene so diverse that you can metaphorically eat the globe.

We’ve picked out a few of our favourite hotspots, as recommended by our diverse network of graphic designers, fashionistas, baristas, copywriters, and more, united by one thing only: a hunger for discovering the freshest, hippest happenings and hangout spots.

This is the Dublin worth pounding pavements for.

Eat and Drink

Shop Shopping in Dublin isn’t about the high street these days. Through ingenuity, a good eye for a cool premises, and sheer hard work, Dublin’s retail entrepreneurs have fostered some great little outlets. Generally, off-piste (or off-Grafton Street) is where it’s at.

Industry, 41 Drury Street, Dublin 2.

You’re looking for homewares without floral patterns of gold-leaf damask and purple patterns garishly vying for your attention? We know a place that absolutely has you covered. Even a man who will avoid an Ikea trip for three months will be tempted to drop 30 quid on a bin in Industry. I know.

I’ve seen the bin. With an aesthetic that is more about burlap and steel than Liberty prints and block-coloured ceramics, there’s a sparse, utilitarian element to the pieces that Industry curates and stocks. So, for Edison light bulbs, lamps with all the hardware exposed, and rugs that evoke the misty colours of the West of Ireland and the pleasant scratch of a 1970s mohair jumper, there’s only one place you need to be. / Kate Coleman Scout, 5 Smock Alley Court, Essex Street West, Temple Bar, Dublin 8.

Everything about Scout is welcoming: The name, conjuring up images of both the heroine of To Kill a Mockingbird and capable, fire-lighting children; the Instagram feed – softly aglow with tweed, cashmere and hand-carved wood; and

the shop itself, a calm oasis amid the sensory assault that is Temple Bar. Run by Wendy Crawford, previously of Bow in Powerscourt Townhouse, you get the sense that the shop is actually an extension of her, filled with all the things she loves and wants to share with the world – a Pinterest profile made real. Stocking the best of contemporary Irish design, like Electronic Sheep, Snug and Petria Lenehan, with a handpicked selection of modern classics such as Armour Lux, Grenson Shoes and YMC (as well as excellent London food magazine Root and Bone) Scout is a true treasure trove of loveliness. / Alex Calder Nowhere, 64 Aungier Street, Dublin 2.

Even a Nowhere man has to shop somewhere … somewhere with Stutterheim rain jackets, Alan Taylor tailoring, Matthew Miller jumpers and more. Menswear store Nowhere want you to have the coolest, most exclusive threads they can find, and have spent the last six to twelve months on the blower with the right folk in New York, Tokyo, London and Stockholm to ensure that you can buy unusual, exclusive items right here in Dublin. Rags to brag about, they are bringing young designers such as Alan Taylor, the Irish kid making waves at London’s Men’s Fashion Week, exclusively to Aungier Street. A low-key location, you might think, but these are clothes for the guy who likes to stray from the beaten track and is never afraid to find himself, well, nowhere in particular. How very, very meta. / Kate Coleman Castle & Drury, 6 Castle Market, Dublin 2.

With the recent additions of Castle & Drury and Nowhere to Dublin’s streets, along with the more established Indigo & Cloth, the state of Dublin independent menswear boutiques has gone from 0 – 60 in about two seconds (or two years). In a prime location between the Powerscourt Townhouse and George’s Street Arcade, Castle & Drury is a distinctly urbanfeeling place, with undertones of Kanye and side notes of rugged woodcutter. Stocking labels like Denmark’s Wood Wood, Japan’s Creep and the almost iconic YMC, it’s like a boyfriend shop to Scout [see abve] – where Scout is the country-living ceramicist who is Instagram famous, and Castle & Drury is a graphic designer who DJs (on vinyl) by night. Fun fact: Castle and Drury carry the futuristic and Irish-designed Push watches, the creators of which also designed the shop interior. / Alex Calder

It’s very lucky that in Dublin, for every unfit-for-function bedsit kitchen, there is at least two cool places to eat, or grab a cup of coffee. Here are our favourite spots, and as our waistlines indicate, we’ve tried them all.

Sister Sadie, 46 Harrington Street, Dublin 8.

One of us likes quinoa, the other doesn’t. One of us digs yoghurt, the other would rather it didn’t exist. One of us sometimes fancies a plant based lunch, the other is violently opposed. So one of us always has a bit of a hard sell to make a visit to Brother Hubbard’s happen.

The same was true when this long awaited Southside sister to the beloved Brother opened its doors. Finally, the promise of a steaming hot meaty tagine (oo-er) on a cold and rainy day put us at a table, and even then, Turkish eggs won the ‘who ordered better competition’.

All the Brother’s regulars are there: the famous pulled pork sandwich, salads galore, cinnamon scrolls, chatty staff, beardy punters and fixtures by local interior heros, Design Goat. Once the box-fresh look gets worn off it’ll feel like one of the family. / Mr & Mrs Stevens Coppa Café, RHA, 15 Ely Place, Dublin 2.

My parents introduced me to Coppa, much to my surprise, I kept hearing about the fabulous coffee and pulled pork and these “cool and charming Italians.” (that was my mother.) This couldn’t possibly be right. How could they have heard of a new Dublin cafe before me?

And a gallery cafe – they’re never any good! I went there, determined to prove them wrong, but they were right.

The coffee is some of the best in town, the pulled pork sandwiches ARE the best, the Italians are charming, the tiny gingham napkins are adorable, the typeface used in the logo is just so midcentury Italy it hurts, and there are artists everywhere (so Bohemian). My parents beat me to it, this time. But it’s only because they draw at the RHA. Not because they’re cooler than me. / Alex Calder Blas Café, The Chocolate Factory, 26 Kings Inns, Dublin 1.

This spacious, calm cafe on the ground floor of the Chocolate Factory won’t be a “Dublin’s best kept secret” for long. The place is huge, full of long clean tables that are perfect for you and all your friends, or just you and your laptop. It also doubles at an art gallery. Blas is an addicting sort of place that makes you unusually excited to get out of bed in the morning, just so you can go.

I live devastatingly far away and I am already planning my Sunday around going back. You’ll find delicious coffee, Wall & Keogh tea, plus a healthy and hearty lunch menu full of comfort food that won’t make you feel like your insides are slicked with grease after. And they really hammer it home with their breakfast/brunch. One of their best sellers is spicy Berber poached eggs, but you can also treat yourself to porridge for a tasty €1, with tempting toppings like their homemade granola available to add on. / Olivia Rutter Luncheonette, NCAD, 100 Thomas Street, Dublin 8.

When the opportunity to take

over the basement canteen in NCAD came up, artist Jennie Moran was up for reactivating it. What could easily be a gloomy concrete bunker has now been converted into a cosy dining area beautifully lit by one of Moran’s installations. It turned out to be a bit a coup for the college as she is now working with Brazilian chef, Wagner Dos Santos, on one of the city’s most mouth-watering lunch menus. From soups (roast garlic and white bean soup with cheesy tarragon toast) to sandwiches (the-making-medrool-as-I-type slow-roasted pulled pork brioche with apple sauce), Luncheonette’s heavenly fare is also Dublin’s most reasonably-priced.

Don’t even get me started on their Pastel de Nata ... / Simon Judge 3FE, 32 Grand Canal Street Lower, Dublin 2.

Toffee, wafer biscuit, raspberry acidity. Floral, strawberry sweetness, vibrant lemon acidity.

Slow roasted shoulder of lamb, mint yoghurt and pomegranate. Sometimes reading the menu at 3FE’s bastion on Grand Canal St, you’d forget about the so called panini culture we had in the city four years ago.

“Make a nice coffee, be nice to people, and they’ll come back”, was the mantra that Colin Harmon started Third Floor Espresso with in the lobby of the Twisted Pepper.

And it’s worked. With the sweet scent of Arabica now wafting from the new 3FE roastery in the Docklands, and all eyes on us as WBC 2016 hosts, it’s time to sort yourself out with an espresso set, and to start inventing cheekily complementary ways of ingesting your signature single origin. / Connor Clarke

147 Deli, 147 Parnell Street, Dublin 1.

I’ve come to agree with Apple Maps that there is, in fact, a Chinatown in Dublin and that Parnell Street is its epicentre. Just past veterans Kimchi and Pho Viet, stands the street’s latest cheap-eaterie – the grey façade and wood panelling is surprisingly inconspicuous between a defunct newsagent and a budget hostel. With staff friendly enough to arrive to your table with your tray in tow AND to offer you WiFi while you’re frantically trying to Shazam what Roots song is playing over lunchtime service, 147 is a welcome retort to anyone that still holds preconceptions about the lack of stalwart food spots north of the Liffey. Minted couscous, feta and tzatziki spice up the tantalisingly tender Moroccan lamb wrap special. And for €7.50 with a side, you’ll have more than enough left from a tenner for your next bus fare back. / Connor Clarke Artisan Parlour & Grocery, 11 Fitzwilliam Street, Ringsend, Dublin 4.

Take one former club promoter, a snug somewhat overlooked part of the city, and some publicity from a hit TV series, and you have a recipe for success.

Martin Thomas is known to many of the heads for his involvement in the legendary club night Strictly Handbag. All the smart, young entrepreneurs are looking at where the rental market is moving to, and realising these new communities need places to hang in. (see The Back Page in Phibsboro, as an example.) Artisan is comely

in a contemporary way and its hip and healthy menu reflects this. It’s got the cold pressed juices from Sprout & Co and snack pots from Giggii Gardens. There’s a dog station just installed too. And with sandwich specials such as slow braised ox cheek with celeriac and carrot remoulade, you know this venture is more on the boil than a slow burner. / Michael McDermott The Woollen Mills, Ha’Penny Bridge, Dublin 1.

If you have 30,000 people passing by your premises every day, there’s a good chance some of them will be hungry. So why not feed them?

The old woolen mills building has been converted by the team behind the Winding Stair, expanding their little Ha’Penny Bridge Northside empire.

The provenance of the food remains top notch as expected from one of the earliest Irish adopters of local/seasonal trend. And while there can be a bit of price point confusion with the line between starter and main a bit blurred, it’s nothing that a simple question won’t clear up.

The curried crab claws and samphire salads make this feel like the second-coming of the gone but not forgotten Dublin favourite, Gruel. The view from the terrace is another winner, even if the Liffey is miserably lit at night.

It’s far from run of the mill at this budding institution. / Michael McDermott

Have a pint…

Dublin’s reputation for pubbing precedes it, but we’ve fought against the Temple Bar stereotypes with this rundown of public houses with heart.

The Hacienda, Little Green Street, Dublin 1.

Dubliners seeking a reprieve from identikit flocked-wall bars look no further than The Hacienda Bar. The charm of The Hacienda stems from its unexpected set up as a Spanish country house, stuccoed walls and all, smack in the center of the city.

To enter, ring the doorbell.

Follow by ordering a drink and enjoying the comfortable interior and marvel at the photos – you mustn’t miss the collection of Matthew McConaughey shots taken during his visits to this great haunt on the wall. The owner and bartender is the coolest cat you’ll ever meet. The place will definitely warm your thoughts and spirit as you sip your drink at the bar or in one of the adjoining billiard rooms, while listening to the trusty old jukebox. It’s time to rise from the darkness of winter; who wouldn’t drink to that? / Claudia Rodríguez MVP, 29 Clanbrassil Street Upper, Dublin 8.

Francis McKenna’s was one of those foreboding spots for an out-of-towner of a certain age. Nestled by the entrance to the fuel depot at Harold’s Cross Bridge it had a bang of Carling off it. Of course, this is the wild presumption of someone who never crossed its door and I’ve softened my tune after reading Brian

Purcell’s wonderful article about The Cabra House in We Are Dublin. The Bodytonic maestros took McKenna’s over, stripped it down, invested a lick of paint and, hey presto, it’s now a charming local. Its lack of frills, and the beats and the heads make it inviting. They host pub quizzes and have just opened a coffee shop called Café en Swan. There’s yoga and Bloody Marys on Sundays, of course. I’m not sure what Francis would make of it all but MVP is a pub with no fuss which naturally means it expects, and in this case deserves, a fuss. / Michael McDermott The Back Page, 199 Phibsborough Road, Dublin 7.

Taking a nondescript pub and flipping it into a sports bar that attracts far less of the red top, belly flop, brigade is the simple, successful job, accomplished by the Back Page crew. There’s no terrace chanting, and none of the macho, alienating vibes of an American sports bar. It’s a pub for pals and welcoming even if sport might be a foreign vernacular to you.

There’s super tasty pizzas, board games, ping-pong, foosball and a playstation room. It’s also one of the early signs of the inevitable hipsterisation of the Phibsboro suburb. / Michael McDermott Further Reading & Credits.

Look at lovely things lecool.com/dublin Minute by Minute @lecooldublin

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