blog
tyblography

categories

architecture (28)
on location (21)
random thoughts (1,256)
staff (25)
the design life (285)
the writing life (412)
blog archive




Support Your Local Bookstore

Looks like my parents got at least one thing right: “A new large-scale study, featuring data from 31 countries…finds the advantages of growing up in a book-filled home can be measured well into adulthood.”

Increased rates of literacy (defined as “the ability to read effectively to participate in society and achieve personal goals”) and numeracy (“the ability to use mathematical concepts in everyday life”) are just some of the advantages conferred when there are as few as 80 books on your home shelves.

So why not do your kids a favor? Build ’em a library.

Quote of the Day

Ever come across something so profound that you simply have no response other than to smack yourself on the forehead in wonder and amazement?

That happened to me a while back when I was reading Kerouac’s On the Road. I found the answer to everything—and no, it doesn’t really matter what the question is.

Ready? Here it is:

“Some’s bastards, some’s ain’t, that’s the score.”

See what I mean? Forget your fancy philosophy books and metaphysical mumbo-jumbo, that there’s where it’s at.

You’re welcome.

Giving Back

Have you heard? Another Helveticahaus scholarship winner was just announced.

This is kind of a big deal. Since they opened the retail shop/philanthropic organization back in 2015, founders CK and Linda Anderson have handed out $4,000 to second-year graphic design students at Spokane Falls Community College, their alma mater.

Why? Simple: They wanted “to give back – in a creative and meaningful way – to the design profession that has given so much to us.”

If you’re interested in helping the cause, it’s pretty easy. Just buy something. All profits go right into the scholarship fund, so you’d be directly helping the next generation of designers. (And getting some pretty sweet Helvetica-themed and -inspired swag out of the deal, too.)

Pranksy

This is dumb. This is even dumber.

(I’d try to explain why I’m immune to Banksy’s purported charms, but I’m currently in an office surrounded by designer types, and saying the wrong thing about one of their cherished icons can quickly get you fitted for a Chicago overcoat. Read Wesley Morris’s “The Morality Wars” in the New York Times Magazine to see where I’m coming from.)

Curmudgeonly Rant

Not that anyone cares, but here are three somewhat-related things I was stewing about on my walk today:

First, an app I dearly loved (no, really) updated recently. It’s called Dark Sky, and I actually paid money for it—because it’s a weather app that gives you the information you need in a beautiful layout. Or, rather, it used to give you the information you need in a beautiful layout. Now, after the “update,” it’s glitchy and looks terrible.

Second, I took my third and final ride on a Lime scooter the other day. No, I didn’t wreck it or anything. It’s just that, for some reason now, the company no longer charges your credit card per ride. Instead, you have to put money into an account, from which Lime withdraws funds whenever you use the service.

Third, I noticed I wasn’t seeing photos from some accounts I follow on Instagram. Skooch informed me that its updated algorithm only shows you feeds from accounts you actively engage with—liking an image, say, or (even better, apparently) commenting. So even though I chose to follow certain accounts, this mysterious algorithm is choosing the content it believes I want to see.

This is progress? Sorry, but no. I know I’m old, but this is all very dumb.

Take Two Sonnets and Call Me in the Morning

As I may have mentioned here once or twice before, I like to begin each day with a little poetry. There’s the obvious benefit—the joy one experiences when one is exposed to art—but there’s also a practical reason: I’m (nominally) a writer. And poetry, it seems to me, is the highest expression of that dubious title.

“Language begins with the letter,” explains Helen Vendler in The Ocean, the Bird, and the Scholar, “progresses to the word, advances to the sentence, and ends in the stanza.” Or, as Proust famously said, “The tyranny of rhyme forces the poet to the discovery of his finest lines.”

In other words, poetry is hard.

But there’s more to rhythm and rhyme than training to become a better writer. Turns out it’s good for your health. Specifically, “poetic, musical, and other nonpharmacologic adjuvant therapies can reduce pain and the use and dosage of opioids.” There’s more:

One randomized clinical trial by researchers at the University of Maranhão studied the effect of passive listening to music or poetry on the pain, depression, and hope scores of 65 adult patients hospitalized in a cancer facility. They found that both types of art therapy produced similar improvements in pain intensity and depression scores. Only poetry, however, increased hope scores.

So. The next time you’re feeling a little under the weather, try dusting off your Wordsworth.

Mischief in Massachussetts

Over at the New Yorker, Ian Crouch writes about the “slight profundity” of the latest corporate name change: “[Dunkin’] joins a list of brands with global reach whose names have been whittled down to complete meaninglessness. Weight Watchers just rebranded itself as WW. Jo-Ann Fabrics is now Joann.”

While his sort of thing nearly always comes across as a bizarre combination of desperation and condescension to me, Crouch notes that, by simplifying its name, the company “may just be trying to market more easily a vaguely defined universe of products, or to better compete globally, but it also feels like a nod to colloquialism, and to the familiar. We recognize a Dunkin’ when we see one, no matter what the sign says.”

Maybe. Still seems dumb, though.

Quote of the Day

Carl Trueman, professor in the Alva J. Calderwood School of Arts and Letters at Grove City College, Pennsylvania, begins his upper-level humanities course by informing the students of his “broad educational philosophy” thus:

I am over fifty. I no longer care what anyone except my wife thinks about me. That particularly applies to anyone under the age of thirty-five. You should therefore feel free to disagree with me on anything I say because it is virtually impossible to offend me. But I must also add that, old and closed-minded as I am, I have no vested interest in holding an incorrect opinion on anything. Therefore, if you think I am wrong on some issue, be it historical, philosophical, or ethical, then you are under a moral obligation to persuade me to change my mind. But when you do so, please give me an argument, not some emotional plea based on your feelings. After all, if you simply feel I am wrong and I simply feel I am right, we’ll quickly find ourselves at an impasse.

When the Boss Brings Treats

We’re always grateful when CK returns from a trip bearing gifts. This time, however, some of us might be feeling a little…

Do your best to match the correct chocolate bar with Linda, Steven, Courtney, Aaron, Michelle, and Shirlee. We promise, no hurt feelings! 🙂

Helvetica Is Human!

Back in 1967, the United Nations set out to create a set of universal wayfinding symbols. Looking at the results fifty-one years later, we can go ahead and just call it a humorous study in the human form as an icon. I snorgled at some of the restroom symbol submissions (category: toilet).

It’s no wonder the AIGA was commissioned to design the current universally adopted set of symbols back in 1974. Best of all, the ubiquitous symbol was dubbed “Helvetica Man” by Ellen Lupton and J. Abbot Miller.

Need to find a restroom quickly? Thank Helvetica.

Twelve of Thirty

This story picks up where last week’s post left off.

Though I hadn’t seen Bernard Perlin since 1995—when he visited Spokane to give a presentation in conjunction with our MAC exhibit Behind the Red, White & Blue: Posters, Propaganda & Pride—I thought of him often. In 2012, my wife Linda and I were planning a visit with our two daughters to Connecticut, and I realized we wouldn’t be far from where Bernard lived. Not knowing whether he would remember me (or even if he was still alive), I called. Turns out he remembered his trip out west fondly, and encouraged us to visit. So we drove through the picturesque New England landscape to his country home in Ridgefield, where he had lived since 1959.

At 93, Bernard was still painting. We talked, toured his home and studio, and reminisced about his life’s work. The day before, we had toured Philip Johnson’s Glass House in nearby New Canaan. Bernard mentioned that he had not only known the architect, but also stayed at his home—one of the most famous houses on the planet.

Over lunch, we expressed an interest in purchasing one of Bernard’s paintings. So he took us back to his studio, where, one by one, he placed some of his works on an easel, sharing a bit of history about each. It was an experience I’ll never forget.

There was one in particular that Bernard hesitated to show us. We asked to see it—and it quickly became our favorite. When I asked how much he wanted for it, he said, “Take it home, think it over, and send me a check.”

It was the last thing I wanted to hear. For the rest of our trip, I wondered what a fair price would be. Linda and I discussed it over and over. On the one hand, it was a painting produced in 1966 but never sold; on the other, Bernard’s work is held in private collections (including the Rockefellers’) and by the likes of the Museum of Modern Art in New York and London’s Tate Modern. I eventually sent him a check and held my breath. The plan was that if he felt we were undervaluing his work, we’d just call it a first-half installment. A few days later, he called, delighted by our generosity. I’ve never felt so relieved.

That was the last time I spoke to Bernard Perlin. Less than two years later, on January 14, 2014, he passed away.

Eleven of Thirty

I first heard of Bernard Perlin while researching WWII propaganda posters for our 1995 Behind the Red, White & Blue: Posters, Propaganda & Pride museum exhibit. I eventually called Bernard at his home in Ridgefield, Connecticut to inquire about him coming to Spokane as part of a speaker’s program related to the exhibit. He agreed. The problem was, he didn’t have any presentation materials, so I volunteered to have his work photographed (meaning I volunteered my good friend J. Craig Sweat).

A few days later, a box containing three sketchbooks arrived—books that had been stored away for more than 50 years. Dusty with mouse-bitten edges and aged, tea-stained pages, Bernard’s pencil sketches were amazing. I thought I’d received a time capsule—as if I were looking at never-before-seen artifacts. There was also a copy of the February 26, 1945 LIFE magazine, which contained an eight-page color spread featuring Bernard’s gouache paintings. Working as an artist correspondent for the magazine, he had been embedded with the Greek Sacred Squadron, a small group of former officers who operated as part of a covert British commando force fighting the Germans. Two of their harrowing raids were featured in the pages of that issue of LIFE.

We ended up filling a display case with Bernard’s sketchbooks and showcasing a few of his famous WWII posters in the exhibit. And his spellbinding presentation to members of the Spokane Advertising Federation was like listening to a real-life Forrest Gump.

Meeting Bernard Perlin here in Spokane quickly became one of my most treasured memories. Fortunately, the story doesn’t end with me driving him back to the airport. Tune into my next post to learn about our next meeting.

Just Like That, It’s Over 

It’s amazing how quickly an exhibit can be dismantled. In just one day, CX30: Creative Experiences, Thirty Collaborators—our recent exhibit celebrating helveticka’s 30th anniversary—completely disappeared.

Poof! It’s…gone.

Happy Friday!

Apropos of yesterday’s blog post, in which we noted that civilizational collapse is pretty much right on schedule, here’s more grim news: “sperm counts in the U.S., Europe, Australia, and New Zealand have fallen by more than 50 percent over the past four decades.”

So, basically, what researches are telling us is that all these twee millennial man-children are literally half as virile as their grandfathers. There’s a punchline in their somewhere, but I’ve got deadlines.

We’re Doomed

Fancy a quick look at what’s happening around the world? According to Mother Nature Network, it appears that the end of the world is on track, which might explain this giant rogue iceberg, the addition of 2.2% artificial light every year (“threatening the 30% of vertebrates and more than 60% of invertebrates that are nocturnal”), and the banning of cats in Omaui, New Zealand. Oh—and if you find this highly venomous six-eyed sand spider lurking in your bathroom, be sure to alert the Philadelphia Insectarium and Butterfly Pavilion. She’s gone missing.

I’m done now.

back to top    |     1 35 36 37 38 39 131     |    archive >