Paula Scher's D&AD Lecture: a blessay

Last night I went along to Logan Hall to listen to Paula Scher of Pentagram talk about her life and work for D&AD. And it was fantastic: Scher was funny, impassioned and direct, and talked fluently for an hour and a half, which is pretty good going.

The talk will eventually appear on the D&AD site. They've already got video of some of the Q&A session, one of which is especially relevant to this post (below).

Paula took us through her whole life, beginning with a shot of the home she moved to in the 1950s, when she was just seven. Shortly after moving in, she told us, she went for a ride on her bike. When she wanted to go home again, she found that all the houses on the street were so identical that she couldn't find her own (she hadn't learnt her new address yet). It was a disorientating and distressing experience for a seven year-old.

Half-jokingly, she said that this was probably the impetus for a life-long dedication to the 'non-uniform'; trying to create things that were unlike anything around them. It's as good a mantra for design and branding as I can think of, and the work Paula showed, from throughout her career, demonstrated her single-minded pursuit of that deceptively simple ideal.

In fact, she's managed to pull off that trick of the true artist, by making work that is indeed very different, even among itself, but which is also recognisably her own. Her distinctive way with type, especially, is a consistent theme, even though the actual designs might be dramatically different. Something Scherian - Scheresque? Scheric? - seems indelibly ingrained in it all.



A devil's advocate could argue - with some success, I think - that this could be an issue for her clients. A lot of the classic graphic work, especially the identities, is as distinctively Paula Scher as it is The Public Theatre (above) or the Walker Art Centre (below, although since rebranded).



As it is, I love both these identities, even though you could argue they're a bit similar. Scher said she hated it when clients called and said, 'We saw what you did for AB&Co, could you do something like that for us?' But the clarity of her vision is so strong, it's hardly surprising that her work often carries her own brand as much as those of her clients. (Although there are some classic rebuttals to that argument, not least the famous Citi identity below.)



Given that, it's not surprising that she's found a new life latterly as a fine artist, creating increasingly enormous painted maps, bursting with information and opinion, that are 'sort of right'. (The one below of Florida allowed her to vent her spleen about the famously unjust 2000 election results there.)



Her cartographer father apparently provided the seed of this obsession, and told young Paula that no map is ever 'true' - they can't hope to be exactly precise. Indeed, she said, some maps are actively misleading - like the gas station maps that highlight not the major roads, but those on which the company's stations can be found. Here's her talking a bit more about the maps:

Maps from D&AD on Vimeo.

Scher linked this 'sort of right' quality of her map paintings to journalism, arguing that the average magazine article was probably about as accurate as her somewhat shaky geographies.

This, for me at least, created a peculiar tangential parallel to one of the more bizarre audience questions. A German fellow sitting near me asked Paula if she liked Talking Heads - a question he apparently asked of all New York-based designers.

Her answer was a simple and bemused, 'Yes I do.' This is the correct answer, given that there has never been another band as great as Talking Heads. Ever.

This set off two trains of thought for me.

One, that Paula suddenly reminded me strongly of that other gifted woman holding her own in a male-dominated group, Tina Weymouth.


(Tina Weymouth of Talking Heads above, Paula Scher of Pentagram below)

And two, that all this talk of 'sort of right' facts put me in mind of the Talking Heads track Crosseyed and Painless, one of their finest moments and as irresistible a juggernaut of smart, funky, brain-fizzing pop as you are likely to find. (I quite like Talking Heads.) In that extraordinary song, David Byrne tells us that:

Facts are simple and facts are straight
Facts are lazy and facts are late
Facts all come with points of view
Facts don't do what I want them to
Facts just twist the truth around
Facts are living turned inside out

(Listen to the song - albeit not the ideal version - on Blip.fm here)

I think he's right. And Paula Scher's right too. It was an inspiring talk, which got the mind going in all sorts of directions, as you can tell.

And it was resolutely non-uniform.

I know it's cheesy, but...

I walked past this yesterday...



...and thought what fun it would be if such a prestigious body was to allow itself to do this:

Words and design for a better world.

This is how it's done:



I found this quite captivating. It's a perfect example of being brave about tone of voice. Poverty, AIDS, malnutrition, education... are these subjects about which we can be light - even funny - and still get the message across? This little video shows that not only is this possible, it can actually be the best way to get the message across.

I love the little "(dramatic pause)" title that comes up. It's a joke. Nothing else; no clever angle. Just a gentle little joke. In a message about AIDS and poverty. Then there's the light, conversational tone of the words. It's deceptively effortless.

What these touches do, of course, is engage you. Make you want to hear more. They open the door in your head and let the rest of the message in. (It doesn't hurt that the message is so clear, so potent and so intuitive, either.)

Lastly, of course, the words live in the graphic approach, and the graphic approach is inspired by the words. It's lovely to watch. So you do - and then you hear.

(Many thanks to Tim Rich, who posted about this inspiring marriage of writing and graphic design on the 26 message board.)

Proof that you can design a poster in Word

...but that you really, really shouldn't.

Maybe things are getting better

There's considerable gloom about the environmental situation, of course, but people like this give one equally considerable hope. Great design can be green (and vice versa). An inspiring few minutes.

Just brilliant enough

Leading by example, and making a big impact at the same time: genius.

(Via the always interesting Billboardom.)

Manetone

I just wanted to show you this amazing thing. Loitering in reception at The Partners the other day, I was faced with a funny-looking rendition of Manet's Bar at the Folies Bergere. Looking closer, I discovered it was made up of old Pantone chips. Incredible.

The result of a long night, apparently, this utterly pointless creation is also utterly wonderful - largely because it's so pointless.

Why don't we do more of this sort of thing in our business? Just take time out to make some mad idea real? Or do we, and I just never get to hear about it? If you know of similar splendid design nuttiness, do let me know.

(The Partners also came up with the quite brilliant Grand Tour idea for the National Gallery, putting life-size reproductions of masterpieces all over London. But I don't want to be accused of brown-nosing to clients, so I won't mention it.)

Love the water, hate the name

Hate's a bit strong, really. But 'This Water' doesn't seem to me to have any of the charm, personality or, well, innocence of Innocent, its parent brand. ('Juicy Water' was much nicer, I thought.)

It probably hasn't, but it feels like this name has been through the branding mill, briefed out to earnest consultants with complex theories about the democratisation of information in a Web 2.0 multiverse.

It feels achingly 'now': at once informal and apparently friendly, while also being oblique and modish enough to make one feel one isn't quite in on the joke. It feels, to me, like a brand consultant's brand, not a consumer's brand.

It's a bit unfair to compare it with Innocent, of course. (Especially as I complain about everybody comparing everything to Innocent.) The whole point of the name change is to distinguish it from its illustrious parent. It needs to have its own voice.

But the Innocent name has succeeded, I think, because it links to the product in a direct, almost functional way, as well as being charming, human and original. By comparison, 'This Water' seems rather vague, and perhaps just an excuse to do labels that say things like 'There are 88 cranberries in THIS WATER...', etc.

Having tasted it, I can report that the water itself is delicious. I'll buy it for that reason. (And because they also contribute to Water Aid.) But for me, there won't be that added enjoyment of the brand and its language that you get with an Innocent smoothie.