Brain Pickings

Posts Tagged ‘die-cut’

06 FEBRUARY, 2014

Things I Have Learned in My Life So Far: Sagmeister’s Typographic Maxims on Life, Updated

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Lived wisdom in living lettering.

About a decade ago, Stefan Sagmeister, one of the most celebrated and influential designers of our time, began keeping a running list of life-learnings in his diary. Eventually, he translated these private thoughts into a series of typographic artworks and public installations at the intersection of the personal and the philosophical, creating a new genre of metaphoric lettering, which ended up among the 100 ideas that changed graphic design and which he collected in a gorgeous artifact of a book in 2006.

A new updated edition of Things I Have Learned in My Life So Far (public library) published by Abrams capitalizes on the “so far” portion of the premise by complementing all of Sagmeister’s original learnings with 48 additional pages exploring new ones that touch on everything from obsession to confidence to love, contextualized by a triumvirate of great minds: Design critic extraordinaire Steven Heller, psychologist Daniel Nettle, and Guggenheim curator Nancy Spector.

What makes Sagmeister’s maxims so beautiful and so moving is that, rather than mindless aphorisms dispensed as vacant cultural currency, they are the lived and living truths of a man who approaches his life with equal parts humor and humility, vigor and vulnerability.

One explores our shared propensity to worry (especially about sensitive subjects like money) and the immutable human desire to, as Italo Calvino memorably put it, lower our “worryability.” Sagmeister writes:

I used to lie awake at night brooding over problems that came up during the day. It kept me from sleeping, it was not enjoyable, and most importantly, I never arrived at a solution for anything — a remarkably effective way to be miserable.

(Cue in this great read on what the psychology of suicide-prevention teaches us about controlling our everyday worries.)

Another, a collaboration with Japanese illustrator Yuko Shimizu, enlists the whimsical to reveal the real:

Then there is the burden of vanity, the most extreme cultural symptoms of which are nothing short of heartbreaking:

Another captures the way in which the same compulsive drive that propels our most successful work poisons our inner lives:

Sagmeister writes:

I rarely obsess about things in my private life. I fail to care about the right shade of green for the couch, the sexual adventures of an ex-lover, or the correct setting for the meeting room air conditioner. I am not someone who misses things that aren’t already there.

However, I do sometimes obsess over the studio’s work and think that a number of our better projects come out of such obsessions.

Accompanying the artwork are also entertaining anecdotes that serve as an additional narrative about the unpredictability of life, perhaps a meta-maxim about how trying to control life into order only produces more chaos. Case in point: This coin project was inspired by the natural grid of the stone plates covering the urban plaza, which the city of Amsterdam lent Sagmeister for the endeavor. The installation consists of 650,000 Euro cents and took 100 volunteers to assemble over the course of the week. But the real beauty of it was a subtle experiment in psychology and behavioral economics: Sagmeister and his team had intended to leave the finished piece in the plaza unguarded, waiting for passers-by to disassemble it; they had painted one side of each coin a distinctive bright blue so they could track how the money traveled across Europe on a special site dedicated to the project. (Inspired, perhaps, by the Follow the Money project.) But everything, true to the workings of the human condition, took an unexpected turn: Having witnessed the laborious weeklong assembling, people in the neighborhood took a special fondness to the project and they took it upon themselves to guard the plaza from potential coin-takers. When a man attempted to carry away a bag full of coins, a neighbor immediately called the Dutch police, who proceeded to sweep in and sweep all the coins into buckets, transporting them to the Amsterdam police headquarters. The completed project didn’t even last until sunrise.

But as a lover of diaries, a proponent of Joan Didion’s conviction that keeping a journal enriches the soul, and a dedicated diarist myself, I find this one most captivating — doubly so for the beautiful symmetry to how the project began:

Sagmeister, who has kept a diary since almost as early an age as Anaïs Nin, explains:

I have kept a diary since I was twelve years old. . . . I do use the diary to go back and reread certain passages, to see what my thinking was, and, most importantly, to discover things I feel need changing: When I have repeatedly described a circumstance or character trait of mine that I dislike, I eventually wind up doing something about it.

Things I Have Learned in My Life So Far features 18 gorgeous unbound signatures, tucked into a laser-cut slipcase. Complement it with Sagmeister on the fear of failure and how to sustain creativity.

All images copyright © 2013 Stefan Sagmeister courtesy of Abrams

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09 JANUARY, 2014

Reinventing the Wheel: A Design History of the Circle as a Visual Metaphor for Information

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How nature’s perfect shape came to contain the imperfections of the human condition.

“Everything rolls, everything comes back; eternally rolls the wheel of being,” Nietzsche wrote in Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Indeed, it seems that for as far back as we’re able to peer into human history, the wheel has been one of our most central visual metaphors for being. From our early maps of the cosmos to our depictions of time, the circular form appears again and again in the diagrams that changed our world. But what, exactly, makes this simple round shape so powerful and so timelessly alluring?

In Reinventing the Wheel (public library), writer, design critic, and Design Observer co-founder Jessica Helfand considers the rich history of rotational diagrams — the wheel as a visual metaphor and an interactive tool for representing and understanding information, predating print by thousands of years.

Shohen Boys' Club Geography Wheel (1940s)

Story of Our Presidents: Inside (1932)

Great Outdoor Signal & Code Dial (1940s)

Reflecting on the remarkable diversity of rotational diagrams and organizing information — spiral, circular, centripetal — and the wide range of subjects these charts have been applied to — “from bird watching to bridge building to birth control” — Helfand traces the history of this visual trope:

The origin of the rotational chart itself lay in the incunabula, specifically in the early astronomical texts in which paper wheels — or volvelles — were designed as instructional tools. Their function (the idea that the movement of the heavenly bodies required a student to physically turn a wheel to comprehend their meaning) reinforced my earlier suspicion that modern wheel charts had a rich aesthetic, pedagogical, and indeed, interactive legacy. I soon came to see the degree to which contemporary investigations of rotational form not only relate to this history but have grown over time to embrace disciplines including, but not limited to, architecture, music, film, sculpture, and time-based media.

Rossig Educational Chart Wheel: Pennsylvania (1931)

Spelling Educator (1940s)

A full understanding of the wheel necessarily has to begin at the beginning: its shape, the humble yet perfect circle. Helfand offers a brief and beautiful history of humanity’s favorite shape:

The circle has no beginning and no ending. It is unbiased, solid and unwavering in its geometric simplicity, denoting unity and eternity, totality and infinity. It represents the image of the cosmos, the cycles of the seasons, the life of man and the orbits of planets around the sun. In astronomy it indicates a full moon; in meteorology, a clear sky; in alchemy it is the symbol for chemical change; in cartography it represents a village, town, or community. Over time and across multiple cultures, the circle has come to represent an ideal of unsurpassable perfection: it eludes mathematical exactness, thereby reminding us that nothing is exact, even in mathematics. In this manner, it is the essence of all that is natural, primordial, and inescapably human.

Canadian Wheel of Knowledge (1932)

Nick Manoloff's Modern Accompaniment Guide (1935)

Perhaps unsurprisingly, then, the rich symbolism of the circle permeates countless chapters of cultural history — ancient Babylon, where legend has it both the 360-degree circle and the 60-minute hour originated; Buddhist mandalas, a sort of pictorial aid for meditation; the Christian scriptures, in which St. Augustine describes the essence of God as a circle whose center is everywhere and it circumference nowhere; and, among countless others, the circular geometry of Byzantine rotundas, paying homage to the heavens. Helfand treks further:

The circle is present in hieroglyphs and ideograms dating as far back as 3000 BC. Its shape has formed the basis for numerous astronomical instruments, including the armillary sphere (used in the seventeenth century to teach the concepts of coordinate systems of spherical astronomy) and the astrolabe (an ancient astronomical “computer” for solving problems relating to time and the position of the sun and stars in the sky); the orrery (an eighteen-century mechanical model of the solar system in which the planets rotate about the sun at correct scale speeds); and the observatory (circular, dome-like structures typically positioned at high altitudes for maximum star and sky visibility.) In the South of England, the circle has informed the design not only of the rock arrangements at Stonehenge, but also of the enigmatic circular corn crops which have mysteriously appeared in the nearby region of Wiltshire each summer. . . .

Phonetic Word Wheel (1948)

Circular forms also populated some of the earliest modern computing devices, from the circular tables of Charles Babbage’s seminal steam-powered Analytical Engine of 1833, celebrated as the first computer, to the various wheels and cogs in Vannevar Bush’s “memex.” This rich history of the circle, Helfand argues, exposes its astoundingly essence:

From a formal perspective, it is a geometric vessel at once adaptable, flexible, and pure, simple and streamlined, culturally and categorically neutral. From a symbolic perspective, it is a mutable icon whose symbolic role can be vividly traced through numerous disciplines, including cosmology and cryptography; astronomy and astrology; mathematics, meteorology and medicine. However, from a mechanical perspective, the circle’s capacity to be dialed, rotated, counter-rotated, notched, spun, stacked, sliced, sub-divided, and die-cut reveals a simple yet remarkably sophisticated engineering principle: here, the circle is miraculously transformed from an ordinary piece of static geometry into a dynamic and quite extraordinary interactive tool, one that is able to rationalize large amounts of complex information with remarkable practicality, precision, and purpose.

Puzzle Pets Letter Wheel (1973)

In the remainder of Reinventing the Wheel, Helfand goes on to explore the history and applications of the circle across many of these disciplines, illustrating each with bountiful visual examples ranging from an antique tax calculator to a Fortunescope to a Soviet weapons whiz wheel. Complement it with Geometry of Circles, the wonderful Philip Glass Sesame Street special from the late 1970s.

Thanks, Steve

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25 SEPTEMBER, 2013

The Hole Book: Politically Incorrect, Charmingly Illustrated Verses from 1908

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When kids with firearms were still a source of humor, not horror.

Norwegian artist Øyvind Torseter recently brought us The Hole — an exquisitely illustrated existential meditation, incorporating a die-cut hole running through the entire book. It turns out, however, that this wasn’t the first instance of a cover-to-cover hole employed as a storytelling device. More than a century earlier, in 1908, American artist Peter Newell, known for his humorous drawings and poems for such esteemed publications as Harper’s Bazaar, Scribner’s Magazine, and The Saturday Evening Post, published The Hole Book (public library; public domain) — the story of little Tom Potts who, while playing with a gun he didn’t know was loaded, shoots an unstoppable bullet that punches holes of humorous havoc through various scenes until it finally comes to rest in an unrelenting cake. (What tragicomic commentary on an era that was both unconcerned with gun control and untainted by the grief of armed kids producing outcomes far more devastating than devastated cakes.)

Full of Newell’s topsy-turvy illustrations and charming verses, the book is an absolute delight for children and irreverent grown-ups alike.

The Hole Book was preceded by Newell’s 1893 debut as a children’s author and illustrator, the equally wonderful Topsys and Turvys, which he penned when he was only thirty-one.

Thanks, Graham

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16 SEPTEMBER, 2013

The Hole: An Existential Meditation in Simple Scandinavian Illustrations and Die-Cut Magic

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“Hello, I’ve discovered a hole in my apartment… It moves… If you could come take a look… Bring it down, you say? What? Hello?!”

Brooklyn-based independent publisher Enchanted Lion Books has given us countless gems, including my labor-of-love pet project, young Mark Twain’s Advice to Little Girls. Now comes The Hole (public library) by artist Øyvind Torseter, one of Norway’s most celebrated illustrators and the talent behind the lovely My Father’s Arms Are a Boat — the story of a lovable protagonist who wakes up one day and discovers a mysterious hole in his apartment, which moves and seems to have a mind of its own. Befuddled, he looks for its origin — in vain. He packs it in a box and takes it to a lab, but still no explanation.

With Torseter’s minimalist yet visually eloquent pen-and-digital line drawings, vaguely reminiscent of Sir Quentin Blake and Tomi Ungerer yet decidedly distinctive, the story is at once simple and profound, amusing and philosophical, the sort of quiet meditation that gently, playfully tickles us into existential inquiry.

What makes the book especially magical is that a die-cut hole runs from the wonderfully gritty cardboard cover through every page and all the way out through the back cover — an especial delight for those of us who swoon over masterpieces of die-cut whimsy. In every page, the hole is masterfully incorporated into the visual narrative, adding an element of tactile delight that only an analog book can afford. The screen thus does it little justice, as these digital images feature a mere magenta-rimmed circle where the die-cut hole actually appears, but I’ve tried to capture its charm in a few photographs accompanying the page illustrations.

Complement The Hole with Enchanted Lion’s equally heartening Little Bird and Bear Despair, then revisit Torseter’s My Father’s Arms Are a Boat.

Page images courtesy of Enchanted Lion Books; photographs by Maria Popova

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