Thinking about art, advertising, and visual rhetoric has reminded me of a book I read last year by the graphic designer Chip Kidd. Kidd is well-known in the publishing world for his rich, creative book cover designs. As it turns out he’s also a very good writer. His book, The Cheese Monkeys: A Novel in Two Semesters is about a freshman art student in the 1950’s who takes a graphic design course that turns out to be more than he bargained for.
About halfway through the ordeal, the narrator/ main character finds that he is seeing the world differently: he is noticing much more acutely how many things are designed, how they use form and shape and color to mean something. He also can’t avoid seeing how these things frequently fall short of excellence. He call the process “becoming ‘Winterized’, ” after the impossibly demanding instructor of his design course.
In the same way, I would like to point out a few things in the everyday world that I have noticed. They are designed to inform us, guide us, or influence our actions through information.
Probably the most ubiquitous example would be street signs. For example, right now I am looking at a sign that says “STOP for pedestrians in crosswalk.” The word STOP is in tall bold letters at the top; each subsequent word has its own line on the sign; the letters are red and the sign is flat white. The sign is arranged so that the word STOP grabs your attention first, and then the rest of the information is as easy to read as possible through arrangement and high contrast. All other street signs follow these basic principles. Along with the automated lights and the lines and signage on the pavement itself, they form a matrix of information designed to help each traveler navigate traffic as smoothly as possible.
Another example is trash cans. Have you noticed that all the trash cans on campus are of about 3 different types? I suppose this could be a case of form following function but it also serves to make it easy to recognize them. In one 30-yard square courtyard I count seven identical green trash cans, each with a little sign asking for a specific type of recyclable garbage. Somehow, I suspect that it is very important to the administration that the fron of the Baker Center remain litter-free.
Finally, there are the advertisements. Around campus and downtown these mostly take the form of notices of upcoming events, from speakers to parties to sales. It is among these that I see the widest variation in design, and the greatest range in relative success or failure. The variety is so great that it is almost impossible to address in this space; I think I’ll try and write up some comparative evaluations later.
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1 comment:
I agree with your argument and also with the main character of the book on design that you read: after learning about rhetorical strategies and design strategies it is hard not to take notice of them in everyday encounters. I can really relate to the main character of the book you read because I am a design major. After my first graphic design class my freshmen year, I found myself criticizing the simplest handout from a professor to analyzing a poster on the Baker Center corkboard. Because my eye is now trained to "see" properly I can never go back to the wonderful and simplistic ignorance I used to have for design.
I also agree with your theory that we have a lot of design patterns in the world. For example, a red stop sign can be found in most countries with highways and cars. The same facial expressions can be found to mean the same thing in most countries. At Ohio University the designs for building signs and street lamps, carpets and chairs, or windows and doors are all the same throughout the residence halls and university buildings. Even the posters targeted at upcoming events have similarities just by being created by student designers and meant for students.
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