I only post recipes that I make up and are simple, easy, and cheap. I’m a terrible cook because I’m impulsive, lazy, and AADHD.
However, this one usually works:
Mix it all up and eat it now or wait until it gets even better.
Because it looks bad. When someone builds your house, they don’t put “built by houses-r-us™”. When someone replaces your roof, maybe they’ll stick a sign in your lawn saying “Roof by roofs-r-us™”, but you’re gonna yank that thing out pretty quickly.
If people want to know who built my site, they’ll contact the site owner.
I’m at the typecon conference and a lot of people are talking about how to teach typography in the education forum.
My take: Tap into the love of typography students had when they first learned how to write. My kids all scribbled and stuff, but the revelation came when they learned how to write their names. Nancy, in particular, writes hers all the time now, and puts curly flourishes on the ends of all the letters.
Kids grow up loving to write letters–but usually not the letters they are forced to write by their teachers. They (the interesting ones, anyway) fill the edges of their notebooks with all kinds of funky letters and words.
My conclusion: every typography class should feature a section on hand-lettering. It could be structured like the kind I learned about in my workshop with Stephen Rapp yesterday, or more informal and experimental, like one I would love to teach. Once students reconnect with the fun of letters that they may have lost long ago, typography has hooked them.
I’ve designed a ton of fonts. I’ve designed a ton of icons. I’ve designed only a few logos.
I always lump logos into the other categories, because I take the same approach to their crafting: get to the core of the symbol/s’ purpose and express it basicly, purely, and fundamentally. Then build on that solid core into something that resonates, based on feedback and outcomes.
The problem with logos is that, unlike those other categories, they demand an immediate connection to an extremely specific audience: namely, the client.
Who is the client? Good question. The client is not an anonymous user of creative output. The client is not a disconnected associate with little to go on when evaluating your work. The client is a stakeholder in your value as a professional creator. The client needs your work to “work,” because if it doesn’t, the client has problems that you’re responsible for.
And the client is always right. Which means you can’t expect them to see things the way you do. They’re paying money.
The client anticipates glitz and glamour out of the gate. They immediately compare raw sketches to a fully armoured cavalier, repleat with plate armor set in golden trim smelted with golden trim acquired from valorous raids. They want it to look Las Vegas.
This is how it goes whenever I take on a new logo project, which is why I get so stressed out whenever one lands on my doorstep. On the one hand, nothing makes me more satisfied as a graphic designer than to see my designs “in the wild;” i.e., actually used by the client and viewed by people I have never met. I see that as an enormous responsibility, that if fulfilled, validates my self confidence as a bonifide designer.
On the other hand, there have been so many cases where I’ve poured my heart and soul into something I know is perfect, only to find out that the client hates it, or worse, doesn’t even notice it before it’s even left the gate.
I guess all I can do is to try different approaches. I look at work done by insanely talented people and wonder how they evaded these trysts. I can only conclude that they didn’t evade them, but instead learned from them and evolved into producers of content that appeals to the public they’re trying to reach. That’s what I’m trying to do.
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