For a young Swiss graphic designer seeking a job in New York in 1970, Massimo Vignelli was the person to see. A founder of Unimark International and head of its New York office, he was the foremost proponent of so called Swiss Design in America. Swiss Design in America? Coming from Switzerland, having experienced Swiss aesthetics first-hand, I was critical of his work.

As a design student in Zürich I had been exposed to original work by luminaries such as Max Bill, Richard Paul Lohse, Josef Müller-Brockmann, Hans Neuburg, Siegfried Odermatt and Carlo Vivarelli. Compared to their work, Massimo’s designs lacked a certain originality and therefore left me ambivalent. And there was the nagging question: If highly structured and analytical Swiss Design was appropriate in cultured Switzerland, how could the same approach be valid in America, an ideologically very different, much more diverse and exuberant country?

After living in New York for a while, my critical stance towards Massimo’s work waned. I realized that he does not design for the American culture but against it, and saw his efforts as creating an antidote to the graphic trash we are faced with daily. The more chaos in American graphic design increased, the more I valued and supported Massimo’s achievements. His unwavering belief in improving the world is truly remarkable.

Our professional trajectories never crossed, but over the years I secretly became curious about his opinion towards my quite different approach to design. Then in 1995, Massimo invited me to become a member of AGI. In his introductory letter to the admission committee he wrote: “I know of no other graphic designer in the world whose business letterhead reads: “Dedicated to the highest professional standards.” Willi Kunz can really say that, without exaggeration. He is one of the most seriously committed professionals who, with his work, brings honor to our profession.” In these kind words I realized a deep mutual respect.

Happy Birthday, Massimo. Continue leading the way.

Unbeirrt durch die Irrläufe der Zeit

Die «Würdigung» oder Apologie ist bestrebt, die revolutionären Momente des Geschichtsverlaufs zu überdecken. Ihr liegt die Herstellung einer Kontinuität am Herzen. Sie legt nur auf diejenigen Elemente des Werks Gewicht, die schon in seine Nachwirkung eingegangen sind. Es entgehen ihr die Schroffen und Zacken, die demjenigen einen Halt bieten, der über dieses hinausgelangen will.
– Walter Benjamin, «Zentralpark»

Man kann wohl annehmen, dass Hans Rudolf Bosshard, der mir als Setzerlehrling vor fünfzig Jahren die Grundlagen der Typografie beigebracht hat, für mich eine ferne Erinnerung ist. Dies umso mehr, als wir uns seit vierzig Jahren, durch geografische Distanz bedingt, nur sporadisch treffen und in ideologisch gegensätzlichen Welten wie der Schweiz und den USA leben.

Heute verkörpert Bosshard einen Teil meiner beruflichen Weiterbildung und Tätigkeit in den 60er Jahren in Zürich, eine damals heile Welt, die in romantischer Vorstellung in mir weiterlebt. In der Zwischenzeit hat sich Bosshard stark entwickelt, aber nicht verändert. Seine Stärke als Lehrer ist nachhaltig. Für mich bleibt er ein Triangulationspunkt, an dem ich mich über Typografie, Kunst und Fachliteratur in Zürich orientiere.

Als einer seiner ersten Schüler lernte ich Bosshard Ende der 50er Jahre in der typografischen Fachklasse an der Gewerbeschule Weinfelden kennen. Neu und als Lehrer unerfahren, schien sein Unterricht oft improvisiert; als Schüler hatten wir den Eindruck, dass er mit uns lernte und gleichzeitig seinen eigenen didaktischen Weg zu finden suchte.

Bosshards Unterricht bestand oft aus Diskussionen über moderne Architektur und Malerei sowie Vorlesungen aus Büchern wie Hans Arps Unsern täglichen Traum…, was mich faszinierte, aber die Frage aufwarf, was das mit typografischer Gestaltung zu tun habe. Sehr bald erkannte ich, dass das Aufwerfen von Fragen und das Hinterfragen von Grundsätzen seine Methode war, neue gestalterische Impulse zu wecken. Zurückblickend sind es vor allem diese didaktischen «Umwege», die meinen kulturellen Horizont öffneten und mir die gestalterisch-formale Beziehung zwischen Typografie, Architektur, Malerei, Plastik und Film bewusstmachten.

Anhand kleiner, im Bleisatz ausgeführter Aufgaben wie des Gestaltens einer Geschäftskarte machte uns Bosshard klar, dass jede noch so bescheidene Arbeit höchste Sorgfalt erfordert und dass der Gestalter auf keinen Fall unter seinem Niveau arbeiten darf. Letzteres ein Diktum, das in der Praxis oft Mühe bereitet.

Trotz grosser gestalterischer Offenheit war Bosshard ein scharfer Kritiker. Die damals in den Setzereien frisch eingeführte Helvetica tat er als «steife Sauschrift» ab, und die von Müller-Brockmann geschaffenen Konzertplakate bezeichnete er als «stur». Dauernd forderte er uns Schüler auf, umzudenken, Trends zu ignorieren und alles anders zu machen als das bisher Allgemeingültige. Forderungen, die ich immer noch befolge.

Den damals in Zürich und Basel populären Ideologien, welche die Verwendung der Grotesk als einzig zeitgemässer Schrift, die Asymmetrie als einzig akzeptable Darstellung und den Raster als bevorzugtes Organisationsprinzip propagierten, stand Bosshard kritisch gegenüber. Dogmatik war nicht sein Fach. Für ihn war Typografie zu verzweigt und zu vielschichtig, um ihre Probleme mit Lehrsätzen zu lösen.

Heute, wo jeder stilistische Auswuchs unkritisch akzeptiert und im Nu ausgeführt wird, wirken die Ideologien jener Zeit archaisch. Auch ist unser damaliger Drang, als Schüler die Welt durch Gestaltung zu verbessern, eine Utopie geblieben: Trotz aller Freiheit und unbegrenzten gestalterischen Möglichkeiten ist das Ziel einer besseren Welt immer noch nicht erreicht.

Was mich an Bosshards Unterricht nachhaltig beeindruckte, war sein Bestreben, rationales, ojektives Wissen und nicht nebulöse künstlerische Ideen zu vermitteln. Wir lernten, dass eine aus Büchern gewonnene umfassende Allgemeinbildung, ein Interesse an Architektur, Malerei, Plastik, Film und Literatur sowie Weltoffenheit notwendig sind, um gute Gestalter zu werden. Ein grosser Kontrast zu heute, wo die Allgemeinbildung vieler Schüler durch Google, Wikipedia und YouTube geformt wird.

Die Umstellung vom Blei- auf den Fotosatz prägte die 60er Jahre des vergangenen Jahrhunderts als die für die Typografie wohl folgenschwerste Epoche seit Gutenberg. Laserstrahl und Film ersetzten die herkömmlichen Satzmaterialien Blei, Messing und Holz – die Typografie wurde entmaterialisiert. Der Computer machte es nun möglich, Art, Grösse, Stärke und Lage von Schrift sowie den Abstand zwischen Buchstaben, Wörtern und Zeilen beliebig zu manipulieren und somit die jahrhundertealten Grenzen des Bleisatzes zu sprengen. Gekoppelt mit der Auflösbarkeit des typografischen Masssystems – alle Grössen und Abstände sind nun stufenlos möglich –, führte diese Freiheit zu Resultaten, die, verglichen mit dem herkömmlichen Bleisatz, meistens erbärmlich abschnitten.

Der Computersatz verlangte Investitionen, welche für die meisten Druckereien unerschwinglich oder unrealistisch hoch waren. Abgekoppelt von den Druckereien, wurde die Typografie zunehmend von Satzfabriken ohne das nötige Qualitätsbewusstsein und ohne ästhetisches Gefühl ausgeführt. Aus dieser Spezialisierung auf die Satzherstellung entwickelte sich der Beruf des Typografikers mit der Aufgabe, in grafischen Ateliers, Werbeagenturen und der Industrie die Typografie in akzeptablen Bahnen zu halten. Für den typografischen Gestalter mit solider Ausbildung und Fachkenntnissen, wie sie Bosshard vermittelte, waren dies goldene Zeiten.

Die heutige Technik hat die meisten Verbindungen zur Vergangenheit abgeschnitten. Wir befinden uns in einer unsteten, zwiespältigen Zeit, in der das Morgige immer schneller zum Gestrigen wird und sich dauernd verändernde Wertvorstellungen das traditionell bewährte Wissen verdrängen. Die digitalen Medien haben die technischen und gestalterischen Grenzen der Typografie aufgelöst und die Art, wie sie gelernt und angewandt wird, radikal verändert. Mit den technischen Entwicklungen nimmt das erforderliche Fachwissen exponentiell zu – so stark, dass das Experimentieren mit verschiedenen Softwareprogrammen, mit denen der Gestalter die Rollen des Typografen und Bildbearbeiters übernimmt, zunehmend die Zeit raubt, die für das Lernen der typografischen Grundsätze und das Üben der daraus erworbenen Kenntnisse nötig wäre. Vor diesem nebulösen Hintergrund spielen sich endlose Debatten über Gestaltung und die Ausbildung von Gestaltern ab.

Die typografische Ausbildung wird mehr und mehr zum Experiment, frei von Ideologien und Theorien. «Gute Gestaltung» ist nicht mehr glaubhaft; möglicherweise fiel sie dem Bedürfnis zum Opfer, Grenzen und Normen um jeden Preis zu eliminieren. Heute existieren unzählige Stile nebeneinander, alle bereit zum Kopieren. Verspielte Dekoration ist gleich gesucht wie strenger Modernismus. Diesen verschiedensten Stilen ausgesetzt, verliert der Gestalter seine Orientierung. Das Resultat ist Verwirrung und Chaos. Bosshard, offen für alles Neue, scheint diese Veränderungen zu akzeptieren, ja er schwelgt sogar im heutigen Pluralismus.

Bosshard, der Lehrer, wäre unvollständig ohne Bosshard, den Autor und Gestalter, eine selten überzeugende Kombination von Talenten, da nur wenige Gestalter fähig sind, ihr Wissen klar zu formulieren. Bosshard verfügt über die Begabung, die Gestaltungsfachsprache zu transzendieren und sie, oft sogar witzig, dem Leser geniessbar und verständlich zu machen. Die Gestaltung seiner Bücher entsteht aus dem Inhalt. Keine Spur von vorgeformten, trendigen, effekthascherischen Ideen – und eine wohltuende Abwechslung zu vielen heutigen Publikationen, wo Inhalt und Gestaltung reziproke Werte sind, der dünne literarische Gehalt durch hohen gestalterischen Aufwand überblendet wird.

Seine in den 70er Jahren entstandenen Publikationen «Einführung zur Formenlehre», «Gestaltgesetze», «Proportion», «Kontraste» und «Form und Farbe» dokumentieren seine mit Unterrichtsergebnissen verbundenen Theorien. Heute scheinen sie wie erste Gehversuche für seine späteren Fachbücher «Technische Grundlagen zur Satzherstellung» (1980), «Mathematische Grundlagen zur Satzherstellung» (1985) und «Typografie Schrift Lesbarkeit» (1996). Diese auf seinem profunden Wissen aufgebauten späteren Meisterleistungen hätten durch Übersetzungen in Fremdsprachen eine grössere Verbreitung verdient.

Bosshards Opus Magnum ist «Der typografische Raster» (2000). Beim Studieren dieses Werks wird klar, wie unvollständig und elementar die bisherige Fachliteratur über das Rasterthema war. Bosshard hat dem umstrittenen, totgelaufenen Thema frische Impulse verschafft und den Raster als Gestaltungsmittel mit neuen Ideen belebt. Die deutsch-englische wie auch eine chinesische Ausgabe trugen zum internationalen Erfolg des Buches bei. (In bester Erinnerung bleibt mir ein Buchladen in Schanghai, wo ich mich vor einem Stapel von Exemplaren der chinesischen Ausgabe fragte, wie die chinesischen Gestalter Bosshards Rasterprinzipien wohl interpretieren würden.)

In jeder künstlerischen Laufbahn ist der Erfolg stark davon beinflusst, das eigene Schaffen zu propagieren und das Interesse anderer auf sich zu lenken. Bosshard besitzt diese Begabung nur beschränkt, was vielleicht ein Grund ist, warum sein Ruf als Künstler – trotz bedeutendem Schaffen – eher wenig verbreitet ist.

Kunst muss optisch und intellektuell befriedigen. Bedingungen, die Bosshards Malerei, Grafik, Konzept-Art und Fotografie zweifellos erfüllen. Allerdings sind seine künstlerischen Werke nicht leicht konsumierbar; sie verlangen Konzentration und Vertiefung. Anforderungen, die das heutige Kunstpublikum nur in geringem Mass erfüllt.

Der Gebrauch von elektronischen Medien wie iPhone, MP3 und DVD mit ihrem sich dauernd erneuernden, endlosen Informationsstrom hat die Aufmerksamkeitsspanne und die Konzentrationskraft des Publikums stark verringert. Alles, was nicht mühelos erfasst werden kann, wird sofort übergangen. Kunst wird nicht mehr meditativ aufgenommen, sondern oberflächlich konsumiert. Die intellektuelle Dimension der Kunst wird von der optischen verdrängt. Wird in Museen und Galerien ein Video mit noch so banalem Inhalt gezeigt, findet man die meisten BesucherInnen vor dem Bildschirm versammelt.

Die über 500-jährige Dominanz von Druck auf Papier ist durch die elektronischen Medien gebrochen. Elektronische Übermittlungs- und Bildschirmtechnologien ersetzen die gedruckten Medien und rücken das Bild – speziell das bewegliche – in den Mittelpunkt unserer Gesellschaft. Wir entwickeln uns in eine Gesellschaft, deren Kultur sich zunehmend auf dem Bildschirm abspielt. Die vergänglichen Bilder des Bildschirms lösen den Begriff des klassischen Autors und dessen Autorität auf. Die Vergangenheit wird zum Datenstrom, der vom Betrachter beliebig manipuliert und verschiedenartig zusammengesetzt werden kann; die Gegenwart wird auf dem Bildschirm fabriziert, während man von einer Website zur andern springt.

Wir befinden uns mitten im Umsturz von der typografischen Kommunikation zur Kommunikation mit Bildern und bildhaften Zeichen, was durch die zunehmende Zahl von vorwiegend aus Bildern und kurzen Texten bestehenden Büchern verdeutlicht wird. Die Typografie, wie sie Bosshard während vierzig Jahren mit Enthusiasmus unterrichtet und praktiziert hat, ist stark bedrängt. Mehr Bilder und weniger Text bedeutet jedoch nicht weniger Kommunikation. Solange Buchstaben, Wörter und Sätze zur Informationsübermittlung verwendet werden, sind Bosshards Denkweise und visuelle Prinzipien für die typografische Gestaltung unerlässlich.

Schon immer hatte der Mensch das Bedürfnis, seine Vorstellungskraft in Stein zu verewigen. Spuren davon sind in Form von Felszeichnungen und Höhlenmalereien auf der ganzen Welt zu finden. Bekannt sind die Felszeichnungen von Altamira (Spanien), Lascaux (Frankreich), Val Camonica (Italien) und in der Sahara. Eine ausserordentlich grosse Anzahl von Petroglyphen und Piktographen finden wir auch in Nordamerika. Während einer ausgedehnten Reise durch den nordamerikanischen Westen kam ich zum erstenmal mit diesen legendären Felszeichnungen der Indianer in Kontakt.

Von Anfang an waren es die formalen Qualitäten sowie die Integration von Zeichen und Natur, die mich faszinierten und anregten. Die Figuren und Formen scheinen spielerisch hingestreut zu sein und erinnern an die Zeichensprache von Klee, Miro und Calder. Viele sind mit grosser Sorgfalt und handwerklichem Können ausgearbeitet, andere dagegen nur skizzenhaft angetönt.

Technisch sind zwei Arten von Zeichnungen zu unterscheiden: Die Petroglyphen sind in den Fels eingeritzt oder eingeschlagen, die Piktographen sind mit Erd- und Pflanzenfarben aufgemalt. Zahlenmässig überwiegen die Petrogplyphen sehr. An einigen Orten finden wir Tausende, von isolierten Einzelzeichen bis zu unübersehbaren Gruppierungen an riesigen, überhängenden Felswänden.

Je nach geographischer Lage können stilistische Unterschiede festgestellt werden. Vielfach finden wir auch Stile verschiedener Epochen nahe beieinander oder sogar übereinander gezeichnet.

Als besonders reich an Petroglyphen und Piktographen erwiesen sich die in den Rocky Mountains liegenden Staaten Utah, Nevada und Arizona. Die meisten Fundstätten sind geographisch sehr stark abgelegen und können teilweise nur zu Fuss erreicht werden. Interessante Gebiete, wie zum Beispiel der Canyon de Chelly in Arizona, der zu einem Reservat der Navajo-Indianer gehört und unter Naturschutz steht, dürfen ohne einheimische Führer nicht betreten werden.

Chronologie

Eine zeitliche Einordnung der Petroglyphen und Piktographen erweist sich als sehr schwierig. Die von Archäologen häufig gebrauchte Radiokarbontestmethode kann nur sehr beschränkt angewendet werden, da die Messgeräte auf die sehr geringen Farbsubstanzen in den Piktographen kaum reagieren. Andere Methoden erweisen sich als sehr ungenau, da extreme Witterungsverhältnisse die Patination und die Erosion des Gesteins stark beeinflussen.

In einigen Fällen war es möglich, durch die in Petroglyphen dargestellten Gegenstände eine chronologische Übersicht zu gewinnen. So fand man zum Beispiel in Coso Range (Kalifornien) vielfach die Darstellung des Atatl, eines Speerwurfgeräts, das zwischen 1000 und 500 v. Chr. von Jägern gebraucht und dann später durch Pfeil und Bogen ersetzt worden war. Daraus wurde geschlossen, dass diese Petroglyphen etwa 2500 Jahre alt sein müssen.

Die relative kleine Zahl von Piktographen lässt vermuten, dass viele dieser gemalten Zeichen und Figuren an exponierten Stellen durch Witterungseinflüsse zerstört worden sind.

Ikonographie

Ebenso schwierig wie die chronologische Einordnung ist eine Erklärung dieser Bildzeichen, die menschliche Figuren, Tiere und Gegenstände darstellen. Ausserdem finden wir auch geometrische Zeichen wie Punkte, konzentrische Kreise, Kreisflächen, Spiralen, Zickzacklinien, Labyrinthe und Gitter in immer neuen Konstellationen. Ihre Bedeutung kann nur vermutet werden, da wir sie zeitlich, kulturell und sozial aus dem Zusammenhang herausgerissen betrachten. Sie können aus dokumentarischen, informativen, religiösen oder rein künstlerischen Gründen geschaffen worden sein. Sie können vergangenheits- oder zukunftsorientiert sein, wie zum Beispiel die Darstellung eines erfolgreichen Jagd- oder bevorstehenden Kriegszuges.

Es wird angenommen, dass die Zeichen zu Kommunikationszwecken und nicht als rein bildliche Kunst geschaffen worden sind. Sie sind durch eine gewisse stereotype Ausführung und durch die Absenz von Details wie Hintergründen, Bergen, Bäumen usw. charakterisiert, können jedoch nicht mit einer Zeichensprache im heutigen Sinn verglichen werden.

Erstaunlicherweise haben Archäologen und Historiker sehr wenig Interesse für diesen wichtigen Bestandteil amerikanischer Kulturgeschichte gezeigt. Einer der wenigen Forscher, die sich intensive mit Petroglyphen befassten, war Colonel Garrick Mallery, der um 1886 begann, diese systematisch zu untersuchen und aufzuzeichnen. Seine 1893 veröffentlichte Monographie “Pictographs of the North American Indians” gilt heute noch als eines der wenigen Standardwerke auf diesem Gebiet.

The character of everything we see is defined by form and color. Form and color are distinct qualities that not only complement, but also depend on each other. The form, however, is always the essence.

The Meander painting is based on the idea of using form and color as opposing entities – the form to engage the intellect, and the color to evoke emotions. Of course, intellect and emotion are intertwined; one never acts without the other.

The painting’s square surface is vertically divided in half. The left side contains the grey meander form on white, and the right side is occupied by two color squares. The meander’s elaborate form juxtaposed with the two plain color squares creates ambivalence between thinking and feeling.

While the reaction to the colors is primarily emotional, the meander’s zigzagging form engages the viewer’s intellect and raises questions: What does it represent? What is the significance of the meander’s connection to the two color squares? Does it continue behind the colors? Where does it start and end?

Creating the meander is a spontaneous process by drawing on paper with pencil. Later, the form is developed and refined to perfect the figure/ground relationship. Establishing the colors is influenced by aesthetic preference, feeling, and experimentation.

The Monoform : Monocolor painting is based on the idea of working with limited means. A single form, based on a square grid, is created optically. The form takes shape from a single color, chosen based on personal preference, emotion, and experimentation. The planes overlapping the form are painted in a lighter version of the base color.

The form is refined in several stages. Unlike conventional paintings that focus on the center, the Monoform : Monocolor painting’s energy radiates from the center in four directions, activating the perimeter. At the perimeter, the form’s serrated edge creates strong tension; the resulting white triangular shapes cast the form in sharp relief, suggesting a color membrane stretched within the white square.

The planes overlapping the form appear to be folded to reveal the reverse side. Folded on different axes, the planes assume multiple spatial directions and imply a third dimension. The viewer is challenged to ask: how would the form appear with the planes unfolded?

With its single form and single color, the Monoform : Monocolor painting is conceived as an antidote to the chaos of forms and colors we are exposed to day after day. It is intended to slow the viewer down to contemplate – if only for a moment – form and color.

The used hard cover book is an object with an uncertain future. Visits to second-hand bookstores, with row after row of books, many untouched for years, raise questions about their fate. Is this the last chapter of their lives? Can they assume a new purpose?

“Book Ends” explore both the material and philosophical aspects of the hard cover book. The central element is a lateral slice from a book’s fore-edge, including the cloth-finish front and back cover. Each book is selected because of its age, provenance, size, paper quality and color, and binding materials, not for its content.

The geometric forms, suggesting multiple layers, create visual depth and act as the intermediaries between the two-dimensional surface of the painting and the three-dimensional form of the book.

“Book Ends” are a symbiosis of book and painting. While the book is integral to the painting, the painting’s composition and color give an unexpected new life to the book.

On my way to work I pass the Natural History Museum, an imposing neoclassical building. Above the entrance, chiseled in stone in monumental capital letters, appear the words Truth, Knowledge, and Vision – three powerful concepts that provoke contemplation.

Who chose these words? Why did they choose these particular words? Are these words still relevant today? Which of the three words is the most important? Why are they arranged in this particular sequence? How many letters are in each word? What is the ratio between the numbers of letters in each word? What is the total number of letters? How many rectilinear, triangular, and curvilinear letters are in each word? What is the typeface? How tall are the letters? How does the chisel technique contribute to the letter’s appearance? How would the words appear in upper and lower case? These kinds of questions are at the core of a typographic designer’s work. They show how a seemingly simple message can be deconstructed to reveal the numerous decisions that together affect the meaning and emotional tone of the communication.

Typography is the major component of visual communication, from books to posters, signs, packaging, magazines, newspapers, and electronic media. A huge amount of information, such as forms, lists, and schedules, is entirely typographically based. We are inundated with typography. Some of it is effective, but much is confusing, amounting to a mere nuisance that is instantly discarded. Because typographic design is ubiquitous, it seems a simple task. Anyone who communicates makes typography.

The basic elements that a typographic designer works with are letters, numbers, and punctuation marks. The twenty-six letters have been part of our memory since early childhood. By themselves, however, letters lack meaning and are incapable of transmitting information. Combined into a word, a series of letters can be very powerful, more precise than a picture. A physical condition like thirst, for instance, is better conveyed with a word than through an image.

Although letters, numbers, and punctuation marks are the basic material a designer works with, typography depends on additional elements, such as space, color, and type- faces to convey meaning. These elements communicate on two interrelated levels: the macroaesthetic and the microaesthetic. The macroaesthetic level includes the primary visual components that are recognized first: the size and proportion of the space; form, composition, and the color of key elements; the structure as a whole; and the contrast between the primary components and the space around them.

The microaesthetic level encompasses the form, size, weight, and relationship of secondary elements: typeface characteristics; letterforms and counter forms; and the spacing between letters, words, lines, and other graphic elements.

The function of typography is to communicate a message’s intellectual meaning as well as its emotional tone. Both aspects are necessary for the message to be effective. Letters and punctuation, word sequences, and spatial relationships all perform a utilitarian function in conveying the “facts” of the message. The nuances of a message, where the designer expands its intellectual content and introduces the desired emotional tone, comes primarily from the skilled and sensitive use of these elements. Without utility, the message is useless because it cannot be comprehended. Without emotional tone, the message is ineffective because it does not engage the reader.

Typographic information occupies two-dimensional space. The third dimension is time, the time necessary for the reader to comprehend the information. The more complex the composition, the more time and effort required for comprehension. Every person has a different tolerance for the length of a text. The reader loses interest and tires quickly when the text is too long and monotonous, exceeding his capacity to concentrate and focus. Conveying information in the shortest amount of time and in a visually enticing way is an important goal.

The designer to some extent controls the reader’s time. Through the skilful use of typographic materials and space the designer reduces the reader’s resistance to text. Intervals between the typographic elements contribute significantly to the visual qualities of design and influence the time required for reading. Ideally, the intervals derive from the structure of the text and are not imposed by the designer.

Typography is many things, to many people. Typographic design is a field that divides into small interest groups including traditionalists, revivalists, rationalists, constructivists, de-constructivists, modernists, post-modernists, and techno freaks, among others. Each group pursues typographic design in a different way. The result is an enormously diverse, constantly changing typographic landscape.

Regardless of what style is pursued, an important criterion in evaluating a design is clarity. Good typography is clear typography. The designer’s intent must be immediately clear and the design must speak with an unmistakable, clear voice that penetrates today’s clamorous visual environment.

Clear typography is frugal and restrained; it is produced with an economic use of materials and resources. Too many variations and indiscriminate use of typefaces, sizes, weights, alignments, space and color lead to unfocused, confusing results. Compared to the work produced today with unlimited resources and unprecedented technical finesse, the printed artifacts from the 1920s and 1930s – when materials were scarce – appear powerful and convincing. The simple means available then forced the designer to use his imagination and come up with new visual ideas.

High standards derive from a selective process that eliminates the superfluous and ordinary, leaving the essential and extraordinary. By working with voluntary limitations on the visual material we use to express an idea we can concentrate on developing our own unique variations on a typographic theme.

The typographic designer works primarily with existing elements. He rarely creates the typographic material he uses, which works against his disposition. Most designers are driven by creative ambitions. Creativity alone, however, is not sufficient to succeed.

Typographic design is practiced in a fast paced environment, under conditions that distract from the careful study of information and thoughtful development of ideas.

To function effectively, the designer needs sound know- ledge of communication theory, a good grasp of design principles, an understanding of the intended audience, and a clear focus on the goals of the communications. The more complete our knowledge, and the more fluent we are in the principles of typography, the more we can accomplish in a limited amount of time. The ultimate condition for good typography, however, is a good text.

Typographic design is a visual activity. As such, visual fluency in the components of written language – letters, words, sentences, spelling, grammar, and syntax structure – is required. After we master the components, we are able to create different solutions to a wide range of typographic problems.

However, to succeed, a design must also have a strong intellectual component. Aesthetic qualities are not enough to sustain the reader’s interest. The critical reader is looking for an intellectual connection between the content of a message and how it is expressed. The challenge for the designer is to develop an appropriate intellectual component – a theory – as a base for the aesthetics. Theory is often dismissed as too intellectual, too far removed from practice. However, there is no difference between theory and practice. Every design has a theoretical base; in the end, the theory behind it may be obscured but traces of it always remain.

Typographic design involves making decisions. We carefully evaluate different options before deciding which of the possible designs communicates best. It requires organized thinking and an intellectual grasp of the facts pertaining to the design problem. If a problem can be precisely defined, it can be correctly solved. Reducing the available options to a manageable number requires making choices.

In typography the choices we make have a strong impact on design. A particular format, typeface, type size, interline space, composition, color, type of paper, etc. contribute to the quality and expression of a design.

Having too many choices can be overwhelming. Today, the abundance of choices is most obvious in the ever-expanding variety of typefaces. Many designers believe that by choosing a particular typeface the work will significantly change. Variety in typography, however, is not so much determined by the chosen typeface as by the arrangement of text within the chosen format.

Making the right choice requires extensive study, experience and practice. In good typographic design every decision or choice we make is consistent with the design objectives set out at the beginning. If the choices are logical and consistent with the objectives, the final design is cohesive and effective.

Making choices is difficult because good ideas and directions must sometimes be eliminated to arrive at a final solution. Making choices is the moment of truth. In evaluating our work, we have to be honest about its qualities. Does it measure up to the highest standards? Is it the best result we can achieve? The final choice inevitably leaves us ambivalent because it is almost impossible to determine whether the chosen design is the best.

Inherent in typographic design are many uncertainties. At the start there is uncertainty about the elements to choose: format, typeface, type size, color, etc., and the formal aspects of structure, sequence, contrast, proportion, rhythm, composition, form and counter form. Then there is uncertainty about the time invested, about the result of our efforts, and about the client’s reaction. To master these uncertainties the designer needs an open, divergent mind-set.

Our intellectual and visual capacities must be honed every day by observing our surroundings, by being interested in related disciplines such as architecture, painting, and film, by challenging the status quo, and by asking critical questions like: how can we reduce waste and visual clutter, improve efficiency, create a better world?

Finding a typographic solution in many instances is not a matter of ideas but of intensive work and commitment. We do extensive research and collect relevant material and facts pertaining to the problem. In the collected material we hope to find the seed to an appropriate conceptual idea.

The old adage “practice creates the master” still has resonance. Personal experimentation and learning from mistakes is much more valuable than looking at design annuals and magazines. Artist’s biographies and autobiographies, which reveal the connection between someone’s life and work, are a great inspiration.

Without a solid foundation the most creative idea will not be realized successfully. However, even creativity combined with theoretical and technical knowledge is not quite enough. The designer must be driven by an urge to be a pioneer. To find new territory and to develop genuine new ideas we must know the past but concentrate on the future.

In creating any kind of visual communication, typographic material is inexhaustible when used with imagination and skill. After years of practice, I am still fascinated and challenged by the endless variety of visual expressions that can be created with the limited set of typographic elements.

By absorbing the technical facts and learning a few standard tricks, the inexperienced designer can achieve decent results in a relatively short period of time. The results, however, lack depth, and the designer is lost when confronted with a new problem.

A designer should be able to function in any situation; he must be an excellent generalist. He must acquire a core knowledge from which he can branch off in any direction he chooses.

He must be able to develop an appropriate solution from the given economic, social and technical conditions and not impose a formula that has no relation to the problem. Typography has certain principles but no formulas that can be universally applied.

The typographic designer relies on divergent thinking as opposed to the routine thinking practiced daily by the average person. Routine thinking proceeds along a known path with a clear destination. The goal is to attain a predictable result with minimal effort in the shortest amount of time. Divergent thinking is needed to deal with the economic, social and technical demands that are difficult to define in advance and often change during the course of design.

Today, computer technology is ubiquitous; it controls our lives. Electronic equipment has replaced the traditional tools of expression: pencil, crayon, pen, and brush. The tactile qualities of materials such as tracing- and colored paper, boards, and overlay film that often were a source of inspiration are no longer deemed an essential component in developing a design. I first became aware of these changes several years ago, when the art supply store closed my account because I did not purchase enough materials to reach the quarterly minimum charge.

Technological changes and competition have eliminated many graphic professions. The typesetter, letterpress printer, silk screener, sign painter, and repro photographer are a few of the early casualties of the new electronic technologies. These changes will continue at an accelerating pace and will drastically transform typographic communication. Information is increasingly produced by technically trained people without formal education in typographic design. In an age where speed of production is the overriding criteria the typographic designer is constantly losing ground to the technical experts.

Bombarded with propaganda, it is easy to assume that a computer equipped with the right software is all that is needed to succeed. The typographic designer must resist thinking that with a computer, he can create solutions without much personal effort or engagement. The more sophisticated and powerful the electronic tools, the more carefully we must think about the impact they have on the way we design, and the more diligent we must be not to let the tools overrule human creativity, truth, knowledge, and vision.

Whenever we speak or write, we communicate. Language, whether spoken or written, is part of what makes us unique as humans. Spoken language is ephemeral and intangible, it disappears as soon as it is uttered. When written, language is captured in a visual and spatial form, permanent and concrete. As the art of visual language, typography is inherently communicative.

Like language, typography is both functional and expressive, serving purposes of utility and beauty. The function of typography is to communicate a message so that it effectively conveys both its intellectual meaning and its emotional feeling. This is a cognitive task, making use of letters and words, which can be recognized and comprehended by the reader. At the heart of good typographic design is a critical interpretation of the meaning of the message: the more astute the interpretation, the more effective the design.

If function is important to the intellect, then form is important to the emotions. Form is the aesthetic component of design; it is what attracts attention, invites participation, and offers enjoyment. Our day-to-day life is enriched or degraded by the aesthetic qualities of our environment. A neglected building is not only unattractive to look at, but also depressing, thus affecting us psychologically. Likewise, poorly designed visual communication assaults our sensibilities, creating a kind of visual pollution.

Typographic form and message content are inextricably linked. Even the simplest design not only objectively conveys information but also gives subjective cues for the interpretation of this content. Typography seeks to integrate and balance form and function, recognizing the importance of each. Function without form is dull; form without function or purpose lacks substance and meaning.

Perhaps the most difficult task faced by the typographic designer is to master this balance. An interesting visual effect may enhance a message, but it can also overwhelm it. When form dominates content, form in fact becomes the message and the content is weakened, even lost. Such design may initially look exciting, but it lacks depth, honesty, and conviction. On the other hand, if form were inconsequential, typography would become rote and dull. A message would be communicated on a cognitive level, but the artistic purpose of typography – to inspire and delight – would have vanished.

The argument that visually challenging typography will entice a reader to decipher a message is invalid. Complexity is an obstacle, not an invitation. As more and more information becomes available, less and less time is spent consuming each piece. Attention spans shorten, powers of concentration decrease – and an impenetrable message will be passed over in favor of something more accessible. Typography must not only allow people to read and comprehend information, but also make it both easy and pleasurable to do so. Given the amount of information we are confronted with each day, this consideration is vital.

It is less difficult to create an exclusively aesthetic solution than to create a solution that communicates effectively while remaining visually appealing. Designers must be diligent in ensuring that the aesthetics of a design do not overwhelm its content. When in doubt, it is more appropriate to adhere to the basic typographic principles that stress function than to resort to unbridled self-expression. And in the visually chaotic environment in which we find ourselves today, simple solutions often look fresh and unexpected.

A design that pleases the eye is always more effective than one that does not. What pleases, however, is a contentious point. The one certainty is that no two people appreciate – or create – design in exactly the same way. Where one person might intellectually analyze a visual composition, another might intuitively sense the harmony of a design. Sensibilities differ. Such differences produce variety. They also produce disagreement about which designs are good, and why.

Lacking analytical, consensual terms, decisions become based on vague notions, “gut” reactions, and unproven authority, prejudicing discourse among designers and their clients. The inevitable results are not only less than optimal but – wanting constructive, critical tools – beyond repair.

The primary constructive tools for typographic design are a knowledge of communications theory, a good grasp of typographic principles, knowledge of the intended audience, and a clear focus on the goals of the communication, rather than on nebulous aesthetic ambitions. These principles are the general foundation on which specific designs can be built and evaluated; they focus the design process and making it more manageable. Weak- nesses in a design can be more productively discussed when measured against specific semantic, syntactic, and pragmatic criteria.

A focus on the objective goals and concerns of the design process is necessary for any design, yet in itself it does not guarantee a good solution. Good typographic design must also create a perceptual, subjective effect: in other words, aesthetic pleasure.

Aesthetics are more difficult to judge than the clarity of a message because aesthetic taste is more personal and culturally specific. Deciding on the visual style or treatment that will best convey the message is more problematic than choosing the words and composing the sentences that communicate the objective and subjective content. There are no visual dictionaries or grammar books to define the subtleties and exactitudes of meaning of any particular visual representation. Aesthetics must be adapted to the environment in which the communication takes place. Fitting the aesthetics to their context is a complex process and must take into account not only the historical moment and cultural context, but also the graphic medium and the socioeconomic status and level of education of the intended audience.

Many designers make the relationship of visual elements (syntax) their primary concern. In practice, the stress on visual syntax often detracts from meaning (semantics) and each element’s effect and affect on the reader (pragmatics). A design may be exciting to the designer, but fail to resonate with its audience. In the initial stage of a design, visual syntax should not be the main concern, because a message is never communicated on a purely syntactical level. It is more important to find the forms of expression appropriate for the particular audience. In many instances, designers face the choice between satisfying their own aesthetic sensibilities and ambitions and creating a design for an audience with very different tastes and needs. To find and work with an aesthetic that supports communication and stimulates the reader, designers must constantly expand and refine their intellectual capacity and visual sensitivity.

The rapid introduction of new technology into the practice of typographic design has caused confusion about its role in the design process. The computer has replaced the automobile as the latest fetish of our techno-consumer society. Computer power, programs, and capabilities are discussed endlessly, with no less ignorance than reverence. Whatever has been generated digitally is deemed state-of-the-art and good; everything else is obsolete and bad. Rarely do such discussions consider the quality of the actual work produced on – not by – computers. Increasingly, it is forgotten that it is the designer’s intelligence, not the software, which makes the difference between mediocre and outstanding design.

The explosion of desktop publishing and the proliferation of computers do not weaken the designer’s importance. Rather, the triumph of the computer only intensifies the need for intelligent, aesthetically pleasing design. The postindustrial information age, if it means nothing else, means more messages: messages that must be sorted, sifted, and represented in ways that people understand, enjoy, and most importantly, can use. As we become inundated with information, thoughtful, perceptive design will become a more important mark of distinction, a competitive edge.

The information age also presents new challenges to the designer: electronic media, virtual reality, interactive TV, and other modes of expression which have yet to be developed present largely unexplored territory for intelligent design. The skills already possessed by designers – organizing and visually displaying information, managing the interplay between the verbal and the visual – continue to be essential in new media. This is not to say that designers need not learn new skills, it emphasizes that their old skills will not become obsolete. The semantic, syntactic, and pragmatic principles of typographic design provide a firm basis from which to approach old challenges as well as new. The flexibility required to produce vital, creative work can come only from a deep rooting in these principles.

How do principles apply in a world that is drowning in information and reeling with distraction? Do principles inhibit creativity and individual development when typography is about exploring new directions? Principles are important in everything we do, in typography as well as in life. Principles are not ends in themselves, rather they are points of orientation highly open to interpretation; they constitute a road map which may look very clear but does not convey a picture of the final destination. Even when principles are strictly applied, the end result is always surprising.

Typography today is based on the same principles as it was centuries ago. And it must be so, as long as letters, words, and sentences communicate. We understand a message, or we don’t. This does not mean that the design of visual communication should do no more than simply transmit information. A design should also enlighten the reader and further the continuity and history of typography. The best typography communicates the conviction that it has resolved a design problem in a way both central to that problem and at the outer limits of its own possibilities.

In typography, developments that last are not revolutionary; what is new and hot does not suddenly, completely replace what is old and cold. Rather, the significant new is evolutionary; it develops out of past traditions, while responding to present circumstances. Its persistence depends on its contribution to the continuum of typographic form and sensibilities.

Today, I sense an anxious anticipation among designers. Is this millennial fear? Is it professional uncertainty about the state and fate of design? Is it the rapid pace of technological change? Information anxiety?

For millennia, visual communication was a transaction of information within relatively small groups of people. With the invention of letterpress printing in the 15th century, the world entered a second phase of mass-produced and widely distributed information. The power of mass communication, however, was limited to those who had access to the specialist with printing equipment. With the introduction of personal computers, graphics software, and electronic media in the early 1980s, communications entered a third phase in which virtually everyone can send and receive messages. The result is a democratization of information with unpredictable consequences.

Other social pressures have caused uncertainty. Environmental concerns raise serious questions about the future of traditional print media. The nature of reading and attention are changing, too: over the World Wide Web, information can be exchanged instantly around the world. The media increasingly presume that their audience processes information not by active reading and reflection but by passive looking and listening. Electronic media such as television and video promote info-nuggets, palatable and easily digested. Designers can adapt to the complexities and frustrations of working in today’s cultural climate – but only if they learn to think flexibly: to abstract essentials from the information available, integrate it with their own methodologies, and create not according to style but principles.

Design is not a paint-by-numbers discipline – there are no prescribed solutions to the unimaginable diversity of communication problems. Instead, typographic designers rely on a process that enables them to assess each situation and respond with an appropriate solution based on their knowledge of typographic principles, visual sensitivity, and personal vision. It is this foundation that gives designers the flexibility and intelligence needed to meet the challenges of a fast-moving world, with its new contexts, media, and modes of communication. It makes typography exciting and pleasurable, an endeavor whose challenge can span a lifetime of work.