Graphic Journey Blog

Jelly mould politics

I have been following the political musical chairs over recent months, as you might know from my earlier post.  
So now we have a new leader of the opposition in the shape of Ed Milliband…

Have you noticed how remarkably similar many of the new leading political figures are? 

 Dave 1
 Ed 1

Dave 2

Nick  

Ed 2 in hand gesture mode 

See what I mean? They wear identical outfits ­– single-breasted, close fitting suits in either navy or charcoal.  Along with the not too cutaway shirt collars with the accompanying bit of colour, expressed in the tie department (mostly plain or with mini polka dots) and the occasional flash of

bright socks, topped off with a pair of classic immaculately polished Churches shoes… 

 All employ the same obvious presentation skills (lots of meaningful, sincere hand gestures and dramatic pauses in their delivery). Did they all learn this from watching CDs of trailblazing master Tony Blair?
 
Then there are the accents. Many of the new political elite are products of the very best public schools with accents to match. But once again as perfected by Tony B some have affected the Estuary style with its peppering of glottal stops now ‘de rigueur’ to achieve that ‘man of the people’ persona – just check out Ed dropping his ‘T’s’, wicked innit.
 
They are all coached in the art of combating difficult questions from media heavies of the likes of Messers Humphreys and Paxman. When under pressure they will break their flow with the word ‘Look’. In other words, let’s cut the crap. They normally go on to say ‘Let me make this perfectly clear’ and of course they never do. All this stuff seems to have come out of the same packet. This got me thinking about the corporate look and behaviour of politicians.
 
Last year I was invited to afternoon tea at the House of Lords. A tea that would be accompanied by what I was told would be the most delicious scones in Britain. (My elevated host will remain anonymous) I was delighted to do this, if only out of curiosity and architectural interest.  But the whole experience was rather surreal.  
 
From the moment you enter the hallowed space, you could be forgiven for thinking that you had strayed onto the set of Harry Potter or a BBC period drama by mistake. The only sign of modernity is the electronic security frame gracing the sedate reception of the House of Lords private entrance. One is greeted by frock-coated, stockinged attendants in an air of quiet tranquillity. As you move onto the inner sanctum the space opens out into an expansive arched corridor of Portland stone and marble flanked by book-lined mahogany cabinets interrupted by various rooms off at regular intervals.  
 
As you breeze past, groups of bewigged barristers and judges can be seen. The whole place has a sense of being in a crazy time warp. Then there are the Lords themselves. Their code of dress befits their wider girths. The favoured style is the double-breasted suit ...

 The aim is to look circa the 1930s. Forget the 21st century.

often with matching waistcoats along with the occasional half hunter chain peeking out...

Their highly polished shoes are often a little quirkier than the occupants of the House of Commons. Eccentric buckles are not uncommon...

and ties are a little freer with a smattering of the classic clubs like the Garrick with its distinct cucumber and Salmon colouring. And they all wear the extremely discreet lapel pin denoting their peer status.

But back to that promised tea. I was guided into one on the many eateries in the Palace of Westminster. This one, exclusively for Peers and their guests, was a dark-timbered panelled affair with tables generously spaced out covered in crisply starched white damask and an array of silver pots and cutlery.  A middle-aged woman in a black and white uniform served us. She looked like she had been transported from a Lyons Corner Houses of the 1950s. She took our order – the promised scones. I couldn’t wait.
 
I looked around. Sitting alone over there in the corner was Lord Bragg quietly reading. A little later Lord Winston stops by and chats to Melvyn. The whole place had the serenity of a good reading library. I could image it being engulfed in cigar smoke a decade ago.
 
Ah, the scones have arrived with an accompaniment of clotted cream and strawberry jam. My host watches me as I take a bite, an expectant look on his face. “Well?” he says. “Hmmm,” I say. “I see what you mean”. (Lying through my teeth). They were sawdust dry, tasteless and as hard as a rock. Give me Waitrose’s almond croissants any day.
 
I think when you are initiated into the House of Lords you must have to sign up to the myth that everything about it is, well, perfect. All of the eateries within the Palace of Westminster are vastly subsidised. A substantial meal that would set you back a fair few quid in the outside world, is a mere pittance within these cosseted walls. And this is just one of many perks paid for by the dear old tax payer. You can be sure that it will not be subjected to any government cuts.
 
I then spent a fascinating hour in ‘the other place’ – parliamentary speak for the House of Lords Camber – to listen to my host's speech. It has a much less hysterical atmosphere than the Commons with their childish jeering and yah boo behaviour. Peers listen to each other with respect and patience and there is a quiet dignity about the place. As a peer enters, he makes a brief stop and bows in respect of the speaker. I see Lord Puttnam – whom I knew well in the 1970’s.  In those days you would never see him out of 501’s, a Margaret Howell shirt and a brown leather flight jacket. Now there he stands in the obligatory Saville Row tailored double-breasted suit blending in with their Lordships. How things have changed.

Get the look
 
Bored with looking like a graphic designer? Have a Milliband makeover and instantly increase both your hourly rate and stature with your clients. And don’t forget the all-important hand gestures. And if they protest just say, “Look. Let me make it perfectly clear. £500 an hour is not a lot for my substantial talent”. 

 And for you're a budding Lord don't miss...

 Get your own coat of arms here
 And don't forget the all-important signet ring with crest

There you're all set. Good luck.

  
     
 
 

Pierre Mendell’s operatic legacy

Pierre Mendell Hon RDI

I have long admired Pierre Mendell’s work. And as some of you may know I have featured him before on this blog.

Such is my admiration that I put him forward as an Honorary Royal Designer in 1999. He was quite rightly awarded the honour and I got to meet him – a delightfully elegant man. There is another connection.

When I was designing the identity and posters for ENO way back in the late 80s my client was Peter Jonas, the then General Director of ENO, a remarkably talented and extremely clever man. He took a keen interest in the work I presented for ENO and gave me his support and backing, something we all need in our clients. He left ENO in 1993 to take up the very prestigious post as General Director of the Bavarian State Opera.

Before he left he asked me if I new of any designers in Munich? Without hesitation I recommended Pierre Mendell. By that time Mendell was in the process of leaving his company Mendell & Oberer as he wanted to work on smaller and more personal projects. One of these became the design of posters for the Bavarian State Opera. He continued designing these for 14 years right up to his sad death in 2008.

It is this body of work that demonstrates the very essence of the true graphic designer. Pierre’s work has a supreme simplicity, but it was always invested with a beautiful idea. Here are some examples of his operatic treasure trove of work.  
 
And the great thing is most of these A0 sized posters are still for sale directly from Bayerische Staatsoper for only 8 Euros. Find out more here.

    

 

 

   

 

   

 

   

 

   

  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  
 
 

 
 
 

Paul Smith in conversation

This is Paul Smith...

 Photo of Paul Smith courtesy/copyright ES magazine

 He left school at 15 without qualifications.

But once out in the real world he used every job as an apprenticeship for his future. That future became one of the most successful fashion brands with a 230-store presence around the word with a multi million pound turnover.

His story is an celebration of tenacity. Click here to listen to my recent interview with Paul.


Paul Smith multi coloured striped football 

Design direction

I was giving a talk to a studio a couple of months ago. Someone asked me how I managed to start my own company – we’re talking 1979 here and Carroll & Dempsey – I won’t go into all the ins and outs of that time. Too long, I’ll save it for another time. But it got me thinking about why people leave secure jobs and launch themselves into the unknown. Conversely why some people never do, preferring to stay put.
 
During my life I have had 14 jobs. And although half of them were appalling I did learn something from each. For example here is a story from 1960 when at 16 I was already on to my third job.
 
I was working in the City of London at a stockbroker’s office as a lowly clerk. My task was to keep everyone happy with copious cups of tea and coffee, run messages, go to the post office and do menial tasks around the office including the filing - which I hated! The firm was a very antiquated Dickensian operation still using large handwritten ledgers that went back to the 19th century. At the end of the each week there would be an enormous amount of filing to do. – This is a time when file copies were printed via carbon paper onto extremely flimsy sheets. The filing cabinet was one of those enormous vertical systems and each file was bulging at the seams. Sliding those flimsy sheets in was painful and arduous with many of the copies getting crumpled.
 
Anyway the Friday filing thing went on for months with me getting ever more depressed until one day I had a brain wave. What if I found an alternative place to file those fragile flimsy sheets, for example one of the many London street waste bins? Eureka!
 
So from then on my visits to the fresh ground coffee and biscuit emporium was accompanied with a healthy bundle of filing secreted inside my overcoat.  On the journey I would pass a lovely cast iron Corporation of London waste bin emblazoned with their dragon crest. I’d look right and left, and then quietly deposit the weeks filing into its welcoming mouth. Perfect.
 
This became a regular event for months. I was far happier and no one ever asked for a single copy of a letter so I seemed to be on pretty safe ground. Or so I thought.
 
One afternoon while adding the finishing touches to the afternoon tea tray for the Partners – who occupied the wood paneled inner sanctum of our offices – I noticed a uniformed bank clerk (as they were then) standing in the reception area. He was talking in hushed tones to the office manager, while surreptitiously pointing at me. I noticed him pull out a pile of crumpled paper. My heart sank.
 
The messenger departed. The office manager disappeared into the partner’s quarters clutching the incriminating evidence. Meantime I was having hot and cold flushes. A few minutes later the door opened and I was ushered in.  
 
There I was standing in this cavernous office in front of Mr. Turner, the senior partner, like a naughty schoolboy. This is how it went.  ‘ Sit down Michael’. Pause, is finger gently tapping the crumpled pile of filing. ‘Michael you were witnessed depositing this into a waste bin. What do you have to say?’ Me, quietly spoken and fearing the worst.  ‘Yes I did. ‘ Why?’ he asked.  I then launched into the trials and tribulations of the bulging filing cabinet, the flimsy paper and the frustration of it all, becoming more emotional with every syllable. I then waited for the inevitable response – ‘You're fired!’ But what actually happened was a revelation. It turned out that Mr. Turner had, at an earlier stage in his life, written a book about child psychology. He asked me a number of questions; how did I feel, was I happy, stressed, fulfilled etc? I answered as honestly as possible – I had nothing to lose.
 
There was a silence at the end of the interrogation. He lit up his pipe and engulfed in smoke he opened a draw of his enormous desk and handed me a five-pound note. ‘Michael I want you to take this to the record store and buy this album. He had scribbled a title on a piece of paper, which to me looked like a doctor’s prescription. I hadn’t a clue as to what the record was.
 
At the store I was handed the album – Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No 2. I returned to the office and was once again in front of Mr. Turner. He looked pleasingly at the purchase and said, ‘This is for you’. ‘Now whenever you get feelings of stress or anxiety I want you to listen to this.’ ‘ And promise me Michael that you will never do this again’ passing me back the pile of crumpled filing.

 

Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No 2 was used extensively in David Lean's classic film Brief Encounter 1945

 
I have never forgotten that event. It taught me to listen to people and look beyond the surface. I think it helped me become a ‘people person’. 

Two other significant events also happened in that year that helped shape my future. Another office co-worker was a chap with the extraordinary name of Jasmine Wade. – A rather effete, gangly, swotty ex public school type. He took a shine to me (perhaps for other reasons? I was far too naive at the time) Anyway he invited me to the National Film Theatre on the South Bank. I had no idea what that was.

 

Aleksandr Nevskiy directed by Sergei Eisenstein, 1938

Ashes and Diamonds directed by Andrzej Wajda 1958

But there I was exposed to the films of Sergei Eisenstein, Andrzej Wajda, and many more of the doyens of alternative cinema. I having only been used to a diet of British and American films. It was a revelation and the beginning of a love of serious cinema. Thank you Jasmine wherever you may be. 

 
In the same year Penguin Books published ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ after being cleared of obscenity charges at the High Court. There was a W.H.Smith, a short walk away from the stockbrokers office. On the morning of publication a queue formed outside the shop. 

  

At last Britain gets its thrills from D.H. Lawrence 32 years after Lady Chatterley's Lover was originally published in Italy 

And I - the little sheep that I was at the time – I dutifully joined that queue and shelled out my 12/6p and avidly read the intimate machinations of Mellors and Lady C. A total of 200,000 copies were sold on the first day of publication. But that event got me into reading a far wider range of books and later in my life lead to ten fantastic years as art director at two of London’s leading publishing houses which for me became my university. 

 
I tell you this story because no matter how hopeless you may feel in a job or no matter how much you may hate it there is always something you can learn and use in your life.
 
To leap or not to leap?
 
But many people tend to just stay put, gently festering in their jobs. To do this in design is to my mind a bad idea. All of the designers I admire have been ever curious and moved around like butterflies when younger in order to gain knowledge and experience, always wanting to work with designers that could teach them something new. Eventually this leads to the desire to take flight on your own. An exciting and frightening thing in equal measures.

But many never have the courage or inclination to take this path preferring to stay for years with the same firm, in some cases since graduating. Sadly most end up being competent but lacking in that crucial passion that makes for a really great designer. The work tends to be unexceptional, verging on the bland. But I guess if you don’t have the drive or desire to battle in the creative jungle well, why not just sit back and let others do it. 

 
The main thing in life is to be happy.