There are still single-minded independent publishers dotted around Britain, quietly doing great things with the minimum of staff or the specialist departments of the London-based conglomerates. One of these is Persephone Books until two years ago was tucked away in Bloomsbury, just a short walk from Mecklenburgh Square, home to Leonard and Virginia Woolf’s Hogarth Press back in 1917. I met with Persephone’s founder, Nicola Beauman a little while back, to talk about how it all started. There is a scene in the classic British movie Brief Encounter (below) where Cecilia Johnson (as Laura) is collecting a book she had ordered from the Boots Library – yes, Boots had its own libraries in the 1940s/’50s.
“Miss Lewis had, at last, managed to get the new Kate O’Brien for me. I believe she’d kept it hidden under the counter for two days.” LAURA, 'BRIEF ENCOUNTER' (1945)
Nicola Beauman kept that image in her head when she was formulating her idea for Persephone. What books would Laura have read and loved? Now in its 25th year, Persephone has gone from a few hundred enthusiastic readers back in 1998 to over 30,000 today. And what occurred to me while talking to Nicola is the fact that she has created the true meaning of a ‘brand’. It is a complete reflection of what she believes her publishing house should be, down to the last detail. No committees, just her. It is such a delight to know that this kind of independence still exists in this crazy age. Ironically, the Woolfs’ Hogarth Press is now part of the conglomerate Random House.
“...whether they are on an office desk, by the Aga, or hanging in a bag over the handles of a pram, it is important to take pleasure from how they look and feel.”
NICOLA BEAUMAN ON PERSEPHONE BOOKS
Persephone hunts down neglected fiction and non-fiction by mid-20th-century women writers and now has 150 books in print. It is located in a little shop on Lamb’s Conduit Street, Bloomsbury. Here, everyone, including Nicola Beauman, often glimpsed behind a vase of freshly cut flowers, sits working away in the space. The lighting is warm and at a low level. On the walls are an eclectic mix of posters from the 1920s to ’50s, juxtaposed with a classic Massimo Vignelli wall calendar, along with aprons and mugs for sale.
The original Bloomsbury shop interior.
Below that are shelves filled with Persephone books, sporting their distinctive grey covers. “I don’t like book covers,” Nicola told me over a croissant and coffee in a nearby cafe, but what is very clear is that she does care. There is an intuitive sense of style ticking away in her heart. She takes great care of her books’ production. Printed in Germany, the process uses what is known as ‘dispersion binding’ – this allows the book to open and lay flat, with none of that irritating springing shut. The endpapers are carefully selected textile designs sourced from the period of the novel’s publication. The distinctive grey covers (below) were inspired by the New York coffee shop Dean & DeLuca’s cardboard cups.
The original Bloomsbury-based Persephone shop was instantly loveable, with all of Persephone’s staff making it their place to keep in touch with their customers on social media and running afternoon events throughout the year where authors and books are discussed. Persephone is one woman’s vision realised.
Here is their new Bath-based shop, looking every bit as charming as the old Bloomsbury one.
Persephone Books are at 8 Edgar Buildings, Bath BA1 2EE
This week’s episode is with Mike Dempsey - he’s been a practising graphic designer since 1964. From the late sixties, he worked as an Art Director for two leading British publishing houses. In 1979, he founded the design consultancy Carroll & Dempsey, which later became CDT Design Ltd. His work has earned him many awards, and in 2012, he was presented with a unique Black Pencil for the most-awarded designer in D&AD’s 50-year history. To listen, click HERE
The polymath Jonathan Miller also turned his hand to book cover design. Tom Wolff's novel, "The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, from 1966, perfectly captures the undulating psychedelic world of the period with its flowing, organic-looking lettering, almost identical to that created to decorate The Korova Milkbar featured in Stanly Kubrick's 'A Clock Work Orange' five years later.
The touching and strange story of the eminent English poet Edmund Blunden and his love affair in Japan with teacher Aki Hayashi in the 1930s is as much about the fusion of English and Japanese culture as their passion for each other. I have a soft spot for this cover I designed 35 years ago for this tender little story. It was published in 1988 by Macmillan Press.
This striking 55-year-old cover for Len Deighton's 'Only When I Larf' (The East London, pronunciation of Laugh) is about a trio of con artists on an adventure of highly profitable dirty tricks, successfully seeing them laugh all the way to the bank. It was designed by Raymond Hawkey, a Royal College of Art student in the 1950s, along with the book's author, Len Deighton. Published by Michael Joseph in 1968. For more about Raymond Hawkey, click the link HERE:
Starting today, I will be posting a book cover each day. All will centre on ideas rather than the current deluge of decorative fodder that overwhelms the books shops.
Cover designed by Michael Morris 1969.
Here is part three of six stages of Alan's creative life in words only. A link will always be at a foot of this series to visit Alan's wonderful archive.
1962-65 Fletcher/Forbes/Gill
Alan introduced Bob Gill to Colin Forbes. They all seemed to get along swimmingly, admiring one another’s work. Discussions of getting together formally became a regular talking point, which, as Alan recalled, was endless. It was only after some clairvoyant advice given to Gill in a caravan that they finally agreed to join forces.
Work was divided up and they found a nice little space thanks to Gill, who persuaded an ad agency he’d been involved with to bankroll the purchase of a small house in a mews just off Baker Street. A year passed while the property was being renovated and on April Fools’ Day 1962, the Fletcher/Forbes/Gill doors were opened on what was to become a devastating force in British graphics.
At first, it was just the three of them, all very hands-on, plus a receptionist and her dog. With not enough work to occupy all of them, they would often spend time in nearby cafés bitching about London and philosophising about design while puffing away on Gauloises and downing copious amounts of coffee.
What little work they had came from Time and Life, Pirelli and Penguin Books. With the latter client, they’d argue over which of them was to design a cover, for the handsome fee of £30 (around £450 in today’s money).
One day Alan recalled coming back from a lunch to discover their receptionist painting her fingernails. Perturbed by this lack of conscientiousness, there were huddled discussions and talks of firing, but Alan had a better idea. He told her that they were going to promote her and that she was now going to be the receptionist and bookkeeper. It worked. The nail varnish never reappeared.
The idea of passing on their wisdom in book form was established with A Sign Systems Manual, Identity Kits and Graphic Design: Visual Comparisons and were the beginning of many to follow. And up popped a new partner in the shape of Theo Crosby.
To visit the Alan Fletcher archive click HERE
Here is part two of six stages of Alan's creative life in words only. A link will always be at a foot of this series to visit Alan's wonderful archive.
2. Then there were two / 1959 - 1962
Alan’s journey back home from New York actually went via Venezuela (an ill-judged fantasy, but that’s another story) and then on to Italy with Paola. While there he spent time in Milan working for Pirelli.
When he did finally arrive back in London he still held the memory of his exhilarating time in the States, but that image was abruptly brought down to earth. London was even more depressing than when he’d left three years earlier. Teenagers looked like their parents, apart from the odd Teddy Boy. There was little design work to be had. The industry was still termed ‘commercial art’ and what good stuff there was, went to the established guard of the day: Milner Grey, Henrion, Misha Black, Abram Games et al. Alan longed to be back in the noise and neon of New York, where everything was big and blowsy, and work was plentiful and well-paid.
Thanks to the connections he had made in New York he’d secured a three-day-a-week consultancy for Time and Life in London, along with work from Pirelli and a one-day-a-week teaching post at Central School thanks to Colin Forbes, who was head of graphics. Alan rented space in Colin’s flat as a studio. With the security of some income from his two clients, he began to work.
During the tail end of Alan’s time in New York, he’d made a point of contacting the city’s creative set. He’d been keen to seek out Bob Gill, a young ‘hot’ designer at the time. But it never happened. Back in London, he settled into a daily routine in his basement studio at Forbes’s flat. One evening his phone rang: “Hello Alan, it’s Bob Gill. I’m in London. Can we meet?” The die was being cast for the beginning of something very special.
For Alan's archive click HERE
In 2013 Alan Fletcher's daughter Raffaella asked me to write the creative stepping-stones to Alan's remarkable path, for the website/archive she was planning as the permanent go-to place for all things, Alan Fletcher. It has been running now for almost a decade and is a treasure trove for any graphic student or fan of Alan's work. With evermore being unearthed regularly and made available. And I would urge you to visit the site. A link will always be at a foot of this series of six stages of Alan's creative life. So here, in words only, is part one.
1. Beginnings / 1952 - 1959
For many of us, Alan Fletcher was always part of the graphic landscape, fully formed and brilliant. So it’s hard to imagine him as a twenty-something trying to find a creative identity in the ravages of post-war London: a grim, rationed, fog-laden, gloomy place.
In 1950 he wove his way through a series of art schools, culminating in the prestigious Central School of Arts and Crafts. Here he found like-minded students: Derek Birdsall, Terence Conran, Colin Forbes and Theo Crosby. This little gang had a plethora of inspirational tutors at their disposal in the shape of Paul Hogarth to Victor Pasmore and Richard Hamilton to Eduardo Paolozzi and many more. The place was bubbling with experimentation, a sense of optimism and a vision for a future Britain.
That ethos continued later when Alan was awarded a place at The Royal College of Art, another hothouse of surfacing talent, including Len Deighton, Dennis Bailey, David Gentleman, Joe Tilson and Peter Blake. While there he managed to get himself an exchange scholarship to Yale School of Art and Design in the States.
In 1956, sporting a full head of hair and with his young wife, Paola, on his arm, Alan set sail to the land of plenty, bustling with vibrant colour and full of unapologetic energy. It was a revelation and something he embraced with open arms. At Yale, he was again blessed with tutors of exceptional talent, among them Paul Rand, Bradbury Thompson and Josef Albers.
While in the States Alan kept in touch with Colin Forbes and was sad to discover that he was having a depressing time in London. “Come over, you’ll love it”, suggested Alan. Forbes did just that and was picked up from the airport by Alan and Paola in a classic open-top roadster. They spent the entire evening driving around the dramatic skyscraper canyons of Manhattan. Forbes camped out in Fletcher’s apartment and the stay did the trick: when Forbes departed back to London there was a definite spring in his step and a seed had been planted in his mind that would blossom two decades later.
Before leaving America, Alan made a point of zooming around New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, making many lifelong friends along the way while freelancing for some of the most creative art directors of the time, including Saul Bass and Leo Lionni.
The experience of his time in America gave him not only a professional edge but also the confidence to head back to London with the intention of making some waves.
For the Alan Fletcher archive click HERE
Keith Cunningham in the late 1960s, courtesy Bobby Hillson
Back in 2001, I interviewed the graphic designer Keith Cunningham as part of a series I was working on for Design Week magazine. During the time I spent with Cunningham, I discovered that he had a closely guarded secret. Tucked away in a warehouse not far from his flat in Battersea was a locked room filled with over one hundred carefully covered canvases. These were paintings that Cunningham had created during his time at the Royal College of Art from 1954 to 1960.
Cunningham working on the painting shown (below) at his studio the early 1960s, courtesy Bobby Hillson
At the time, he exhibited at the Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition, the Beaux-Arts Gallery and, for two consecutive years, the prestigious London Group show; this culminated in Cunningham being asked to submit work for full membership to the group – he declined. He then made the extraordinary decision to withdraw completely from any further public exhibition of his paintings. Instead, he worked in the solitary atmosphere of his studio in Battersea, where he would travel each day to work on his canvases.
As a result, all of the work created in that studio didn’t see the light of day for over four decades. Cunningham supported himself by teaching graphics at the London College of Printing, and many of his students would become significant figures in the design and advertising world. The discovery of the paintings formed part of the Design Week feature, and it was picked up by a little magazine called VERY. They asked if I could write a piece about Cunningham’s paintings.
Keith Cunningham died in 2014. Out of the blue, I had a call from a man who said he had all of Cunningham’s work stored in the basement of another warehouse. That warehouse turned out to be at the end of my street in Clerkenwell. The man who had the paintings was Stephen Rothholz, an accessories designer whose father, Hans Arnold Rothholz, was a well-known graphic designer in the early 1950s. Stephen was trying to help Cunningham’s widow Bobby Hillson to organise an exhibition of his paintings. Bobby was a fashion illustrator, former designer of children's clothing, and founder of the Saint Martin's School of Art MA Fashion and was the person responsible for discovering designer Alexander McQueen. She wanted to try and do something that had never happened in Keith’s lifetime: stage a solo exhibition of his work.
Stephen asked if I could help, so we put our heads together, determined to make it happen somehow. Through Facebook, I started to make contact with as many alumni of the London College of Printing from the 1960s to 1980s as possible, where Keith had taught graphics. Via Facebook, I reached out to anyone whom Keith might have taught and asked if they would help fund the show. Slowly but surely, money started to come in, along with affectionate memories of Keith as a tutor. A disused and slightly crumbling post office was found as a venue for the show. Stephen busied himself getting all the canvases cleaned, photographed and framed. Meanwhile, I designed and wrote the catalogue introduction. We then looked at what could be done to cheer up the empty post office space. With little money and the help of two of my daughters and several friends, it came together.
Two of my daughters who helped at the Hoxton Gallery. Fleur on the left and Jemima on the right, with my granddaughter, Yoko centre, during the run of the 2016 show of Cunningham's work.
In August 2016, the show happened. It was covered by the press and well attended, including by Frank Auerbach, who had attended the Royal College of Art and been good friends with Keith. Eighteen paintings were beautifully framed, hung and lit. It looked wonderful and half of the paintings sold; those that didn’t went back to the warehouse, to be stacked with the others that were not shown. Happily, we were able to fulfil Bobby’s wish, and she was thrilled to have Keith’s work finally shown.
So, that was it, I thought – job done. But a few months later, Stephen phoned to say that there was a sudden interest in the remaining paintings, and it looked highly likely that an art institution would acquire the whole lot. At the time, I was not allowed to reveal the institution. But now I can because over 70 of Keith Cunningham’s paintings will be on display in a solo show: Keith Cunningham: The Cloud of Witness at Damien Hirst’s Newport Street Gallery , Newport Street, London SE11 6AJ from 16 February to 21 August. All are welcome to come to the press opening tomorrow 15th February between 6pm to 8pm. No RSVP required.
Thus ends a story that started 21 years ago with an interview and my probing and curiosity in discovering what Cunningham had done beyond his graphic work. But it would not have happened without the designers and supporters (you know who you are) who gave me money to help stage that little show in a semi-derelict Hoxton post office in 2016. Look at what your help has contributed to. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
To read the original 2001 Design Week interview with Keith Cunningham click HERE.
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