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I Proclaim You Cultish

eye 72

For Eye magazine’s summer 2009 “Agenda” section, Steven Heller produced another cult alert. By titling the piece “Cult of the Squiggly,” he obviously meant to invoke his earlier, infamous “Cult of the Ugly” essay. It’s a fair reference: both articles decry and advocate suppression of anti-Modern graphic design phenomena Heller deems disadvantageous to the field. However, the two articles raise more questions about the state of graphic design criticism within the field than it does of current practice. The main query continues to be: is there a criticism at all?

“Squiggly” details a new threat to emerge—or, more accurately, an old threat to reemerge—in the decade plus since “Ugly”: ornamentation. According to Heller, it’s “multiplying and spreading in nonsensical uses to a terrifying degree.” Weedy graphics are proliferating everywhere. The situation is expressed as dire. (Since reading the article, I’ve been keeping close watch on the STOP sign on my street corner…just hoping.)

The solution is to “prune” the “invasive squigglies,” says Heller, “…when ornament is profligate, design is made trivial.” The exact mechanism through which graphic design will be trivialized—like how gay marriage will corrupt the straight—is never detailed. Nor is the nature of the “pruning” that needs to occur. Fines? Guerilla incursions at printers? Crashing the servers of clip art sites?

As criticism, Heller’s directive is anodyne and undeserving of special notice. Surely, any graphic element used indiscriminately is contraindicated. There must be more to it than that, right?

Actually, no. Why the Cult of the Squigglies is more pernicious than, say, the Cult of Hallowed Helvetica—to choose just one other contemporary graphic overindulgence—goes unexplained. In fact, Heller’s text could be used to make a case for the Squigglies restoring some needed balance to design. Ornamentation “…likely…is a reaction to the perpetual dominance of sterile Modernism.” Isn’t that reaction a good thing?

Not unless the article is meant as yet another call to arms for Modernists to reassert their primacy. Though the modifier “sterile” is used, we’ve yet to see a “Cult of the Moderns” from Heller, so we can assume it’s the preferred default state of design.

Certainly designers are being called to action (or inaction, by cutting out the vines and twigs) but with no clear directives on how and when to act. Beyond, of course, stop it. If we accept Heller’s premise, how are we to know the point at which ornament becomes abuse? Obviously, many art directors and designers don’t (what went wrong?) but are given no explicit guide on where the dividing twine is.

Evidently, we’re to extrapolate from example. The article offers three (3) positive examples of ornamentation and two (2) negative. From the affirmatives, we can only be certain we’re safe if we hire the exemplars. This is good news for Marian Bantjes, whose ability Heller describes as “unworldly.” But is Heller certifying that all of Bantjes’ work is appropriately ornamental and extraterrestrial? (Much as I admire her work, I wouldn’t.) Is the problem too much ornamentation or not enough of sufficient quality?

The article hops around on this point and its definition of ornamentation. One of the cited bad apples—the book cover of Alex Ross’ The Rest Is Noise—barely shows some curl. Its few stray wavy bits (ampersands on a bender) lead to a definition of ornamentation as “any curvilinear embellishment.” No wonder Heller feels choked. But the example only adds to the confusion the article engenders with every statement.

Maybe the vagueness overall is deliberate—the article may actually be a(nother) promotion for Heller’s ubiquitous commentary. He knows what he means, even if we don’t. There’s nothing wrong with designers promoting themselves and their causes but if there’s a gnarly entanglement in the field it’s how self-aggrandizement wraps around and through most commentary by renowned practitioners.

“Squigglies” displays an ongoing aspect of Heller’s articles: the gratuitous mention of the school at which he works—the School of Visual Arts. Here, Heller stretches one of the definitions of ornamentation (“lettering made of branches and bark”) to shoehorn in a shout-out for a Stefan Sagmeister SVA promotional poster. Pronounced as “profound,” the poster in question is better described as a charming Photoshop exercise whose imagery distracts attention from the text’s awkwardly phrased banality.

What is of more concern with Heller’s SVA association is with its graduate program in design criticism. Is this article an example of the rigor he brings to the program? If so, the output can be counted on to be more celebratory than investigative of design activity. If a student were to submit “Squiggly” to me as a paper, I’d return it with a demand for answers to some of the questions above. If the writer were unable or unwilling to provide those clarifications, the paper shouldn’t exist.

I’d also hope that a magazine editor would demand the same answers before publication. However, such exactitude is probably considered the realm of scholarship, not graphic design punditry. Most design writers and practitioners have little patience for the detail scholarship demands. Popularizations are preferred. Proclamation based upon reputation trumps criticism based on explication every time. Expressed here is graphic design’s most perilous, perpetual Cult: personality (“The Daily Heller”).

When it comes to the Squigglies, they can fend for themselves. Even were I to consider them a special menace, Heller’s own article recommends (unintentionally) that we can just wait them out. As ornamentation is a response to austerity, so the wheel will turn again. We can hope that graphic design practice rises above such predictable, empty reactivity. We should also ask the same of its literature.

Note: this was originally written to be a response to an anticipated (but not realized) posting of the Heller essay at the Eye blog. Apologies and shout-out to Denise Gonzales Crisp for the title of this post.

A Valentine from Marian

This year’s Valentine card from Marian Bantjes was a design laser-cut from a repurposed Christmas card. (Weeks in advance of the day, she was soliciting donations of old cards via Facebook.) Each card is therefor unique, as far as the card design is concerned. An additional delight was the illustration of a Cupid’s arrow-shot Santa on the envelope. Thanks again, Marian!

Authenticity is a Groove

Years ago, I worked at a national historic site on Boston’s Freedom Trail. A frequent question of visitors was “How much of the building is original?” I knew what they meant by the question but sometimes I felt waggish (or was a smarmy asshole, depending upon your point of view) and would answer that it was all original—just not of the same era. As with many historic buildings, it was a patchwork, a collage, having undergone many changes before being “saved.” Then it underwent more adaptations, with well-meaning but naive or poorly-researched alterations over time in attempts to return it to its “original” state. At some point, they called it quits and either glossed over or foregrounded the hodgepodge state.

Questions of “originality” are close to but not quite the same as “authenticity,” though they sometimes are used interchangeably. They at least go hand-in-hand: the former denoting the latter. Why I relate the example of the historic site is for this connection but also because I see the notion of authenticity to be like the building. The concept of authenticity is a patchwork that is—and is about being—simultaneously consistent and an artifice.

Put into a graphic design context, authenticity is also a lot like notions of “neutrality.” Robin Kinross gave that concept a thorough and deserved thrashing almost 30 years ago in “The Rhetoric of Neutrality.” Authenticity isn’t as prevalent and active a design concept as neutrality was—and continues to be—but it shares aspects. The primary one is that both concepts have been imported from another realm. Metaphorically, the adaptation is intriguing. Functionally, we have to question the “rightness.”

Kinross outlined how the ideas of communication theory (such as the Shannon-Weaver model), which speculated about the efficient sending of radio signals, were grafted onto design theory. This gave rise to the idea of that the designer should be an objective “transmitter” of “information.” Kinross showed how this transplant was a product of an era with a rising, optimistic belief in technology and science. We know the critiques of the Shannon-Weaver model as applied to design: audiences aren’t homogeneous passive receivers; designers aren’t objective transmitters; and messages are abstract, active, and multiform.

Authenticity similarly was first concerned with another kind of determination—the status of an object: “not false or copied; genuine.” Objects can be put through an evidentiary analysis to establish veracity and value. In a music context, for instance: do I have an original pressing of this LP? Once again, we must make a conceptual leap to apply the authenticity concept not to the physical product per se but to the abstraction of the process that created it. Taken literally, every design or song is authentic on its actual face. But not, possibly, to your process requirements.

Authenticity—as abstract process evaluation—becomes another observer-oriented, relative experience. Like Einstein’s relativity, the authenticity experience runs on separate, internally-consistent, parallel measures. Instead of clocks, you have scales of sorts. Reconciling the separate spheres isn’t possible—there’s no overarching reality but the existence of the artifacts in question. But perceptions of them differ and they’re all true.

We can dip into the discrete authenticities. And it seems possible to cross between them—to become sensitized to another authenticity and embrace it. Exploring the different authenticities is worthy as it will tell us things about the permutations of culture. Crafting a unified field theory, though, is something else.

The popular conception of authenticity is a construct, a role. By necessity it is a well-defined, recognizable one. As in rap-related authenticity, the features are clearly delineated: jail-time for a drug or violence related offense, or an injury due to the discharge of a firearm with you as target must feature in your CV. But it’s an act (though in a bio-pic sense—”based on a true story”) that only gestures toward the real. Authenticity is superimposed, not arisen from the actor/performer’s life. Instead of an absence of artifice, popular authenticity is the ultimate artifice. Popular authenticity then provides an imprimatur to any product of the actor. The actual “music” is irrelevant. Popular authenticity doesn’t free music, it kills it.

This isn’t the only paradoxical inversion of chasing popular authenticity. What do we make of an artifact like 1974’s Having Fun with Elvis on Stage? This LP consists entirely of samples of surreally-edited, between-songs patter by the King. Is it the most authentic Elvis—dispense with the music altogether, it doesn’t matter—or the least as it evidently was a commercial “ploy” by Colonel Tom Parker to evade Presley’s contract with his label, RCA (they eventually released it). Lester Bangs referred to this LP in his famous eulogy “Where Were You When Elvis Died?”, citing it as a solipsistic expression of Elvis’ contempt for his audience.

What has driven authenticity from product to process—and created a popular authenticity? Perhaps it is the result of a technologically enhanced estrangement from the musician. Recording technologies provide greater access to the product but, as popularity increases, less access to the artist. Contact is through the machinations of PR. Image-making, in the sense of a creative persona, is of the most importance. The search for “authenticity” is an attempt to negotiate the Spectacle‘s funhouse hall of mirrors.

Authenticity is popularly regarded as a centerpoint, a statement of tradition and stability. Authenticity can and should be returned to. However, as culture can’t remain static, neither can authenticity. It must always be a state of the new—simultaneously a transformational agent and response. Authenticity is not comforting and secure, it is a challenge and extreme. It shocks the system, reboots it, and runs a fresh program. Authenticity is a breakthrough, an advance beyond the encumbering popular authenticity—the static role—to a reconfiguration.

Authenticity isn’t a point, it is a wave front. A kind of carrier wave, transforming not transmitting the leading edge of meaning. Imagine the grooves of an LP, endlessly propagating, spiraling outward forever.

Authenticity is not the result, it is the cause.

Authenticity changes its nature depending upon the expression—formless in itself; the generator of form. Authenticity isn’t embodied within either the artifact or artist. Authenticity makes them, then moves on.

Repurposes Selections


Thirty-one artists have been selected from nearly (perhaps over) 80 applicants for the Repurposes exhibition to be held at the Ellin and Baron Gordon Galleries at Old Dominion University, March 20–April 18, 2010. The artists come from around the world, with work representing a wide variety of media, including artist books, print, text, design, photography, sculpture, installation, video, and web. (Image: Wesley Stuckey, “Where Did The Forest Go,” No.2 yellow pencils, wooden clothes pins, toothpics, thread, sticks and matches, 72¨ h x 66¨ w.)

Michael Alstad
Kristen Alvanson
Mary Babcock
Andrew Bascle
Robert Billings
Alice Bradshaw
Andrew Breitenberg
Jenna Collins
Caroline Cox
Gale Flax
Scott Groeniger
Hilary Jack
Daniel Jasper
JK Keller
John Kramer
Roselyn Leibowitz
Lemeh42
Ann Liu
Paul Matosic
Chris McCampbell
Steven McCarthy
Rebecca Mushtare
Antonia Perez
Vincent Romaniello
Marie Reig
Marcella Stasa
Wesley Stuckey
Beth Taylor
Bradly Treadaway
Isabel Uria
Supisa Wattanasansanee