Nowadays political correctness forbids certain useful formulations that go straight to the point. It’s a good job we’re still allowed to quote. I will borrow the words of Martin Luther, A sad arse will never produce a happy fart, to make it clear that work output is directly influenced by feelings. In the case of idleness – officially classed as one of the seven deadly sins – this is pretty obvious. Passion is its exact opposite, and by rights ought to be regarded as a virtue. However, its uncontrollable effects are too risky for any catechism. 

I’ve appointed many hundreds of people since I’ve been commercially active as a designer. I cannot remember anyone’s school reports or diploma topics, in fact I very rarely dealt with them at all. What I do recall are the ones who were really eager to work with us. They wanted to do their work well, convince unenthusiastic clients, perhaps even change the world a tiny bit. I have always chosen people for their attitude, not for their papers. Needless to say a design office also needs Bézier curve benders and Photoshop twiddlers, but even that sort of unglamorous technical work can be exciting when done passionately.

I’ve driven the same car for the last 35 years. Every two years I take it to the same mechanic who loves nothing better than making sure classic cars are kept on the road. Bicycles can be equally passion-inspiring, to see the world from a bike saddle. And my friends and colleagues know just how hard it is to get me to shut up when it comes to talking about type. They also know that my love of such a dry subject means I always want to be kept informed about what’s new, and never get bored of answering the same banal questions. All this is an expression of a passion for something which may produce some peculiar symptoms but is not directly infectious and definitely not dangerous. 

People one level up from being passionately interested in a subject would be called geeks – those with intensified one-track interest. The word originally applied to computer programmers and other technical experts. Although geeks may be extremely focussed on their subject, they haven’t yet lost all of their social skills. A geek may even be capable of real passion.

Further along the line we have nerds. Nerds are interested in one thing only, and know all there is to know about it. However, their lives consist of little else and they can only talk to other nerds about their shared obsession. Emotions such as passion are alien to them and are treated with suspicion. At least this inability to be thrilled prevents them from doing any damage. When passion gets out of hand it turns into its evil cousin: Fanaticism. Hate is only a step away, when enthusiasm for one thing becomes a tool to use against other people. Fanaticism is passion without tolerance. ★

Leidenschaft

Politische Korrektheit verbietet heutzutage manche Formulierung, die etwas knapp auf den Punkt bringen könnte. Gut, dass man immer noch zitieren darf. Ich nehme mal das Wort von Martin Luther: Aus einem traurigen Arsch kann kein fröhlicher Furz kommen um deutlich zu machen, dass menschliche Gefühle unmittelbare Auswirkungen auf das Arbeitsergebnis haben.

Seit ich Gestaltung als kommerzielle Tätigkeit betreibe, habe ich viele hundert Leute eingestellt. An Zeugnisnoten oder Diplomthemen kann ich mich bei niemandem erinnern – in den seltensten Fällen habe ich mich überhaupt damit beschäftigt. Wohl im Gedächtnis geblieben sind mir die Leute, die darauf brannten, bei uns zu arbeiten. Sie wollten gute Arbeit machen, auch unmotivierte Auftraggeber überzeugen, vielleicht sogar ein wenig die Welt verändern. Ich habe immer nach Haltung eingestellt, nie nach Papieren. Natürlich braucht ein Designbüro auch Bézierkurvenbieger und Photoshopfummler, aber selbst solche handwerklichen Arbeiten können aufregend sein, wenn sie mit Leidenschaft betrieben werden. 

Seit 35 Jahren fahre ich das gleiche Auto und bringe es alle zwei Jahre zum gleichen Schrauber, der nichts lieber macht, als dafür zu sorgen, dass klassische Autos auf der Straße bleiben. Von solchen Leuten sagt man, sie hätten ​„Benzin im Blut“. Genauso leidenschaftlich kann man sich für Fahrräder interessieren und die Welt nur von einem Sattel aus sehen. Wenn man mit einem Fahrradfreak zu tun hat, bei dem jedes Gespräch auf die technischen Eigenheiten der Achtgangnabe hinausläuft, kann ein solcher Tunnelblick mitunter albern wirken. Aber wenn ich etwas wissen will über Fahrräder, rufe ich diesen Freak an. 

Wie schwer es ist, mich zum Schweigen zu bringen, wenn das Thema Schrift zur Rede steht, wissen meine Kollegen und Freunde. Aber sie wissen auch, dass die Begeisterung für eine so trockene Angelegenheit dafür sorgt, dass ich immer auf der Höhe bleibe, ständig wissen will, was sich tut und nie müde werde, auch die banalsten Anfragen zu beantworten.

Weil der Gegenstand meiner Leidenschaft ein Thema ist, dass die meisten Mitmenschen überhaupt nicht verstehen könne, werde ich mitunter als ​„Nerd“ eingestuft. Dieses recht neue Wort beschreibt jemanden, der sich für eine Sache interessiert, davon viel versteht, aber am normalen Leben eher weniger teil hat. Nerds können über ihr Ding reden, aber das nur mit anderen Nerds. Gefühlsregungen wie Leidenschaft sind einem Nerd allerdings fremd, sogar verdächtig. Damit wäre der Nerdverdacht von mir gewendet.

Menschen, die fähig sind, leidenschaftlich für eine Sache einzutreten, egal wofür, haben ein Gespür dafür, dass es auch Anderen so geht. Ohne diese Erkenntnis ist es nicht weit von der Leidenschaft zu ihrem bösen Bruder, dem Fanatismus. ★

I keep reading “(…) won the project (…) after a pitch…” Won? A pitch is the presentation of design ideas to a client by competing agencies or studios. The Americans pitch a baseball, while the English noun denotes a black, sticky substance that is difficult to get off your hands. That stuff is called Pech in German, and we use the same word for bad luck. I love etymology! Bad luck indeed for those who don’t win a pitch. Clients invite designers to a pitch when they think they need help with a communication problem, and the fee usually doesn’t even cover the cost of the colour prints. That would be like visiting several restaurants in a row and trying the food in each one, then refusing to pay the bill because none of the dishes were really to your liking.

Taking part in a pitch where concepts are sold for a fraction of what they are worth – in other words: given away – makes you a loser three times over. First you lose any respect for our business, because if it can be given away, it can’t be worth much. Then you lose money by not being paid for your most valuable asset: ideas and their visualization. And finally, you lose any chance to show the client that it takes a dialogue to solve design problems. A pitch is like a blind date with many partners at the same time. A client who invites designers to a pitch without first talking to them properly, at length and in depth, might as well draw lots among the members of a professional association. And if a client does engage a few designers in a dialogue about the issue, he won’t need a pitch any more. He’ll know whom to trust.

Why then do more and more clients think that pitching is the way to go, and why do so many designers take part? It seems that Stupidity, Laziness, Vanity and Cowardice – the Four Riders of the Design Apocalypse – drove Reason – one of the patron saints of design – to a blackout; a pitch black one, so to speak.

Pech gehabt

Immer wieder lese ich: „…aus einem Pitch um den Etat für (…) ging (…) siegreich hervor“. Wie gerät das Wort siegreich dort hinein? Ein Pitch ist eine Vorstellung von Entwürfen im Wettbewerb unter mehreren Agenturen und Büros. Das englische Verb bezeichnet das Werfen mit dem Baseball, das englische Substantiv bedeutet schlicht Pech, und zwar in seiner materiellen Form. Gemeint ist das Zeug, das mit Schwefel untrennbar zusammenhält. Pech gehabt haben aber auch die Teilnehmer eines solchen Zufallswurfes, die leer ausgehen. Wer zum Pitch einlädt, bei dem es gewöhnlich ein Anerkennungshonorar gibt, das kaum die Kosten für die Farbdrucke deckt, erhofft sich davon, Entscheidungshilfen für die Lösung einer Kommunikationsaufgabe zu bekommen. In Wirklichkeit ist es aber so, als ginge der Auftraggeber nacheinander in mehrere Restaurants, koste von jedem Tellerchen ein wenig und erklärte anschließend, er habe jetzt keinen Hunger mehr und bezahlte nichts, weil ja kein Gericht vollends seinem Geschmack entsprochen habe.

Wer also an einem Pitch teilnimmt, bei dem Entwürfe zu einem Bruchteil des Wertes verkauft – sprich: verschenkt – werden, den sie eigentlich wert sind, ist ein dreifacher Versager. Er versagt uns erstens die Wertschätzung, die unsere Arbeit verdient, und er versagt zweitens sich ein angemessenes Honorar für das Wertvollste, das wir anzubieten haben: unsere Ideen und deren Visualisierung. Und schließlich versagt er dem Auftraggeber die Erfahrung, dass Gestaltung als Problemlösung nur im Dialog funktioniert. Für einen Pitch zu arbeiten, ist wie sich zu einem Blind Date mit vielen Teilnehmern gleichzeitig zu verabreden. Wer als Auftraggeber einen Pitch veranstaltet, ohne die Eingeladenen gründlich kennengelernt zu haben, könnte genauso gut Lose ziehen lassen unter den Mitgliedern eines Berufsverbandes. Wer sich hingegen mit einigen Designern über die Aufgabe ausführlich unterhält, braucht keinen Pitch mehr. Er weiß dann, wem er vertrauen kann.

Warum meinen aber immer mehr Auftraggeber, sie müssten pitchen lassen und viele Designer, sie müssten teilnehmen? Weil Dummheit, Faulheit, Eitelkeit und Feigheit – die vier apokalyptischen Reiter des Gewerbes –so heftig mit den Hufen trampeln, dass der Vernunft schwarz vor Augen wird, pechschwarz.

The other day when I was trying to convert some images from RGB to CMYK, I inadvertently hit the grayscale button. I had not worked with black-and-white images for a long time, and was all the more amazed when the result of this involuntary action appeared on the screen: what a pleasant change from the colourful hotchpotch on my desk. The Apple computers in their retro 60s-look aluminum grey are bliss enough for tired eyes, but it took this simple image for me to realize how much we miss out on with 16.7 million colours. 

Our eyes handle spatial vision using 120 million rods that respond only to light and dark, in other words are responsible for black and white. By contrast, since the days we roamed the Steppe as upright hunters, 6 million rods have sufficed us for colour information. The spatial quality of an image is defined by its range of contrast. And it was not for nothing that printers once referred to the color black simply as ​“key“. Without black the image would retain its colour but would be lacking in depth, making black the Key colour, i.e. CMYK. Black is a more important factor in perception than colour. Like wandering souls in the fog we are lost without depth. There are predators only capable of distinguishing blue and yellow, while others are almost colour blind, but can still see their prey in the dusk. Even those images with few details and lacking in colour still make sense to us. Technical imagery is objective, devoid of emotions, black-and-white.

But if evolution has decided that attractive colours are not vital to our survival, why do we go to such technical lengths, using four print colours in an attempt to emulate the colourful world? Since time immemorial persons in authority deemed to be neutral have worn black and white: priests, lawyers, referees. Hardly surprising then that nobody trusts their new shrill successors (football referees in pink!) to give an objective judgment, and everyone thinks they can buy off these birds of paradise for just a few tokens. But, obviously, colours are more than information, they appeal to our emotions. I am, however, too lazy to deal with the issue of unpredictable colouring and shall stick to black and white, with the occasional red (preferably day-glo) added.

Black print on white paper was always and still is the most legible, and as of today I shall only be using good old black-and-white film in my (digital) Leica camera. ★

There are more important things than efficiency. Christmas emails may be easier than writing individual messages by hand, but there is still something to be said for old-fashioned pen to paper

Most of us would contend that, intellectually, design is all about the ideas and the new ways of looking at things. The larger a studio becomes, however, the more it feels the need to plan the creative process. They monitor people with time sheets, have lots of planning meetings and give everybody fancy titles to create false hierarchies. When you see what the bigger studios turn out, it is clear that their measure of success is not the quality of the end product, but the smoothness of the production process. Efficiency trumps effect. 

This totally distorts the reality in our profession. Our clients do not judge our work by how it came about, but by how it works for them. Is their brand stronger after the redesign? Does the product sell more? Is it manufactured more cheaply and swiftly? Whether we get there by working day and night or with handmade software, under the influence of substances or by being exposed to loud music, nobody cares, as long as the client is happy. They presumably come to us for the quality of the design, whether we work as offices, firms, ateliers, agencies or studios. 

If efficiency of process becomes the most important goal, the quality of work will eventually be compromised. 

There are, of course, many areas where we need to be, and can be, more efficient. Sending emails instead of hand- or typewritten letters is much more efficient. After a telephone call we often don’t remember half of the things that were said, and we certainly couldn’t prove any of it if we had to. And one can – and should – take a minute before hitting that send button to think again, whereas on the phone we may say things that we regret the minute they’re uttered. 

Inviting more than one person to an event, making an announcement to a group, communicating from one to many: electronic mail is the perfect tool. There are, however, still occasions where we don’t want the recipient to feel that he or she is just one of many, even if the software cleverly inserts their first name above the message. Even spam comes addressed to us personally, so that doesn’t fool anybody anymore. 

Christmas cards may be printed in runs of millions and bought by each of us in large amounts, but we still at least write the address by hand, perhaps a short personal message and then sign it, if only with an illegible scribble that betrays hours of practice. The tradition of writing Christmas cards has turned into an annual avalanche of add-ons: artificial snow in envelopes, ingenious cardboard constructions that take half a working day to unfold (and often even longer to deconstruct), strange interpretations of seasonal trees and untold other combinations of red, gold and green. Yet the actual idea of writing a personal note seems more appropriate than ever. 

Environmental bean counters must have worked out that the exchange of printed and other surface-enhanced artefacts at yuletide cost mankind the equivalent of at least one day‘s automobile traffic across the globe. Admittedly, at times just before the holidays, I do feel like I am under attack by the content of my letterbox, but generally: what is wrong with writing to each other? 

In human terms, Christmas spam is a far worse option. ​‘This year, we are sending you a festive email only, in order to save the rainforest from extinction by Hallmark and its allies.’ What a lame excuse for not wanting to sign a few hundred cards! If we feel that nobody appreciates so much postal attention all at once, why not write simple postcards during the year, even to clients and colleagues? With all our electronic gadgets spitting out more and more instant gibberish, actually sitting down to write a short message by hand, perhaps even with a fountain pen, is not only therapeutic for the writer, but also incredibly effective when it comes to establishing relationships. 

And shouldn’t we strive for relationships, even with our clients? Personal postcards are still a symbol for the fact that somebody thought about us, took the trouble to look up our address and actually spell it out. As long as there is no fountain pen with a copy-and-paste function, this is one-to-one communication.

Christmas emails may be more efficient than writing individual messages by hand, but I bet the postcard is a hundred times more effective.

Architekten, Bildhauer, Maler – wir alle müssen zum Handwerk zurück! Denn es gibt keine ​„Kunst von Beruf“. Es gibt keinen Wesensunterschied zwischen dem Künstler und dem Handwerker. … Die Grundlage des Werkmäßigen ist unerläßlich für jeden Künstler. Dort ist der Urquell des schöpferischen Gestaltens.

Architects, sculptors, painters – we all must return to craftsmanship! For there is no such thing as ​“art by profession.” There is no essential difference between the artist and the artisan. … The foundations of proficiency are indispensable to every artist. This is the original source of creative design.

Walter Gropius, aus dem / from the Bauhaus Manifest 1919

Perhaps noise pollution is a First World problem. While it is certainly not as high on the agenda of environmentalists as other hazards, it should be. I always presumed that architects and interior designers knew how to deal with excessive sound, aka noise. Apparently, however, it is still often equated with liveliness and energy. How often have you sat in a restaurant with tiled floors, metal tables and stone walls? Cool to look at and and appropriate for short order cooking, but impossible to hold a conversation, unless you blare into your cellphone, as tends to be the case, even if there are two people at the same table. I never know whether the designers of these places don’t know that a piece of felt underneath the tables will already break some of the sound waves or whether the restaurant owners want people to leave quickly as soon as they’ve finished eating. 

In the US, certainly in my experience, a quiet restaurant is impossible to find; what a European like me finds to be hectic and noisy is deemed to be lively and happening. Mind you, this is the same place where nobody wants to be found doing only one thing at a time. In order to be seen to be active and with the times, you have to be on the phone with a cup of coffee in your hand while driving or walking. Walkie-talkie coffee-drinking pedestrians are a major hazard already in our cities on both sides of the Atlantic. Can you imagine what that will be like when electric cars will be quietly approaching? As a cyclist, I am already used to having one hand on the brake at all times because one of those smartphone zombies is bound to walk in front of me at any moment.

The ubiquitous headphones and earplugs are not only signs of a multi-tasking populace, but also a tacit (sic) reaction to the very cacophony all these one-sided conversations cause. A pictogramme depicting a crossed-out mobile phone has been around for a few years and serves as a reminder in railway cars and waiting rooms that noise can be just as unwanted as second-hand smoke. 

I witnessed a posse of enraged passengers on a train recently, protesting the clacking of someone’s fingers on a keyboard. The conversation (which certainly broke the silence in that compartment) revolved around the question of how quiet ​“quiet” meant. There wasn’t a no-mobile-phones-here pictogramme on the walls, but simply a notice ​“Quiet Car”. Did that mean the absence of any sound beyond normal signs of life, like breathing? Or did it mean to disallow sounds emitted by manmade objects only? Would you have to move to the corridor to cough or sneeze? What if you rustled a paper bag? It turned out that all the passengers frequenting that car went there to avoid noise, and after the (well-mannered) discussion we all agreed that one man’s keystrokes could be another man’s steamhammer. While typing on a touchscreen may not be as convenient as doing so on a proper keyboard, it may be quiet enough to satisfy this ever-growing demand for a quiet space, one where you can hear yourself think.

Don’t get me started on modern inventions like the bleeps made by reversing trucks and vans these days! Why do they always have to announce their change of direction at 6 in the morning? Mind you, with electric cars not having exhausts to inform the world around them of their amazing amount of horse-powers, we may be in for bleeps and other signals from cars simply moving forward. Whole neighbourhoods will have to erect ​“Quiet” signs and noise-makers will get their designated spaces, having to huddle underneath glass shelters like smokers do already.

(Icon from the Isotype collection)