Matt van Leeuwen is a graphic designer in New York with a love for typography and a keen eye for color, his work spans a 20-year career of making bold and iconic work in New York and The Netherlands. He and I recently found ourselves in an animated discussion about the color red—its influence, its meaning, its everywhere-ness.

Try naming ten blue or yellow brands off the top of your head. It’s not as easy as it is with red.

Matt van Leeuwen

The color red is ubiquitous in the world of brands. “Consider this: Ferrari and Coca-Cola. Louboutin and McDonald’s. Prada and Heinz. Red moves seamlessly between luxury and accessibility. It’s a color that brands across the spectrum trust to make an impact,” says van Leeuwen. Countless others appear across all industries: Adobe, Netflix, Target, Lego, UniQlo, Marvel, Levi’s, YouTube, Pinterest, and RedNote (a newcomer hoping to welcome people migrating from TikTok). Somewhere between 20% to 30% of Interbrand’s Best Global Brands incorporate red into their identities. “Try naming ten blue or yellow brands off the top of your head,” van Leeuwen continues. “It’s not as easy as it is with red.”

This ubiquity isn’t accidental. Red commands attention like no other color. Thanks to its long wavelength, it’s one of the most visible hues on the spectrum, second only to yellow. So, it makes an obvious choice for brands wanting to cut through the visual noise of our consumerist lives. That visibility is also why stop signs, fire trucks, and sirens are red. It’s a color designed to make you stop, look, and pay attention. This visibility extends beyond physical warnings. In language, red is used to convey caution and danger: being “in the red” signals financial trouble, and a “red flag” warns of impending issues. Red is fire, blood, and in some cases, poison. It taps into primal instincts, evoking both fear and urgency.

Red’s dominance is rooted in both history and human psychology. Anthropologists Russell Hill and Robert Barton’s 2005 research suggests that, across nature, red is tied to aggression, dominance, and heightened testosterone levels. In the animal kingdom, flushed skin and vibrant red displays signal readiness to fight or mate. Applied to humans, wearing red can subconsciously prime individuals to feel more aggressive and dominant, making it a natural choice for sports teams—and political movements. The red MAGA cap wasn’t just a branding choice; it was a psychological trigger. Imagine that cap in blue—it simply wouldn’t have had the same impact.

This cultural duality underscores red’s remarkable versatility as a symbol, capable of embodying both hope and hostility depending on context.

“Historically, red has been the color of revolution. During the French Revolution, red caps and flags symbolized popular revolt. In 1917, the Russian Revolution solidified red as the color of socialism and communism. For Americans during the Cold War, red wasn’t just a color—it was the enemy,” he says, continuing, “The term ‘Red Scare’ captured the nation’s fear of social ideologies. Maps painted the Soviet Union red, embedding the color deeply into the national psyche as a symbol of danger. Yet today, that symbolism has flipped. Red now symbolizes Republican, and Trump has taken it a step further, commandeering the color red to brand his own movement.”

This shift isn’t just political; it’s profoundly visual. In design history, red was beloved by early 20th-century modernists like Kandinsky, Lissitzky, and Malevich for its bold, disruptive energy. Kandinsky even reserved the central square of his three elementary shapes for red, acknowledging its commanding presence. Red has always been the color of change, of defiance. It’s no wonder it has become the face of modern populism.

But it’s important to recognize that red carries a different significance and meaning in other cultures. In Eastern cultures, red is a symbol of luck, joy, and prosperity. It adorns wedding dresses, envelopes gifted during the Lunar New Year, and temple decorations. It represents vitality and celebration—a stark contrast to the West, where red often signals danger, aggression, or defiance. This cultural duality underscores red’s remarkable versatility as a symbol, capable of embodying both hope and hostility depending on context.

“Western association of political red with Republicans is a relatively recent development. It wasn’t always this way,” says van Leeuwen. “In 1976, NBC’s John Chancellor introduced the first color-coded electoral map, lighting up Democratic states in red and Republican ones in blue. It wasn’t until the chaotic 2000 election that networks standardized red for Republicans and blue for Democrats, etching this visual language into the political landscape. Before that, the colors were interchangeable.”

Populist politics demand a populist color, and red delivers.

As we watch this new wave of red rise, we wonder whether we’re witnessing branding at its most elemental. Trump’s campaign, wrapped in red, taps into centuries of symbolism—revolution, power, defiance. Like the biggest global brands, it’s designed to provoke and polarize, to be both loved and hated. Populist politics demand a populist color, and red delivers.

The question now is how we respond. Will brands pivot away from red to avoid unintended associations? Or will they double down, embracing its boldness despite its political baggage? Perhaps, like every revolution, this one will force us to rethink our symbols.

In design, as in politics, every color choice carries weight. But red? Red carries history, emotion, and power. It remains the ultimate provocateur—bold, commanding, and impossible to ignore.

And that’s why red will always matter.

The post Red: The Color of Power, Passion, and Populism appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

To create the slab version, Caneso didn’t just slap serifs onto Hoss Round. While that might have worked in the lighter styles, he says for the heavier styles, “I had to rethink how the mass was distributed.” So, he had to completely redraw every form.

Caneso explained his process for the updates:

Fresh Eyes: “With a few years between this new version and the original, I made some thoughtful modifications with a fresh eyes approach to the character set.”

Visual Requirements: “I added serifs to the mix, which meant rethinking how the mass was distributed, especially in the heaviest weights.” You can see this play out in the vertical strokes of the uppercase Ultra-weight letterforms, the reduction of the crossbars (to accommodate the serifs) in the A and H, and additional fine-tuning of the C, G, and S.

Technical Difficulties: “To make the font work in variable font format many characters needed some production tweaks to make them compatible across the full weight spectrum.”

Unnecessary Alterations: I always give myself the freedom to deviate from my original ideas if an opportunity presents itself.

As for how Caneso sees Hoss Round Slab’s potential uses, he says that the original Hoss Round family has been used in everything from music festival branding to the packaging of ‘adult’ toys.

I try not to get too caught up in how I think a font should be used. The best part of releasing a typeface into the world is not being able to control how others use it.

Mark Caneso

Hoss Round Slab is available in 14 styles (seven weights and italics), with 850 glyphs, supporting more languages than the original family (200+ Latin-based languages, including Vietnamese) and additional numerals sets.

PSTL is the type arm of Caneso’s design practice, pprwrk studio, a hub for original retail fonts and experimenting with letterforms for custom client work. Caneso has graced PRINT’s Type Tuesday column with typefaces such as Decoy (2021), Snug (2023), Panel (2023), and Skew (2024).

The post A Slab Sibling for Hoss Round that Balances the Bulk appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

As a journalist, sometimes your curiosity gets the best of you.

… Which is how I find myself in a chilly remote forest in Finland, on a press trip to see how the company Metsä makes its fresh fiber paper products. Which, in theory, might sound ultimately boring, were it not for what I’d heard about Metsä over the years: that they take sustainable production to innovative and elaborate, if not intense, heights. That they oversee a homegrown regenerative forestry program focused on native trees and biodiversity. That they produce the most coated white kraftliners globally using 90% fossil-free energy—with a goal to achieve zero CO₂ in all their mills by the end of 2030, not unlike their massive future-forward complex in the town of Äänekoski, which produces 2.4 times as much energy as it consumes, and is entirely free of fossil fuels. That this is all being done in the private sector.

Collectively, it’s a remarkable operation on its own. But the real reason I’m here today is because I want to find out why.

Why would a company go to such lengths to make the elemental stuff we use in our daily lives, from cereal boxes to snack packs to all manner of paperboard in between?!

The Forest

It’s starkly quiet, but the forest thrums with life. The air is crisp, earthy; birds migrate overhead; and Metsä Group’s Leading Nature Expert, Timo Lehesvirta, bends down to pick up a Boletus edulis (porcini) mushroom. He notes that it is highly sought after by foragers for various culinary uses, but plops it on a stump; such prized fungi are, after all, a natural byproduct of the company’s approach to the forests it helps manage (more on that in a moment).

Right now we’re in Kirkniemi, Lohja, in Southern Finland—but we might as well be anywhere in the country. “Metsä,” aptly, translates to forest. More than 75% of Finland’s land area is covered by forests, and, according to the government, those forests are predominately owned by private individuals. 

Thus, as Maija Pohjakallio, VP, Climate and Circular Economy for Metsä Group, told us shortly before heading into the woodlands, “What makes us unique is that our parent company is Metsäliitto Cooperative, which is owned by over 90,000 Finnish forest owners. … It’s very common in everybody’s family. Everybody has at least relatives who own forests.”

To underscore a point: Metsä does not own all of these forests. The members and owners of the co-op since its founding in 1947 do, and Metsä works with them. Finland has three major forest industry companies, but Metsä is the only one that operates on a co-op system. Moreover, the $6.28 billion company at large is divided into different units that use the fruits of those forests for a wide swath of applications—Metsä Board handles paperboard; Metsä Forest covers wood supply and forest services; Metsä Wood creates … wood products; Metsä Fibre handles pulp and sawn timber; and Metsä Tissue produces tissue and grease-proof papers.

It all goes back to those stoic birches swaying tentatively before me in the cold—and Metsä’s regenerative strategies, which reps for the company say represent a more holistic view on forestry. Timo Lehesvirta joined Metsä in 2022 in a completely new role for the co-op. A biologist by training, a couple of decades ago he believed his kind would play a key role in sustainability initiatives on business teams—but that never really happened, aside from a few colleagues. 

As he would detail to me later, “I saw an opportunity to influence. Metsä Group is one of the most important forest companies globally, and sustainability has been high on its agenda. I wanted to offer my own input and readiness to make concrete changes.”

Globally, tree plantations account for 45% of planted forests—and around half of them are composed of trees from other parts of the world, leading to the loss of native species and biodiversity. “In … exotic tree species plantations, the starting point is to destroy the original ecosystem,” Lehesvirta says. “You just remove it.”

He adds that the practice is becoming more and more common in Europe, but Metsä was ready to challenge itself beyond existing government legislation and directives. In a follow-up interview, he noted, “There is [the] old joke: What’s the difference between public-sector strategy and private-sector strategy? And the answer is that private sector strategies will be implemented.” Per Lehesvirta, Metsä Group was the first to launch a regenerative forestry initiative, and in doing so the term was used to brand the company’s strategies to halt biodiversity loss. 

So, what, exactly, makes forestry regenerative? A lot: Metsä uses only five native tree species commercially out of Finland’s 30. Every tree felled is replaced by four new ones. The company uses a soil inverting process it developed to foster seedling growth. The stump of a cut tree is left in the forest, where it decays and plays a role in fostering other life—like, say, mushrooms. Decaying and dead trees are retained as habitats. As Lehesvirta detailed to me later, “We want to be in a leadership position in the systemic change to maintain and enhance the biodiversity and ecosystem services such as pollination, water [quality] and carbon sink as well as recreational values.”

Still: Why go to these lengths, when other companies would simply slash the budget by slashing and burning?

He is blunt that this is not a nature conservation program. The goal, ultimately, is to increase the value of owners-members’ forests in the long term, for the good of all. 

“It’s quite pragmatic,” he says. “And then we come to the question, what kind of forests do you transfer to the next generation?”

Pohjakallio, meanwhile, notes that there is a limit to what people can produce without plantations, on their own land. 

“Our strategy is to get more out of less,” she says. “We have to respect the boundaries.”

As an American, in a global world of C-suites and greed politics, it’s a somewhat shocking thing to hear. And it’s as refreshing as it is vexing.

The Mill

About four hours north of that particular forest sits the town of Äänekoski—and Metsä’s Äänekoski bioproduct mill, dubbed “the largest investment in the history of the Finnish forest industry.” It opened in 2017 at a cost of around $1.25 billion. As we snake our way through the industrial site, partially excavated mountains of tan wood chips rise out of the ground in organic contrast to steel and brick.

The mill is an ecosystem of its own, providing a central nexus for any given use of a tree—of which the entire tree is used. And it’s seemingly seamless: Trees arrive via trucks and trains. Logs become sawn timber and plywood; smaller bits of the tree are used to create pulp and bioproducts; the bark, branches, and top, meanwhile, are used for renewable energy. When it comes to creating the company’s signature paperboard, the trees are debarked and chipped, and are then made into pulp fiber by Metsä Fibre—a boon to the on-site Metsä Board, which benefits from a direct, secure, and consistent supply chain.

“We know exactly what kind of pulp we get here, because everything is in our own hands,” Metsä Board Communications Manager Ritva Mönkäre told me later. “I think that’s our advantage.”

Inside the plant, we don Sievi Viper safety shoes, slash-proof gloves, helmets, and other assorted gear, and proceed through a steaming 106.5 decibel labyrinth of pipes and machinery. We emerge at the head of a mammoth machine, a whirring, seemingly endless column that produces paperboard at up to 800 meters per minute. There’s warming, folding, pressing, drying, and beyond—and at the culmination, hulking spools emerge. 

From an industrial standpoint, to see it happening in real-time is always a bit miraculous, no matter how many times you witness the sum of thousands and thousands of parts and millions of engineering decisions operating in symphony to produce one single outcome. But the truly wondrous thing is perhaps the one that is happening all around us in Äänekoski. 

Again: This entire mill site does not use any fossil fuels. Every single bit of energy it needs is created from its operation. 

“That’s circular chemistry,” Maija Pohjakallio said the day before. “Even the emissions can be utilized as raw material.”

For instance, the sulfuric gas that results from the pulping process is captured and utilized to make sulfuric acid, which is used for the mill’s tall oil. (There’s a plant on-site for the sulfuric acid, too—which is the first of its kind, according to Metsä.)

On the whole, as I noted at the outset, the entire operation creates more energy than it needs—2.4 times as much, the excess of which is sold to the national grid. 

Still: Why? Why go to these lengths? Yes, there are governmental body mandates and targets—and reps for Metsä have sent me lists of the company’s adherence to various standards, and their sustainability benchmarks at large. But at the center of such operations is usually a wildly passionate and charged individual with utter conviction for what they’re doing. But here, it’s business as usual. Straightforward. I take Mönkäre aside after we leave the mill and fish for quotes, for clues. 

When it comes to sustainability, “It’s just part of everything that we do,” she says.

The Future

What does any of this have to do with PRINT, print, or design? Well, to steal from Paul Rand, everything. 

“Our paperboards are high quality, but they are found in people’s everyday lives—not only in luxurious end uses but, for example, in cereals, pasta, biscuits, tea as well as pharmaceutical packaging end uses,” Ritva Mönkäre detailed to me later.

At Metsä’s Excellence Center on-site in Äänekoski—decked out in clean Nordic design, and featuring perhaps the most beautiful coat hangers I’ve ever seen—you can get hands-on with mockups of some of those end uses … but not the real ones. Paper buyers tend to be cagey about their clients. But the one thing Metsä can discuss is that Crumbl Cookies boxes are largely on their board. In recent years, Metsä Board’s growth has been fastest in the U.S.—and there’s a good chance that if you haven’t laid hands on one of their products yet, you are very likely to in the near future. 

Ultimately, the boxes on display here aren’t just for show. Clients get a value add in the form of this R&D hub for innovation, experimentation, and packaging solutions—which is totally free of charge to them. There’s a VR grocery store simulator trained on eye movements and consumer behavior. There’s prototyping, material analysis, and computer-aided engineering to optimize designs and help clients achieve a pack’s lightest—and thus more socially responsible—form. 

“Metsä Board has a process that with less amounts of raw materials, you can make paperboard that functions as well, or even better, than a thicker one,” Maija Pohjakallio noted the previous day. “Small lightweighting can make a big, big difference.”

To wit: As she further detailed, Metsä Board’s folding boxboard output is 200 million a day; if the board were 1% lighter, that would increase production by 2 million units without the use of any additional natural resources.

I ponder: If you’re just going by government standards … why even make that calculation?

Why convince people to make the little plastic window on their snacks smaller?

Why even build this building at all?

*

I’m back at home. 

But I still don’t know. I went to Finland, and I never really found out what I was seeking in the first place.

I schedule a Zoom interview with Timo Lehesvirta. It’s odd to see him on screen, divorced from the serene forest where he seemed uniquely at home.

I ask again, in so many words: Why do you and Metsä go to these lengths? 

They want to showcase their methods—and the fact that business is ultimately best when you’re exiting fossil fuels. “We want to proudly demonstrate our solution,” he says.

He’s even-keeled, as he was in Kirkniemi, as many Finns generally are. It could be the language barrier or cultural differences between us, sure. But I like to think this is the reason I’ve been unable to solicit a fiery, zealous quote from anyone: At its most elemental, this is fairly straightforward stuff. It’s logical. It’s obvious. Who would not want to live in this world?

It’s all wildly over the top. But it’s also the future. Or at least it should be.

The post Finding the Future of Packaging, in Finland appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Benji Wiedemann is the co-founder and executive creative director at Wiedemann Lampe, a London-based brand and business consultancy.

What is the thing you like doing most in the world?

As a ‘creative’ by profession my answer might seem a bit flat, but the thing I like doing most in the world (apart from spending time with my two boys) is creating. Not necessarily designing, but creating: starting with nothing and ending with something. The act of creating is such a positive force and driver for transformation that can be channelled into absolutely anything we do – whether I’m cooking a dish with only the scraps I find in the back of our fridge or finding myself stacking stones on a beach to create a miniature sculpture park. Creating fills me with a sense of purpose in life, but more importantly, it brings me incredible joy.

What is the first memory you have of being creative?

My first memory of being creative is more of being co-creative with my dad. When I was growing up he worked a lot to provide for us. He seemed to work all hours of the day, seven days a week. So we got to spend relatively little time together. But occasionally if he hadn’t left for work yet, we’d sit together at the breakfast table. I’d ask him to draw for me and he would fill my white A4 sheets with anything I’d ask for. From underwater scenes filled with sharks and octopuses (it’s actually not ‘octopi’ as I thought – I had to google that one) to complete safari scenes with lions and elephants. He always included his own made-up creatures too.

I was spellbound by how all these drawings just spilled out of his mind, through his pen, and onto the page. I’d take these papers filled up with black key lines to kindergarten and would spend the day colouring them in.

These moments of shared creativity helped my dad and I to stay close when he wasn’t able to be present. To this day I love that creativity is a force to bring people together, as cliché as I know that sounds. It’s no coincidence that one of my favourite aspects of work is being able to bring all these brilliant creative minds together under one objective and see where the journey takes us.

What is your biggest regret?

They say that the things you regret most in life are the things you don’t do. This idea has always haunted me – so much so that whenever I am uncertain about whether to do something or not, I tend to do it. Whatever the outcome, you learn from the experience – good, bad, or ugly. But saying that, recently I was on a ladder painting my living room ceiling. When I decided to step backwards off the ladder I trod barefooted with full force onto our large, bulbous cactus. This I regretted. Instantly.

How have you gotten over heartbreak?

Easy – I haven’t. But I don’t see that as a bad thing. Experiences like heartbreak shape who you are as a person. For better or for worse, you aren’t the same person again. There’s a real skill in finding positivity and growth in these moments of pain. I’m not sure I have fully succeeded in doing this yet, but I’m getting there…

And then there’s always Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie.

What makes you cry?

This is a tough one – there’s too much to list here. I’m quite an emotionally governed being, so I get affected by the state of the world easily, and often. And since becoming a father this emotional sensitivity appears to have only been heightened.

How long does the pride and joy of accomplishing something last for you?

Increasingly less and less. I’m more interested in the things that I haven’t accomplished yet, rather than dwell on the things that I have.

Do you believe in an afterlife, and if so, what does that look like to you?

I do believe in an afterlife. It looks like this:

Our body gets absorbed into the earth and contributes to the growth of something new.
Our actions, values and beliefs that have guided us throughout life get absorbed into a shared social consciousness.

And that’s about it.

The time that we have on this planet is finite, which makes it so precious. I guess that’s why I have chosen to focus my professional life on culture – to help define the values and knowledge we choose to share with the next generation.

What do you hate most about yourself?

I’ve worked to reframe the vocabulary I use to think and talk about myself, and after about 45 years I can now proudly say that I don’t hate anything about myself. But, since you’ve asked, IF there was one thing that would be up there, it would have to be self-doubt.

What do you love most about yourself?

In line with my previous answer, I’d have to say the thing that I value most about myself is… my self-doubt! Doubt is a powerful tool for questioning and interrogating my thoughts and decisions, ensuring all my actions are done from a place of unity, authenticity, and integrity.

And I like my hands.

What is your absolute favorite meal?

My absolute favorite meal is Laksa (a spicy noodle dish from Malaysia), specifically from Apium Noodle Bar in London. It’s number 29A on their menu, or it was, as – heartbreakingly – the place closed about ten years ago. I loved it so much I started documenting the dish each time I ate it. I have hundreds of photos, so although I can’t sample it again, I can at least still revisit all those precious memories of times we spent together.

The post What Matters to Benji Wiedemann appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Who came up with the concept, and how did this unique exhibition come to be at The Church?
The concept came from Eric Fischl, artist and co-founder of The Church. He was inspired by the film California Typewriter, in which Hanks is featured among a community of typewriter enthusiasts in and around LA, then reached out through a mutual friend to Tom Hanks. We felt it was the perfect next iteration of our annual exhibitions that focus on material culture through the lens of whimsy and innovation. Simon as the designer of the show also came through Eric, as the two do tai chi together in Shelter Island. The companion exhibition, Some Odes: Sam Messer with Paul Auster, Eleanor Gaver, Denis Johnson and Sharon Olds, was organized by me.

Did Hanks and Doonan curate the 35 typewriters together?
Only Tom curated that selection of works on view. We’re not entirely sure how and why he selected these particular objects from his 300+. There is a strong sense of chronology, and as well we shared with him our typical approach to material culture, which is to focus on form, innovation and whimsy (rather than historicity or scholarship, by contrast … though each work in the show was meticulously researched by our team).

Where does Hanks keep his treasures?
They are kept in California. We shipped the 35 of them in custom boxes that were designed by an LA–based typewriter specialist that Tom’s office introduced us to, the Typewriter Connection.

Where are the vintage typewriter posters from?
There are two types of vintage posters shown. First, there are four actual vintage Olivetti posters, dated from 1968 through the early 1990s, that were lent by the great designer Mirko Ilic. As well, there are reproductions at large scale from the history of 20th-century typewriter advertising; these images were selected by Simon and then sourced in-house for reproduction permission and then printed using commercial vinyl printing companies.  

Are there any plans for expanding or doing some more venues after the show ends at The Church?
We hope so! Nothing to announce yet, but we are attempting to get this show out there.

The post The Daily Heller: Who Knew Tom Hanks Rescued Typewriters appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Did you miss our conversation with Jon Key? Register here to watch the recording of this thought-provoking of the PRINT Book Club.

“The [design] canon is exclusionary,” as Jon Key says, so the impetus for his research for Black, Queer, & Untold came from what “echoed from the silence.” Key admits that as a queer, Black designer, the book was born as a selfish project—to see what he could bring up for himself.

I can’t tell you my future, so I’ll tell you my past.

Jon Key

And, oh what treasures he surfaced! Key tells the story through his search for lost, forgotten, and ignored artifacts of Black, queer design history, a process he calls both personal and pedagogical. “This represents me and it’s also something I can learn from.”

Our discussion with Key wound from the depth of his research to a discussion of some of the people and objects he uncovered during the four years of writing and compiling this book. Key talked about his search for the origin of the word “gay,” to the first Black gay design he ever saw. Key also touched on his personal history, as a child in an art-encouraged household (even if it came with a little “glitter trauma”) and his initial want to go to Georgetown to study psychology.

Being a designer is a visual expression of [psychology] in many ways. Working with clients, digging into ‘why.’

Jon Key

And, of course, we also discussed Key’s partner in life and work, Wael Morcos, and the work they do at their award-winning Brooklyn studio, Morcos Key.

Register here to watch the recording and buy your copy of Black, Queer, & Untold: A New Archive of Designers, Artists, and Trailblazers.

Header: screenshot from PRINT Book Club with Jon Key (top left), Steven Heller (top right), and Debbie Millman (bottom).

The post ‘Echoes From the Silence,’ Book Club Recap with Jon Key appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Check out the full series as it unfolds.

Go backstage on the Two Craigs website to see how the pair translate the prompt through photography and illustration.

Fruit

“When we started this project, we both agreed that the format would be a 4×5 proportion. I have spent much of my career shooting with 8×10 and 4×5 view cameras so l thought this word was appropriate to introduce that camera to the party.

My idea was to use the actual 4×5 film’s edge as a creative tool that would contain the lemons. Once the image was shot I sent the film off to The Icon Film Lab to process and create a drum scan.

The film’s edge is just as important if not more than the actual objects in the image.” – Craig Cutler

Follow along with PRINT, at 2craigs.com, or on Instagram.

The post Two Craigs: 33/52 appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Millions of us interact with PepsiCo brands every day, be it an afternoon treat, city billboard, delivery truck, or live event. But less know that there is a diverse, talented design team (the team at PepsiCo likes to call them unicorns) behind the brands, guiding their visual storytelling and creating moments of joy.

Across 18 international cities, PepsiCo’s designers are united by an approach to creating products and experiences that are both empathetic and strategic. The diverse team includes experts in branding, structural packaging, experiences, equipment, digital design, innovation and more—three of whom have joined the PRINT Awards this year as jury members. As one of the first major corporations to unite these design disciplines into a single team, PepsiCo Design + Innovation is founded on creativity and driven by collaboration.

The designers on this vibrant team have the opportunity to shape iconic brands and create new ones all while infusing their diverse perspectives and local cultures into work that reaches millions of people. Collaboration is at the heart of all of their work, whether with teams across Pepsi or with leading figures in fashion, sports, and culture, like Law Roach, Serena Williams, Caitlin Clark, and more.

Left: The team in Shanghai designed a spirited, multi-sensory experience called BBLz. It’s a singular summer immersion featuring an interactive pavilion, vibrant colors, and engaging events. Right: The team in Shanghai designed a spirited, multi-sensory experience called BBLz. It’s a singular summer immersion featuring an interactive pavilion, vibrant colors, and engaging events.

Left: The designers worked with Mz. Icar, an anonymous interdisciplinary arts collective composed primarily of Black women, to create a holographic Doritos bag. Right: The playful new visual identity the team created for Mirinda puts boldness at the forefront to celebrate those who aren’t afraid to stand out. The redesign features flexible, impactful design that honors creativity.

The PRINT Awards is excited to work with the design unicorns at PepsiCo. If you think you could be a unicorn, learn more about PepsiCo Design & Innovation and open roles here.

The post PepsiCo Design + Innovation Calls on Design Unicorns Everywhere appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I am having a very difficult time writing this tribute to my friend and colleague Véronique Vienne, who died of stomach cancer last week at the age of 82. There was only one Véronique and it is utterly impossible for me to unpack and repackage her into a neat obituary. A professional biography does not do her justice. Suffice to say she was an art director, teacher, essayist, biographer and critic—an intensely knowledgeable and thoughtful one, whose intelligence engulfed her like a fine silk cape everywhere she’d go. When she taught in the SVA MFA Design program, she’d bring students into her intellectual universe as if through a hypnotic force. She had Mary Astor beauty, an accent that could melt butter, and wit that cut through any resistance. She spoke assuredly about counter cultures and movements—especially the Situationists, who were among her faves—and their impact on our mainstream, not as pedantic historical chronologies, but in a conversational manner that opened her students to a profound dose of enlightenment.

I cannot recall how or where we met. I just remember asking her to teach after being put into one of those VV trances. It was not an out-of-body experience but more like a wave of fresh wisdom had washed over me as we spoke. She proposed to teach a class of old and new swirling ideas that would result in tangible outcomes. It wasn’t theory, per se, but rather a kind of cultural philosophy and design history that wove strands of social engagement with entrepreneurial activity to bring students up to speed on how their own design acts and objects had consequences that could alter behavior.

I always happily anticipated the night that VV came to teach, and she was always at least 30 minutes early so we could simply talk about different kinds of personal and general things. She was easy to confide in, critical but not judgmental. It was during one of those moments before class that I asked her to collaborate with me on the first book of five that we did together. These were completely joyful experiences. VV brought a weary-of-cliche attitude to everything we did. I’d create an initial concept and outline of what a book like Citizen Designer or 100 Ideas That Changed Graphic Design should contain, and she would choose where her contributions—essays, interviews, assignments—would fit in. They were usually unexpected. She’d go abstract where I’d go formal; she’d go to the edge where I’d slide into the center. Soon I began to think in Vienne-eze, leaning toward directions of design history and practice that I had thought too arcane. She had injected her intellect like grout into the empty spaces of my brain.

VV was always amused by how I recruited collaborators, a process to which she was subjected. She wrote in a profile of me (titled “Steven Heller Needs You” in Graphis 378), “For each title he would propose to a publisher, he had a co-author in mind—a colleague, a former student, a friend in the business, or a designer whose work he particularly admired. He’d call beforehand and pitch his ideas to him or her. At first the person would refuse, but Heller would be insistent.”

I was deeply appreciative and moved that she wrote it, as she had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few years earlier. To recently see that it is the only example of her writing on her own website is an indescribable sensation.

As for Parkinson’s. I was diagnosed with it, too. While we shared many ideas about things that mattered to each of us, now we shared a disease. Prior to her diagnosis, VV and I frequently would interview each other via email, both planned and impromptu, published as intros to our books or speculative for some reason or another. We would throw out questions in a round robin fashion and we gave ourselves a few hours to a day for a reply—and then we’d ask the other a follow-up query. When I learned about her PD, I suggested we do one of these email conversations. She agreed. I started the volley but she led the way. Her depth of self-insight was so much deeper than mine; I felt invigorated just keeping up. After we concluded, I said it was too good not to share with a few confidants, and sent a copy to Tom Bodkin at The New York Times. He said it should be published, and sent it to an editor of the “Well” section. With a few edits, it was printed on the same day I had my regular PD exam at the hospital. I was so proud it worked out, but happier all the more because VV was content with our penultimate collaboration.

A few months later I started a new book with my SVA colleague Molly Heintz, The Education of a Design Writer, which comes out this spring. I hadn’t heard from VV during that time and hoped that nothing was amiss. Eventually, she emailed and we scheduled a Zoom call. She looked great and sounded good, despite complaints of certain Parkinsonian symptoms. I hesitated to ask her my No. 1 question: Would she write something for the new book? I expected the answer would be no. I got neither yes or no, and let it be. Two months later I received a beautifully composed essay titled “Good Design at Its Worst,” a gem—perfect Vienne. Not a single edit was needed. In light of her later illness, it is a treasured gift.

On Nov. 14, I received this email (excerpted):

In the last three months, I have had my share of worries, health wise.

I was exhausted and assaulted with various miseries, thinking that it was due to Parkinson’s (the end of the PD honeymoon as they call it). But it turned out to be peritoneal cancer. … I am starting an aggressive treatment of chemo next week, and hopeful it will stop this particular train wreck on its tracks.

I am supposed to be a fighter, right? That’s what everyone reminds me of. I am cast by my entourage of friends and loved ones as a role model—easier said than done! But I’ll try to oblige.

Nothing would cheer me more than getting news from your side of PD—and your side of the Atlantic. How are you recovering from the shock of the elections? How is your health? Are you writing? Any new exciting projects? Will the book for which I contributed the … piece be published soon? What sort of involvement are you keeping with SVA? Etc, etc.

Give my love to Louise.
Your little French friend,
Véronique

I don’t think she’d mind that I shared some of that email. It shows her resilience and sense of humor in the face of, well, shit!

The mission of her entire class at SVA, put simply, came down to an essential discipline: Literacy. I’m taking the following excerpt out of context, but the meaning is not altered. She wrote in the Graphis article:

“Today, literacy is considered the most reliable indicator of a person’s chances of survival. Over the 12 years of follow-up, readers experience a 20% reduction in risk of mortality compared to non-readers. In other words, today, those who own a library card will live longer than those who don’t. … Your level of literacy is your destiny.”

Given the veracity of that statement, VV should have lived until 100. With all she’s left behind, I have no doubt that she will.

The post The Daily Heller: Véronique Vienne Was One of a Kind appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.

And there’s no question the former Robert Zimmerman of Hibbing, Minnesota did a magnificent job of creating the artist, Bob Dylan.

But there were some pieces to the “Dylan myth” that he found.

He found music on the radio when he was quite young. He discovered the guitar. He unearthed the poets from Rimbaud to Kerouac. He found Woody Guthrie, Suze Rotolo, and Joan Baez.

And all the while he was finding things, he was also creating.

It strikes me that “finding yourself” and “creating yourself” is not binary.

It’s not either/or.

I suggest it’s both. Indeed, I see it as a process.

First, you find some things you are drawn to. Pay attention, now. What do you like? What do you like to do?

You then start to store up these ideas and actions and they become encoded in your brain. And once you have these pieces, you start to put them together in the puzzle that becomes…you.

The process?

From hunting and gathering to making.

From searching to creating.

And from creating to being.

As Dylan sings: “May you build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung.”

Who are you?

It begins with what have you been finding.

Rob Schwartz is the Chair of the TBWA New York Group and an executive coach who channels his creativity, experience and wisdom into helping others get where they want to be. This was originally posted on his Substack, RobSchwartzHelps, where he covers work, life, and creativity.

Header image: Benoît Deschasaux for Unsplash+; photo of album cover courtesy of the author

The post Find Yourself or Create Yourself? appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

What we unleashed was a point of view about the future that took the form of a magazine. The magazine was the vessel, but the magazine wasn’t the point. The message was the point.

In the summer of 1995, host Patrick Mitchell got an offer he couldn’t refuse. It came from this episode’s guests, Alan Webber and Bill Taylor, the founding editors of Fast Company, widely acknowledged as one of the magazine industry’s great success stories.

Their vision for the magazine was an exercise in thinking different. “Nothing we did hewed to the conventional wisdom of magazine-making. Our founders came from politics and activism, born in the ivy halls of Harvard. Our HQ was far from the center of the magazine world, in Boston’s North End—“leave the pages, take the cannolis.” And Fast Company was not a part of the five families of magazine publishing. It wouldn’t have worked if it was.

Mitchell was one of the first people Webber and Taylor hired, and as the magazine’s founding art director, he could tell Fast Company was going to be big. And it was big. Huge, in fact. Shortly after its launch, a typical issue of the magazine routinely topped out at almost 400 pages. They had to get up to speed, and fast.

Its mission was big, too. Webber and Taylor’s plan sounded simple: to offer rules for radicals that would be inspiring and instructive; to encourage their audience to think bigger about what they might achieve for their companies and themselves, and to provide tools to help us all succeed in work … and in life. Their mantra: Work is personal.

The effect, however, was even bigger. The magazine was a blockbuster hit, winning ASME awards for General Excellence and Design. It was Ad Age’s 1995 Launch of the Year. Webber and Taylor were named Adweek’s editors of the year in 1999. It even spawned its own reader-generated social network, the Company of Friends, that counted over 40,000 members worldwide. And it brought together an extraordinary team of creatives who, to this day, carry on the mission in their own way—including the founders.

Nearly thirty years after the launch of the magazine, Alan Webber is currently serving his second term as the mayor of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Bill Taylor is the best-selling author of Mavericks at Work, among other books, and continues to lead the conversation on transforming business.

Mitchell often said that Fast Company was the one that would ruin all future jobs. It was a moment in time that he and his colleagues will treasure forever. He shares that story with us today.

Print Is Dead (Long Live Print!) is a podcast about magazines and the people who made (and make) them. Magazines that combined thought-provoking attitudes and values with a distinctive look and feel, and cast a long and powerful shadow on American culture and public discourse. Hear stories and learn lessons from legendary designers, editors, writers, publishers, photographers, illustrators, photo editors, and more—stories and lessons that capture a magical history of innovation and inspiration, and that point the way forward. We’ll go deep into the lives and careers of this astonishingly talented group of creators, and tease out what these giants—past and present—have to teach the next generation of creators.

If you’re in the magazine business—if you’re in any business focused on content creation—this podcast is for you.

This episode is made possible by PIDLLP sponsors Commercial Type, Mountain Gazette, and Freeport Press.

The team behind Print is Dead (Long Live Print!) also produces The Full Bleed, a podcast about the future of magazines and the magazines of the future. Check out their newest podcast, The Next Page.

The post The Brand Called Us | Alan Webber and Bill Taylor appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The last time I interviewed you and Ivan, I believe, was during your 50th anniversary as a partnership. How does it feel to be working so many decades—now almost seven, if my math serves me well?
It has been 67 years since Robert Brownjohn, Ivan Chermayeff and I first formed our initial “design office.” We purposely wanted our little firm to be seen more as an architect’s “office” than as an individual designer’s “studio.” (This was a time when “graphic design” was a little understood term.)

From the beginning we viewed design as a “problem-solving” endeavor, believing that once we could define “the problem,” we could then employ whatever elements were most appropriate to “solving the problem” in a creative and memorable way.

At 93 you are one of the last great Midcentury Modern American designers. It’s a good time to take stock of what’s happened in design over these years. How do you think shifts in technology have impacted the creative practice?
I know that to most people, it seems crazy to still be “working” at 93. But it does strike me that many of my contemporaries in creative fields, those that have been healthy enough to make it this far, also continue to design, draw, paint or whatever it is that they have been doing for a lifetime.

Being part of a “design office” of 15 people, developing graphic identities for major organizations throughout the world, is of course different from continuing to be creative in your own personal studio. In my case, while I am continually frustrated by some of the digital world, especially Adobe Illustrator, significant shifts in technology have made continuing to work much more doable. We do have a physical office, but since the pandemic it is only occupied two days a week. Otherwise, everyone is working on a shared server, we continually converse and analyze design concepts on Zoom, and I almost always work from my studio at home. We even have some full-time design staff members who live and work (on New York time) as far away as Beijing, and fully participate in all aspects of our design projects. Additionally, new technologies and the internet have made it possible for people anywhere in the world to contact us, and at least 50% of our projects are for clients outside the U.S.

Looking back at your own work, are you pleased?
Certainly today the world and the times have changed, the technology is radically different, the options available to designers have greatly expanded, but I still believe in [our] original concept, though it does seem harder to pull off in these times of visual overload.

When you began, and throughout your career, you’ve done many of the creative and strategic tasks now ascribed to branding. What do you call your practice?
Twenty years ago, recognizing the realities of age (and New York real estate), Ivan and I decided to considerably limit the kinds of projects we wanted to undertake in the future, and consequently greatly reduce the size of our office. A number of our partners and associates then separately formed a new firm to concentrate on exhibition design and architectural graphics. Ivan and I chose to concentrate on developing graphic identities. We rented a small new office and brought with us a young design intern recently graduated from Cooper Union named Sagi Haviv. Over the ensuing years Sagi proved to be an exceptional talent, both as a designer and as a leader. Ten years later we made him an equal partner. Upon Ivan’s death in 2017, Sagi took on an even greater role and today he really leads our entire practice.

You were deeply involved in conceiving the identity for the U.S. Bicentennial. Tell me what you did?
For many years Ivan Chermayeff and I and our team were the designers or co-designers of a number of significant projects to represent the United States. Among these were the official United States pavilions at Expo ’67 in Montreal and Expo ’70 in Osaka, Japan. Other exhibition designs focused on specific historic issues such as the original Kennedy Presidential Library, a new museum on the history of the Statue of Liberty, and all the original exhibits for the new Immigration Museum at Ellis Island.

One such project that was widely seen was the design of the logo for the U.S. Bicentennial in 1976. That mark was used to identify events, celebrations and commemorations throughout the country. It appeared on promotions for local, regional and national projects, and on merchandise and objects ranging from a postage stamp to a large NASA structure on Mars.

What will be designed differently than the 200th?
50 years later, we were asked to design the graphic identity for the United States Semiquincentennial (!), the 250th anniversary celebration of the nation in 2026. Since the actual name is impossible to remember or pronounce, we decided to focus on the number 250, and to do so in a way that conveyed not only the national colors but also a spirit of celebration. The design was inspired by the idea of ribbons, since ribbons are commonly used to signify a wide variety of events, causes and celebrations. This will all become more evident in the next year or so, presuming we still have a recognizable country!

The post The Daily Heller: Tom Geismar on 67 Years and the Number 250 appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“For whatever reason, I can’t explain it, my hands want to make tiny sweaters,” Steiner recently told Darren Scala in an interview on his YouTube channel, D. Thomas Miniatures. “My hands want to make tiny sweaters, that’s all there is to it.”

Instead of denying her passion, Steiner has embraced this urge, using sewing needles and thread to make doll-sized knitted items. The moment I came upon her work, I simply had to learn more about her path to small-scale stitching and her ethos around handcraft and miniatures at large (no pun intended). Her responses to my questions are below, edited lightly for clarity and length.

So, miniature knitting! How did you first get involved in such a niche art form? 

I’ve enjoyed knitting for many years, but it’s only since “shrinking” it that I’ve realized how long I’ve wanted to do it in miniature. A friend reminded me that I made her small sweaters as Christmas ornaments, years ago, and recently I also uncovered some pictures I had saved back in 2007 (and since completely forgotten) of some miniature knitting someone had shared online. So it’s always captivated my attention, but I didn’t get into it seriously until the pandemic when I started building dollhouses and allowed myself to freely experiment with all things miniature.

Was there a certain miniature sweater you knitted that served as a sort of a-ha! moment in terms of your practice? 

My “ah-ha moment” happened with thread rather than a particular sweater design, but yes, the first sweater I made with that thread is the one I treasure as “the moment it all clicked.”  

With this thread, I felt fluent, like I could make anything I wanted.

I was practicing knitting as small as I could, and it was okay, but not great. I was trying out all the threads that are commonly available, which are mostly mercerized, rather slippery commercial threads. But then I found a different thread, a small-batch artisanal hand-dyed cotton indigo thread from Japan, and suddenly in that thread it was like something came together, it felt like all my effort was unlocked. With this thread, I felt fluent, like I could make anything I wanted.

From that point on, I couldn’t stop, each project led directly into the next one—and I also knew better how to look at all threads differently, because once I had experienced that fluency, I knew what to look for in my materials. I still use a lot of different kinds of thread from Japan; Japanese culture has a different approach to textiles and handcrafting, and the materials reflect that.

I have somewhat of a fascination with miniatures myself, and I know I’m far from alone in that. I’ve covered other miniatures artists such as Tatsuya Tanaka, Kieran Wright, Danielle McGurran, and Jane Housham, but miniature knitting is new to me. What is it about the world of miniatures that you think draws people in?

That’s such a great list! I’ll tell you, we’re not alone in this. I recently taught a class on miniatures in art history, and it’s so much fun to see that artists through all periods of history and all around the world, from so many disparate cultures, have had similar practices of taking objects common in their world and shrinking them to small scale. From ancient Egyptian tomb models to tiny early Roman glass vessels, Japanese netsuke carving, or pre-Colombian Mexican miniatures, it seems like a core creative instinct to make things tiny when we can. It really subverts our experience of the world. I think it’s in part because it alters, for a moment, our own experience of our human-sized bodies; a tiny thing makes us feel gargantuan in comparison, just as enormous things (the Grand Canyon, or big experiential artwork we can immerse ourselves in, like Kusama’s Infinity Rooms) make us feel small. Miniatures change our physical experience of ourselves, and that is irresistible.

Miniatures change our physical experience of ourselves, and that is irresistible.

I get such a laugh out of this factor with my sweaters. I like to hand a sweater to people rather than just talk about them because invariably what people want is to put their fingers inside them, like a puppet. People of all ages, from children on up, everyone wants this. They always want to try to “wear” the sweater on the only body part that will fit. Many ask, “May I?” and I always say “yes” because it thrills me how similar we all are, and makes me marvel at how powerful this response is that these little scraps of knitting provoke in people. People are simply compelled.

I watched your interview on D. Thomas MiniVersity, in which you talk broadly about a love of handcraft. Can you elaborate on what it is about handcraft specifically that you love so much?

Handcrafted objects hold human connections. They’re so warm and rich in comparison to manufactured products. They have soul. As an example, I love handmade pottery, and most of my mugs are handmade, many of them by people I know personally. Whenever I drink coffee or tea, I picture those individuals, I name them when choosing the mug from the shelf, and I put my hands directly where their hands were when they formed the piece on the wheel, and it feels so grounding and connective; they made something useful to me, something incorporated into my daily life for years afterward, and it makes my life feel stitched into a larger community, in both literal and figurative ways. 

Creative minds, by definition, are thriving, so living with handmade craft is reveling in the output of other people’s best selves, their strongest, most healthy, flourishing, creative energy.

I love to put on mittens made personally for me, stitch by stitch, or earrings that are one-of-a-kind and there’s some story behind them, or to touch the handmade quilt from someone long gone. Living with handcrafts feels like being surrounded by other people’s care and appreciation. And creativity is healthy! Creative minds, by definition, are thriving, so living with handmade craft is reveling in the output of other people’s best selves, their strongest, most healthy, flourishing, creative energy.

In that same interview, you say, “I’m eager to learn and I’m eager to share it. An artist once told me, ‘Share everything that you know because with more information we all do better and advance things further forward,’ and I really believe in that ethos.” What has the teaching side of miniature knitting brought to you as an artist?

I find teaching incredibly gratifying, for several reasons. One, I get so much enjoyment from knitting, it’s like sharing light, when you see it bring more light and enjoyment to someone else. It also connects me with like-minded people who care about things I care about.

I get so much enjoyment from knitting, it’s like sharing light, when you see it bring more light and enjoyment to someone else.

But also, I admit I often feel creatively “behind,” like I got started too late, or I work too slowly, or my hands can’t possibly keep up with all the ideas in my mind. Hand knitting is a slow process, especially in mini, it doesn’t “scale” and can’t be sped up, every single stitch takes the time that it takes, and my personal creative “to do list” is so long, it can at times feel really overwhelming. That’s my personal artistic anxiety. My worry is that I can’t make things fast enough; I’m never going to achieve all the things I aspire to. But whenever I can teach someone else to knit or crochet, it calms that anxiety, because even though that person is not likely to help me knit my specific ideas or my own personal project list, I find it comforting to know that they’re going to knit something, something wonderful of their own, and even if I can never finish all the projects I want to make, if I convert a few more people to the craft, then illogical as it probably is, I believe we’ll collectively all be able to make “enough,” whatever that means.

Can you share more about your experience as an IGMA artisan? What’s that community like, and how have you been involved?

I have so loved my experience with IGMA. It’s a community of people ultimately brought together by a common love of learning, and I can’t think of a better connection with others than that. 

I got involved initially because, through social media, I saw the projects people were making at Guild School, in Castine, Maine, and I realized I was jealous of them. Jealousy is an ugly emotion and I try to listen to it whenever it raises its head; it’s trying to tell us something, so I admitted to myself that, yes, I wanted what they were having. 

So I invested in that part of myself that was capable of that jealousy, and I went to Guild School. That was in 2023, and it was like knitting with that indigo cotton thread all over again— once I experienced it, it felt intuitively right and I wanted more. I applied for the designation of “Artisan” with the guild that fall (and was accepted). I took my husband with me back to Castine in 2024, and plan on going again this year. Now I’m hopeful I’ll be able to teach in the future, too. 

How do you decide on which existing sweaters you see out in the world that you want to replicate in a miniature version? What makes a sweater compelling to you in that way?

Right now, I’m working on a series, “iconic knits in miniature,” and for that, I’m looking specifically for pieces of knitting that tell broader cultural stories. I’m making miniature patterns of items from pop culture, film, and fashion history—many of them are popularly recognizable like the Princess Diana “Black Sheep Sweater” or the Pendleton sweater that The Dude character wears in the movie The Big Lebowski, or the striped socks the Wicked Witch of the East is wearing when the house falls on her in The Wizard of Oz.

I’m trying to pay homage to the way that a mundane, simple thing like a sweater can contain broader social and cultural meaning.

But I also look for knitting that is historically significant to the history of textile arts, like the tromp l’oeil “Bow Knot Sweater” that Elsa Schiaparelli designed. I’m working on some socks now that are based on the oldest scraps of knitting found by archaeologists in Egypt. I’m trying to pay homage to the way that a mundane, simple thing like a sweater can contain broader social and cultural meaning.

What are some of your miniature knits that you’re proudest of and why? 

Two easy favorites: the Elsa Schiaparelli “Bow Knot Sweater,” because I’ve always loved that design, and though it’s been knocked off many times over the last hundred years, the original is made with an interesting technique, Armenian colorwork. The designer had to bring in Armenian knitters to teach her studio knitters how to do it this way, and it changes the resulting fabric (with bits of black thread appearing in the white areas and bits of white appearing in the black, a heathered effect.) So I had to shrink down not only the design, but also that technique, and I’m proud of doing that.

I’d say that overall, my biggest goal is to make the knitwear in miniature that I myself would most like to wear if I were 5.5 inches tall— comfortable, well-fitted, and fully functional in spite of the small size. This is the same standard I apply to my miniatures, and if I were magically shrunk down, the bow-knot sweater is the first sweater I would reach for.

My other favorite is the Princess Diana sweater, designed by Sally Muir and Joanna Osborne because it’s a fun design. The first draft made me giggle the whole way through because the sheep are funny, it felt wonderful to make it, and I knew that people would recognize it. But I still wasn’t prepared for how deeply it resonated with the public: my miniature version now belongs to the KSB Miniatures Collection in Kentucky, in the Spencer house, the dollhouse recreation of the childhood home of Lady Diana Spencer.

Handcrafted work, fashion, and miniatures all create such powerful connections, and I love working at the intersection of these things.

What I love most is hearing other people’s stories of recognition and connection with the sweater. I had my own association with Princess Diana wearing that sweater back in the 1980s, but I didn’t realize how many other people had strong feelings about it. That sweater being published and publicly accessible has given me access to all those stories in return, and I love how far that resonates. That’s the core of the “iconic knits” project: that a tiny sweater can spark so much feeling and remembrance. It always comes back to connections and that feeling of connectedness with a larger world. Handcrafted work, fashion, and miniatures all create such powerful connections, and I love working at the intersection of these things.

The post Miniature Knitter Julie Steiner Reimagines Iconic Sweaters in Itty Bitty Form appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Website + App Design, Social Media + Content Design, and Data Visualization / Information Design all bloom from the same creative garden, rooted in clarity of communication and authentic connection. Each is a vibrant display of digital expression—seeded in storytelling, designed to engage, and crafted to deliver information with grace and purpose.

Our 2025 jury members in these categories have told powerful stories for companies, organizations, and teams at Apple, MSL group, AIGA, Automattic, Coforma, and the Obama Whitehouse.

Tyler Mintz

Tyler Mintz is a designer, educator, and creative generalist whose work combines design, user experience, research, and strategy with writing, advertising, branding, and experience building. He has worked with clients ranging from Fortune 100 companies to tech startups including Facebook, Eli Lilly, American Express, New York University, The Coca-Cola Company, P&G, Campbell’s, Sotheby’s, New York Public Library, Chips Ahoy!, AMC, Cinemark, IHG, Sprite, Conde Nast, L’Oreal, Vita Coco, WestJet, Mariah Carey, TEDx, Simon & Schuster, Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, Calvert, Raven & Sparrow, ProductionPro, Bikestock, Juice Generation, OuiHours, CAMP, Makerbot, Village Community School, Carl’s Jr. and more.

Mintz’s work has been featured on television, in books, and in many publications including Fast Company, GOOD Magazine, T-Magazine, The Dieline, It’s Nice That, The Daily Heller, and PRINT.

Hanson Ma

Hanson Ma is a graphic designer based in California, specializing in brand, packaging, and motion design. Currently a junior designer at Apple, Ma’s work reflects a passion for crafting visually compelling and thoughtful solutions. His portfolio includes collaborations with industry leaders like Nike, Apple, The Dieline, and Chase Design Group.

Ma’s work has been recognized by leading organizations, earning accolades from The PRINT Awards, ADC Young Ones, Pentawards, Graphis, The Dieline, and Behance. Rooted in both storytelling and innovation, his designs aim to connect brands with their audiences in meaningful ways.

Ashleigh Axios

Ashleigh Axios is a dynamic executive, speaker, and strategic creative who leverages design as a powerful tool for driving positive social change across business, healthcare, and civic sectors. As a trustee on the board of directors at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), she advocates for innovation and educational excellence. Most recently, Axios served as the chief experience and operating officer and co-owner of Coforma—a fully remote digital consultancy that specializes in tackling complex service design and product challenges for government clients. Previously, she founded and led the in-house creative agency at Automattic and served as the creative director and digital strategist in the Obama White House. Her leadership extends to the broader design community, where she served as president of both AIGA and AIGA Washington D.C.

If your work combines creativity, strategy, and branding to craft posts, stories, videos, and graphics that capture attention, spark engagement, and inspire action, enter the PRINT Awards to be considered by these incredible jurors.

For more information about our full 2025 PRINT Awards jury and to enter the competition this year, visit the PRINT Awards site and be sure to submit your work by January 21 for the best rates of the season!

The post Meet the 2025 PRINT Awards Jury for Data, Social Media & More appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I had forgotten about having contributed to the book, but was happy I had the good sense to agree to do it a few years back. MXWX is an exciting collection by this key figure from LA’s rock epoch. For those who don’t know, in 1980 he directed many of the first music videos; his editorial illustration appeared in most national magazines; he was a founding partner of various design groups, including Art Attack (1975), Neo Plastics (1980) and Brains (1994); he served as art director at Virgin Records (1992) and Warner Music (2001).

To celebrate his forthcoming publication, below is the text that I wrote for MXWX, alongside an interview with Haggerty.

It was the late 1960s. I had the good fortune to be mixed up with some bad fortune but in the good sense of the word. I was the art director of a few underground newspapers. I had the good sense to take advantage of the times while it was good to be bad. One of the good things about working on the bad underground porn weekly called SCREW, was that I could ask good, indeed great, artists and designers to work with me. By employing good illustration I could have these wonderful artists make me look good. But enough about me. Let’s get to Mick Haggerty.

I badly wanted him to work on SCREW. So, as was my habit, whenever I saw some printed or unprinted work that struck my fancy, I’d write a letter on SCREW letterhead, suggesting (actually begging in a nuanced grovel) that the recipient do a cover or two. Do enough covers in a year and an artist could put a down payment on a inflatable sex doll. Do only one or two and an artist could tell their friends (or not, as the case may be) that they’d done one or two SCREW covers (status?), and take them out for a moderately priced dinner on the fee they received.

At that time in the late 1960s/early 1970s, we had no immediate forms of communication, especially from New York to London, other than Telex (which SCREW could not afford) or Special Delivery (which SCREW could not afford). So regular airmail was the best. A letter to Mick took two weeks to arrive, and depending on how keen he was on answering, it could take a minimum of two weeks for the return post. It was always a gamble. I’d usually give up hope if I didn’t hear anything back for three or four months—sometimes a year. I don’t recall how long it took for Mick to respond. But respond he did. And not just in a letter saying “are you kidding me?” or “I have more self-respect than to work for your rag” or “may you stew in the hell of your own making.” He agreed to do a cover and sent along a sketch, too. I didn’t even look at the sketch before sending back my airmail response: “Do it.” The result is in this very volume.

That is pretty much my memory of our interaction. I feel we met at some point, but no records exist. But I know without doubt that I continued to follow his work. And the piece of his I still adore (which my filmmaker son, now 30, fell in love with too) is Mondrian Mickey. This image of a lopsided DeStjil grid painting pouring primary color paint onto the floor in the form (and color) of a Mickey Mouse melt is the most hilariously genius commentary on the marriage of fine and popular art ever produced in the 20th century. Take that, Mr. Warhol.

When Mick asked me to write this essay, in addition to my own story, I took the opportunity to ask him about his (well, it is his book!). And the first question I had to ask was about Mondrian Mickey.

Seems to me that your most familiar work is the Mondrian melting into Mickey Mouse. What do you believe is your most iconic work? 
Yes, Mickey Mondrian is it. I’ve spent my whole life on that wall between those two.

Is there an origin story?
It was done for Takenobu Igarashi at Idea Magazine … at the time I was fascinated by the plasticity of objects, and was making lots of drawings that showed extreme movement and transformation. (Pablo and George get a lot of well-deserved credit for deconstructing form in space, but the comic strip was invented a decade before Cubism, and those artists never get a look in). I of course considered Piet Mondrian the High Priest, the king of black outline and flat color, but the cultural appropriation of his work allowed me to also see him in a more kitschy, style king context. Looking through sketchbooks of that time I made many drawings of his paintings, some with lots of handles on transforming them into furniture, and even as melting swiss cheese. Once you melt and tilt the work, what else would it become?

Perhaps the work resonates with other graphic artists because it gets to the heart of the simple alchemy and reinvention that’s possible in our daily trade manipulating the same old well-worn images. For me it defines the exact spot I spent my life.

Since, I’m now in interview mode, when did you begin to publish?  
When I dropped out of college in 1972 I made a cold call on Island Records Office in London, hoping to be given a Bob Marley or even a ska cover. It was a few floors in a converted row house where all the employees sat together around a large white table covered in telephones, and after being invited in, and they had all looked though my portfolio, someone just said, “Give him Rosie?” I was of course happy to get my first job but too embarrassed to tell anyone I knew that I was doing a Fairport Convention “folkie” cover! Many years later I worked with Richard Thompson and he got good laugh out of it.

I recall, and my recollection is proven in this book, a lot of music design. Was music your initial focus?
Music was everything that mattered to me then. When I saw Bob Seidemann’s cover for Blind Faith, the earth shifted on its axis. That art somehow married to the power of music meant perhaps we could change the world. I always felt the best work had its own soundtrack. The Stenberg Brothers, arguably the first and the best [Soviet Russian Constructivist] graphic designers, made work that just screams. I was always drawn to images like that.

What was the illustration scene, world or milieu like when you started out?
I was trained in England as a graphic designer by purists in the Swiss mode like Anthony Froshaug. (He once cried in front of our class after confessing to having mixed Baskerville with Gill Sans on the same page.) I never picked up a pencil without a ruler, and drawing was viewed as a highly suspect activity. I had to travel 6,00 miles to L.A. and lock my door to even dare to attempt it. My impulse was to highly refine my drawings to remove any trace of the fact that I couldn’t draw. When I arrived on the West Coast, the favored style was airbrushed images that made everything look like shiny inflated balloons just begging to be burst.

You draw so damn well. Still, you have many styles. Why? And which approach is your preferred or favorite?
I am always driven by whatever the job at hand seems to require in order to be successful, and I try to confound people’s expectations. I always turned down any job where the client started by saying, “we want something like that drawing you did for …” My first love of course is flat colors inside black lines, reductive, impactful … perfect.

Many of these images were created prior to the computer. Was intricacy a fetish for you?
Most of them are way before digital vector tools, just ink on board, and yes, I broke into a cold sweat after making the perfect line. 

The Donald Trump image seems so out of stylistic place. Why?
It seems the perfect style to me. Gilbert Stuart’s famous painting of George Washington, the man who claimed “I couldn’t tell a lie.”

Speaking of guys with orange hair, how did the association with David Bowie come about?
United Artists Records called me in to work on Derek Boshier’s photograph for the cover of Let’s Dance, and it just grew from there. David and I were the same age and grew up just miles from each other. From the start it just felt comfortable; we had a good laugh whenever we got together.

There is everything from cartoon realism to abstract “adventurism” (my quotes) in your work. What triggers which approach?
I love “abstract adventurism” … not sure exactly what it means but sounds like me and I can’t wait to use it!

As my final question, given all you’ve done, is there another aesthetic transformation in the works?
There is only aesthetic transformation, isn’t there?

The post The Daily Heller: Mick Haggerty’s Multiple Personality Illustration appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

As for me, I don’t make resolutions anymore, because if I “resolve” to do something and don’t, I’m breaking a promise to myself. I don’t want to start any new venture (or year) thinking about what I might screw up or neglect to do.

Instead, I’ve been thinking a lot about the things in 2024 that I enjoyed or feel proud of or learned to do, that I’d like to keep up in 2025.

So here I am, sharing them, not on December 31 and not January 1.

Do you know why? Because they’re not resolutions! Which means I didn’t already fail by not doing it on some prescribed date. (See how that works? Clever!)

Doing Small Things Now, Before They Become Big Things

This past year, I committed to doing more things when I thought of them, instead of nudging them off my to-do list another day (or month or six months).

I’m not perfect by any means, but it really eases my mental load to do things like paying a bill when it comes in. Adding an event to my calendar. Finally, creating a Letterboxd account like everyone else in my film-obsessed family and adding all the movies I want to my watchlist so I know where to find them. Updating to the newest OS. Making boiled eggs for the week ahead. Scheduling a mammogram.

To be clear, a mammogram is not a small thing whatsoever, but making the call to schedule it is; and choosing to look at it that way — “just a phone call” — makes it way easier for my procrastinating brain to manage something that otherwise seems big.

Regifting

I think we need to rethink regifting. Look around at things you have that have given you joy, and think about how they might give others joy.

I am a sentimental saver by nature, but I have started giving the kids a lot of my (vintage, in their words, sigh) jewelry, because why let those amazing 80s spider earrings and chunky Y2K-core rings sit in a box in my closet forever.

A book that was meaningful to me in college. A stunning NWT Halston dress I bought on The RealReal years ago that’s a size negative-12 labeled as a 6 and has never once come off the hanger. Even a mammoth bottle of CeraVe from the Costco double-pack that would otherwise sit in our bathroom for a good year before opening — all regifted to delighted new owners.

(P.S. Sage looked spectacular in the dress emceeing her Senior Drama Cabaret! Will she let me share a photo? Probably not!)

Lighting the Good Candles

I often think about Gretchen Rubin’s chapter in The Happiness Project about “Spending Out,” or using the things we own. It’s often described as “using the good china,” but for me, it’s lighting candles, because, fun fact, I have never been married and don’t own good china.

Do you know how many amazing candles I’ve amassed over the years? (Don’t make me answer, it’s a little embarrassing.) Well, now we light them. It not only makes me feel calm and happy, it makes me feel like I’m in a freshly cleaned home. So basically, someone else’s home.

Keeping Things in Perspective

When things are rough, I think of my mom’s wise question: Will this matter in five years? How about ten? It helps a lot.

Now I may try a new method to keep myself in check if I’m spiraling, thanks to my friend Christine Koh’s Edit Your Life Podcast. She re-ran an older episode about 8 simple ways to orient toward gratitude, including Asha Dornfest’s suggestion that when she feels “crammed,” she places a note on her calendar a month or so in the future, reminding herself to stop and think about what has transpired over the past 30 days since that feeling.

Even if things are still sucky, I bet there’s something positive you’ll be able to see that you accomplished, or some way that things have evolved for the better over that month.

Working on Internalized Ageism

This past summer, I wrote about how Karen Walrond helped me see all the ways that we internalize and regurgitate ageism, which continues to perpetuate it.

Oops, senior moment.

Wow, you were born after 9/11? You’re a baby!

You look great for your age!

Yes, I know all the lyrics to “Forever Young” because I’M OLD

So… turning 29 again? *wink wink*

Why won’t [older politician you don’t like regardless of capability and effectiveness] retire already?

I’m self-deprecating by nature, and this is a hard one to fully achieve; but being mindful about these quips has really helped me identify them, respond in a more positive way, and actually reclaim a little joy.

Aging and longevity expert Debra Whitman also taught me this past year that those who see aging as a time of wisdom and positivity are proven to live 7.5 years longer. Wow.

Related:
We’re All a Little Ageist Sometimes

Advocating Fiercely for My Own Health

I made the decision that if I have time for a pedicure, I have time to look out for all the other parts of me. I think that’s been a good one.

The Frozen Shoulder thing is still with me (yay) but I know recovery would take a lot longer if I hadn’t gotten my butt to PT at the first sign, hit the orthopedist when things got worse, and insisted on a second cortisone shot — even when the doctor told me the ultrasound machine was unexpectedly “in use” and would I mind rescheduling? (Yes I would, and no, I didn’t.)

I scheduled some overdue tests (all is well), and also found a new dentist who is closer to home and doesn’t constantly upsell me on procedures. As it turns out, I’m now less inclined to postpone cleanings.

Not Treating News as Entertainment

In 2025, I cannot allow myself to do what I did after 2016, losing myself in every insane breaking news story about every crazy thing the guy in the White House says or does. Every day is not THE MOST IMPORTANT ROSE CEREMONY EVER, as much as he wants us to see it that way.

I have not turned on live TV news since November 6, and you know? I’ve been okay with that. It drops my cortisol levels and helps me a lot with #3 up there.

I also find that I don’t have a drop of FOMO if I don’t know every last detail about the Tesla Cybertruck Terrorist the second other people do.

To be clear, I’m not tuning out the news, because a lot of things in 2025 will matter in five years. So I continue to follow the historians, read important stories and analyses from writers and reporters I respect, and follow breaking news via responsible accounts on Threads and Bluesky (feel free to follow who I follow). I still rely on Lawrence O’Donnell, if sometimes a day late. I am also hitting my Substack Home page more, as political writers are beginning to use Notes like a social feed.

If you need help unplugging, just remember: If we have a serious emergency or crisis, I guarantee a family member will text you.

Related:
Follow the Historians
The Great Anti-Doom Scrolling Therapy Guide

Supporting Independent Media

I made a holiday gift donation to Pro Publica on behalf of my mom, because we both know how essential independent journalism will be. That also means paying for the Substack subscriptions that give me value when I can.

Even if they’re not political per se, I find Laura Fenton’s Living Small as valuable as any series in NYT Styles, and Bess Kalb’s The Grudge Report as entertaining as any New Yorker column.

You know what else I’ve come to love, and not just because they syndicate my columns when I have one worth publishing and isn’t overtly political? PRINT Magazine. It’s also majority-women owned, which is rare.

By the way, I am not someone who will ever shame you for reading The Times or The Washington Post. The corporate-owned media also gives us access to outstanding reporters, researchers, and columnists.

(Tip: An Apple One subscription includes Apple News, which is a more affordable way to read a ton of publications with paywalls.)

Hopescrolling

Remember how good it felt to start Hopescrolling in 2024? Me too. I’m continuing to cut out the social feeds that rage-bait, rant incessantly, or stress me out. I’m also continuing to follow more accounts that just give me moments of delight in my day. @NewWaveSocialClub will never make you sad.

Finding Opportunities for Deliberate Acts of Kindness

Jaclyn Lindsay, CEO of kindness.org, researches the science of kindness and taught me so much this past year. Like acts of kindness must be deliberate, not random, to be impactful.

It’s made me much more mindful (that word again!) about my own acts of kindness — where I am doing pretty well, and where I can be better.

The good news is, acts of kindness don’t have to be big to be impactful at all; like being on time for a meeting, telling your kids you’re proud of them, giving a little extra attention to a younger person struggling at work, asking to reconnect with an old friend, or just reaching out and asking someone in your life how they’re doing.

I have a suspicion we’re all going to benefit from more “You doing okay?” calls in the coming year. I hope to be initiating more of them myself.

Which, I guess, is a resolution after all.

Liz Gumbinner is a Brooklyn-based writer, award-winning ad agency creative director, and OG mom blogger who was called “funny some of the time” by an enthusiastic anonymous commenter. This was originally posted on her Substack “I’m Walking Here!,” where she covers culture, media, politics, and parenting.

Header image: photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash.

The post Ten Habits I’m Bringing Into the New Year appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Welcome to the DesignThinkers Podcast! Join host and RGD President Nicola Hamilton as she digs into the archives of the DesignThinkers conference, reconnecting with past speakers about their talks and ideas that have shaped Canada’s largest graphic design conference. Follow the RGD on Instagram @rgdcanada or visit them at rgd.ca. Purchase tickets to the upcoming DesignThinkers conference at designthinkers.com.

The post DesignThinkers Podcast: Gail Anderson appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“In a nutshell, our business started because we wanted to create the Blackest antiques store ever.”

Jannah Handy and Kiyanna Stewart’s love story is inextricably intertwined with the origin of their Brooklyn antique shop, Blk Mkt Vintage. The couple met while working on a college campus in the Student Affairs department, as a side hustle in vintage sourcing developed and bonded them together. In time, Blk Mkt Vintage was born, largely in response to filling a void. The pair saw a need for preserving and making accessible vintage objects that tell Black stories, so they began doing that passion-filled work. Now, just over a decade since the founding of Blk Mkt Vintage, they’ve published a book of the same name to document and share their mission even further.

The book’s introduction illustrates the couple’s side hustle turned passion:

“This book is the physical manifestation of our love for one another and for this history… We’ve been thinking about this book for almost a decade and knew that when the time came, we would write a book that placed us, two Black queer women from Brooklyn at the center, as a means to show how Black folks have been doing the work of archiving, collecting, and preserving for as long as we’ve existed. That our business, while doing important and fulfilling work, is the product of and response to generations of Black folks’ intimate relationship to memory work.”

Below, Handy and Stewart elaborate on their journey and drive. (Responses lightly edited for length and clarity.)

What is it about collecting and selling vintage items that excite you so much? Can you describe the feeling of finding an item that needs to come home with you?

What excites us the most is really twofold. First, for us, it’s all about the thrill of the hunt. Seeking out items that tell nuanced stories of Black history is akin to being on a treasure hunt. From Thailand to Amsterdam to Cuba, and more, no matter where we go, we are always on the hunt.

Seeking out items that tell nuanced stories of Black history is akin to being on a treasure hunt.

On the flip side, we started our business not only to collect but also to make available and accessible the items and stories we unearth. The “finding” is awesome, but the “sharing” allows our work to serve as a pebble in a pond and cause ripples that impact across wide swaths and along the time continuum.

Outside of the dopamine hit that occurs when hunting, the feeling is guttural. Sometimes there is language behind it and other times there isn’t. Having been in this industry for a decade we have come up with some questions we consider to make sure the vintage high doesn’t cloud our judgment completely:

• Have we seen the item before?
• Can we walk away from it?
• Do we need it?
• Does it serve a function?

As Black collectors, do you feel an added sense of responsibility or pressure to make sure critical elements of your heritage and culture aren’t lost? Can you share more about how your identities inform how and why you are in this industry?

We 100% feel that our work comes from a sense of duty, a sense of preservation of our collective American history. In the Introduction of the book, we tell a story about an encounter with vintage NAACP parade float signs that reinforce the fact that we save items from ending up in the landfill. 

We decided that it wasn’t up to someone else to amass the collection we wished we saw, it was up to us and Blk Mkt Vintage was born. 

Sparing the dramatics and hyperbole, we often are the last chance for items before they are discarded. This sense of duty was ingrained in us at the outset of our Blk Mkt journey 10 years ago, as we started this business out of a very personal need to be “seen,” As two Black, queer women, we rarely came across artifacts or ephemera that told our story or the stories of our ancestors who shared our identities. Digging through countless estate sales, flea markets, antique stores, and auctions, we had to tirelessly search for representation of ourselves. We decided that it wasn’t up to someone else to amass the collection we wished we saw; it was up to us and Blk Mkt Vintage was born.

What is the community of Black vintage sellers and collectors like, and how does it feel being a part of that? How does this work, in particular, bring you all together?

One aspect of the book process that was most rewarding was the opportunity to pass the mic and chop it up with our comrades in arms— fellow Black folks in the vintage industry. From collectors who have been with us since our e-commerce days on Etsy.com in 2015, to new collaborators we’ve met in our picking travels. 

The world of Black vintage is very robust and varied, a point driven home in our book in chapter X. Our conversations were not merely preaching to the choir; we were able to hear from world-renown artists who use vintage Black ephemera to inform their practice. A creator who examines the hood through the lens of mid-century architecture and design, and a collector who inherited his grandmother’s collection of 1960s Soul Publications, a Black music periodical that she started with her late husband.

There are countless points of entry in the vintage industry and just hearing how others came to the space might spark your own entry. 

Is there a particular item in your collection that most accurately represents your mission at BLK MKT Vintage, and/or why you got into this game in the first place?

Part of our weekly routine is frequenting early morning, outdoor vintage flea markets. Having been in this field for a while, we are regulars and have become friends or friendly with the other vendors and dealers who frequent the markets. One morning an older white woman, likely in her 80s, approached Jannah and said, “You buy Black stuff, right? Come to my car.” 

We’d only seen this woman at the market, never spoken or made a deal. Being that we were in public (and Jannah had a considerable size advantage), with some trepidation, Jannah followed her to her trunk and was shocked at what she saw. An original 1960s, large format photograph of Muhammad Ali (Cassisus Clay at the time of the photo) and his first wife that had noticeable singe marks around the edges. The woman explained that the photo was salvaged from the photographer’s studio that burned down. She had heard from another vendor that we buy Black antiques so she sought Jannah out. This story, photograph, and interaction all encapsulate the mission of Blk Mkt Vintage. If we were never looking, we would not have found.

Our story and approach is so much more than the physical object, it’s about the stories, the people and the serendipity that sometimes happens in a 80-year-old, white woman’s trunk! 

Our story and approach is so much more than the physical object, it’s about the stories, the people and the serendipity that sometimes happens in a 80-year-old, white woman’s trunk!

How does it feel to put a book together that encapsulates your work? What aspect of the book are you proudest of?

Even though the book has been out for three months now, it’s all still very surreal. Ten years ago, when dreaming up what our vintage hobby (at the time) could grow into, we knew a book was in the plans. We wanted to canonize or memorialize our work, approach, and community that we have engaged with for over a decade. On the most basic level, we wrote this book to be found. As pickers, we have collected, sold, and seen thousands of books in hundreds of collections. In five, 20, or 100 years in the future, we want our book to be found and explored in a completely new context.

We are proudest of this book being completed— it was no easy feat! We are proud that a dream we had 10 years ago came true through hard work, grit, and perseverance. At the end of the day, Blk Mkt Vintage is a love letter to Black people and Black history, and through this book, a lot more people can share that love.

The post Blk Mkt Vintage Documents its Mission to Preserve and Share Black History in New Book appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Usually, a book has a two- to four-year life expectancy. The official pub date provides time for promotion and lobbying for premium space in bookstore windows and other signing and display opportunities. After a few months, the sales are tallied to determine whether the book will remain on view or tucked away.

That tally also determines whether or not an author gets the fateful letter that, owing to low sales, “we have decided to put your [title] into remainder”—at which point large discounts are offered to booksellers and the author(s).

I’ve had many OP letters in my life. Even the envelope projects a vibe of finality. Often the reasoning is that the book has run its course and is no longer relevant. Most of the time, the book is one of the hundreds—or thousands—that annually are ignored for one of the following reasons:

1. The size of the audience was misjudged
2. It was poorly promoted
3. It received little to no critical recognition
4. It stinks.

If lucky, an OP book could achieve cult status and become available through used book dealers. In New York, the Strand is ground zero for OP books—and hard-to-get books that fell through the publishing industry cracks.

Today, I am listing a few of my OP titles that can be obtained through online services …

Click on caption or browse Google for availability and discounts.

The post The Daily Heller: What it Means to Be OP! appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

A flourishing branding campaign blossoms with enduring impact, nurturing deep-rooted loyalty and inspiring meaningful actions, all while remaining steadfast to the essence of the brand’s unique identity. This year’s PRINT Awards jury members are an exemplary group of experts from leading agencies as well as highly regarded, well-known brands unto themselves.

Mike Perry

Mike Perry is the founder and chief creative officer of TAVERN, a Brooklyn-based creative agency focusing on food, beverage, cannabis, and hospitality brands. Across 13+ years, Perry has built successful, industry-leading brands through bold, ambitious, and beautifully crafted creative. A veteran of the food and beverage industry, Perry has gone from slinging drinks behind the bar to creating some of the biggest brands in the industry, with clients including Budweiser, Beam Suntory, Burger King, Diageo, and many more.

Perry’s dynamic and strategic approach to design blurs the lines between branding and advertising, turning every touchpoint into an opportunity to build brands at the lightning-fast speed of culture today, making him a perfect jury member to review full brand campaigns. 

Scout Driscoll

DesignScout has been crafting brands for over two decades with a passion for authenticity and rebellion. As founder and CEO, Scout Driscoll champions startups and rejuvenates established brands with strategic brands that move the needle. With a talent for decoding consumer behavior and a genuine connection to her craft, Driscoll leads an all-woman studio committed to empowering founder-driven brands unafraid to stand out. Together, they craft genuine, relatable brands that speak directly to today’s diverse audiences. Her industry accolades, including the Harper’s Gold Award and her role as a speaker and judge at top design events, underscore her expertise and dedication to excellence. Her approachable style and creative insight make her a trusted ally in navigating the dynamic landscape of branding and design.

There is nothing more exciting in branding than brands daring to stand out. In a sea of look-alike brands, bold branding, when steeped in the right strategy can make all of the difference in a company’s success.

Scout Driscoll

Courtney Brown Warren

Courtney Brown Warren is the CMO at Kickstarter where she oversees all aspects of Kickstarter’s marketing strategy, including product and lifecycle marketing, creative, communications, content, social, experiential, partnerships, and sponsorships. Warren also oversees Kickstarter’s sales and community outreach strategy, focusing on developing integrated, full-funnel approaches that cultivate a passionate, engaged, and empowered community on the Kickstarter platform.

Warren has over two decades of experience working with global brands across diverse industries like tech, media, entertainment, and more. Before Kickstarter, she served as Twitter’s global head of brand, managing a global team across go-to-market brand strategy, brand campaign management, talent brand, and emerging markets as well as digital, content, and editorial strategy. Prior to that, Warren was head of creative at Audible, where she launched two high-growth subscription startups and revenue streams—Audible Escape and Audible for Business. 

If your work helps to bring brands into focus through comprehensive, cohesive marketing initiatives, these extraordinary design leaders are eager to see your work.

For more information about our full 2025 PRINT Awards jury and to enter the competition this year, visit the PRINT Awards site and be sure to submit your work by January 21 for the best rates of the season!

The post Meet the 2025 PRINT Awards Jury for Full Branding Campaigns appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Frere-Jones and the foundry team never shy away from what has come before, reviving historical contexts and finding new ways to iterate on beloved typefaces. So, the integration gave them a perfect opportunity to review and update each of the 13 classic typefaces, starting with the most popular families: Interstate, Nobel, Garage Gothic, and Griffith Gothic. Each font family includes an expanded glyph set and retooling for all standard web formats. We’ve included a taste of some of the updates below, but you can learn much more about the ongoing work and type inspiration in this blog by Frere-Jones.

It’s satisfying to see these families come home.

Tobias Frere-Jones

Interstate

Interstate, from the 90s, emerged as a reinterpretation of Highway Gothic, the official typeface for U.S. highway signage. Some of the recent updates include upper case punctuation, the addition of fractions, and refined placement of symbols such as parentheses and colons.

Nobel

The revival of Nobel was born “unofficially” out of Frere-Jones’ RISD degree project in the early nineties. He unearthed a type specimen of Sjoerd Hendrik de Roos’ 1929 typeface of the same name, which Frere-Jones joked was like, “Futura cooked in dirty pots and pans.” The family of eighteen styles has added features much like the updates for Interstate, with some additional exploration of spacing and the rendering of diacritics.

Griffith Gothic

Fred Shallcrass recently reviewed and updated the entire Griffith Gothic family (see the expansion below). The original was a revival of Bell Gothic (1937)—the thin lowercase joints sought to defend against ink spread on press—celebrated for its rhythm and movement.

Classic versions of the remaining nine families are also available at frerejones.com. Updated and expanded versions will go live in the coming months.

Read more about the individual updates to each family and a bit more of the backstory here.

Header image: Frere-Jones’ 21 font families. All imagery © Frere-Jones Type.

The post Frere-Jones Type Welcomes Home & Revives 13 Classics appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The new year is an ideal time to take actions that will have long-lasting and positive impacts on your business. Consider the following suggestions not as “New Year’s resolutions”—as those aren’t always kept—but more long-overdue and necessary changes that will result in impactful wins across all areas of your business.

By all areas of your business, we mean just that. But to help you out, we’ve indicated with different emojis the areas of your business each of these actions will have the most impact on:

• 💞 = Business Development
• 🤝 = Client Management
• 🧑‍💻 = Organizational
• 🎯 = Operations
• 💰 = Finances

Mantras 

1. “Do or do not. There is no try” 💞🤝🧑‍💻🎯💰

Embrace Yoda’s philosophy. While we all love to plan, research, ideate, and design, we often have difficulty following through and implementing our ideas. Just take action! Take a small baby step and go from there. For example, you don’t need to deeply research and develop a list of 100 prospects and relationships to build (instead, see #13).

2. Stop making assumptions 💞 🤝🧑‍💻🎯

Don’t assume you know how your clients, team, business partner, etc. will respond to any concerns, push-back, hard questions, or thoughts you may have. Just ask direct, honest questions to get the real answers. Stop guessing (see #4)!

3. Stop blaming your clients 🤝🎯

Look first at yourself, your firm, and your processes instead of blaming your clients. We often can create or encourage misbehaving clients because we haven’t managed them well from the start. You can begin by improving how you define, communicate, and enforce your firm’s relationship parameters and approach to project and client management, as well as contracts and proposals. Like dogs and children, clients thrive with parameters.

4. Embrace conflict 💞 🤝🧑‍💻🎯

Embrace honest conversations and say “no” when necessary to foster more productive, mutually beneficial relationships with your clients, team, business partner, etc. Avoiding conflict harms both you and your business by leaving important issues unresolved. The longer these unspoken conversations linger, the more resentment, complications, and negative energy they create (see #2).

5. Stop using non-value-added words 💞 🤝🧑‍💻

If you see yourself as a value-added expert rather than a commodity, avoid promoting your studio or firm as boutique, discount, or fast/quick. Additionally, always present yourself as a “we,” not “I,” to represent your team, showcase your value as an entity (not just a pair of individual hands), and highlight the broader expertise you bring to the table.

Quick Wins

6. Send out an email blast 💞

By the end of January, update your mailing list and send out an email newsletter to all your contacts to tell them what’s new (e.g., a new project, hire, service) and remind them you are out there. Then, remember to send out an email blast every quarter thereafter.

7. Set new business goals 💞💰

Set new business goals to envision, manifest, and drive your business development and relationship-building efforts. Break down your financial projections by the number of clients within each industry (vertical markets), project budget, and, potentially, service/project type (horizontal markets). Then, check in quarterly to see how you’re doing against these goals and increase your relationship-building efforts accordingly if you see an imbalance in any area.

8. Obtain success metrics 💞🤝

Contact your most valuable clients from 2024 and ask them: How did your work with them impact the success of their brand, sales, marketing, product, or awareness? Replace client testimonials with more quantitative data demonstrating tangible results and your value (e.g., % increase, $ sales). Update your case studies to feature these success metrics prominently and shout them from the rooftops during your capabilities presentation.

9. Stop doing work at a discount or free 💞💰

Unless there is a clear and defined win for you (e.g., guaranteed and prominent press/credit, tickets to a fundraising event at a table with the most influential donors), you should never do work for free or even at a discount. This hurts both your business and our industry overall.

10. Increase your rates 💞🤝💰

The new year is the ideal time to increase your project fees and hourly rates. If you need to defend these new fees to existing clients—which you really shouldn’t have to—you can state that your fees have increased to align with industry standards and cover the increase in the cost of living (e.g., salaries, overhead, etc.).

11. Let go of one client 💞🤝

You should let go of one client to move your businesses forward and take back control of your firm (e.g., a long-term client you’ve outgrown, an unprofitable client, a client that damages team morale). Often, this leads to you manifesting new business opportunities. Plus, it just feels damn good!

Habitual Wins

12. Leverage your time to align with your value 💞🧑‍💻🎯💰

Those at a leadership level should evaluate where they spend their time in both billable and non-billable areas and ask themselves: Is this the best use of my valuable time (and salary)? Which areas should I stop doing (e.g., hands-on design, bookkeeping, administrative areas), and which should I be more focused on (e.g., business development, strategy, creative direction, thought leadership)? Then determine the who, when, and how you can move these to someone else.

13. Reach out to two to three contacts per week 💞

Each week, introduce yourself to two to three people and follow through on past introductions. This should include at least one existing/past client and one new prospect/connection. Make this a new weekly habit, and never stop. Baby steps, remember (see #1)?

14. Develop and document your processes 🧑‍💻🎯

Conduct an internal exercise with your team to update, document, streamline, and onboard your processes, including clarifying the who, what, when, where, and why of how you work as well as how you communicate.

15. Learn something new 💞🤝🧑‍💻🎯💰

Identify what you want to learn this year—or perhaps quarterly—and explore the topic through a class, book, podcast, etc. Encourage your team to take on this challenge as well! Then, host internal lunch-and-learn sessions to share the insights and knowledge you’ve gained. Learning is growing!

Just do it!

While we advocate for taking action and embracing change throughout the year, we understand the start of a new year is a perfect moment to re-evaluate and take action on all areas of your business, so just do it! The above actions will lead to a more positive and improved outlook on and wins around how you work, communicate, build your business pipeline and relationships, and care for yourselves, your team, and your clients. Take the new year as an opportunity to review and identify new habits (or, we guess you could say, “resolutions” 😉) and strategies to improve and elevate your business practices and behaviors.

Making small, incremental changes and being more action-oriented can lead to big wins; you just have to start! 

Emily Cohen and Hunter Vargas are business partners and consultants at Casa Davka who offer customized business solutions to creative firms so they are able to refine, evolve, and elevate their strategies and practices. Emily has been in the business for over 30+ years, partnered with 500+ leading creative firms, and is a frequently requested main-stage speaker. Hunter is an experienced marketer, project manager, client partner, and business development manager. They also happen to be a mother/daughter pair, so they work together seamlessly, complementing (and challenging) each other in many ways.

The post The Business of Creativity: New Year’s Actions for Big Impact appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Jon Hartman is the founder of the full-service, multidisciplinary design studio Wunder Werkz — part type foundry, part environmental design studio, and part public sector design advocate working seamlessly across materials, methods, and mediums. Wunder Werkz’s clients include countless restaurants (including Michelin Star and James Beard award winners), ten hotels, multiple of the “best”-ranked bars in America, and an entire neighborhood, among other projects.

What is the thing you like doing most in the world?

Seeing the world, hands down. I’m an extrovert through and through—whether it’s my wife, kids, friends, or even total strangers, I love connecting with people and sharing drinks and ideas. We spend a good chunk of the year traveling, and it’s more than just passport stamps—it’s about meeting people. Some of those strangers end up becoming my closest friends and collaborators. Connection gives you perspective – and that perspective? It helps you tackle the world in more dynamic, nuanced ways.

What is the first memory you have of being creative?

I had a lemonade stand that had a large hand-lettered sign that said ‘Nead $$$ fore College’. People loved it and were tipping us and overpaying for lemonade left and right. It was one of the first times I realized that clever design paired with a compelling idea could culminate into something that engaged people. I was 16.

What is your biggest regret?

Being too damn rigid when I should’ve just admitted I was wrong. It took me too long to realize that being wrong isn’t just okay—it’s freeing. It cracks things open and lets you learn, evolve, and sharpen your game. There were definitely times I had blinders on, and looking back, I wish I’d dropped that ego sooner. Could’ve gotten to the good stuff a lot faster.

How have you gotten over heartbreak?

Heartbreak hits in all kinds of ways. For me, the real gut punch is the heartbreak of losing an idea, a direction for your life. It’s that sting of a missed opportunity, the “what could’ve been.” The only way through it is to keep moving, hoping you pick up a lesson or two along the way. And yeah, fried chicken and a beer always helps.

What makes you cry?

Shrek 2. No joke. But really, I’m not much of a crier. Maybe when our dog passed—that hit hard. He was family. But what really gets me is seeing how fast my kids are growing up. I’m incredibly proud of who they’re becoming, but man, it’s that whole “long days, fast years” thing. Time’s got a way of sneaking up on you like that.

How long does the pride and joy of accomplishing something last for you?

Honestly, pretty fleeting. I won’t sugarcoat it—I’m the kind of person who needs reminding to actually pause and celebrate. As a small business owner and a creative who’s always on the hunt for what’s next, I’m usually looking over the next hill before the dust has even settled. Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly proud of what our studio does. But we live by the idea of kaizen—always improving. So yeah, I’m pretty much wired to keep moving, always chasing the next challenge.

Do you believe in an afterlife, and if so, what does that look like to you?

Nah, I don’t buy into an afterlife. We’re all just stardust, and eventually, we go back to that—one way or another. We’re here for a good time, not a long time, so you might as well make it count while you’re around.

What do you hate most about yourself?

My perfect physique, jk, jk. It is how humble I am.

What do you love most about yourself?

Probably my ability to learn and adapt. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to scrap something, tear it down, and start over just to get it right. You’ve got to be flexible in this life, and I’m proud of how willing I am to evolve when it’s needed. Keeps things interesting, too. Also, I can generally always find the humor in things. It has saved my ass more than once when I was in a tight spot.

What is your absolute favorite meal?

Probably the hardest question on the list. Working with food and beverage clients means I’ve had the chance to eat some unforgettable dishes from all over. Every city’s got that one thing I have to hit the minute I land. Here’s a little cheat sheet for you hungry travelers:

• Heebster from Rosenberg’s Bagels
• Bean and Cheese Taco from Yellow Rose
• Fried Chicken Bun from Elizabeth Street Cafe
• Soba from Owariya
• Sweet Potato Waffle at Destroyer
• Big Fish Burrito from Illegal Pete’s
• Pain des Amis at Du Pain et des Idées
• Pork Sandwich at Isted Grill
• Korean Fried Chicken at Hey Kiddo
• Langoustine Soup at Sea Baron
• Linguine con Granchio at Lina Stores
• And of course, two shots of Fernet and a cigarette at any bar that’ll have me.

Eat well, live well.

The post What Matters to Jon Hartman appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I’ve been an avid collector of the magazine Physical Culture, which was founded in 1899 by Bernarr Macfadden. His life story is the stuff of legends and rabbit holes. Macfadden was the founder of a large publishing company that bore his name, and his flagship was Physical Culture (which was renamed Beauty and Health in 1941 after he sold the rights to it, and renamed as Physical Culture in 1943 after Macfadden regained control). It ceased publication after Macfadden’s death in 1955. His life story (which I urge you to read) is entertaining—but Macfadden is only the entrance to the rabbit hole.

I’ve collected a batch of covers from the 20s, mostly of women in gym or swim suits, showing off their physical prowess and always wondered who was the illustrator. He worked in the prevailing realistic style and seemed to disappear into the miasma of once-fashionable illustration.

Recently, I was gifted the pencil sketches and black-and-white photos of oil paintings below. Each has a rubber-stamped name on the back that initially looked to me like it read “Clay Weaver,” a signature that also appears on Physical Culture covers. Never having heard that name, I contacted illustration historians to determine who this was but no one had a clue. (Google provided two citations for “Clay”, both showing realist paintings circa 1930s that were auctioned.)

One of my expert correspondents, David Apatoff, said that he had no idea and maybe I had misread the name. A correct assumption, which he confirmed through another expert, Fred Taraba, who gave the artist’s name as Jay W. Weaver. Thus began a weekend dig with little to show for it, save one biographical citation read, “Weaver [deceased circa 1960] was a member of the Society of Independent Artists in 1939. He spent time working in Oklahoma and is known for figurative works.” Another added he showed at the Salmagundi Club in New York and yet others indicated that he sold his “fine” (example below bottom) art at auction. Such was a entire life in a few Google words. Sad.

Tracking Weaver to this point has been inconclusive … and frustrating to consider how many unknown 20th-century illustrators’ work is stored in musty and moldy attics, just waiting to be discovered. There’s just not enough room in archives, libraries, storage centers and museum vaults for all that’s been produced … and forgotten.

The post The Daily Heller: Following a Forgotten Illustrator Down the Rabbit Hole appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Known for his graphic adaptation of W. E. B. Du Bois’s The Souls of Black Folk, Peart-Smith, working with seasoned graphic novel editor Paul Buhle, brings a visual depth to the narrative that makes this history both accessible and compelling. Through full-color artwork, complex histories are distilled into powerful, accessible imagery that invites readers of all ages to reconsider the past through the lens of those who lived through it.

The medium of comics and graphic novels creates visual opportunities for complex ideas. … I believe this is a powerful way to engage with young adults, whose worlds are shaped by visuals like never before.

In an age when visual media dominates how we process information, this graphic adaptation is an essential tool for connecting with new generations. It rekindles a crucial dialogue about what we choose to remember — and, just as importantly, what we choose to forget — acting as a bold reminder of the stories often omitted from mainstream narratives, shining a light on the centuries-long efforts to erase Indigenous identities and the equally enduring spirit of resistance.

Whether you’re a student, a historian, or simply curious about the often-overlooked truths of America’s past, this adaptation promises to be as enlightening as it is visually stunning. I found myself immersed not just in the visuals but in the urgency of its message: understanding the past is the first step toward justice. And if that journey begins with a graphic novel, then it’s a journey well worth taking.

I had the opportunity to ask Paul further questions about this important adaptation. Our conversation is below, lightly edited for length and clarity.

What unique challenges did you face in visually interpreting the complex and often harrowing history of Indigenous peoples in the United States, and how did you balance historical accuracy with the artistic storytelling in your illustrations?

I had an idea of the scale of the task, but I’m relatively new to adapting, having done only one prior historical book, so I walked into this project with a little bit of a beginner’s arrogance, or better put, naivety. One of the challenges I faced was the broad scope of the story which covers many years, indeed centuries of events. I had to define a pathway through the historical record to help me choose what I could fit into the book. There was so much I could have used, but in the end, I had to make it my interpretation of Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz’s great original work.

Given the emotional weight and significance of this history, how did you approach capturing the resilience and perseverance of Indigenous communities over four centuries?

Thank you for the question. This leads me to another challenge of the book: how to show the often violent Indigenous resistance to violent occupation and colonisation, without mythologising violence itself. Comics and graphic novels are known for their use of action to entertain, but this wasn’t that kind of book. I wanted the brutality to land hard, not to be brushed over. Having said that, I had to make sure that the book wasn’t just a tale of Indigenous woe either. There were victories, as well as massive losses. We cover how the population survived, adapted to, and sometimes assimilated within settlers’ culture. We share some of the great speeches made by Indigenous leaders of the past and present, speeches that described and rebuked, the day-to-day reality of exposure to settler influence.

How did your experience with adapting The Souls of Black Folk inform your approach to this graphic adaptation, and what did you find distinct about translating An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States into a visual medium?

Well, there were differences and similarities between the two projects. With The Souls of Black Folk, each chapter of the original book written by W.E.B. DuBois was a series of essays collected into one volume. Because of that, I got the opportunity to work in a different style per chapter to separate each essay. In An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States, each chapter had a theme, but it was a rolling history so I chose to use different styles throughout the book, unrestricted by chapter. The only rule that I set myself was that I could use whatever means I could to explain the theme to the reader. In practice that meant that some pages required panel-to-panel storytelling that read like a traditional comic, and other pages were illustrations or even infographics, whatever visual tool worked best.

What role do you believe graphic adaptations, such as this one, play in making critical histories more accessible to wider audiences, especially younger readers?

I hope that they play a major role! The medium of comics and graphic novels creates visual opportunities for complex ideas. We’ve always accepted that in newspaper cartoons, and this historical work builds upon their example. So for adults, there should be no stigma attached to this medium. I believe this is a powerful way to engage with young adults, whose worlds are shaped by visuals like never before. Comics are a quieter medium than TV, video games, and social media, but they “shout” louder than prose from the bookshelves, and lend themselves quite well to video advertising and reviews. I’ve been very pleased with the feedback I’ve seen from YouTube reviewers for example.

Your illustrations are described as evocative and integral to sparking crucial conversations. Were there particular moments or themes in the book that felt especially important or challenging to depict visually?

There were two passages in the original book that I found challenging to depict. The first was showing on the original tribal map of America the trade routes that were cut off by colonizing troops. I wanted to get across the scale of the operation which forced starvation and social breakdown of the indigenous population. I had the map on the first tier of the page and a visualisation of the consequences of the blockades on the people themselves. I wasn’t sure that I had gotten the concept across, and I tried various graphic icons to depict the trade routes, soldiers and tribes. In the end, I went for clarity over “cleverness”, showing the different tribes and reusing the same soldier icon for consistency and to suggest the relentless nature of the colonists.

The second passage covered the era of self-determination away from the former Western colonies which became more prevalent in the latter half of the 20th century. I wanted to broaden the scope by using examples from other countries who had freed themselves of colonial powers and, in some cases, risked the brunt of colonial backlash. I hinted at this by using the example of Patrice Lumumba, the first independent leader of Congo. If readers are interested further, they can read his story outside the book; it’s well worth the trouble. This global trend swept up and gave great encouragement to Indigenous leaders in America to push for their own self-governance within the United States. It’s difficult to illustrate such big ideas. I gave it my best shot.

We’re super lucky to have Paul involved with the 2025 PRINT Awards. He’s one of the jury members for the Hand Lettering, Illustration, Graphic Novels, and Invitations category. The next PRINT Awards deadline is January 21st!! Learn more about submitting your work here.

The post Paul Peart-Smith Makes ‘An Indigenous Peoples’ History’ Accessible in Graphic Form appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

It is not enough for a teacher of memoir to tell you that we are the art-making species; that it is our God-given right to create; that no child, having been given a pad and some crayons will ever say, to quote Elizabeth Gilbert, Nope, not feeling it today; that far more women than men withhold their storytelling until someone tells them it’s okay to do so (a broad generalization, but men usually just do it and apologize later); that you have every right to say whatever it is you need to say, damn the torpedoes. Some (not all) of these statements are accurate, and all require significant bravery. They all hold the potential for transcendence, and also danger. But not one of them unpacks the layers of what it is that makes us choose not to share our stories until the moment where we step through the scrim of worry/fear/concern/threat/self-loathing/panic that pushes us to the edge of the diving board, and off. Once we jump, we jump; there’s no turning back. Even if you tell your stories to your notebook and nowhere else — and sometimes this is appropriate because not everything is meant for publication — it can still be a terrifying prospect.

I came away with this understanding: that the act of writing one’s story is a spiritual exercise that all of us are called upon to do, whether we want to be published, or not.

In the writing sphere, we talk about it all the time: notebooks, process journals, residencies, the correct pen, the right desk facing the right way, the ritual of meditating or lighting a candle first or making a pot of tea. All lovely, and, for many of us, important and effective. But these foundational questions still exist as tripwires: who am I to tell my story? Is it mine to tell? Do I own it? What will happen if I write something when I’ve been warned not to? What happens if someone tells me that I’ve gotten the story all wrong?

In March 2025, my fourth book, Permission: The New Memoirist and the Courage to Create will be published. It is vastly different from my first three books in that it is a hybrid memoir— one part craft, and one part personal context. I had written an entire draft before I realized that I couldn’t possibly create something that might help other writers and creatives without also explaining what compelled me to write it in the first place.

Permission came out of a decade of my own silence born of paralyzing creative trauma: I told no one about it — not my students, not my editors or publishers, not my teachers or my friends or my mentors — or what had happened to me during that decade. Permission had its deepest roots in the dangers of secret-keeping. It emerged from the muck and mess of intergenerational trauma, and the writing of a century-old story that, unbeknownst to me, was meant to be hidden. It is the story of what happened — emotionally, physically, spiritually, professionally — when a writer’s world imploded as the result of telling a simple but dangerous tale about one young woman’s heart-rending decision to leave her family, and the decision’s aftermath. Would it have been better not to tell the story I did? Maybe. But I could no sooner hide it than change the color of my eyes, because it touched every part of my life and still does.

Along the way, I peeled the onion: how do we tell difficult stories that belong to us but to which others claim ownership? How do we handle issues of revenge writing? How do we resolve the problem of making time and space for actually doing the work? How do we decide to take the risk and write about what has been hidden? How do we remain creatively generous? How do we write with humility and compassion about impossibly difficult issues (and people) that might be devastating?

I came away with this understanding: that the act of writing one’s story is a spiritual exercise that all of us are called upon to do, whether we want to be published, or not. Storytelling is an endeavor reflective of the human condition, and handled with care, it will move us to a place of compassion, humility, self-knowledge, and transcendence. As Robert Macfarlane writes in Underland, when the earliest cave dwellers took a mouthful of ochre dust and blew it at their hand held up to a cave wall, they were telling a story. They were saying Remember me; I was here.

The permission we give ourselves to tell our stories is how we get there; it is the key that turns the creative ignition, that cracks open the hard shell of our humanity. When you read something written by a person to whom you have no connection — no ethnic, religious, geographical, political, spiritual familiarity — that link, which might otherwise not exist, is what results from permission to write.

Storytelling is an endeavor reflective of the human condition, and handled with care, it will move us to a place of compassion, humility, self-knowledge, and transcendence.

At the beginning of this new year, I ask you to do this: amidst all the gadgets that will promise to accurately measure your blood oxygen level, or the diets that will render you svelt and metabolically younger, the promises to yourself to run a 5k this year or to stop drinking, remember to tell your story. Write it. Paint it. Scribble it on a cocktail napkin. Start there. Understand that some people will not be happy about whatever it is you do or say, some people won’t care, and others won’t notice. Predicting whose feathers will be ruffled by your storytelling is a moving target. But do know this: if it happened to you, if it — whatever it is — changed you or touched you in some way, it is your story.

This post was originally published on Elissa Altman’s blog Poor Man’s Feast, The James Beard Award-winning journal about the intersection of food, spirit, and the families that drive you crazy. Read more on her Substack, or keep up with her archives here.

Images courtesy of the author.

The post Poor Man’s Feast: Give Yourself Permission appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Check out the full series as it unfolds.

Go backstage on the Two Craigs website to see how the pair translate the prompt through photography and illustration.

Level

Follow along with PRINT, at 2craigs.com, or on Instagram.

The post Two Craigs: 32/52 appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Frank Viva is a frequent New Yorker contributor whose work wittily captures the zeitgeist, but he is not acerbic. During President Trump’s first term, he tried pitching some political illustrations without success. Now with Trump 2.0 suggesting the annexation of Canada, Viva, a Canadian, is reconsidering how he can satirically comment on Trump once again.

He is candid about his struggles, and our chat below—featuring covers he has pitched to The New Yorker—sheds some light on how he goes about attempting to sell his graphic commentary.

In your many published New Yorker covers, you do not present yourself as a political artist. Do you have a secret (or not-so-secret) desire to be one?
It’s a secret because I haven’t had much success.

Have you been encouraged to actually take to finish any of the covers you’re showing here?
Sometimes a call for ideas goes out by email that is sent to a group of artists requesting a sketch about a newsworthy story that is unfolding in real time. It can be a story that just happened, or a story that is brewing but may or may not happen, or a story that is happening but might go one way or another. Sometimes the cover has to be turned around in a day or two. They always try to respond to a sketch if they can but you get the sense that it’s pretty hectic when that happens. The typographic “U” cover and the Schulz cover are responses to emails requesting a sketch. The rejection of the Schulz cover came with an encouraging note. I was happy with the typographic idea, if not the execution. Artists are also encouraged to send sketches throughout the year if an idea occurs to them that they think is worth consideration.

You told me that you have an acute case of Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS). We’re showing your unpublished work now because he’s back. How are you coping?
I’m coping better this time. Although I did suffer from TDS during his first term, I seem to have built up some immunity over the last four years.

You also said, “I have inadvertently documented my descent into TDS madness,” and you’re considering re-pitching your earlier political ideas. What happened to your pitches last term?
The political cover ideas I have pitched since the beginning of Trump’s first term are a motley collection—some are rough pencils and others are close to publishable (technically), while the rest are somewhere in between. A few of them deal with Trump-adjacent topics like Ukraine and Roe v. Wade. Many were a reaction to one of the countless outrageous things that Trump said or did, soon forgotten because of the next wave of craziness. Several are more recent and were sent during the current election cycle.

Do you have limits or proscriptions as to how far you will go with your satire?
The toilet image [below] was from the first term, and I can’t see sending anything along those lines now. The Eustace Tilley sketches would never work because Eustace is a beloved mascot. I should have known that before sending them. I’m trying to narrow and refine my focus as I stumble along. Almost all of these suffer from not having had an engagement with [cover director] Françoise Mouly. I always hope that she will see something worth sharpening or exploring further.

You are not a satirist per se, right?
My published covers to date have all been sort of genteel, so I had no reason to expect that I could switch lanes once Trump was first elected. I was obsessed. I can see looking back that most were not good enough. It has been a journey of stubbornness and stupidity. Stupidity because I was risking annoyance at the receiving end.

How do you feel—and what is your strategy, if any—for dealing with Jan. 20 and beyond?
Like most journeys, it was not a complete waste of time. In the last few months I have submitted political cover ideas that were better-received and even considered (if only briefly) for publication. By submitting ideas and then seeing what was chosen week after week, I gained a better understanding of what could work for me. A unique voice is important. In my case this includes the use of typography, or an unexpected approach that the best of The New Yorker’s great political cartoonists would be unlikely to propose.

And what do you think that is?
Perhaps the best typographic sketch is the one with the central ‘U’ in “TRUMP” used to represent a chasm dividing the nation. The most promising reaction I received was the Charlie Brown and Lucy football cover, pitched shortly after Kamala entered the race and was seemingly doing better in the polls than Trump.

Cartoons are not great weapons when your audience, including me, is in an echo chamber. Half the nation loves Trump or MAGA. Another percentage is just settling in for the time being. What is the goal of your satiric politics?
In his first term, I had no goal in mind. Each sketch was just an expression of my exasperation. It’s true that the audience for political cartoons is, as you say, an echo chamber. These days, that’s probably true of most forms of political discourse. I’d like to be among the less-engaged percentage you mentioned and just settle in for a while. That would be the smart way to go. During his first term, I did have an acute case of TDS. Not so much now. The Trump enterprise seems more surreal than menacing this time around. Like a bad sitcom rerun with the same tired jokes and a similar cast of characters chewing up the scenery. I think the recent sketches that I submitted during the 2024 campaign are more measured than the ones from his first term. I feel more capable of providing a detached perspective—and with any luck, a bit of humor. So I do have a goal now: to try to use what I’ve learned. We’ll see how that goes.

Do you feel “good” about these ideas?
I find it difficult to come up with a good idea that also works well as a composition. And I’m up against some of the most talented artists around. A New Yorker cover is one of the most coveted gigs around and everybody wants to have a go. Some days I feel inspired to keep going. Some days I feel tired and inadequate to the task.

The post The Daily Heller: New Yorker Cover Artist Frank Viva Rethinks His Political Content appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

I am proudly in the category of those smitten with Gerner’s way of seeing the world. To learn more about how that point of view came to be and is executed, I reached out. His responses to my questions are below, lightly edited for length and clarity. 

Can you give some insight into your creative journey, and how that’s led you to where you are today?

I grew up in the east of France, accompanied in my artistic research by my father, a drawing and art history teacher, and by my mother, a lexicographer. I benefited from an environment made of many images and books. I was a student at the Nancy School of Art from 1988 to 1993, where I participated in graphic design, drawing, engraving, and screen printing workshops.

After that, I moved to Paris, and very quickly began to make many drawings for the press and for children’s publishing. Then I lived for a year in New York, where I was able to meet many artists—cartoonists, sculptors, painters—explore the contemporary art world, and meet art directors of the New Yorker and the New York Times.

Back in France, where I lived successively in Paris and Lille, I continued my work in publishing by making experimental comic book projects. Following this work, I was invited to exhibit in the Anne Barrault Gallery, a contemporary art gallery in Paris. Since 2004, I have been making many exhibition projects in partnership with the Anne Barrault Gallery and others, along with art centers and contemporary art museums. My book projects can become exhibition projects, and vice versa.

How did you develop your unique illustration style?

I believe that my graphic writing comes from both the codes of graphic design and the pictorial references of illustration and visual arts. I grew up with books. My relationship with the image is always done according to the criteria of print. I examine images to understand their narrative and technical principles.

Simplicity is complex and sometimes allows multiple readings.

I sometimes work by covering; I apply ink or paint to synthesize my drawing forms in a way that gets closer to a principle of the graphic alphabet. Simple and abstract forms associated with each other, construct figurative representations. But simplicity is complex and sometimes allows multiple readings.

What illustrators and artists have been most inspiring to you in your own practice? What other influences have helped shape you and your artist point of view?

During my childhood and apprenticeship, I was heavily influenced by my father’s vision and drawings. He was very critical and always had a very fair opinion. His own graphic writing was close to contemporaries like Saul Steinberg or Tomi Ungerer. I still appreciate many cartoonists from that period, but I am more influenced today by artists who work in fields far removed from drawing, press cartoons, or publishing. 

I am very sensitive to the work of certain artists like Ellsworth Kelly, and On Kawara, and more generally to contemporary art. I am also interested in architecture, typography, archaeology, forms of contemporary literature, and even botany. 

What is it about birds and dogs that you find particularly compelling to draw?

The idea of ​​making a series of bird drawings came through color: it was about experimenting with the infinite compositions and superpositions of colored lines. Since my childhood, I have always drawn birds: two lines for the beak, two lines for the legs, and in the middle of the body, then the tail and wings can be placed in a certain disorder.

Dogs stood out to me for their sculptural and abstract character. Any mass of hair with a nose, and possibly two points for the eyes could be similar to a dog. It was, therefore, more a question of working on silhouettes and textures.

These two types of animals made it possible to build a series and, therefore, to work on a principle of variation. Through their shapes or colors, they are also very graphic animals.

What’s your typical process like for drawing a dog?

Drawing a dog is a bit like drawing a piece of clothing, a mossy texture, or a furry shape. Any abstract shape composed of a principle of lines can lead to the representation of a dog. It is one of the only animal species with so many variations of breeds, with such specific defining characteristics and gaits. It’s a very rich field of experimentation and discovery for a drawer. 

Sometimes I discover a new dog and draw it immediately. Other times, I invent a shape that will lead me to an imaginary dog. Today, I don’t necessarily know which dogs are real or imaginary among all of those I have drawn.

What are your main tools for your practice? What sorts of pens, markers, pencils, paper, etc. do you use?

For my series of color drawings, I use felt-tip pens with pigmented Indian ink (Faber-Castell Pitt Artist Pen brush). For other drawings, often done with black lines, my favorite tool is a brush dipped in black Indian ink (Talens Indian ink).

Making simple and direct drawings of animals, in black or very colorful lines, without narrative captions, seems to me perhaps to participate in a universal understanding.

Why do you think your illustrations have resonated so strongly with the masses?

Making simple and direct drawings of animals, in black or very colorful lines, without narrative captions, seems to me perhaps to participate in a universal understanding. But this is only part of my work. Many other drawings are more complex and more experimental in their forms and, therefore probably more confidential. I like to work both for different audiences, for printed editions, or for wall exhibitions.

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The loathsome act known as witch-hunting continues in today’s vernacular as a shorthand for immoral and extra-legal hounding of persons suspected of some broken social more. It Happened in Salem (Creative Editions), with its cinematic noir-sounding title, is a book about the past for the present, smartly written by Jonah Winter for middle-grade students, with elegant illustrations by Brad Holland.

The subject of witchcraft is perfect for Holland’s blend of emotional intensity and human sensitivity brought out in gesture and color—and he tells us more about the process below.

Creative Editions is known as a children’s book publisher that has released books on difficult subjects, including the Holocaust, and now the Salem witch-hunts. It is difficult to think of the trials as being easily explained to children. How did you feel about the tone of the manuscript when you first read it?
Well, the first thing to dispel is the assumption most people make that witchcraft trials were common in colonial times. They weren’t. Of course, there were incidents where people were tried and hanged as witches—it was a holdover from the country’s Old World heritage. But the events that made witch-hunting so infamous actually occurred only during a period of about 18 months, and mostly in and around Salem. So, I think the author presents that accurately. It was a local epidemic of mass hysteria that ran its course and then, when it threatened to harm some prominent people, was suddenly shut down.

The manuscript and your illustrations do not hide the injustice and corruption of the period but vividly reference the continuing comparisons to the present.
Well, yes; in fact, my first thought was that the country had gone through something similar during the children’s daycare scandals of the 1980s. All that hysteria that started on the afternoon talk shows about how children’s preschool centers were hotbeds of satanic abuse—with crazy charges that people were slaughtering kittens and summoning the devil or flying through the air like witches. Innocent people lost their jobs and reputations; a bunch of them went to prison. And then suddenly, just like the Salem hysteria, the craziness ran its course and, with a few exceptions, the media dropped the whole thing as if it had never happened. I thought at the time that it was just like the Salem witch hunts, except that it went on for nearly a decade and was far more widespread—and it wasn’t happening in some colonial dark age, either.

Your images are so perfectly suited to the original Salem, with a decidedly timeless quality. Did you know what you wanted to paint from the outset?
Well, yeah, sort of. To begin with, I was determined not to give the story any kind of spooky glamor, the way movies often did. There were never any real witches, after all, so this was a cautionary tale, not a Halloween story. Back in high school, I had read all of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short stories, so I had a definite background of that era to draw on. And I did start by researching the subject. I found photos online of Salem’s so-called witch houses, and paintings and reconstructions of colonial interiors. I even found articles about the spot in the woods where archaeologists think the hangings took place. But with the exception of historical dress, I thought too many period details might make the story seem like something that happened a long time ago and couldn’t happen again. That’s why in several paintings I just showed the figures against neutral backgrounds. I thought it might make it easier for readers to identify with.

Did you create the images with kids in mind or were you directed in that direction?
No, the pictures were all my ideas and the publishers didn’t ask me to change a thing. The only issue they ever did raise was whether we should show the hangings. They were obviously concerned that that might be too upsetting for kids—and in the beginning, I had wondered about that myself. But ultimately, I concluded that kids these days probably see images in movies and video games that are a lot more violent—more grotesque even—than the matter-of-fact way I was showing what had actually happened. So, I decided to just trust my instincts and do what I thought would tell the story honestly. The publishers were totally supportive, and I was very grateful. I worked throughout with the art director Rita Marshall, and she was terrific.   

The images have an age-neutral quality, in the sense that very young kids might not get it, but mid-range kids who can read on their own or have parents who will read to them, are they your target audience?
Well, my own thinking is based on my background. When I was a little kid, I used to go with my dad on Friday nights to the local soda fountain where we’d get the latest issues of Life, Look and Collier’s magazines. Then we’d go home and he’d read the articles to me and encourage me to follow along. My mother would come by and say, “Walt, you can’t read things like that to a kid,” and dad would just say, “hell, you can read anything to a kid.” So while there are a lot of things that I wouldn’t normally bring up to a child—you have to have some common sense—in general, I tend not to talk down to them. I know that a lot of what you tell a kid will go in one ear and out the other. But if something they don’t understand really makes an impression on them, I trust that it’ll stick in their heads until something in their experience causes a light bulb to go off. In the end, I think it’s okay to let kids wonder what some things mean. It’s like buying clothes for them to grow into.

The hanging of a condemned witch is the most indelible painting of all …
Well, it’s certainly the one that gave me the most trouble. I’ve lost track of how many pencil sketches I did for it. And there were two painted versions that I worked on for days and threw out. But then I started over and finally hit on this one. The text on the facing page was about how many people had been hanged. So at one point, I had an image of several people dangling from a tree. And even in this version, I once had five. But then, suddenly on impulse, I just painted them all out but one. Then I redesigned the tree into a kind of an X on the page, with the figure of the woman at the intersection of the X. It was a sort of design solution to keep the image simple. And it seems to make the picture more moving. I don’t think I could have thought that out in the beginning though. It’s just that as I worked on it, it kind of worked itself out.

Also, I cannot get the slave girl — both text and image — out of my head. It is, well, so surprisingly serene.
Yes, I think that’s really my favorite painting from the book. And it’s based on a real person, too, except that nobody knows what the woman actually looked like. According to legend, her name was Tituba and she was the first person to be accused of witchcraft. Originally from Barbados, she had been brought to Salem as a household slave by the town minister, Samuel Parris. It was his young daughter and niece who first accused her. In the beginning, she denied the charge, but finally confessed—allegedly after being beaten—and to save herself, began telling preposterous stories that implicated two other women as witches. That’s how the mass hysteria began. It lasted for about a year and a half. Tituba was imprisoned for the whole time but was never tried, and when they finally released her, she disappears from history.

What other images do you feel have the most impact amid all the powerful ones herein?
I think the strongest picture is the last one, the little girl cherishing the voodoo doll. It began when I was doing research for the way kids dressed in those days. I kept finding old daguerreotypes of little girls holding a beloved doll. Apparently, that was a cliche of early photography. So that immediately gave me the idea for the painting. I researched voodoo dolls and used bits and pieces from several of them. And then I decided to make the girl so young and innocent-looking that her expression wouldn’t be much different from what you’d expect from a dog or a cat. The idea of poisoning and weaponizing a little kid’s mind is so obviously evil that, to me, that was the real story behind the story of the Salem witch hunts.

Do you think that an audience that has never known about the Salem trials will accept this knowledge?
Well, I suspect that like most things in life, different people will get different things out of it.

I have to admit, although I have knowledge of the trials since elementary school, and grew up hearing about modern witch hunts for Reds and fellow travelers, your book has reinforced my trepidation of these things happening again. Did it have a similar effect on you?
Well, imagine how much more damage they could have done in Salem if they had had the internet, social media and artificial intelligence to work with. They could have turned what was essentially a local scandal into a global one. Which brings us up to today. Unfortunately, the one thing you can learn from history is that most people never learn from it. Human nature is pretty intractable, so things that happened once upon a time are always likely to happen again. I suppose that’s why we need cautionary tales.

The post The Daily Heller: Witch Hunts in Olde Salem, MA appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Vimeo, the pioneer of high-definition video sharing, sought a brand identity as innovative as its platform. The result is a dynamic design system where resolution isn’t merely a visual detail but a central, functional element.

Uncommon’s approach involved creating traditional brand components — logo, color palette, and typography — but with a twist: they employed generative tools to modulate the resolution of these elements. This concept was vividly brought to life during REFRAME, Vimeo’s inaugural video innovation conference.

In the lead-up to the event, outdoor media installations showcased posters with resolutions that varied based on their proximity to the venue. Distant locations featured low-resolution images, which progressively sharpened to ultra-high-definition as one approached the event site. This clever use of resolution not only mirrored the evolution of video technology but also engaged audiences in a playful, interactive narrative. Fascinated by this activation, I reached out to Nils Leonard, Uncommon Creative Studio’s co-founder. Our conversation is as follows (lightly edited for length and clarity).

How does incorporating ‘resolution’ as a core element of the design system challenge traditional branding conventions?

Without knowing it, we all often work within confines we don’t question. There are the common and accepted tenets of design systems: logo, typography, colour, layout, etc., but when we approached this project with true innovation in mind, we really asked ourselves how we might challenge the very nature of a design system rather than begin a process inside of it. We landed on a very simple insight, which is that if Vimeo were the original video innovator then surely our design had to represent that in an innovative way. Rather than try to create something within the existing framework of a design system, we sought to redefine the system itself. The task then became working out how the system might be able to play with resolution in an additive and remarkable way and how it might feature in the storytelling for the event and the brand itself.

We loved the idea that media could work like vision, or like resolution itself – that the closer you got to the venue, the sharper and more hi res the executions would get.

The proximity-based resolution concept for outdoor media is unconventional. What inspired your approach, and how did you ensure it would resonate with audiences attending REFRAME?

We loved the idea that media could work like vision, or like resolution itself – that the closer you got to the venue, the sharper and more hi res the executions would get. It was the perfect canvas for the resolution part of the identity to play in and was a game we felt the Reframe audience would enjoy as they made their way to the event. Once we had created the various executions using the generative web-based tool we developed, the task was then to plot the media along the routes to the venue we knew the audience would take. Some careful planning and media scouting took place, then we ensured each execution occurred in the right place for the overall effect to be felt. We weren’t worried about the lower resolution executions making little sense to people as we knew the repetition of the media and the buzz around the event would land the idea through the media mix and the noise around the idea. It was fun, though, seeing completely indecipherable posters around town. They were strangely beautiful and simple in comparison to overloaded and messaging-saturated posters. A little like Vimeo, nothing tried too hard: the overall experience was premium, simple, remarkable.

How did the partnership between Vimeo’s in-house design team and Uncommon Creative Studio influence the project’s outcome?

Dan and the excellent team at Vimeo really understood and shared the vision of the idea from the first moment. Of course, the identity had to work hard inside the venue and across all of the event’s touchpoints (including beautiful merchandise, publishing, and the myriad screens and media present). But we all recognised the power of the idea behind the branding to further reinforce Vimeo’s credentials as the original video innovator to everyone that came across the identity and the event. The project was a balance of pragmatism and trust as we went about the task. The design practice within Uncommon always strives for the work to have a deeper story, a more famous narrative, and something that could become a reference point – the team at Vimeo had desired an idea like this from the start and the partnership flourished in this shared ambition.

How do you anticipate the resolution-based design system will impact audience perception and engagement during the REFRAME festival? How does this approach align with Vimeo’s broader goals? And how did you approach crafting a visual narrative that embodies the evolution of video in the 21st century?

Whether new or old, branding always has conventional tasks to fulfill. The approach here was to satisfy those needs, but go further finding a narrative in how we branded the event to create deeper conversations around Vimeo and its place in the world. This role is usually reserved for internal comms or marketing tasks, but we saw the opportunity for the body language of the brand to say something that most marketing couldn’t: If the simple design of our event is this innovative, the brand must live and breathe this commitment to the future of video in every aspect. More than answering a brief, this work asks a question, where else could video go? What else could it do? What else could be a screen? Magic in design can exist in more than a clever logo or the beauty of a typeface. What you make can be magical, but so can how you make [it].

What is the potential for applying the resolution-centric design concept beyond REFRAME? How might this approach influence future branding strategies for Vimeo or other platforms in the digital space?

Vimeo is a true innovator, whether through our partnership or in countless other ways, they will never stop showcasing the power of video to challenge, change, and improve our work and lives. We look forward to asking the questions inside this work of other media, environments, and opportunities as the studio moves forward.

Dan Brooks, Vimeo’s VP of creative & brand, remarked, “For REFRAME, our first video innovation conference, it was great to partner with Uncommon, a studio who embodies inventive thinking and design. It was a great collaboration between Vimeo’s in-house design and production team, a bold, flexible design system with a core idea around ‘resolution’ at the center.”

This approach not only reinforces Vimeo’s identity as a leader in video innovation but also exemplifies how design can transcend aesthetics to become an experiential journey.

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Why Strategy Alone Is Not Enough

Yes, strategy builds the essential foundation for any brand or campaign. It charts objectives, pinpoints target audiences, and crystallizes key messages. But strategy itself remains abstract—it lacks the sensory richness and emotional resonance needed to forge genuine connections with audiences. Simply dropping a strategy deck on a designer’s desk and expecting magic to happen is a recipe for disappointment.

Design isn’t just execution—it’s an interpretive art that demands nuance and understanding. Without proper guidance, even brilliant design concepts can drift away from their strategic moorings, resulting in work that might look beautiful but feel hollow. This disconnect typically stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of how to navigate the challenging territory between strategic thinking and design expression.

The Liminal Space: Where Strategy Meets Creativity

This transitional space demands that ideas evolve from analytical frameworks into compelling visual and experiential narratives. It’s a complex transformation that requires:

• Interpretive Expertise: Designers must dive deep beneath the surface of strategy documents to unearth the vital insights that will fuel powerful creative solutions—while keeping the brand’s core objectives firmly in focus.
• Collaborative Dialogue: The conversation between strategists and designers isn’t optional—it’s essential. This dialogue gives abstract concepts shape and form, and creative solutions emerge that honor strategic rigor and creative ambition.
• Iterative Exploration: Forget about linear processes. The path from strategy to design twists and turns, demanding continuous testing and refinement to ensure concepts remain strategically sound while pushing creative boundaries.
• Lessons from Industry Leaders: The agencies that excel at this transition don’t leave it to chance. They build robust processes prioritizing ongoing dialogue and alignment between strategic and creative teams. Many leverage workshops to break down silos between the word people—clients, marketers, strategists, and the visual people—the designers, creating environments where creative solutions emerge naturally from strategic foundations. These sessions—whether exploring brand personality, building visual identity collages, or mapping customer journeys—provide structured spaces for meaningful collaboration.

By keeping clients and creative teams engaged throughout the journey, these agencies ensure that the visual and verbal identity remains coherent and compelling. While specific methodologies vary, successful creative leadership shares a common thread: they recognize that excellence emerges from the intersection of strategic insight and creative exploration.

How to Bridge the Gap Effectively

• Keep Strategists in the Mix: The strategy team’s work doesn’t end when design begins. Their ongoing involvement, combined with client input, ensures design solutions remain tethered to core objectives while allowing for creative evolution.
• Design Powerful Workshops: Create structured opportunities for strategists and designers to collaborate meaningfully. Activities like brand personality exploration, competitive analysis, and scenario planning can transform abstract strategies into actionable creative direction, helping clients understand and visualize possible solutions.
• Craft Inspiring Briefs: The creative brief serves as your bridge between strategy and design. It should distill strategic insights into clear guidelines that inspire designers while providing the necessary guardrails for success.
• Embrace Rapid Prototyping: Early visualization and testing of concepts against strategic objectives creates valuable opportunities for refinement before final execution. This iterative approach helps ensure both strategic alignment and creative excellence.

Why This Matters

The liminal space between strategy and design isn’t just a phase to push through—it’s where true differentiation takes root. Here, a brand’s distinctive attributes transform into tangible elements that resonate deeply with audiences. Success in this space requires disciplined thinking, creative courage, and the wisdom to balance these seemingly opposing forces. And it requires active client engagement.

Organizations that master this transition understand that strategy and design must function as two parts of a unified whole. They invest in processes and talent that enable seamless collaboration, ensuring every design choice advances strategic goals and every strategic insight finds powerful creative expression.

Moving Forward

As markets become more complex and competitive, mastering this crucial transition becomes increasingly vital. The ability to navigate the space between strategy and design will separate exceptional brands from merely adequate ones. This is where brands don’t just establish their presence—they establish their significance. For organizations committed to excellence, this challenging but essential space is where the real work of brand building begins.

This post was originally published on Lynda’s LinkedIn newsletter, Marketing without Jargon. Lynda leads a team at Decker Design that focuses on helping law firms build differentiated brands.

Header photo by Mark Basarab on Unsplash.

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In this episode, hosts Brad Davidson, Sonika Garcia, and Gabriel Allen-Cummings are joined by Eirásmin Lokpez-Cobo, República Havas Health’s EVP of brand strategy, to dive into the insights from her team’s recently published white paper, Equity in Action: Mapping the Multicultural Patient Journey for Inclusive Strategies. This insightful paper sheds light on the systemic barriers and health-related behaviors that shape the experiences of diverse U.S. audiences throughout their patient journey.

This is part one of a two-part series focusing on the multicultural patient experience. The conversation starts by building a shared understanding of the barriers that prevent engagement with health systems. From there, they uncover overlooked elements of their journey, such as the unique health priorities of multicultural patients and the sources of trust they rely on. Disengagement isn’t solely rooted in mistrust, nor does the desire to achieve better health simply fade away. To truly “meet patients where they are,” we must understand where they are willing—and able—to go.

Welcome to Breaking the Code! Behavioral science is a cornerstone of modern marketing practice, but much of what passes itself off as behavioral science is just bs. Good social science gives us the insights and roadmap we need to change behavior, but bad social science just muddies the water and tarnishes the social sciences. As behavior change is a core objective of marketing, getting behavioral science right is crucial. Listen in as hosts Brad Davidson, PhD and Sonika Garcia, MPH, Medical Anthropology Strategists at Havas Health, sound off on what is, and isn’t, good social science, from a variety of disciplines covering new topics every podcast.

Learn more on LinkedIn and Spotify.

The post Understanding the Hearts and Minds of Multicultural Patients appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Biophilia-Inspired Branding for This Year’s Awards

When PRINT presented biophilia as the central theme to the designers at The Collected Works, the team dug right in to explore and deliver a brand for the 2025 PRINT Awards. The biophilic brand system highlights our innate human connection to the natural world, evoking a parallel theme of the cultivation of creativity.

Nature certainly takes center stage with this year’s brand identity. Utilizing a combination of Pangram Pangram Foundry’s luxurious Playground typeface along with workhorse Instrument Sans, the primary logo balances professionalism with organic appeal. The addition of a second typeface, Pangram Pangram’s Pangaia provides an opportunity for us to carry that charm into other promotional formats.

Beyond the brand mark for the PRINT Awards, the talented team at TCW worked on a complete array of brand assets, including a short film to announce the regular registration period of the competition. Below, Justin Colt, partner & creative director, and Christian Townsend, senior design & 3D artist, share the full brand case study.

Concept Overview

Justin Colt: Here at TCW, we were excited to take on the design and short call-for-entries film for the 2025 Print Awards. After an initial chat with the PRINT team, we were all inspired by the concept of biophilia—the connection between nature and humans. It felt like a cool metaphor—the idea of creativity and exploration represented through growing, evolving plant structures interacting with more “solid” elements, like rocks and typography. Kind of like creativity and exploration weaving their way around structure and grids. You know, something like that?

As with most of our studio projects, we kicked things off with a research and development phase. What should this environment feel like? How were we going to create and animate our plant life? We also liked the idea of keeping the whole video contained to just one scene—a small rock alcove where plants could grow, creep, and bloom. From there, we planned to pan through different moments and vignettes to highlight how the plants interacted with the rocks and typography. Since the entire growth process was generative and procedural, we got to take on more of an observer role—capturing where the plants naturally wanted to grow and bloom.

Process & Key Visual Elements

Christian Townsend: Conceptually, we loved the idea of creating simulations that run on their own—producing unexpected behavior and interesting emergent forms, which we could then explore and capture with the camera. Visually, however, we always want to ensure that the final product feels intentional and directed—not necessarily the easiest feat when working with procedural simulations.

Our process for this film involved a continuous back-and-forth—workshopping individual systems separately, then merging them back into the larger scene to see how they interacted with the rest of the world. As we built and layered in more and more systems, the world really started to come alive. Houdini, our 3D tool of choice for projects like this, was absolutely integral to the workflow. It allowed us to approach these films in an extremely modular way—building recipes for effects used throughout the project, running simulations on top of other simulations—really anything we could imagine. Houdini gave us the tools to attempt it.

Sculptural Rocks

We start with stacked geometric shapes, some of which add to the form, while others cut away from it. We then process these geometric sculptures into organic chiseled-looking forms. These sculptural rocks are the foundation on which every other piece grows.

Generative Flowers

Petals are automatically generated to fit along hand-drawn curves, then animated with bone deformations and run through a cloth simulation at the end to remove any intersections and add flowy movement. These are really fun to play with and create new alien forms of flowers.

Ivy Growth

Simulated particles explore the surfaces and trigger the growth of flowers and leaves along their paths. You can also hand-draw specific curves to convert them into vines.

Some of our typographic exploration.

Refinements

Christian Townsend: As we added new layers of detail and continued building up the scene, we also refined and pushed the existing elements into a more harmonious state—integrating them with the typographic system that was developing alongside the film. We began introducing more vibrant and ethereal colors and incorporated moments where the 2D and 3D elements of the design system could interact with each other. We brought in our friends at Roju Sound to complement these visuals with some amazing sound design. This was also the stage where we locked in camera angles, pacing, and cuts—allowing all the individual ingredients to finally come together into a cohesive package.

Justin Colt: From a sound perspective, we wanted this piece to feel partially grounded in reality while also carrying an otherworldly quality. For instance, what does it sound like when a flower—symbolizing design and creativity—blooms? Overall it was also important for us to strike a balance, blending deeper undertones with lighter, more sparkling audio moments.

Vibrant stone materials

Additional ground cover flora & moss

The first fully rendered flower bloom exploration

A collection of flower renders

The Finale

Justin Colt: In the end, we’re really excited about how everything came together. Our rock alcove is overtaken by generative vines, blooming and flowering. By allowing the procedural plants to essentially “grow themselves,” we became observers of the process, dropping cameras in to capture naturally occurring moments. It’s a fun way to approach these kinds of short films.

At just over 60 seconds, it feels like a nice duration—telling a quick story and (hopefully) leaving people wanting a bit more.

Christian Townsend: We really appreciate PRINT’s openness to a more exploratory way of working through the production of this film. It was the perfect brief for the studio to be able to really nerd out and deep dive into new and exciting processes, and we think the end product turned out so much better for it.

We’re very thankful to PRINT for trusting us with this one.

A collection of stills from the final film.

And the final film in all its glory!

For more information about the 2025 PRINT Awards, the 28 categories for your work, and to find out how to enter the competition this year, visit the PRINT Awards site and be sure to submit your work by January 21 for the best rates of the season!

The post The Collected Works Cultivates a Bold Design for the 2025 PRINT Awards appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Jianping He, also known as Jumping He, is a 51-year-old German-Chinese graphic designer, teacher and publisher. He was born in Hangzhou, China. In 2002 he opened hesign in Berlin, where he lives most of the year, and in 2008 another office in his home province, Hangzhou. I have written before about his penchant for shredded books and his incomparably tactile Daydream, which you must experience in your hands. But I have not yet focused on the independently funded art/design school that He calls Design Summer academy.

For 15 years, the DS academy in Hangzhou has drawn from the rich pedagogical traditions of both China and the West. The school is inspired by the ideas of two key figures: 20th-century Chinese educator Cai Yuanpei, who promotes the concept of aesthetic education in society, and John Dewey, who considered education to be “life itself.”

DS academy builds its coursework on “exploration and innovation” in order to cultivate artists and designers who possess refined tastes, demonstrate creative passion, and fluently utilize modern technology. This is accelerated through inventive classes taught by a skilled, illustrious international faculty that weds contemporary practice and technology with a history of Eastern and Western accomplishments, thus bridging the gap between design as pragmatics and art. He’s recipe of in-person learning, hands-on training and intensive craftsmanship nurtures individual thought. That he does it without official funding is a design thinker’s miracle. Think about that!

The post The Daily Heller: Jumping He’s Summer Design Academy in China appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Planning a Reading Year

I think most of us accumulate, curate, and tend a substantial, unruly “to be read” (TBR) list, whether we make a formal list that we keep in Notion or Goodreads or StoryGraph or just randomly notice covers and titles on the “new books” shelves at the library or brandished about by bookstagrammers and temporarily file them away as things we might “someday” read.

Thanks to her local library, my mom participates in an extensive yearly reading challenge with more than 100 prompts to help guide and shape a well-rounded year of reading.

As the new year approached, she spent time looking for books to fit some of the categories, prompts like “An alliterative title,” “An epistolary novel,” “A Rory Gilmore read,” “A locked room mystery,” and “A book with a pink cover.” Other prompts specify certain animals in the title, certain elements on the cover, certain locations, time periods, genres, or narrative structures. It’s fun to search for books that fit the categories and recommend books in areas she doesn’t typically read, like dystopian fiction (which I love).

I enjoy helping her craft her reading list for the challenge, but this kind of challenge isn’t for me. I do tend to like gamifying elements of my life, but maybe only when I make the rules. I don’t want to read a bunch of things I wouldn’t typically read just to fit someone else’s arbitrary list. Maybe I’m a bit of a book curmudgeon, but recognizing that life is short, I prefer my reading be self-directed. (I would still like to find a book club.)

The bonds between ourselves and another person exist only in our minds. Memory as it grows fainter loosens them, and notwithstanding the illusion by which we want to be duped and which, out of love, friendship, politeness, deference, duty, we dupe other people, we exist alone. Man is the creature who cannot escape from himself, who knows other people only in himself, and when he asserts the contrary, he is lying.

Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

Good Intentions and an Ever-Shifting Pile

There are so many things I want to read, books I keep hoping to circle back around to, books I check out over and over again and never crack, books I start and never finish. I always have a mix of things checked out (including lots of e-books). I have an assortment of creative nonfiction and writing-focused titles checked out right now, along with a number of art and illustration titles, but most of my reading is for pleasure, most often SF/fantasy (and lots of graphic novels).

I bailed on War and Peace last year (though I was really enjoying it), and I started, but didn’t finish, many books in the second half of the year. I’ve been waiting for a book to suck me in.

There were a few titles that I really wanted to get to last year, including the next book in the Stormlight Archive series by Brandon Sanderson. Maybe this is the year I’ll read Louise Penny. Maybe I’ll get hooked on a cozy mystery series. Maybe I’ll read something from my shelves, one of the many books I can’t remember if I’ve read or not. Needing to elevate my computer on the table yesterday, I randomly pulled two books from the shelves, the composite Black Jewels trilogy and Anne of Green Gables. Always attuned to moments of synchronicity, I had to wonder if the pulls were a sign, if maybe I should read or reread either of those.

I stood in front of the shelves later and pulled another small stack of titles that jump out as ones to read or reread. I am entering a year where I know I need to begin emptying my shelves. Reading from my shelves would be a step in the right direction, although anything I read might become harder to get rid of.

Left: Assorted books currently checked out from the library; Right: ssorted books from a set of shelves, some I might read again and some I can’t remember if I’ve read or not. They all show signs of age and time.

A Long Read

A new year offers an exciting and fresh slate for reading. I am hoping to sink into something good, and recapture the feeling of reading favorites like Station Eleven, The Starless Sea, the Realm of the Elderlings books, and Tomorrow, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow.

I could just make a goal of reading the books in the stacks above, shifting titles along with the flow of the year, but something has caught my attention that I think will be the backbone of my reading for 2025.

It came out of nowhere, but a few months ago, I decided to read Proust.

This idea appeared in front of me, completely unbidden, and it took hold. For some reason, now is the time to read Proust. I don’t remember what the original thread was. Once I decided I should read Proust, I considered other long reads like Ulysses and Gravity’s Rainbow, too, in case something else might be a better pick.) I got some advice that suggested Ulysses would be a good pick for the puzzle and wordplay, and In Search of Lost Time would be a good pick for introspection about memory, love, and time.

I love wordplay, but at least two of the Proustian themes are fundamental tidal pools for me, philosophical spaces in which I wander.

So the idea of reading Proust, which had never come up before other than in rogue references in the Gilmore Girls (like when Max lends Swann’s Way to Lorelei), took hold and didn’t let go.

In November, I spent weeks pondering translations and pulling multiple copies from the library. I started the first book (Swann’s Way) to see what I thought about the narrative voice, to see if I want to wade through the famously long sentences. I couldn’t figure out what was pulling me in this direction. What I don’t need right now is a difficult read, and yet I was circling a notoriously difficult read.

I read some “how to read Proust” posts, most of which suggest only reading a few (no more than ten) pages a day. The whole endeavor of reading Proust, and it does feel like gearing up for a long journey rather than settling in on the couch for a cozy read, has an aura of anticipation, of mystery. There is the unshakable sense that this is something that could be life-changing, but I have no idea why. Maybe I just am looking for something that will be life-changing. I don’t know what is drawing me to Proust, proverbial moth to flame, what thread is pulling me, or whether I will fall in love with the prose or bail before we leave the table with the Madeleine cookie (in which case I will have made much ado about nothing). I’m not sure these days if I have it in me to stick with things. There is something in my quest for understanding that has wrapped around this self-challenge of reading In Search of Lost Time.

I spiraled a bit with the issue of translations. Proust is known for his language, and yet … won’t I be getting a translator’s language? (This issue of translation came up in War and Peace, but the draw there wasn’t the “beauty” of the prose itself, which is part of the potential with Proust.)

I got sidetracked considering translations. The translator I thought I was going with (Davis), unfortunately, only translated one book. (That series switches translators throughout the seven books, which seems odd in terms of the continuity of voice.) Posting in Reddit yielded lots of opinions and one strident suggestion for one of the newest translations (Carter), which includes extensive footnotes and an update on the language in one of the other most well-known translations.¹

I checked out a book that documents paintings mentioned in In Search of Lost Time. I checked out a reader’s guide. I contemplated how to track the reading, how to document it, and whether a buddy read or collaboration around the reading was possible.

I’m starting 2025 with a slow read of Proust. What about you? What will you be reading in the early part of 2025? If you are part of a book club, you may already have a list for the year. If you read independently, maybe you’ve selected a short list to get you started, or maybe you have a plan. Maybe you follow some kind of yearly challenge that gives you a map or bingo card of books to read.

Our reading habits say a lot about us.

The Art of the Book Stack — Postcard No. 4

There are many things you could do on a postcard in January, including documenting a word, intention, or affirmation, but let’s use this month to share the book or books we will be reading. You don’t have to have a full map of the year. You just need one title or what you have checked out or what’s on the nightstand.

On a postcard, draw the book you are reading first (or next) or the short stack you have lined up.

You might draw the cover of the book(s), the stack, or the spine(s), a la Jane Mount’s wonderful Bibliophile series. (Other artists do book stack art, too, but Mount was my introduction to this format, and her books offer enticing and comprehensive visual reading lists that are fun to ponder. There are postcards of her stacks, too.)

Maybe your postcard:

• Features a quote from the book
• Is an exercise in lettering and highlights the title and author
• Contains a comic-style rendering of the main character
• Contains a set of graphic novel panels showing a scene with dialogue
• Invites the recipient to read with you
• Documents something from a related movie (as my examples did after watching Little Miss Sunshine)
• Contains a sketchnote of the first chapter (or book jacket/back cover summary)
• Is a ready-made book tracker someone can use to read the books

There are many creative directions you might take. Sharing your reading year with someone can be powerful, plus, you’ll be tracking your reading year (at least the first month) at the same time. Making a postcard about your first book of the year will almost certainly make you more intentional about the reading.

Tip: Even if you don’t send your postcard, if you create a postcard for each book you read this year and tack it to a bulletin board, imagine what a wonderful visual record of the reading year you will have later!

As an alternative, but still in keeping with the book theme, you might:

• Draw the cover for a favorite book, either a life favorite or a childhood favorite. (This is something I frequently include as an illustrated journal prompt.)
• Draw your own favorite stack, either an all-star stack or a stack on a favorite theme or from a favorite genre. (If you were passing on a list of recommendations to your recipient, what would be on the list?)
• Draw the cover of your own “book of life” for 2025. (I love this idea as part of visualizing the year you want.)

Reading Lists

If you are looking for an annual challenge or books to use to fill in your own reading calendar, you might browse these:

• The Most Popular 2025 Reading Challenges on StoryGraph (So Far) (lots of challenge options with community-generated suggestions)
• The 52 Book Club
• Book Riot’s 2025 Read Harder Challenge

A Year of Postcard Connections

This is the fourth in a year-long series of monthly postcard art prompts, prompts that nudge you to write or make art on a postcard and send it out into the world, to connect with someone using a simple rectangle of paper that is let loose in the mail system. You can start this month! Feel free to jump in and make and send your own postcard art.

Thank you to the few people who sent postcards to me in response to my call for assorted postcards that I can weave into the images for the series.

Amy Cowen is a San Francisco-based writer. A version of this was originally posted on her Substack, Illustrated Life, where she writes about illustrated journals, diary comics/graphic novels, memory, gratitude, loss, and the balancing force of creative habit.

Images courtesy of the author.

1. Fair warning – because of the numerous translations, it can be hard to find the copy you want when checking out from the library or when looking at Amazon, or browsing a used bookstore online. Be careful when looking for a specific translation. ↩︎

The post Connecting Dots: A Book Stack Postcard Prompt appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Welcome to the DesignThinkers Podcast! Join host and RGD President Nicola Hamilton as she digs into the archives of the DesignThinkers conference, reconnecting with past speakers about their talks and ideas that have shaped Canada’s largest graphic design conference. Follow the RGD on Instagram @rgdcanada or visit them at rgd.ca. Purchase tickets to the upcoming DesignThinkers conference at designthinkers.com.

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Storytelling that highlights the region’s vibrancy, traditions, and people anchors the campaign. Adam Stewart, Sandals’ executive chairman, narrates the campaign film, emphasizing the brand’s intimate connection to the islands. The campaign moves beyond generic notions of all-inclusive resorts to focus on experiences that embody the soul of the Caribbean.

Wolff Olins brings a new visual identity rooted in what they’ve dubbed “Natural Vibrancy.” The refreshed look and feel integrate local influences with modern design principles, striking a balance between heritage and contemporary appeal. It’s not just about looking tropical—the look feels genuinely connected to the culture and environment of the islands.

Travelers today are looking for the authenticity that Sandals and Beaches resorts stand for, so it’s an incredible opportunity to help a family business born in the Caribbean to continue innovating from its legacy and delivering all-inclusive hospitality for the next generation of travellers.”

Brian Meyers, executive strategy director at Wolff Olins

This shift speaks to a broader trend in branding: the move toward authenticity and storytelling. Sandals isn’t just competing on luxury; it’s carving out a distinct narrative space that resonates with travelers seeking meaning in their experiences.

By placing the Caribbean front and center—visually, verbally, and experientially—Sandals takes a confident step in defining its brand not as a destination, but as an extension of the region it calls home. This is branding that feels personal, thoughtful, and perfectly timed for today’s travel audience.

“Made of Caribbean encompasses the true heart and soul of our organization,” said Adam Stewart. “We are so deeply grateful to the teams at Leo Burnett and Wolff Olins for beautifully capturing who we are at our core. My father and Sandals Resorts’ founder Gordon “Butch” Stewart, built these world class brands through celebrating the place he cherished so deeply. He believed with unwavering certainty that the Caribbean was worthy of deep exploration – and that its people, the most welcoming in the world, are a constant source of joy. His vision lives on in everything we do and it is with great pride and gratitude, that we declare to the world, we are ‘Made of Caribbean.’”

The post Wolff Olins Crafts a Brand ‘Made of Caribbean’ for Sandals Resorts appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Case in point: As part of the 1940 Nazi-Soviet nonaggression pact, the USSR invaded and occupied Estonia and deported its “anti-Soviet-elements” to remote eastern areas deep inside Russia. When the pact was broken in 1941 with Hitler’s surprise invasion of the USSR, rather than “liberate” Estonia the Germans besieged and occupied it, imposing their own brand of terror. During the deadly match-up of battling armies, Estonian civilians were caught in the middle. In 1944 when the Red Army reconquered the Baltic states, including Estonia, Stalin’s terror ensued. Thousands of civilians fled the advancing troops, some escaped to Sweden, Finland, Germany, Poland, Canada, England and the USA.

Maria Spann is a Brooklyn-based photographer whose maternal grandparents fled to Sweden along with their two young children — Maria’s 5-year-old mother and 7-year-old uncle. In her youth Maria listened to her grandparents’ harrowing accounts and decided to delve deeper into this little known horror of the world war, of the Estonian exodus.

Her concept: To interview as many survivors as possible who were children then from her mother’s generation, photograph them now as older people along with one object that they saved from the journey. Her work has recently been compiled into the limited edition book Children of the 1944 Estonian Mass Flight, which Maria also handsomely designed and skillfully self-published. Each section begins with a compelling personal recollection on the first of two spreads (in English and Estonian) and a portrait on one page and the object on the opposite.

For this interview she talks about the process of tracking down the first 57 survivors, and recording their memories in what promises to be an ongoing discovery.

What triggered this emotional project?
I’m half Estonian. My mother lIme and uncle Jüri were born on a farm in Nautse on the small island of Muhu in Estonia. They were 5 and 7 years old when they were smuggled with their mother Siina onto the boat Juhan, which made nine journeys from Tallinn to Stockholm during the late summer and fall of 1944 (to transport ethnic Swedes from Estonia to their ancient homeland). Their father Georg made his way over a few weeks later in a small rowing boat with three other men.

During my childhood I heard the story of their escape mostly from an adult point of view, but always wondered what it was like for the children. Later on, when my grandparents had passed away and my mother and uncle were the only “real” Estonians left in our family with memories of Estonia and the escape from there, I became fascinated by how different their account of events was from the (very few) stories my grandparents had told us.

So, I decided to start a photographic project—I wanted to try to find more people who fled Estonia as children, just like my mother and uncle, and hear their accounts of the escape.

How often and for how long did you visit Estonia during the course of your research?
Not once! All my subjects still live outside of Estonia, apart from a few who have second homes there. Rather pleasingly though, the book was printed in Tallinn, and I went there to pass it on press this summer. 

How did you find the people in this diaspora? And where did many of them reside now?
I started with my mom and uncle, of course, as they were easily accessible to me in Sweden and it meant I had something of the project to show when reaching out to others. Then I contacted the Estonian Houses (centers of Estonian culture set up in various places across the world, many after the mass flight) in Stockholm, Gothenburg and New York City to explain my project and see if they might have possible candidates in their communities. 

In Sweden, news spread really fast by word of mouth—once I’d seen a couple of people, they recommended other friends and acquaintances and most were keen to take part. In New York, I attended the Estonian Cultural Days in 2018 to hand out flyers and spread news about the project. It took a little longer than in Sweden, but again, most people were eventually keen to take part. I also contacted the VEMU Estonian Museum in Toronto, where there is a huge Estonian community, and they put me in touch with an Estonian retirement home in the city.

The main 10 countries where the Estonian refugees ended up resettling were Sweden, UK, France, Belgium, Australia, USA, Argentina, Venezuela and Brazil. My initial aim was to travel to all these countries to be able to include a chapter on each in the book. However, financial constraints as well as COVID got in my way and so I decided to focus on the countries I could easily get to in order to finish the book by the 80th anniversary of the flight this year. In early 2023, I contacted various Estonian Houses around the UK, and quickly found a group of willing Estonian refugee “children” who I met with during a week-long whirlwind tour of England. 

What was it that you wanted your subjects to provide to you? What is the significance of the objects that are shown?
I wanted to hear the stories of the escape from a child’s point of view. The adult accounts are mostly accurate in a factual sense, but for the children, it was more about strong sensory memories—the smell of the boat, the taste of the white bread or the sinking feeling in their stomach—than the actual events of the journey itself. Often my subjects would say something along the lines of, “Oh, but what do I know—I was just a small child. It’s not the real story!” But I think that’s exactly what it is. The objects were added as a way of making the project more visual and showing what a wide range of belongings different people hold onto from such a momentous life event. 

What were the lasting lessons you learned from talking to all of these people?
I have met with 57 people for the project, and I found it so interesting how what you remember as a 5-year-old differs greatly from what you remember as a 15-year-old. Most of the people who were aged between 3 to 9 years old when they fled remember feeling worried and didn’t really know what was happening, but were also safe in the knowledge that they were with their families. Quite a few 10- to 14-year-olds were excited to finally be traveling somewhere, as they hadn’t been able to do so since before the war. One lady who was 13 at the time of the escape was just extremely relieved that they couldn’t take their piano with them as she hated practicing. But many of the older teens I met were left much more traumatized and often didn’t really want to share too much. 

I also think these stories are hugely relevant today—nothing has really changed in terms of children being forced to flee persecution all over the world. Maybe sharing these now … can contribute to more empathy being shown towards today’s refugee children and their families. 

You produced and published the book yourself. How will you distribute it, and who do you want to have a copy?
Oh yes, the distribution and PR for the book is my least-favorite part! I managed to secure funding for the printing costs of the book from a few generous institutions in the Estonian diaspora, and in exchange I sent them copies of the finished book, which I hope will help spread the word. It is also being sold at the Vabamu Museum of Occupations in Tallinn and through the Estonian National Archives in Tartu. Everyone who contributed their story to the project has received a copy of the book. I’m also selling it through the project website. 

If I’m allowed to dream, I would love this project to eventually end up at the Fotografiska Museum in Tallinn—back home!

The post The Daily Heller: Memories of a Wartime Escape From Estonia appeared first on PRINT Magazine.