Continuing a series of rest in peace obits for some of the luminaries lost in the past year. 2020 took with it Milton Glaser, immensely talented artist and one of the originators of modern graphic design. Not only a titan of talent, he was one of the original open source creators: his I ❤️ NY design could have been copyrighted and become the income generator of a lifetime but instead he set it free. In doing so it became one of the most recognizable designs in history.
In the early 00’s, to the great surprise of my imposter syndrome, I was admitted to Milton Glaser’s “design for working designers” class at the School of Visual Arts in NYC. You had to show proof you were a working designer to gain admission to the course, something like a letter from a supervisor or paystubs, as well as present a portfolio of work. I showed up to the first class with a leather case, slightly bigger than a pizza box, recently purchased so I could paste up a few new pages with oversize calendar covers I’d made for a big book publisher. I waited in the classroom along with the twenty or so other prospective students, everyone seated at one of those chair-desk things, clutching black portfolio cases of various sizes, wondering what would happen next. Glaser walked in right on time, considered the room briefly and got right to the task.
“This course is for working designers. If you’re not currently working as a designer, you should be in a different class.” He looked around, making no eye contact but pausing long enough for each person in the room to consider whether or not they were working enough to belong here. I knew I wasn’t a real designer, but I was working. I had paystubs.
“I’m going to review your portfolios. We’ll meet outside this door one at at time. Come out in any order you like, I’ll be right outside the door.” Completely at random, he pointed at a person in the front row. “You’re first. Follow me.”
Desktop publishing was still an exploding field in the early 2000’s. If you were fast, knew some software gymnastics and could follow directions, you could find work all over town. My graphic design “career” was launched at a hectic printing company run by operations-minded people who just needed deadlines met. When I proved I could consistently deliver press ready files, they bestowed upon me the title “graphic designer.” I took to my new profession with the verve and uninformed confidence of someone who knew nothing. Complete ignorance can be the greatest thing; since you don’t even know what’s right, you have no clue what you’re doing wrong. Soon I obtained more design work as a freelancer, hired by ad agencies, publications, whatever. But the more work I did, the more I was convinced I was going to be found out.
I knew that I didn’t know anything, knew I had just been extremely lucky to get as far as I had making money as a graphic designer, and my luck was going to run out. People seemed to like my “rule breaking” design style, but I was pretending. I didn’t know there were any rules. I felt the actual graphic designers who got degrees from actual art schools were going to discover this imposter in their ranks and expose me, belittle me, burn me at the stake of typography. I was desperate to get some actual knowledge to evolve and improve my fakery.**(see footnote)
Nobody talked while we waited our turn, there was no nervous chatter or schmoozing. The idea that everyone in the room felt like an imposter never occurred to me. One at a time we left to for the meeting in the hallway. Each returning person looked relieved, not upset, a good sign.
Finally I took my turn and walked out the classroom door. The hallway was wide, two chair-desks were positioned set up face to face next to the wall on one side. Glaser sat behind one of the desks. I sat down at the empty chair-desk, unzipped my case and started my presentation. I’d had plenty of interviews, so I wasn’t overly nervous about presenting, but he shut me down immediately. Without saying a word, he reached over and took the leather case out of my hands and began to turn the pages himself.
As I started to talk about each design sample, Glaser flipped pages at his own pace, rendering my explanation irrelevant by turning pages while I was mid-sentence. About halfway through the book, it was clear he didn’t care to hear the context I was providing for each page. I stopped talking. His face betrayed nothing, mouth partially open like he was about to say something but never saying anything, it was impossible to discern whether he liked or disliked anything he was seeing. He spent a second or two on each page and was done faster than I’d imagined. He closed the case, handed it back across the desks and looked at me. His gaze was hard but his eyes and features were soft, a resting expression of someone who spent many hours quietly focused. Matter of factly he said, “OK.”
I didn’t reply or move from my chair because I wasn’t sure what to do. Did I pass the review? Was I allowed into the class with all the other real designers? Did the master spot my faked skills?
“Um, so,” I said, “am I in?”
His reply was pleasant, yet a little exasperated, “Yes, yes of course.”
I still didn’t move from the chair. I thought he was lying. Then I thought he was making fun of me. Any second now he was going to change his mind, pull my portfolio out of my hands, fling it down the hallway and laugh maniacally.
“That’s all,” he said in the same matter of fact tone, with the same hard soft look. Then he raised up an eyebrow, “Go. Send the next person out.”
I did finally get up, more than a little bit stunned. By the time the portfolio reviews were complete, everyone was back in the room. It seemed no one got rejected, although a few people never returned after the first class.
“Some of you are quite skilled,” he said to the group, “some of you are poorly trained.”
My book was overrun with attempts at David Carson-style deconstructive design amounting to repeated violations of Helvetica, glaring color smashups and rude magazine cover parodies. I knew surely I was part of the poorly trained group. I considered walking out right then, but he continued, “All of you can be better, and you will be. Think deeply. Do the work. When you move pencil on paper, miracles are possible.”
As a digital maven with knack for making things click together but absolutely no formal training, I didn’t use a pencil, I rarely sketched. I consumed assignments. I scrambled words and images together like salad, working things out on screen in multiple iterations and letting the design space reveal itself. The idea of using a pencil for something that would be delivered using Photoshop never occurred to me, but Glaser forced us to use classic methods to deliver modern results. The first few projects were to be delivered without using a computer. My fear gave way to acceptance and the experience of taking that class changed my work process, my tools, my life.
At the end of the course I handed in an outstanding assignment I had been given permission to turn it in late. It’s a little embarrassing to look at now, but at the time it felt like an exorcism. Beginning to feel less like an imposter, I was showing the world that I could do it, that I belonged in the room with the rest of the designers.
When he gave it back to me he said, “Well, that was worth the time. You put a lot of thought into this.” Words with a double meaning? Perhaps. Milton Glaser was a titan of graphic design but moreover, a generous teacher, possessed of a sincerity that belonged to another era and a belief that truth and beauty will always inspire change. This world needs that sincerity, now more than ever.
[**This was years before Imposter Syndrome even had a name. Now it’s a thing everyone has heard about, famous people talk about it all the time. Feeling like you don’t belong has inspired podcasts, books, TED Talks, entire industries emerged to help assuage the solitary symptoms. But feeling like an imposter in the first decade of the 2000's was not cool at all. It made you feel crazy, like another mind was inside your mind working against you.]
- — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Next week: Pat Patterson
