A pointless guide to starting a career in graphic design
Back. Way back in the day I studied fashion design at a fancy northern art college. What possessed me I still don't quite understand - I was 18 - who has a clue what they're about when they're 18? Anyway, I was in a band and we were gonna be famous by the end of the year, the class was 90% female and I wasn't, seemed like a good idea. My face never fit with the failed fashionistas masquerading as lecturers (I still shudder if I see a pair of black national health glasses - none prescription of course, Morrissey was a hero); and so, long story short, 3 years later, I'm back on the dole with a terrible hangover and I still wasn't a star (my mum had lied to me when she told me we were as good as anyone she’d seen on the telly) but I could at least darn my own socks. What's a young man to do in such desperate times? I needed a vocation that would satisfy my artistic 'leanings' so 'studio junior' seemed right up my alley. The bloke said they wanted someone straight out of school - I was WAY too old. I told him I'd work for nothing and got the job.
My colleagues were 60-a-day men - light up the next Capstan non-filter with the last drag of the one they were smoking - brown ceilings and a mystical carcinogenic mist. Chubby, porridge faced men who rarely saw daylight - hunched over drawing boards, classic gold all day long (pop quiz - who sang 'Love Grow's Where My Rosemary Goes? I‘ll tell you at the end of this post*), a love of Univers Light Condensed and cheese and onion sandwiches. But proper geniuses - magicians with a marker or a Rotring pen - no computers in those days kids - layouts were done by hand. And they were beautiful, works of pure art to me, the real deal. 3 o'clock on summer Friday afternoons the boss would send me across the road - 'go get us a growler each and 3 lagers, quality nosebag...' Nowt wrong with pork pies and a pint - Madison Avenue this was not.
In my downtime from making tea and cleaning out the ashtrays they started me on a crash course in graphic design that involved hand lettering a lower case Garamond letter 'b' - over and over and over for months on end. I'd spend hours fighting a French curve convinced I'd finally nailed it, only to be told - 'no, wrong, throw it away and try again...' My enduring love of typography began right there, eventually.
You're thinking...what’s the point of all this other than a vain attempt to be humorous? To be honest I'm not really sure yet - other than it’s where my adventures in Graphic Design began. Bust a few myths - see a few places, meet a few people along the way - that's about it really. Check back in a bit and I'll try my best not to bore you with more randomness
* Did you get it? ’Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes’ was a No.1 hit for Edison Lighthouse in 1970