Desktop Magazine #300

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The Happy Man: A profile of Stefan Sagmeister Words — Anne Miltenberg

“Do you know who I am?” Stefan Sagmeister asked, when I was introduced to him at a design party six years ago. “Yes, you’re Paul’s friend,” I replied, referring to a common acquaintance. This is the equivalent of calling Mandela ‘Winnie’s ex-husband’, or Madonna ‘the sister of Christopher Ciccone’. Perhaps I wanted to make a personal connection; perhaps I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his fame. Even at a party with dozens of famous international designers, all eyes were on Sagmeister. The party was in Rotterdam, in a room the size of a small basketball stadium with wooden floors, high ceilings and rows of tables positioned on giant bleachers so everyone could enjoy the harbour view outside. It was getting dark, the alcohol was flowing freely, and the last remains of formality melted away. Pierre Bernard stood at the buffet, spotted Irma Boom and cooed, “Allooooo.” Gert Dumbar grabbed a glowing, six-armed candelabra and walked across the tabletops to shake hands. Rik Comello stood up on a chair and recited an improv poem at the top of his lungs. Here, Sagmeister was one of the less conspicuous partygoers. He sat at a table, high up and away from the crowded floor, engaged in quiet conversation with three women. If you had looked casually, you would have thought no one was noticing him. But around his table hung a palpable tension. Everyone within hearing distance was silent in an attempt to eavesdrop on his conversation. Their backs were towards him, but their chairs were ever so slightly turned in his direction. At the nearest wall, a surprisingly large group of young people, for no apparent reason, gathered on the stairs. Though they were casually sipping their beers and talking among themselves, their eyes were transfixed on Sagmeister. It is difficult not to be starstruck by Stefan Sagmeister. He’s designed album covers for Lou Reed, The Rolling Stones and Talking Heads, the latter winning him

a Grammy (he won another for designing the David Byrne/Brian Eno album Everything that Happens Will Happen Today). His work has been featured in just about every design magazine in the world, in addition to two monographs that became best sellers, a series of solo exhibitions in major museums and a list of lecture requests that could easily keep him on the road for years. He has been a speaker at TED four times. If he designs a book, the publisher will place the line ‘cover: designed by Stefan Sagmeister’ close to, and only slightly smaller than, the author’s name, in a bid to increase sales. His self-commissioned work has propelled his name even further, for its visual expression and its selfexhibitionism. He famously carved the announcement of a lecture into his body with a razor blade, published as a poster. He has documented the effects of a weeklong fast food binge upon himself. On his website, you can watch his every move in the studio, recorded by a webcam 24 hours a day. He published his life lessons in a series of small books, held together in a box, with a laser cut of his own face. Every single graphic designer of the past two decades would recognise Stefan Sagmeister’s distinctive voice and unique work from miles away. That night, at the party in Rotterdam, Sagmeister considered my answer in silence. I was standing on a lower level step, and my head barely poked up above his table. The women in his company looked at me with barely concealed hostility. I tried to ignore them, and locked my eyes on Sagmeister. Behind me, I could sense chairs turning towards us. After what felt like a long time, Sagmeister replied thoughtfully, with a soft voice, “Yes, I am Paul’s friend.” The warmth in his reply caught me off-guard. I immediately understood that he had taken the time to consider his relationship with Paul, and that, yes, it could be described as a real friendship. We exchanged a conspiratory smile and, dumbfounded, I moved on to my own table. The icon, the idol, was a real man with feelings and a happy politeness. As soon as I sat down, people crowded around me to ask what it was we talked about. Visiting him in New York six years later, Sagmeister is very likely on the verge of surpassing his niche superstardom in the design world and establishing himself as a household name. The release of his first feature length

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Gert Dumbar grabbed a glowing, six-armed candelabra and walked across the tabletops to shake hands. Rik Comello stood up on a chair and recited an improv poem at the top of his lungs. Here, Sagmeister was one of the less conspicuous partygoers.

film on happiness – functionally titled The Happy Film – is imminent, and the design world is buzzing with expectation. When I arrive at the given address, I fear it must be wrong. The door to the studio is squeezed in between a gruffy bar and a suspicious hot stone therapist. It has a window upon which a neon pink sticker from another company cries out for attention, away from a modest black ampersand that tells me I’ve arrived at Sagmeister&Walsh. Entering the building, creeping up the cracked linoleum stairs, I spot odd bits of signage. ‘Third world offices, first world prices.’ At his desk by the window, Sagmeister is recording some voiceover tests on his iPhone. He spots me at the door and cracks a smile. The young men working in the studio hardly look up from their screens, accustomed to gawking visitors. There is not a trace of detachment or weariness on Sagmeister’s face. He makes a hop-skip from his chair, crossing the length of the studio in three paces, and herds me into the kitchen. “As you can see, it is very small in here.” He pushes a few extra chairs into the tiny white space and jokes, “Even though our studio looks crappy, it produces a surprising amount of overhead!” While we settle in, I remind him that we have met before. I don’t expect him to remember. “Actually, I do remember you. How is Paul?” He has succeeded in surprising me again. I tell him Paul is travelling a lot. “Speaking of which,” he interjects, “I’m just about to catch a plane to Barcelona. I have 45 minutes. Is that OK?” I tell him that is fine. Sagmeister, born in Austria, has never managed – o or has never been willing – to nt. shake his thick German accent. Tall, he’s known to wear bright yellow and orange-chequered suits. He stands out from the crowd, literally, and seems comfortable not belonging to any particular group. His career has been defined by periods of

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seven years, with a one-year sabbatical punctuating them, in which he focuses on his ‘personal development’ and refuses to take clients. Out of these breaks come ideas and projects that push his work into new territories. At the moment, he’s working on the product of his last sabbatical, The Happy Film and The Happy Show. Both explore concepts to train the brain to be happy, in the same way you might train the body. These concepts – cognitive therapy, drug programs and meditation – were all experiments Sagmeister conducted upon himself. His own journey for happiness and his practice of self-exhibitionism have combined. His findings were worthy, however, as he reports that his happiness did increase. “I would definitely look at going back on a drug program,” he shares. The film and exhibition are the vehicles through which to share his findings with others, in a seemingly genuine attempt to raise the happiness quota of the country. “It has the purpose of sharing ideas on how to be happier with people beyond ourselves. And from the feedback that we’ve had from The Happy Show – and we’ve received a lot – it appears to have that effect. We’ve had lots of visitors who sent emails to thank us for insights that have influenced their lives.” He does not state this fact with any visible pride or self-gratification. Nor does the public discussion around his person seemingly affect him. He considers my questions respectfully, and answers them as patiently as if it were the first time he has had to do so. I notice, as time ticks by, that an imminent departing flight to Barcelona does not force him to brevity. He shares a peek of the rough draft of the film with me. While I watch the video, he leans back against the wall, looks up at the ceiling and listens to his own voice. It’s hot, and through the open window comes the noise of traffic from the street below. On the screen, Sagmeister’s signature voice is narrator in a story of his youth – the day that he was brave enough to tell an older woman, sat opposite on the subway, how beautiful she looked. Her reaction appeared to cause a powerful change in Sagmeister, a realisation that he has a power, or a role to play, in his own happiness, and that of others. And so, many years and many relative projects later, he has made a film, which sits nearly completed on his laptop.

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—Redesigning the Bauhaus Dessau Foundation Identity opened the door to lots of commissions from cultural institutes in Germany. —Starting our own band, HORT, which is a kind of experimental visual playground for the studio. How important is happiness to the running of the studio? It’s a big part. Fear and bad vibes are a highly negative energy that works against good solutions in design. But we are not just happy people. We are hard workers and sometimes it’s also very frustrating. However, we always try to come back and fight again for the good times. We spend so much time together and therefore there is a big investment from all of us to make this time as enjoyable as possible.

Do the Hort designers work collaboratively? Yes, they do. Big jobs are done by lots of people, smaller ones by small teams or individuals. Everyone involved is responsible for the job. Are your current interns having a good time? What are their impressions so far?

“...errors build strong connections with people, as we are not perfect either...”

Cyp: Working at Hort is really nice. It’s a place where the opportunity is given to you to work outside of your comfort zone. Nice people, nice working mood, nice creations. Mark: I’m having a lot of fun. I’m so glad to have met the people here at Hort, everyone is super nice!

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Nadine: ‘Good time’ is a really a nice term to describe an internship here. It is a great experience, but most of all it is time to develop and focus on your own work and process. I learned much about illustration, graphic design and working in a family-like team, but I’ve learned the most about myself. Your work feels as if it is consistently uplifting — is this a purposeful infusion of happiness and celebration in your work? The work we do is pretty serious. It’s about questioning the past to design the future. What is important for us is that our work has a kind of Hort personality. We want people to understand that this is the way we solve the problem… that doesn’t mean that this is the only way. There are millions

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of ways. But we want to put soul in our work. If this is understood as happiness – that’s fine, but this is not our intention.

Above Various pieces for Nike.

Is there a unique Hort relationship or philosophy with colour? There’s no one ‘unique’ relationship as there are different individuals at Hort, each one promoting their own unique relationship. But when it comes to commissioned work, the team does have to decide which colour range would be, in our opinion, the best to serve the design concept. What about Hort and irregularity? I have my own experience with errors in my work. I learned graphic design by doing layouts by hand. ‘Layouting’ an idea on a sheet of paper was connected to a lot of

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HAPPY PAGE NO#2 ANDY REMENTER JOKES

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HAPPY PAGE NO#6 TIN&ED RELAX

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Bonnie Abbott and Clinton Duncan While compiling a list of design moments in 2013, desktop editor Bonnie Abbott enlists the aid of Clinton Duncan, a graphic designer with a particularly renowned sense of conviction. Together, they nut out the events that helped shape the design industry’s 2013 into a year like no other.

BA: I guess the first way that we could start putting this list together is to look at the news events of the year, like Margaret Thatcher’s death, or the federal election… CD: I thought that too… BA: But I don’t know that there are any remarkable design moments around the election to discuss. CD: I thought it was all pretty ugly. I am fond of Paul Keating’s quote, “When you change the government, you change the country.” We are now entering a particularly conservative period and that is going to affect everything. BA: Yes, the commercial expectations of graphic design’s role included. OK, so why don’t we ask ourselves this: what has been the ‘flavour’ to graphic design this year?

enthusiastically that they all ended up looking the same level of slick and cool. There was a huge synchronised jump in the opposite direction of the textured, drop-shadowed, skeuomorphistic styling that has become the norm. And it was so publically noted – I don’t think the term ‘skeuomorphism’ has ever had so much fame. CD: It’s now all very flat, and the influence of these companies has meant that the idea of having this level of design awareness in a business is becoming a lot more mainstream. It is also broadcasting the power of design to a very broad, very mainstream audience. They are not saying that good design is expensive, but that good design in business is a given.

BA: I agree. It was like they took to the challenge of visually updating themselves so

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BA: I have noticed a few businesses branded clumsily to look like hipster cafés. It’s pretty lame now to bash hipster conduct and style, but it’s bashed itself around too. Perhaps now it’s cool to be lame. Maybe the new Yahoo logo is actually great. CD: Yes, it was momentarily exciting to read about a CEO who cared so deeply, so enthusiastically about her company’s branding, and then read they spent a whole weekend on it… BA: (laughs) What else is on your nerd list?

BA: Let’s put this on the list. ‘Tech pushing design…’ CD: ‘Tech taking the lead.’

CD: I think tech has had a huge influence on design recently. It is as if this year the big technology companies have been the ones responsible for taking design forward. When Apple released iOS 7, I have never seen typography discussed as widely or as much. The way Google has been updating the look and feel of its logos and products and icons, even Facebook, even Microsoft with the new Windows – everything is sharp and flat and typographic and cool. It feels like it has been the tech companies that have defined what is next in visual culture in 2013.

that silly point where you see corporate institutions utilising the hipster aesthetic, and you think, ‘Wow… that’s really been coopted.’ It’s run its course completely now.

BA: You work for Wired? CD: (Laughs) I’m going to run you through other things I have been thinking about. Because I’m a nerd, I have written them all down and moved them into categories. So another pick from ‘Mega Trends’ is that the whole hipster aesthetic has just taken over. BA: I thought it had imploded. That hipsterness had eaten itself. CD: Yes, it has taken over and become the new normal. I think we mean the same thing… it’s worn itself out. It’s got to

CD: I have a category called ‘Hot or Not’, and in there I thought that Optus was probably the best large-scale rebrand of the year. It must be said that it has been a dry year, however. BA: There was definitely a lack of shocks when you logged into Twitter in the morning this year. I agree to a certain extent. I disliked it in the beginning, but as it has rolled out I have found it quite attractive, and a timely break from the ‘cute’ monopoly of Telstra. CD: Yes, when it first surfaced on the website, in a particularly poorly executed form, a lot of people wrote it off. Now, six months later, we can experience it and I have found it quite rich, quite character-driven. It has really changed

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