« September 2008 | Main | November 2008 »
I'm not much of a dresser-upper, not a huge fan of taking on alternative identies through costumes, never quite got the whole Rocky Horror Picture show toast-throwing obsession, but it is a lovely fall day here, the sun crisp and bright on the acid yellow and pumpkin orange leaves that drift down from the sleeping trees, so let me just say Happy Halloween to everyone. And BOO!
In these waning days of the political campaigns, we may be shocked by some of the outrageous claims we're hearing from candidates. However, they are nothing compared to what the tobacco industry has done to promote smoking. Especially in the pre-regulation days. (Maybe the financial industry needs as much regulation as the tobacco industry ... maybe even more!) In any case, the Stanford Medical School has collected some jaw dropping images from tobacco's heydey of advertising.
Not a Cough in a Carload: Images from the Tobacco Industry Campaign to HIde the Hazards of Smoking is the online repository of these images, which feature everything from babies, to doctors, nurses, cowboys, singers, and more. Here's some important history from their website -- sobering thoughts for sure:
Early in the last century, when questions about the health effects of smoking became a topic of widespread discussion, tobacco companies undertook a multi-faceted campaign to allay the public's fears. As terms like "smoker's cough" and "coffin nails" (referring to cigarettes) began to appear in the popular vernacular, tobacco marketers recognized the need to counter this threat to their livelihood.
One strategy was to use endorsements by healthy and vigorous appearing singers, Hollywood stars, and elite athletes. Another was to raise fears over weight gain: "Reach for a Lucky instead of a sweet."Among the more reprehensible tactics was the utilization of the image of the noble and caring physician to sell cigarettes: Doctors were depicted both as satisfied and enthusiastic partakers of the smoking habit ("More Doctors Smoke Camels"). Images of medical men (and a few token women) appeared under soothing reassurances of the safety of smoking. Liberal use was also made of pseudo-scientific medical reports and surveys.
Our intention is to tell—principally through advertising images—the story of how, between the late 1920s and the early 1950s, tobacco companies used deceptive and often patently false claims in an effort to reassure the public of the safety of their products.
On first impression, most viewers will find these images outrageous, humorous, and so blatantly false as to trigger incredulity. But tobacco industry ad men also excelled in creative genius and had high levels of artistic skill. The best talent money could buy was recruited for this effort. Tobacco advertisers faced a daunting challenge: How do you sell a product which shortens the life of the user by an average of about 8 years? In 2003, the tobacco companies brought to this task a war chest of over $15 billion in advertising in the U.S. alone. Constrained by governmental regulation and fears of litigation, tobacco marketing strategies have evolved over time from the (now) transparent hucksterism of the 1920-1950 era. Companies invest enormous resources into crafting clever and highly sophisticated devices to get their message across (witness Joe Camel and the Marlboro Man). The take home point is that little has changed from then to now, save for the subtlety of the methods employed.
Deconstructing Product Design is a book by William Lidwell and Gerry Manacsa, to be published by Rockport Publishers in the Fall of 2009. However, they're going about the writing in an interesting way: they're soliciting feedback from people who've actually used the products, know something about them, or just have an experience to share. The purpose of the book "is to explore the meaning of 'good design' as it pertains to consumer products. Deconstruction here is an exploration of the form, function, and usability of these products by way of emotional response, objective analysis, and subjective commentary."
They're looking for comments on a stageringly wide range of products from Cabbage Patch Dolls, to Vespas, and Post It Notes. If you have something to add about any of the products listed below, pop them a comment on the site. If they select your entry for inclusion, you'll get a byline and listing in the contributor section.
Here are the products they're soliticing comments about:
I've been a devoted reader of the Atlantic magazine for longer than I care to count. When I started out to write my book "100 Habits of Successful Publication Designers," I used the exercise as an excuse to profile the magazine's then fairly recent re-design.
Well, on the same day the I hear my book is finally, really out and ready to ship, I also get in the mail my November issue of the Atlantic and lo and behold, it's redesigned AGAIN. Potentially, I think, making the special section of my book moot. Only, not so much. There's a description of the process of redesign by Michael Bierut of Pentagram who led the team. It's an interesting little piece and reflects so many of my own feelings about the magazine. Bierut is also a long-time reader and fan. And he discusses the importance of striking a balance between the actual content between the pages, but also with the history of where the magazine has been and the places its readership hopes to be taken.
One of the ways he and his team -- which included Pentagram-ers Luke Hayman, Joe Marianek, and Ben King as well as the Atlantic's art director Jason Treat and editor James Bennet -- struck this balance was to resurrect and update its traditional nameplate, giving the cover a decidely classic and modern look. In the way, I suppose, of all truly classic things. As a design writer, my eyes like what I see; as a reader, my brain still loves what I find inside.
Check out the new look ... along with the older one, profiled in a special section in my book.
There are a collection of books that offer access to a wide range of patterns from ethnic to modern. And the extra cool thing is that they come with an intereactive DVD that can be used to download patterns and then play with them, change colors, etc.
Check out these pages from the Pattern Sourcebook: Chinese Style: 250 Patterns for Projects and Designs:
In addition to the patterns I've found around my home, I've also been finding some interesting textures and patterns on walks in my new environs. No designer is quite as amazing (and prolific) as Mother Nature, right?
Here's a tree with a stunning moss growing up the bark -- what a color combo!
Here's more moss on a rock cliff, found, appropriately enough, at a place called Moss Island:
Here's some moss growing amongst the asphalt on the bike path -- I love the charcoal and bright green:
And here, as a complete non-sequitur, is a piece of vintage bark cloth that I found at the antique center -- I'm repurposing it into cafe curtains for our dining room. I just love the colors and how they're working together with the sketchy marks -- It's so George Jetson!
One of the things that make old homes so addictive and satisfying is the process of discovery that goes on as you move things in, clean things out, peel back the layers. The house we've moved to was built in the late 1800s. It was broken up into a two-family, and then the owner before us spent the last 7 years turning it back to a one-family. We are fortunate to have found great bones and to be able to dig into mostly cosmetic fixes.
One of the things that I have found in other old homes is something called "linoleum carpet." It's basically big sheets of linoleum that are printed with patterns resembling oriental rugs.
In this house, we have snatches of linoleum carpet throughout the basement and attic in an astonishing array of patterns that I found pretty intriguing and with a richness that you just don't see in today's flooring options. I thought I'd share some snaps of the various fragments with you -- maybe they'll offer some inspiration.
On a slender strip of land that runs between the Mohawk River and the Erie Canal in Little Falls, NY there are these two, abandoned buildings, referred to by the locals as "The Sisters". They have changed hands several times over the last two or three decades, mostly recently falling into ours. While we all hear the word "unique" used to describe all kinds of things that are not original or unusual or one of a kind, I do think that word applies to these brick buildings. Where else can you find such historic, architecturally-interesting edifices on an island, with water on both sides, in a beautiful part of the world, just a few hours from major metropolitan areas but also a quick drive to the Adirondack park, in a corner of an old-fashioned town that also contains new-fashioned things like a French restaurant, a B&B, a soon-to-open inn, restored mill buildings, antique shops, an arts center, a rock-climbing area, a lock, boat tie-ups, bike paths, ice cream/coffee shop and more??? Not to mention, they were incredibly reasonably priced. No, actually, they were downright cheap.
Which might have something to do with the fact that the interiors look like this:
So now that we have them -- lunatics that we are -- what are we going to do with them? Well, you can see, just steps away, across the river, what other intrepid folks have done with much larger, stone, former mill buildings, which house most of the aforementioned amenities, as well as a few stunning apartments:
We hope to develop some combination of residential and commercial spaces in our buildings, along with a garden in the lot in between. We are planning to apply for grant monies for part of said development. New York State has some wonderful programs that offer money to bring back properties like these, especially on the water and in the Erie Canal corridor -- hopefully the recent meltdown on Wall Street won't have too adverse an impact on this small corner of the state budget. In any case, we're working up plans now. If you have any thoughts or ideas, you designers and/or architects out there, I'd love to hear them.
Long term, part of the plan may include turning the top two floors of this building into an owner's unit. For us. Water views everywhere you look. That wouldn't suck, now would it?
Just about a year ago, as he was nearing the end of his two week bike trip along the former Erie Canal tow path, my husband discovered this town:
Nestled in this Mohawk River Valley:
He had planned to stay for one night, but ended up staying for an extra day in this B&B above a country-French restaurant in a funny cluster of old mill buildings nestled between the train tracks, the river, and the canal:
He wandered the antique center, the steep hillsides, the little hydroelectric plant, the parks, watched the rock climbers practicing their craft, and marveled at the mechanics of Lock 17, one of the highest in the world, with a lift of more than 40 feet, as shown in this postcard from 1928:
And he discovered these two, abandoned brick buildings, on a little strip island between the river and the canal (more on these later):
Suffice it to say, for now, that here we are, a year later, and my morning walk takes me over the bridge:
Along the canal:
Down this path:
Back to this house:
And finally into this office:
Where I write, among other things, this blog.....
