Wolfgang :: Weingart bent a green flexible drafting rule into a curved shape high above his head and said, “Why can’t type do this? It was rhetorical, because the answer was that it could do that, and his work demonstrated it. During his lecture, he spoke about his general philosophy, things that excited him, showed us slides of his groundbreaking work, and went into some depth about a couple of his projects. He learned about typography, letterpress and offset printing through traditional methods. He didn’t just parachute into what we all knew him for, it came about organically over time. At some point he discovered something that changed everything for him, which determined his future work, our work, and the profession of graphic design forever. His work relied on photography, traditional typographic form, the layering of photographic films, and most importantly his intuition. Along with other legends like April Greiman, he provided my generation of designers even more permission to experiment. There were students lying on their backs in the aisles, drowsy, or dosing off, while others were slumped in the cushy theater seats. Not because it wasn’t extremely interesting, but because most everyone in the auditorium was sleep deprived.
Earlier in the day, he’d informally stopped by the grad studio with our professor who escorted Wolfgang to the desks of anyone who was present to look at the book projects we were working on. His visit wasn’t for a formal critique of our work, it wasn’t even planned. We were introduced and asked to walk him through our book projects. When it was my turn, I explained my overall intent, and how each thematic spread interpreted the architecture of the State Capitol building. I don’t remember what his reaction was exactly, or what he mumbled, but I do remember he looked me in the eyes and nodded.
Armin :: Hoffman’s visit to our afternoon studio class was scheduled. We knew he was coming so I had all morning to get myself worked up, so I was nervous when he and our professor entered the room. After they had seen a couple of my classmates books, they made their way to my desk. It was the same book project Weingart had viewed. I walked him through it, he nodded a couple of times without speaking, or looking up from my drawing board. After I finished, he looked at me and said, “thank you”. I said “thanks Mr Hoffman'“, then we shook hands. Standing next to him while he looked at my work and listened to what I said about it was unimaginable. I owned his book. It was required reading for my first class in undergraduate design school. I knew a couple of students and professors who had taken classes with him in Basel, and at Yale, and his legendary frankness proceeded him. Apparently he could sound and be harsh and direct during critiques. I don’t know if it was true, or if it was just myth, but just in case, I tried to prepare myself for him to dismiss my work rudely and tell me I was in the wrong field. He didn’t though. In fact, he was polite and soft spoken. Afterwards, I walked outside to smoke with a friend and share our experiences. We both agreed it felt like a dream.
Bradbury :: Thompson was a legend too. My classmates and I had dinner with him during Fall semester. I don’t remember if the head of the design program, or any other faculty were present, but I know our meal was in a sparse, private room off the main dining hall on campus. It was surrounded on two sides by large floor to ceiling windows, glass doors with a single long table in the middle of the room. One side faced an outdoor courtyard and the other side faced inward towards the main hall.
Bradbury was seated at the head of the table and the rest of us flanked him on each side. I was three seats away facing the outside courtyard and relieved that I wasn’t sitting any closer. At some point early into the meal, a classmate who was struggling with the early stages of his thesis, asked Bradbury if he could ask a question. “Yes, of course young man,” or something similarly polite. “When you’re struggling to find a design solution for a project, or you’re having a creative block, what do you do to get yourself out of it?” There was a lengthy pause, long enough that it was noticed, and after careful thought, Bradbury looked at my classmate and said “Um… well… I’m not sure, I’ve never really experienced that.”
After a few beats, myself and at least two other people involuntarily snorted to try and avoid laughing out loud. We couldn’t help it. We weren’t laughing at our friend, or his question, because we were all struggling in various ways. Bradbury didn’t respond with ego, or attitude in any way. He seemed far too humble and too much of a gentleman for anything other than honesty, sincerity and empathy. Apparently, he just hadn’t ever experienced a creative block before. Our classmate who asked the question face changed. He looked even more pale than usual. Bradbury saw his face and sensed what was happening and said, “However…, sometimes when I need to think through a complex project, I’ll go for a walk in the woods near my home. That usually helps.” Our classmate was visibly relieved. We were all relieved because Bradbury had graciously provided an escape hatch for anyone who needed it.
Songs :: Walking In The Rain and Feel Up by Grace Jones, How Soon Is Now by The Smiths, Persona Grata by Joan Armatrading, and Burnin’ Coal by Les McCann
