Michael Bierut, Jesse Reed Illustrator/photographer: Pentagram
2013
When did you know you wanted to become a graphic designer, and how did you achieve that?
I did a lot of art classes in public school in suburban Cleveland where I grew up. I liked going downtown to the art museum, but I liked looking at the covers of 12-inch records even more. Finally, in the ninth grade someone recruited me to do a poster for the school play. I did something entirely by hand and turned it in on a Friday. By Monday morning it was all over the school. It was thrilling, seeing something I had drawn at home on my kitchen table, out there in the world, seen by everyone. It was also fun to work with the drama people, who were entertaining and dramatic, unlike the art people who were usual circle. Without knowing it then, I decided that Monday morning to be a graphic designer. This combination of entering other private worlds and interpreting for those worlds for a broader public, was what excited me then, and it still excites me now.
Did you have a clue you were doing graphic design?
At that point, I still couldn't figure out what the connection was between the famous artists who had paintings in the Cleveland Museum of Art and the less famous people who were credited on the covers for my favorite bands. Right around then, and pretty much by accident, I happened to find a book in my high school library called Aim for a Future in Graphic Design/Commercial Art. It was by a man named S. Neil Fujita, whom I would eventually learn had designed the Columbia Records logo and the famous cover of the 1972 novel, The Godfather, by Mario Puzo. It was filled with profiles of designers and art directors. All of them were doing exactly what I wanted to do, and it was then I found out that this aspiration had a name: graphic design. I went to our neighborhood public library and looked up “graphic design” in the card catalog. It turns out they had a book by that name. For reasons I cannot fathom, they had a copy of [the] Graphic Design Manual by Armin Hoffman. I'm not sure anyone had ever taken out this book, which was the cornerstone document of design as it was then taught at the Kunstgewerbeschule (“school of arts and crafts”) in Basel, Switzerland. I was enthralled. My parents asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I told them I wanted the Hoffman book. Of course, there was no Amazon, so they called every bookstore in town before finally someone said they had it. It turns out this was the wrong book: Graphic Design by Milton Glaser, which had just been published. My parents thought this was close enough and bought it for me anyway.
I ended up going to the College of Design, Architecture and Art, at the University of Cincinnati, which coincidentally had several instructors who had studied under Hoffman in Switzerland. It was a great experience. Right before my senior year, I took a trip to New York and dropped off my portfolio at Vignelli Associates because someone I had interned with had gone to school with someone who was working there. I never expected Massimo Vignelli to look at my portfolio, but he did, and he liked it, and he offered me a job.
You worked for Massimo Vignelli for 10 years. What did you learn from that experience?
I started working for Massimo and Lella Vignelli the week after I graduated from college. It was an amazing experience. Everything there was at the highest level: not just the design work, but the clients, the everyday life in the studio. It's not enough to do great work. You have to get clients to hire you, and then you have to get them to accept your recommendations. This is hard to learn in school. And, to be honest, it was hard to learn from Massimo. Not that he wasn't a great teacher, but the way he worked with clients was so unique that it wouldn't really work for anyone other than him. I had to take what made sense for me and combine it with my own style. That's really what happens with every one of your mentors.
When you were invited to become a Pentagram partner, how did you know you were ready?
I worked at Vignelli Associates for a little more than 10 years, which was probably 3 years too long, to tell you the truth. I had gotten past the stage where I had a fantasy of having my own thing with my name on the door. I liked being around people, I liked the buzz of a bigger office, and working on my own had very little appeal. Massimo was very generous with me, always giving me credit for my work, allowing me to do a lot of extracurricular activities. As a result, I had begun to build a small reputation as an up-and-coming designer. So when Woody Pirtle asked me whether I would be interested in joining Pentagram as a partner, I was ready. Still, to go from a nurturing and very disciplined environment like Vignelli Associates to Pentagram was a shock. At Pentagram, each partner is autonomous. No one tells you what to do. You sort of have to figure it out on your own. It took me a few years to start to find my own voice. It was my second job after graduation, and I've never had another one.
Yale School of Architecture Spring 2014 Poster
Yale University School of Architecture
Designers: Michael Bierut, Jessica Svendsen
Illustrator/photographer:
Pentagram
2014
NYC Pedestrian Wayfinding Sign
New York City Department of Transportation
Designers:
Pentagram: Michael Bierut, Tracey Cameron, and Hamish Smyth; Jesse Reed, icon designer; and Tamara McKenna, project manager; in partnership with PentaCityGroup
2013
As a designer, what is your greatest strength?
I think I'm a good listener. I enter every project with an open mind and wait for someone or something to say that special, unpredictable thing that will lead me to a solution.
And, conversely, what is your weakness?
I have a short attention span and a low tolerance for ambiguity. As a result, I tend to rush to a solution and settle for the first thing I come up with. As a result, I'm always grateful when I'm forced to slow down and think again.
You are one of the most articulate designers in an increasingly literate field. How does this work as an advantage in your work life?
I think that designers tend to expect the rest of the world to be as visually sophisticated as they are, and they're disappointed when they aren't. Why is that? It's not like the whole world is born with four years of design training. So often there's a gulf, sometimes a vast one, between the designers and the people they work with, or collaborate with, or work for. I learned early on that conversation was the best way to bridge that gap. I listen carefully and then try to explain design in terms that will connect with the person I'm talking to, on whatever the level they're on. I am articulate, and I'm a good and enthusiastic salesman. But I learned early on that the sooner I stopped trying to sell the other person something, the sooner I'd learn something that might genuinely help me.
Is writing like designing?
Writing is like designing in that you need a structure, you need an idea, you need the technical skill to execute that idea, and you need to do it with some style that will give pleasure to the person who's going to read it. These same four elements exist, more or less, in every design project. In both cases, you're trying to communicate something, often to someone you've never met. And both disciplines are such fun ways to learn about the world.
How would you define a good client?
A
