Voices from the Past: Bringing Graphic Design History to Life
Kerri Steinberg
It has been over fifteen years since the pomp and circumstance of my hooding—a day which remains emblazoned in my mind for compressing the pageantry of the past, in all its splendor, with the possibility of the present; that is, as I imagined it in June, 1998. As I marched in the customary medieval robes, listened to the inspiring words of commencement speaker Michael W. Apple—a leading theorist and teacher in the field of education—and Chancellor Albert Carnesale, who charged us to move forward with all of the rights and responsibilities that accompanied the magnitude of our newly awarded degrees, I felt wrapped in ritual and importance. I was the embodiment of tradition—my heavy robe brought the weight of the past to life, and I assumed my place within a deep landscape of robed scholars. My connection to history was palpable; it felt good to be in touch with the historical institution of commencement. Alas, that day has been relegated to memory, where on occasion, I retrieve it from the record of my lived experiences.
Looking back on nearly fifteen years of teaching the history of graphic design, it occurs to me that the symbolism of the hooding ceremony may not actually be so distant. In the beginning, pumped with purpose, it was as if I stepped off the platform fully robed to greet my students as the sage on the stage. The art of teaching was not offered as part of my graduate studies. To complicate matters further, graphic design, advertising, and illustration could have been four letter words, considering that they were seldom, if ever, used, in either undergraduate- or graduate-level art history classes. Philip Meggs’s A History of Graphic Design was only fifteen years old, and the Looking Closer: Critical Writings on Graphic Design series was still in its infancy. Where was a newly minted art historian like myself to turn for her authority in graphic design if not to that conferred upon her by her gown and hood? This self-trained graphic design historian stuck close to the Meggs text, and close to her mental image of a medieval scholar.
Times have changed and so too has pedagogy. No longer the neophyte, I have cast off my robes and come out to play. I found my passion in the citizen designer movement. If, as Anne Bush has suggested, graphic design as a form of communication art is inherently a social practice whose “response-ability” rests not only in its association with environmentalism or pro-bono work, but in its very capacity to ignite the minds and imaginations of its viewers, then graphic designers have an obligation to think before they act.1 If they don’t, the consequences can be devastating. In “A Question of Design,” William McDonough and Michael Braungart implore their readers to imagine the worst possible design that embodied not the achievements, but the arrogance and narcissism of the Industrial Revolution as symbolized by the Titanic. It poured:
. . . waste into the water and smoke into the sky. It attempts to work by its own rules, which are contrary to those of nature. And although it may seem invincible, the fundamental flaws in its design presage tragedy and disaster.
. . . Of course, the industrialists, engineers, inventors, and other minds behind the Industrial Revolution never intended such consequences. In fact, the Industrial Revolution as a whole was not really designed.2
Indeed, design matters. While graphic design may not bear the material weight of industrial or product design, it matters in other ways. The citizen designer movement demands accountability. As McDonough and Braungart make clear, all design students must come to terms with their role in promulgating change—will it be for the better, or will it lead down a path of destruction?
As educators, we too have a responsibility to do more than rehearse the past; the social responsibility of a graphic design historian is to challenge and honor what came before across time and space, to the extent possible in a fifteen-week semester. In this way, students may understand what they’ve inherited from the past, how they’ve inherited it, and how they are indebted to the past. My case for graphic design history is presented to students in familiar terms: Would you cast aside your grandparent? Would you be so audacious as to think that you carry nothing from them forward with you? Projecting fifty years into the future, if you are lucky enough to achieve old age, would you want to be disregarded as anachronistic, or do you imagine you might wish to still feel relevant? Our romp through graphic design history begins with this spirit of acknowledgement and appreciation of the past. Situating graphic design history in its robust social, political, and historical context presents an ideal opportunity to sensitize students to diverse people and places, and teach them the importance of how the past informs the present. This is, after all, the legacy of their field. The goal is not sentimentality, but rather to foster recognition that they are inevitably in dialogue with the past, and participants in the ongoing discourse and consequences of graphic design.
How is this enacted in the classroom? Hopefully in ways that are quirky and whacky enough to make a lasting impression. Exam questions present an opportune moment for constructive play. Dead or alive, figures from the past can be resurrected for the purpose of an imagined conversation between different generations or periods. For example:
The year is 1926 and Walter Gropius has established the first-ever talk radio show in Dessau. For months he has tried to persuade William Morris to appear as a guest, but for personal reasons, Morris has consistently refused his invitation, claiming that they come from two different worlds, and have nothing to discuss. When Gropius informs Morris that Peter Behrens has agreed to join the dialogue, he finally decides to come on the show. Gropius is delighted and suggests that the three men may have more in common than Morris realizes. Taking into consideration the concerns and contributions of Morris, Behrens, and Gropius, how might their conversation unfold?
Other essay questions have appealed more to the savory, situating Gropius, Paul Rand, and Shepard Fairey in a pub trying to come to terms with irreconcilable differences over beer and schnitzel or tea and crumpets, if William Morris happens to make an appearance. Teaching graphic design history need not be stodgy; in fact, the more opportunities for students to demonstrate their nimbleness and agility with the material through exercises that rely upon critical thinking and manipulation of their acquired knowledge, the better, if the goal is to leave a lasting impression.
In this time of flipped, blended, and roving classrooms, higher education experts recommend that faculty step aside as talking heads. While this is not always practical, students often bring a variety of perspectives and multiplicity of voices to share, and have much to teach each other. I decided to flip my class on the Bauhaus a couple of years ago. To prepare students for our in-class Bauhaus activity, I posted notes online, students watched the Frank Whitford film on YouTube, and completed assigned readings, which paid tribute to the legacy of the Bauhaus, and also critiqued its shortcomings. In lieu of my lecture and slideshow, students formed groups and curated a mini exhibition that advanced a particular Bauhaus principle. They were instructed to select four actual Bauhaus works to exemplify their principle, and one example that they generated, updated, or altered to critique the shortcomings of the Bauhaus, seen from the perspective of the present. Each group created an appropriate title for their mini show, and selected two members to present their concept to the larger class. Students were required to situate each example within the self-proclaimed conceptual, aesthetic, social, and political goals of the Bauhaus. The lessons of the Bauhaus came to life as students grappled with how, for better and worse, their education has been influenced by this pillar of modern design. Catering to multi-modalities, the students learned about the Bauhaus in a more compelling, and certainly more memorable, manner, because they were enacting history.
Just recently, when I flipped my class again—this time requiring students to take a stand on globalization—I became convinced of the value of engaging students as partners in their educational experience. Again, students formed groups, but this time I supplied them with a series of questions to consider:
• What does globalization mean to you?
• How has globalization and technology impacted and/or changed communication?
• What is gained and what is lost in a globalized world? Who or what comes out ahead? Who behind?
• What do you see as the role and responsibility of a graphic designer, advertiser, and illustrator in a globalized and digitally connected world?
Based upon their discussion, they were required to create a rough campaign using graphic design, advertising, or illustration to persuade the class of their group’s position arguing either in favor of or against globalization. For the purposes of the exercise, nuanced positions were not acceptable. Out of six groups, three presented a campaign that favored the economic opportunities created by globalization, while the other three could not justify the disparate regard for people engendered by globalization. The summative effect of the group presentations was much more nuanced than I, as a single voice, could have ever delivered. The social work of graphic design as a means to influence and mold public opinion in a globalized world was alive and well for all to see that day.
Graphic design seniors engage in rounds of crossfire debates as a rite of passage from the first unit of their Senior Project Research course highlighting key twentieth century cultural movements and theories into the second unit targeting contemporary movements and ideas. Following A Guide to Public Forum Debate, students form teams that will argue for the affirmative or negative side of questions. They receive the questions one week in advance and are expected to come prepared to debate the opposing side on any question. Each team selects an opener, a crossfire debater, and a closer. While opening and closing remarks can be prepared in advance, the crossfire debaters need to be conversant enough on topics including modernism, postmodernism, deconstruction, authorship, globalization, and responsibility to think on their feet and knock down the other side. The rounds are informative, exhilarating, and entertaining. Students listen to both sides of the polemic and proclaim the winners. Classes select the strongest debaters and go against each other for master rounds. The power of rhetoric is on display for all to see and question. Students follow up the debates with a reflective statement on the debate topics and the meaningfulness of them to their own work and vision as creators of visual form and meaning.
From YouTube videos and Ted Talks to manifestoes and primary treatises, technology today delivers voices from the past directly into the classroom. Bringing history to life is but a click away. Likewise, distinguished graphic design historians who may be geographically remote can visit your class in real time. Steven Heller recently Skyped in for a forty-five minute conversation with my graphic design, advertising, and illustration sophomores. Students prepared questions that I organized into broader categories to give the discussion some logic. Thanks to technology, they hosted their own conversation, and felt elated by the opportunity to hear the sage thoughts of a consummate scholar and professional. Skype technology enables the importance of connection, and should be fully exploited as a way to bring diverse and even dissenting voices into the historical forum. Digital technology is the newest cloak of connection to the history of graphic design; perhaps before too long, historical figures will be able to drop into the classroom via holographic imagery.
Though it has been more than fifteen years since the chancellor impelled us to find purpose in our advanced degrees, it seems like yesterday. In the next couple of years, I will be welcoming students into my classroom who were born the year I completed my graduate studies. It frequently feels as though I am chasing time; it is sobering to acknowledge that I am likely on the losing side. In the meantime, I cannot deny that I’m having a great time flirting and frolicking with the past as I prepare my graphic design students to take on the future. As I recently suited up for graduation, my connection to the past once again became tangible. Only this time, as I congratulated my students who were similarly robed, I understood that they, too, now carry forward the mantle of tradition. I felt an overwhelming sense of pride knowing that many of them will go on to make history.
Notes
1. Anne Bush, “Beyond Pro Bono: Graphic Design’s Social Work,” Citizen Designer: Perspectives on Design Responsibility, Steven Heller and Véronique Vienne, Eds. (New York: Allworth Press, 2003), 26.
2. William McDonough and Michael Braungart, “A Question of Design,” The Design Studies Reader, Hazel Clark and David Brody, eds. (Oxford: Berg, 2009), 462.