The Web site Forgotten Chicago has put up a fascinating piece about the use of the Chicago Municipal Device — a logo designed for use on city property like manhole covers and city buildings. However, as Forgotten Chicago’s photographic montage shows, that Y-shaped symbol has worked its way into architecture and design in private practice all over town.
 
Of course, it’s a very basic logo, representing the three branches of the Chicago River as they meet in the center of town. But as this document of its power and influence show — a simple, clear image with an idea behind it — can become part of a community’s shared DNA. On bridges, apartment and office buildings, and schools, the Device shows the power of branding — even when there isn’t a product to sell. — Sam, Content Manager

You could argue that the ads that work hardest to communicate a brand are those with the fewest words. Because true brand work is not about how you sell yourself. It's about how you portray yourself.

One brand that manages to do this not just smartly but with a sense of humor is Corona. Picture this scene: Open on crystal blue water, gently rolling surf and an idyllic white beach. A clear, unlabeled bottle of beer topped with a slice of lime sits on a stump in the foreground. We wait. Then, we slowly pan around to reveal a sign that was being blocked from sight by the bottle. The sign reads “Nude Beach.” The Corona logo appears. The ad is over.

With two words, I have gotten the message — this is a light, refreshing beer, perfect for relaxing on a hot day. And I get the message because it is not some overly comic or clever concept meant to sell me on the product. The voice is in the tone here. It’s the “story” of the ad. Its humor has a very relaxed sensibility, like the brand. The tone of the ad is slow and calm, combined with the soothing ambient sounds of the gentle surf. And I am lulled into wishing I had one. How’s that for compelling?

This is not to say that words aren’t important or even vital. It is to say that, like a product is not a brand, words are not a voice. And the more fine-tuned the voice, the more precise the copy is able to be. In a world where so much is being communicated to us in so many ways, the best (the Apples, GEs, VWs, etc.) get through by being simple, clear and true. If you find you’re having trouble doing so, perhaps a Corona can help.

 

Write responsibly.— Steve, Copywriter

When I think of design wonderfully imagined, one of the things I consider is expression. Designers are trained to understand a certain number of rudimentary principles that, when applied correctly, add up to a decipherable visual message. There are many schools of thought about graphic design — some of them leave little room for emotion. But for me, expression is important, but difficult to pull off without pretense.

As a designer who is increasingly fervent in her approach, but trained by avid Modernists , I ask myself many questions. Should we try to communicate universally or should we recognize that groups of people are different and thus tailor the message to that specific audience? Should type be expressive or should we all use something neutral like Helvetica? Do we have to justify every decision we make with our solutions or is it sometimes permissible to do something because it feels right? Should a designer be devoid of all artistic tendencies, or can she leave her thumbprint, however subtle, on her work? When we reduce our work to its simplest forms, don't we also sacrifice those nuances that appeal to our human sympathies? Is less always more?

With these questions at large, it's no wonder that design can alternate so much between the arenas of science and art. Sometimes it's clean, calculated, reduced to its basic necessities. At other times, it's disorganized, warm-blooded, folkish. As such, there have been associations made between the nonacademic and the passionate. Some call it the difference between high art and outsider art — between design and what Tibor Kalman referred to as the "vernacular." Today, there's room enough for many types of thinkers. I'm quite fascinated by the work of those who aren't trained to be designers because there lies some of the purest forms of communication and an earnest expressive quality that designers sometimes unlearn while earning MFAs.

I am particularly impressed by Chicago artist Tony Fitzpatrick. Just last week, he opened an exhibit at the Chicago Cultural Center, after completing his third volume of works called The Wonder: Portraits of a Remembered City. Mr. Fitzpatrick's work combines found images (many from baseball cards and old matchbooks) with his personal drawings and poetry. Each is a showcase of days gone by, an elegy for his father, or a flash of a blue-collar memory based in Chicago.

Each work in The Wonder, though similar in execution and systematic as a collected presentation, is an individual curio dedicated to a central idea. The collages are a mixture of the artist's poetic entries with visual samplings that are highly personal and seemingly loaded with secret meanings. The aesthetic is unmistakably unique to him: a critic could choose to praise it or rip it to shreds, but that seems unimportant. The beauty of this stuff is that it's real. It's overt, emotional, passionate and intuitive but still unequivocally communicative. When a body of work is able to do all of that, whether or not the maker means for it to be, it's good design.

The Wonder is on display from May 3 to June 29, 2008 in the Sidney R. Yates Gallery. — Aggie, Senior Designer