Toulouse-Lautrec, Cassandre, Müller-Brockmann.
Helvetica, the Bauhaus, the Swiss style, the screen.
Vignelli, Glaser, Rand, Sagmeister, Brand Studio.
M02 / 18
Graphic design is the discipline of arranging type, image, and space on a flat surface (or screen) to communicate. It is younger than most arts — the term itself was coined by William Addison Dwiggins in 1922 — but its tools are old. The Trajan column inscription (113 AD) is graphic design. So is a Gutenberg page (1455). So is a Coca-Cola can.
The job sits between art and engineering. The designer must make something legible, attractive, and on-brief. There is always a brief. There is almost always a budget. There is always a deadline. The pleasure of the discipline is finding the elegant solution under those constraints, and most of its history is the history of those solutions.
This deck moves chronologically through the disciplines that fed it — printing, lettering, typography, photography, and the screen — and ends, as graphic design now does, on the device in your hand.
M03 / 18
The colour lithograph poster appeared in Paris in the 1860s, when Jules Chéret figured out how to print large sheets in three or four colours from limestone slabs. Within twenty years the streets of Paris carried more visual information than at any previous moment in history. Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, whose first poster was for the Moulin Rouge in 1891, took the cropping of Japanese ukiyo-e prints, the flat colour of Manet, and the speed-line of dance, and combined them.
By 1900 the affichiste was a profession. Alphonse Mucha turned every Sarah Bernhardt poster into Art Nouveau. By the 1920s, A. M. Cassandre (Adolphe Mouron) was reducing ocean liners to two cubist lines and making the modern poster — Normandie (1935), Nord Express (1927). The poster taught the world to read at speed.
M04 / 18
At the Bauhaus, Herbert Bayer designed Universal Alphabet (1925), a strict geometric sans-serif using only lowercase letters — he argued that since the spoken language has no uppercase, the written one shouldn't either. Paul Renner, in Frankfurt, designed Futura (1927), the same logic worn more elegantly. Jan Tschichold published Die neue Typographie in 1928, the canonical handbook of asymmetric, sans-serif, grid-based modern typography.
Tschichold later renounced his own book, returned to centred classical typography, redesigned Penguin Books (1947), and argued for the rest of his life that the new typography had been "fascist in its rigidity." The argument is still alive in every studio.
M05 / 18
Zürich and Basel, 1950s. Josef Müller-Brockmann, Armin Hofmann, Emil Ruder, Karl Gerstner. The Swiss style codified the modernist project: sans-serif type (preferably Akzidenz-Grotesk, soon Helvetica), an asymmetric mathematical grid, photographs printed without ornamentation, primary colours, ranged-left text. The poster as a problem to be solved.
Müller-Brockmann's Grid Systems in Graphic Design (1981) is still in print. His Tonhalle Zürich concert posters (1955–72) reduce music to overlapping circles and triangles. His Beethoven poster (1955) is just six diagonal lines and a name, and somehow it sounds.
The style spread — first to corporate identity (CBS, IBM, the New York subway map by Massimo Vignelli, 1972), then to the United Nations, then everywhere. By the 1990s "Helvetica" was the default of the modern world. Documentary film of the same name (Gary Hustwit, 2007) made the typeface into a household word.
M06 / 18
Designed by Max Miedinger and Eduard Hoffmann at the Haas type foundry, Helvetica was meant to be a tighter, neutral, modernised Akzidenz-Grotesk — a "neutral" sans-serif that any client could use. Stempel licensed it in 1961, calling it "Helvetica" because the original name "Neue Haas Grotesk" was hard to sell internationally.
Within twenty years it was on the New York subway, in Lufthansa's livery, on every American Airlines plane, in the Apple keyboard, on every other corporate logo on Earth. Robert Indiana's LOVE, 1965, is set in Helvetica's cousin. Massimo Vignelli claimed Helvetica could express anything: "I think it's amazing how a single typeface can carry so much."
Erik Spiekermann disagrees. So did the Pentagram designers who switched to FF Meta in the 1990s. So did everyone who reissued Akzidenz, Univers, or Inter to escape the Helvetica monoculture.
None of which has dethroned it. Open your phone. Open Google Maps. Open IKEA's catalogue. The 67-year-old Swiss neutral sans is still doing its job.
M07 / 18
A grid is a set of intersecting horizontal and vertical lines that divides a page into modules. Designers use it to align type, images, and white space across many pages of the same document. Without a grid, every page is a fresh problem; with a grid, the pages talk to each other.
Standard newspaper grid: 12 columns wide, modular vertically. The page you are reading uses one. Magazine grids run 4 to 9 columns; book pages, often a single text column with margins set by the golden ratio, the Van de Graaf canon, or some descendant thereof. Karl Gerstner's Capital magazine layouts in the 1960s used a single grid that could resolve into 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, or 12 columns — a "rational" grid that was actually maximally flexible.
M08 / 18
While Switzerland was perfecting the rational grid, New York was in love with eclecticism. Push Pin Studios, founded 1954 by Milton Glaser, Seymour Chwast, Reynold Ruffins, and Edward Sorel, mined Victorian engravings, Persian miniatures, Polish posters, and 1930s Depression art — mixed it all up — and turned graphic design back into illustration with type stuck to it.
Glaser's I ♥ NY (1977), drawn on the back of an envelope in a yellow taxi, is probably the most reproduced piece of graphic design in history. His Bob Dylan poster (1966), included free with the album Greatest Hits, is in the MoMA collection. Push Pin's design vocabulary was explicitly anti-Swiss and explicitly American — warm, ironic, citation-heavy — and it became the visual language of the New York Sunday supplement, the Penguin paperback, and eventually the whole 1970s.
Milton Glaser, 1977. Pro bono for the State of New York. Drawn in pencil. Set in American Typewriter.
M09 / 18
By the 1960s corporations had realized that consistent visual identity was a competitive asset. Paul Rand designed marks for IBM (1956), Westinghouse (1960), UPS (1961), ABC (1962), and finally NeXT (1986, billed at $100,000). Each came with a manual: how to space it, scale it, place it, never tilt it.
Massimo Vignelli's American Airlines (1967), Ford Foundation (1967), and New York City Subway (1972) systems were even stricter — the subway map carried a 30° angle rule and a Helvetica-only signage standard. He hated the brown of UPS but never told Rand. Lance Wyman designed the 1968 Mexico City Olympics identity, the loops on the logo derived from Huichol Indian art and from Op Art simultaneously. His system was so coherent that the city's subway, airport, and zoo are still using its descendants.
The discipline of the modern brand book was set in this period: logo, palette, typography, spacing rules, photographic style, voice. By 2010 every tech company had one. By 2020 most of them had been simplified to a flat custom sans-serif and a square colour palette.
M10 / 18
M11 / 18
By the late 1980s the orthodoxy of the Swiss grid was due for a beating. April Greiman, who had studied with Hofmann at Basel, moved to Los Angeles and started layering type, images, and dot patterns in ways the Swiss would have found horrifying. Design Quarterly 133 (1986) was a 6-foot fold-out poster, all bitmap. She was using the Macintosh in 1984, the year it shipped.
David Carson, art director of Ray Gun (1992–95), set an entire interview with Bryan Ferry in Zapf Dingbats because the interview was boring. He printed pages with no margins, no readable hierarchy, type bleeding off four edges at once. The grids were, deliberately, broken. The work was beautiful and almost illegible. He won every award for several years running.
Tibor Kalman, at M&Co, redesigned Colors magazine for Benetton, ran an issue on AIDS, ran an issue with white people darkened and black people lightened. He used graphic design as journalism. He died at 49.
M12 / 18
The two colour models a graphic designer uses every day:
Red, Green, Blue — coloured light. Adding them gives white. The model of every monitor, phone, billboard. Specified in #hex or rgb().
Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, Key (black). Coloured ink on paper. Adding all of them gives muddy black; printers use a separate black plate to keep type crisp.
Goethe (1810). Itten (Bauhaus, 1923). Albers (Yale, 1963). Each refining the rules of complement, analogue, triad, split-complement. Most of them codified intuitions that designers had been using since 1850.
The trick: choose two anchor colours, never three (a Pantone palette of three is plenty), then expand into tints and shades for hierarchy. Anything more is decoration.
M13 / 18
Susan Kare, working at Apple in 1983, drew the original Mac icons on graph paper at 32×32 pixels. The trash, the smiling Mac, the watch cursor, the bomb. Each pixel mattered. Her grid is in every emoji you send.
Web design, 1996–2010, was constrained by the screen, by the bandwidth, and by the fonts. Until @font-face shipped in CSS 3, the only typefaces you could safely set on the web were Arial, Verdana, Georgia, Times, Courier. Then Typekit (2009) and Google Fonts (2010) opened the gates. Today there are 1,500+ web fonts in the Google library; almost no one uses Helvetica on the web because Inter, designed by Rasmus Andersson at Figma in 2016, is free and was tuned for screens.
The screen taught graphic design two new disciplines: motion (Saul Bass and Pablo Ferro had been doing it for film since 1955; Kyle Cooper revived it for Se7en in 1995) and interaction. The brand book now has motion principles. The website has a design system. Figma is the new InDesign. The work is, at its best, more responsive, more accessible, and more democratic. At its worst, it is the same five fonts on the same five gradients on the same five sites.
M14 / 18
For all the grids, screens, and AI image-generators, the printed poster is still where graphic design tests itself. Stefan Sagmeister cut his AIGA Detroit poster (1999) into his own skin. Paula Scher's typographic Public Theater posters (1995–) made language itself look like a building. Anthony Burrill prints letterpress slogans on industrial paper that still cost £90 framed.
Polish poster artists — Jan Lenica, Henryk Tomaszewski, Roman Cieslewicz — produced the most distinctive school of the postwar era, working under censorship and severe paper rationing, with fingertips so sensitive they could turn nothing into everything.
M15 / 18
"Good design is good business." — Thomas Watson Jr., IBM, 1973
A neat slogan, half-true. Good design also lets passengers find the gate, lets nurses find the dosage on the bottle, lets readers find the chapter, lets voters find the candidate, lets people who do not share a language read the airport signs. Margaret Calvert's road signs (Britain, 1958), still on every motorway, are graphic design as public infrastructure.
"First Things First." — Ken Garland, 1964 (and again, 2000)
Garland's manifesto, signed by 22 British designers in 1964 and reissued by 33 international ones in 2000, argued that designers were spending their talents on cigarette ads and should consider whether their skills were better used elsewhere. The argument is alive in every studio still, and in the “design for good” movements that have come and gone.
M16 / 18
M17 / 18
Graphic design is the medium you read this in. It is invisible when it works and embarrassing when it doesn't. The next time a website loads, look at the proportions of the type to the gutter. The next time you board a plane, look at the boarding-pass type. The next time you cross a road, look at the road sign. Someone designed all of those, on a grid, in the dark, late at night, on a deadline.
Most of them got it right. The pleasure of the discipline is noticing.
M18 / 18
Set in Inter (Andersson, 2016) and Roboto Mono. 12-column grid, 22-pixel gutters. Reading width: 60ch. Designed in homage to and (occasional) defiance of Zürich. Vol. IV, Deck 05.