Making Connections

—Scott Santoro

This essay appears in “The Education of a Graphic Designer”
edited by Steven Heller, Allworth Press, 2005


An embarrassing moment as a graphic design teacher occurred during a comment I made to a student whose work was consistently dull and static. I suggested she find alternate sources of inspiration in order to break out of the box she seemed to be putting herself in. “What do your parents do for a living” I asked. “They’re undertakers,” she said.

She wasn’t being a smart-aleck—they really owned a funeral home. This didn’t stop me from suggesting that she could use what she knew well to make meaningful connections—for starters, to make lively designs, not dead ones.

I practice what I preach. Generations of my family are all plumbers and I I use the analogy of directing of fluids as a way to further inform and explain what I do. It‘s a myth really—plumbing has nothing to do with graphic design, or at least, no more so than any other activity. In fact, plumbing is the butt of jokes, which is exactly why I like to use it as a metaphor. It becomes a blue-collar guise to contrast to my white-collar (and at times, conceited) profession. Pipe systems behind the walls become analogous to systems in the mind; tools and processes I know well are abstracted into a tough, everyday design aesthetic. And the connection keep evolving.

Teaching this approach of making connections is another matter. It’s hard for students to mythologize themselves. Yet, I know that when design begins to mean something personally, it’s simply better—more passionate, deeper.

When it works
An undergrad student of mine, Chakaras, served in the military and had a strong sense of discipline and authority. The badge-like iconography that he worked into many of his projects made sense to me. Chakaras extended the military metaphor into the creation of rigid grid systems that he would then counter with a kind of typographically snafu—an acronym used by soldiers to mean (s)ituation (n)ormal (a)ll (f)ucked (u)p. His designs were controlled, yet playful; camouflaged meanings that when understood, hit you hard.

When it doesn’t work
The choice not to include one’s past might occur when others expect clichés. No one necessarily wants to be bound by where they’re from or what they did before. Being from India could involve designs that are colorful and ornate, or not; a family of accountants might not offer any exploitable formulas, especially if you hate math; a love for hip-hop doesn’t have to mean that layouts include graffiti—but maybe.

When it’s challenging
Ali showed me his portfolio full of images of human body organs. Short of thinking that pornographic gore was his obsession, I finally had to ask, “where was this all coming from?” Did I even want to know? It turns out that both of Ali’s parents are doctors, and he was on a medical track until graphic design came calling. The imagery found its way in and brought shocking, yet beautiful, mechanisms to his layouts.

Another student, Mike, explained that the metaphor he had found in grad school was none other than Mr. T of The A-Team fame. What’s incredible was how he was able to use this character to drive an examination of pop-culture, hero-worship and celebrity-ism. Eventually Mike became the persona of Mr. T, including himself, literally, in many of his designs.

The fact that someplace or something might feed your work is, in effect, acknowledging connections with larger systems—culture, community, and environment. The art historian, E.H. Gombrich, who made analytical studies between art and the psychology of perception, wrote, “Anyone who can handle a needle convincingly can make us see a thread which is not there.”

In a sense, connections between personal histories and graphic design aren’t really there either. The value of a link is only made real by believing in it. Not being afraid of seeing yourself in your work is the first step.