Infinite City

Infinite City is one of those books it's practically impossible to write about, because it is too eloquent to be summarized. As Rebecca Solnit's title suggests, it simply cannot be contained. So accept these meager photographs as valentines to what has been the most enchanting read I've had in years. The most conceptually-pristine project of recent memory. The perfect integration of three passions of mine: writing, design and cartography. Each map in this atlas is juxtaposed in a manner that evokes more than their literal meanings.

Loveliest flourish of the whole book: not placing a period at the end of the essays. Rather, each essay ends with the glyph for infinity ∞

Journey's End

7 years. 12 trips. I have completed my journey book. 

Sharilyn Wright, a Canadian bookbinder at Lovely Design, makes these from vintage papers sourced from all over the world. Acts of serendipity resulted: a gatefold of Asian script coincided with a map I had of Butchart Gardens in Victoria, BC printed in Korean. A postcard map of Newport Beach fell onto a turquoise sheet of construction paper, a perfect sea match. An electricians diagram eerily resembling Central Park coincided with a trip to New York for a conference on design. And a final act of serendipity ... my latest trip was to Los Angeles; as I adhered one final coaster, I turned the page to see the end sheet is a map of L.A., which is the city my parents lived in as newlyweds. It feels like I have come home.

Though I can no longer close the book, it's durable quality holds up. And why would I want to shut this volume overflowing with memories? A mundane, yet exotic, candy wrapper from the Lan Su Japanese Garden in Portland instantly fills my senses with tea, ginger, umbrellas, and a recuperative lunch with friends. I can still smell their café. Letterpress scraps immediately conjure Oblations Press, and the hour spent rifling through their inventory. I bought my yellow Lamy pen from there, and have never loved a pen more. A doily from the Farmhouse in Dunwoody, GA brings back high tea with my sister, surrounded by fancy ladies in hats and a tea kettle buried in a crocheted cozy. A scrap of a poster of lettuce from Earthbound Farms in Carmel Valley, CA brings back walking barefoot through their chamomile labyrinth as much as it makes me think of the Steinbeck book I was reading on that same trip. I can almost feel the sun on my neck. I think I prefer memory to photographs.

Sirens of the Sea

Judith Schalansky is my latest delight. I bought The Atlas of Remote Islands during the middle of winter. Exotic island escapes seemed in order. I was vulnerable to a seductive, yet sparse, cover. The subtitle: 50 Islands I have Never Set Foot On and Never Will conjured another favorite author. In The Art of Travel Alain deBotton tells us of Duc des Esseintes who, in order to escape the hassles of oversea travel, made an aquarium so that ‘the imagination could provide a more-than-adequate substitute for the vulgar reality of actual experience.’ The Atlas was an easy sell.

I was more than a month into this bedside escape when I finally read about the author and made the shocking discovery … she’s the same designer behind Fraktur Mon Amour, another valentine from an earlier post of mine.  I should have detected her signature use of spot color and adoration of unusual typography. Now I am as envious as I am grateful for Judith Schalansky.

I might not have stumbled on the about the author page were I not seeking a note on the type. There was none, but a little research led me to the quirky, yet sublime, Sirenne. You should read about it here. I have no idea how this book came to be, but I imagine Judith said to herself one day “I’d love to make maps”; and then she did just that.

Knockout of a Prize

Hoefler & Frere-Jones is the most sophisticated type foundry in America. Their bespoke families are precise and enviable. I can't think of anyone who can capture in words everything their creations convey quite the way they can. Reading about their fonts is proof that a creative brief matters, and can be achieved. The delight in reading Tobias Frere-Jones: Gerrit Noordzij Prize Exhibition is the affirmation of design as both business and art.

Finding this book was an accident, a gift. Every trip to Portland, Oregon means a mecca to Powell's Books. And they never disappoint. I made two discoveries I didn't even know were published; Frere-Jones award catalogue is one of them. The highlight of New Year's in Portlandia was celebrating with friends. The take-away, however, was this jewel of a book.

Diabetes: Focus on Women

I'm thrilled to announce I have designed my first book. Diabetes: Focus on Women is a compilation of case-based vignettes told by diabetes and women's health experts. From sexual dysfunction to oncological risks, this one-of-a-kind book explores the full spectrum of women's health. It even covers gestational concerns as well as post-partum care. This guide provides a practical approach for health care providers, diabetes educators and patients alike. Each chapter ends with practical pearls and pitfalls. The book also includes:

• Evidence-based algorithms for glucose, lipid and blood pressure management

• Complementary and alternative medicine for diabetes

• Educational resources and websites for patient education

The project originated from a conference two years ago, and funded in part by a federal grant from the Office on Women's Health. Twenty contributing doctors and scientists are involved. Co-editors Kathleen B. Digre, M.D. and Robert E. Jones, M.D., FACP, FACE were an absolute delight to work with. Presentations at national conferences, access via health science libraries, and local development efforts will help the book reach it's core audience.

Designing this book has been a dream project. I got to do the most advanced typesetting of my career, as well as 49 tables and figures. Most of all, books last. It's exciting to have done something that will stick around. The book was printed in the U.S. Proceeds will be used for charity care at the Utah Diabetes Center.

Colophon: The book is typeset in Martin Majoor's Scala and Scala Sans, with Hoeffler & Frere-Jone's Sentinel used as a display face. Supporting Greek and Roman glyphs were required. Cover art is by Nicholas Jones.

Compendium

My Christmas gift to the family. More than a decade in the making ... A Compendium of Colby Idioms is a compilation of quotes collected over the years. Most of them absurd, ridiculous, and completely out of context. Making this was a fun way to see the family personality in aggregate. Blurb made it possible. What a lucky development we have in today's technology to make manifest our creative concepts.

Illuminated Manuscript

Marian Bantjes induces rapture. Her monograph, I Wonder, brings illuminated manuscripts fully into the modern age. Marian gives a glimmer here in her TED video clip. But I recommend you buy your own copy and experience it yourself.

This volume will sit squarely with Fraktur Mon Amour in my new design as scripture bookshelf.

Exposed Grid

University of Utah Health Care's Information Technology Services hadn't updated their strategic plan in a decade. This decision-leading document needed to be progressive, confident and engaging. I felt we should be front-and-center about infrastructure by leaving the booklet's grid exposed on the cover. The spare cover also adds a nice counterpoint to the photography-rich interior. Each spread has a health care photo where technology is integral to medical practice.

The table of contents is also left exposed on the cover. The booklet is split in halves: The Introduction has an orange background; The Plan — a yellow ground with a faux watermark. The photo well and type columns adjusts with each half of the book. All images have a shiny UV gloss. UV also adorns the vertical and horizontal lines on the cover, as well as our title. It's a great finishing effect that helps emit the back-lit technology photos used throughout. Principal photography is by Kevin Lee.

Page numbers are represented in Hoeffler & Frere-Jones' Dividend, from the Numbers family. Numbers has a pixel-like quality in spite of it's low-tech origins (designed after antique perforated check writing machines) that plays well with the display face Headroom, by TypeTrust. Headroom is a mechanical all-caps face that includes a cheeky ink-trap alternate. The booklet's text face is Scala Sans.

To keep costs down, we constrained the booklet to one parent sheet. To keep the book polished, we had it perfect bound. A companion Web site can be found here.

A Bible to Swear On

Fraktur Mon Amour is one of those book-as-art objects that just screams across whatever room it’s in. The patent black cover with pink edges instantly provokes curiosity. What a lovely valentine to calligraphy we have in this tome. Featuring more than 330 blackletter scripts—150 on a companion CD—Judith Schalansky has created a compendium as rich with history as the Holy Bible itself.

Library Rapture

This is my favorite recurring exhibit. Every year the AIGA displays some of the best in publishing. It causes some serious bouts of jealousy, but also some serious bouts of elation. And I think this was the most books I happened to already own. Sigh, McSweeney's. Timely, since Chronicle Books just released The Art of McSweeney's, which I'm reading right now.

The exhibit is twice as fun for always being held at the U of U Marriott Library. Laurie gave me a short tour through the Book Arts Studio to see her recent letterpress project.

More Curious Than Ever

I've had a life-long adoration of Curious George. But it's just recently I learned how aligned his authors were to his narrow and frequent escapes. H.A. and Margret Rey fled Nazi invasion and went on to lead remarkable lives. I love that they channeled their personalities and experiences into whimsical and effervescent adventures. It shows a brightness of spirit, and an inquisitive persistence I aspire to. Their books have been fixtures on my night stand as long as I can recall. I find it fascinating you don't even need to know a back story to really gain something from art.

National Suicide Day: A Celebration

“Except for World War II, nothing ever interfered with the celebration of National Suicide Day. It had taken place every January third since 1920, although Shadrack, its founder, was for many years the only celebrant.”

I’ll let you in on a secret … I think I may be the only celebrant today. Maybe you should join in. The passage above is from Toni Morrison’s novel Sula. I discovered Toni Morrison in college … not by curriculum but by a book cover: Tar Baby. Such a bold title—with cover art reminiscent of Henri Rousseau—my curiosity was peaked. And I was instantly absorbed. By the time I had read Sula and Beloved, Ms. Morrison was awarded the Nobel Prize. She’s essentially been my spiritual matriarch since.

Shadrack is a veteran who returned from war clearly coping with what we call today Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The townsfolk couldn’t figure him out, but he was making his way the best he could. As a method to make “a place for fear as a way of controlling it”, Shadrack instituted National Suicide Day. He would walk through town with a cow bell and a hangman’s noose crying out to the citizens “that this was their only chance to kill themselves or each other.”

By this point in my life I was already leery of New Year’s resolutions. If something needed to be changed—start now. I already had enough waiting in the future. I didn’t need to plan to fix bad habits; I needed to repair them now. Nevertheless, anxiety seemed to follow me everywhere. And National Suicide Day seemed to be a potential solution.

Having practiced more than a dozen years now, what I like about the personal holiday is it’s the one time of the year I let go. Really let go of suppressed thoughts. Things we normally want to avoid. All the irrational things that we fear might actually occur if we think them. I might celebrate by writing down (or saying out loud, or screaming) everything I dread. And then go murder them. Throw them off a bridge. Toss them under a car. Stab them with sharp implements.

It sure beats a resolution because there’s nothing left to do. Yet it comes with the same accoutrements: fear, self-despisal, neglect, guilt. Like all rituals, it makes one feel better. It’s an act of engagement, release and devotion. And who knows—maybe one day after I’ve suffocated myself, shot myself, and burned myself to death, I’ll really be able to start living.

No J

I am currently reading Timothy Donaldson's Shapes For Sounds and am once again reminded that had I not been born when I was, I would not have had my name. J is the youngest letter of the Latin alphabet—only 300 years old against it's 2,700 year old counterparts.

Were we ancient Greeks, or Romans, my parents wouldn't have been able to name me Jesse. The Italians eventually used j as a long i—a consonant. And perhaps the ij ligature explains why Spanish-speaking people frequently pronounce my name Yesse. J, in fact, was minuscule first, and later made into a capital. Another letter trajectory that makes my monogram rather distinctive.

Yellow Study

Who loves yellow? Designers do! Squint if you must, but look at this small book assortment: Modern Typography by Robert Kinross; 79 Short Essays on Design by Michael Beirut; Copywriting by Mark Shaw; FontShop font booklet; AIGA 365 edition 29; Chronicle Books' Stretch Deck; National Geographic magazine; Rite in the Rain all-weather writing paper pocket notebook; Knock Knock pocket notes.

To round out my yellow study, a still life of objects found 'round the house: bed sheets; towels; Kleenex; Sea Salt Neroli Lotion by Caldrea; a project calculator; Klein Tools wire cutter; West Elm scoop-back chair; Verner Panton chair; my Tweety Bird bucket with a sunflower from the yard; and wall paint with the dreadful name: Lovely Lemon Light. Not pictured is my other basement room painted in a yellow called Gabriel's Horn. Apparently paint color copywriters were marketing to old ladies and somehow sucked me into their web. I am not ashamed. I may have cringed at my mother's yellow kitchen growing up, complete with yellow stools and china hutch. But today I'm a proud homeowner, and Mom—I understand.

Oh, and that font: P22 Brass Script Pro.

Recycled Leather from Italy

On a recent trip to Carmel, California I found a tiny shop called Material Goods that sold some products by San Lorenzo. They have a series of desk products made from natural regenerated leather. Scraps of leather are cut up and mixed with rubber, creating a soft, but durable, finish. The notebook I bought is dyed bright orange, which matches my Russell and Hazel calendar. I've decided to use the San Lorenzo book to keep notes on fonts and typography. I also enjoyed talking with the proprietress of Material Goods. She's been to Utah before, and told me where her favorite candy shop is. Treats all around!

Bar Code Deluxe

I recently bought this gem of a catalogue from P22 type foundry. It's exquisite with it's black felt cover, deckle edges, metallic inks, die-cut, translucent sheets and Mohawk's superfine paper throughout. But the thing I had to capture is it's debossed bar code on the back. I have not seen anyone do that yet. Don't know if it's permissible, or an artistic statement on utility vs. aesthetics. Either way, it was a delight. The actual content of the book needs to be seen to be appreciated. And this collector's piece from P22 is one that will surely call back to me again and again.

Souvenirs de Voyage

Souvenirs de Voyage, published by Chronicle Books, was a gift from my friend Heather. It has glassine envelopes to hold ephemera or press flowers to dry in, and then blank pages you can glue your souvenirs to, and write about. I don't actually take mine on trips, though. I use the envelopes and pockets to hold themed bits of ephemera until I have enough to make a collage. In a way, it's like a junk drawer full of scraps I just can't toss, yet hope to be able to use one day. This spread has two collages. One, apparently, is some bizarre ode to Mormon women. The other is a German butcher and his wife. Such is the case with collage, or souvenirs, these scraps hold deep memories: there's a box of Windsor & Newton ink that I have had since high school, scraps from a german dictionary I've carried since junior high, an Easter candy wrapper from Siegfrieds circa 2002, a scrap from a poem my sister Diana wrote, photos I bought in Colorado, etc.

Cookbook as Journal

For the past decade I have been recording notes in my cookbooks. By now they are a journal of sorts; a gustatory camera.

     Bullets in the index rank my achievements. Scrawls throughout the chapters denote changes made, mistakes to avoid, and a surprising amount of recollections: the Antipasto Italian Roll-Ups were not only great for camping, but just the words Tony Grove July '04 bring a rush of memories: the toy turtle on the rocks I mistook for a real baby, and cycling for only the second time since college.

     Cookbooks also are a great way to use of many of my favorite paper products. I use Russel and Hazel sticky-notes at the back of the books to remind me "best lunches" or "worth a repeat" categories. By now, they also boast a bevy of yet-to-try dishes I'd need three more lives of cooking to catch up to. I also use Chronicle Book's fancy labels on the inside front covers to remember entire menu's. A great way to retain what would otherwise have been transient treasures, such as Jill Bliss and Lotta Jansdotter's inspired work. I even use Bob's Your Uncle page markers when cooking from multiple pages in one book. Basically, my cookbooks have transcended their utility as food resource. Sometimes they feel like napoleons of paper delights!

Noa Noa / Chronicle Books

Noa Noa was an impulse buy in college. Little did I realize it was the beginning of a passionate relationship with Chronicle Books. After I had accumulated a few more extraordinary books I started noticing this curious little eyeglass logo and decided I needed to learn more about Chronicle. That was maybe 15 years ago. Since, I’ve gone out of my way to order their catalogue each year so I’d know what to save up for. Then I started finding myself influenced by their design aesthetics. Now it’s more than just a crush—I’ve grown to accommodate my life for Chronicle Books. Noa Noa (Fragrant, Fragrant) was an easy first fling. The construction was plainly attentive and of superior quality. Font choice and layout were so complementary I found myself as drawn to the elements as I was the content. I still don’t know what the book face is, but coupled with the curious distressed script and his actual handwriting—it’s a perfect marriage. Throw in an enchanting trip to Tahiti and a mix of judiciously-selected sketchbook drawings and one might never recover. It’s such an exotic and splendid journey, art history would be so much more interesting if other books were styled after this manner.

Life With the Pomegranate

This is a handmade book by my friend Evie Marenco, circa 2005. Evie has been an inspiration to me for years, and her book is a treasure. It's a collection of experiences with pomegranates, and how they connect her family through generations. Evie dyed the paper, printed and bound the book herself. It includes pomegranate-like beads on the stitching of the spine; and the book opens up to make a star. Between the french-fold pages are red sheets of paper so the book resembles a pomegranate itself, with the little disc's like the discovery of seeds held in the pith. Evie weaves imagery from playing cards throughout, which adds graphic impact as well as an extra layer of fun and personal meaning.