There are two places on earth where I am at my most confident and content: the first is in front of a keyboard (I’m a writer), and the second? In the kitchen (I’m an amateur, but capable cook.)

The kitchen is where I go when I want to unwind from a long day — a place where I can indulge my love of unique flavors and textures, and create things that nourish my family.

I come from a long line of pretty good cooks, and as such, have utensils in my drawer that belonged to my great grandmother, and recipes pieced together from watching my mother’s flying hands dust a counter with flour to ready it for a lump of dough. I use these tools and this knowledge almost daily.

Outside of our little biscuit dynasty, however, my biggest hero of the apron-clad set is Julia Child.

Her lemony roast chicken is my family’s go-to on winter nights, and her fluffy chocolate mousse remains the pinnacle of my culinary achievements. If she says a certain tool is the right one for the job, that’s the tool I’ll use. If she says I can do it, I’m willing to sharpen my knife and give it a go.

When she passed away, I’m not ashamed to say I shed a few tears — and then immediately went to find her list of ingredients for Coq au Vin.

One of the things I loved most about her was her generosity: of spirit, of time, and of what she possessed. When she donated her home and office to her alma mater, Smith College, and her kitchen (walls and all) to the Smithsonian when she moved to a retirement community in California, it was clear how little she did for money and fame, and how much she did out of her deep love for learning, creating, and teaching.

There was no Julia Child line of gadgets or dishes or pots and pans, a la Martha Stewart or Mario Batali, nor was she a commercial spokesperson, a la Bobby Flay or Tom Colicchio. In fact, she eschewed all those possibilities (and profits) in favor of remaining purely focused on the art of cookery… and representative of no other brand but her own. She believed that these types of endorsements would strain her credibility with her fans — and that credibility was something worth far more to her than a check.

That’s why BHS Home Appliances, the makers of Thermador ovens, in collaboration with California advertising firm, DGWB, has drawn the ire of the Julia Child Foundation by using her image in an ad series. Without permission.

While they insist that no commercial relationship between Thermador and Julia is expressly indicated, their response is disingenuous at best: why make the choice to use her image unless it benefits you in some way? BHS claims they’re simply referencing Julia’s use of Thermador ovens — but given the cultural weight of her brand, there’s no way to get around an implied endorsement. Or at least that’s what the Child Foundation hopes to prove in court. Since DGWB didn’t even attempt to secure rights to her image until after the ad went live, their chances seem solid… even as BHS is counter-suing.

For me, the entire debacle comes down to a fundamental misunderstanding of Julia’s brand.

DGWB and BHS see Julia Child as a famous and beloved culinary figure with fans who take her word as law in the kitchen — and as such, the perfect person to represent their product. If Julia used it, her fans will want to use it. Simple, right?

Au contraire: for Julia’s fans, her steadfast refusal to do product endorsements or commercial partnerships is her brand.

Yes, she sold books. Yes, she was on television. But we love Julia because, though her career supplied her with a very comfortable living, her avoidance of quick-buck opportunities confirmed for us that she wasn’t in it for the money. She simply had a passion for cooking great food, and empowering us to do the same for ourselves. When someone loves something as much as Julia loved her kitchen, that enthusiasm is infectious… and that’s why we care.

Celebrity endorsements come in a variety of flavors, from name recognition to specific product endorsements to master-branded product partnerships.

Kids on the blacktop pony up for Nike Air Jordans hoping to be just like Mike — as though the secret to his success lay in the composition of his soles.

Teenage girls struggling with impossibly teenage skin buy Guthy-Renker’s Pro Activ because Justin Bieber and Katy Perry hold up bottles of cleanser next to their smooth skin in afterschool ads — whether or not that’s what cleared their skin, or whether their skin was ever anything but clear.

Martha Stewart promises us a taste of her lifestyle through her almost ubiquitous range of household products, from mixing bowls to bed linens — though the sheets that dress her own bed are likely a bit more pricey.

But one thing differentiates these spots from DGWB’s ads for Thermador: all these public figures choose to use their faces and careers to shill products, according to terms they’ve agreed to before any camera arrives on the scene. They choose to lend the attributes and strength of their brand to a company, in exchange for a significant fee.

In Julia’s case, one of the most fundamental attributes of her brand was that it wasn’t for sale. And while that ostensibly made her (unpaid) use of their product seem like an irresistible opportunity to BHS, it also made a sincere endorsement impossible. And sketchy.

Which is why I hope the next dish on the Child Foundation’s menu is… wait for it… Lobster Therm(a)dor.

Not me, that’s for sure! Which is why I occasionally need to bring myself back to my urban roots, just to keep my creative juices flowing.

Before I learned how to <?php echo ‘write a bunch of code’; ?>, I was heavily involved in the Boston graffiti art movement in the late 90’s. Typically, you’d find me daily sketching letters in my Cannon hard cover black book, devising color schemes, and putting my fingers through a strenuous workout with a Krylon spray can, comparable to a Shaolin monk’s two finger push-up drill.

Recently, I was invited to participate in creating a graffiti mural for Tightly Laced Kicks, an event that features some of the rarest sneakers from local Boston residents.

Our theme was simple: we wanted to convey the feeling of the days when we painted a mural and there were no fancy panoramic camera features or costly photo editing software to record our productions. All we had were one-time use Kodak disposable cameras, tape, and an Exacto knife for manual cropping of our polished pictures, straight from the CVS image-processing area.

To achieve the look we were going for, we had to paint our pieces as if they were slightly unaligned and taped together (re-creating our portfolio presentations). Outlining a piece cleanly without this effect is hard enough, but creating the displacement effect on our pieces became the largest challenge… aside from the windy conditions, smashed rocky surfaces, and improvising our color schemes on the fly.

Upon completion, the mural turned out to be another rewarding accomplishment. Enjoy the pictures below to see the process of the production.

For quite some time I’ve been creating graphic designs and paintings on parallel tracks. My love for painting is actually what got me into studying graphic design (or visual communication) in the first place. When I started out at the Hochschule für Gestaltung in Offenbach, Germany, my intent was to focus on painting. However, I soon realized that I had nothing in common with my fellow students, or with my professor in the fine arts department. During the first year of my studies, a course in Typography was mandatory and I fell in love with the subject matter. So, I ultimately majored in Typography and Illustration.

More than a decade ago, I decided to pursue painting again. Though graphic design and painting are somewhat related, there is a major difference, as a friend of mine once pointed out. She said: “In your design work, you are answering questions, while in your art work, you are posing the question.” I think there is a lot of truth to that. The designs I am developing are rooted in business goals—they need to function as a solution and speak to a wide range of audiences. A painting, on the other hand, does not need to “function” and the immediate audience is more limited—initially myself, for that matter. Unlike the process of design, which is very collaborative, the process of painting is more isolated—in that regard, the two aren’t related at all.

So what happens when a painter, who is also a graphic designer, needs to design “promotional materials” for his own work? Well, it can be a challenge. The graphic designer in me wanted to come up with a ‘cool’ design and the painter in me said: “Hey, wait a minute, the design can’t overshadow the paintings. They need room to breathe… they need to be the focal point.” So after a few debates between me, myself, and I, clean, simple, and functional designs emerged. From the first postcard, to the website, to a business card and exhibit booklets, the same questions arose: how could I best showcase the work, and still convey the information necessary to communicate what it’s for and what it’s all about?

The most recent product in a series of communications for my own artwork is the booklet for an upcoming solo exhibition at Regis College. Hot off the Puritan Press, I’m holding the first samples in my hand, and I dare to say… the painter is happy with the work the designer delivered.

When asked if Marchbank had free rein as art director of magazine, Time Out, he responded:

“Almost totally. The covers were left very much to me. I deliberately avoided obvious subjects, which you get now so much. Nicole Kidman has a new film out, so she is on the cover of every consumer magazine—and on the news-stand there are 99 Nicole Kidmans. My approach was to make all the other magazines on the shelves act as our background… The totally bare, green ‘Jealousy’ cover was probably the most minimalist, slated by everyone on the business side, but not after it became an instant sell-out.”

Marchbank’s approach to magazine cover design with Time Out was a clever one. The dense visual clutter on magazine stands served as a departure point for unique design.

By looking ahead to the final context for the piece, Marchbank could intentionally create highly designed, conceptual covers that took advantage of the dominant visual paradigm to stand apart from the myriad of other publications. The four magazine covers above would certainly stick out on a modern magazine stand—the imagery and supporting typography would be jarring next to an issue of Cosmopolitan.

An XKCD comic, sent around by one of our developers Jeff, illustrates another side of the idea in terms of branding. In this case, the cluttered  landscape of the market aisle served as a departure point for ‘undesign.’ As consumers, we are familiar with over-designed products–so much so, that when a product goes against the normal visual context, it really stands out.

In our world, where the visual culture is rapidly progressing, it can be difficult to digest all the imagery we are bombarded with. I’m not always able to pinpoint what appeals to my senses or what grabs my interest… but I know it when I see it. Is it something unique? Cutting edge? Conceptually driven? Or does it just look cool?

While I continue to ask these questions of my own work, I’ve started to consider a new one. What design decisions can I make to intuitively react to my work’s context? Though the concept should always be the driving force behind design, careful consideration of its context can lead to the creation of something really compelling.

Take, for example, these spreads from some of my first forays into (self-conscious) graphic design: editorial layouts for student publications, circa 1998. A motif is established; an aesthetic proclivity begins:

A year later, working on another publication, the circle as dynamic element reappears:

The women’s heads in the photograph (one of my first and only forays into photojournalism) act as a dynamic triad of circles:

In this last example, I’ve subconsciously integrated a dominant circle into the layout through photography (and yes, these photographs are of my own making):

As I stared down graduation and entry into the ‘real world,’ my use of circles grew more rigid, less free:

Fast forward eleven years. I’m still in love with circles; albeit more openly and consciously. Consider my earlier post about my ‘personal brand,’ or my post ‘For the Band‘:

Certainly—as my clients can attest—my design exploration regularly moves beyond the approaches and tendencies identified here. That said, it’s important to have the capacity to be self-reflexive, to embrace natural proclivities, and to control them in the service of clients and their communications. For designers striving to harness the basic, universal principles of design in infinite contexts, ‘aesthetic self-knowlege’ is critical.

This is a tremendously exciting time to be doing what we do: never before has there been such a diverse range of communication tools and venues available to help organizations tell their stories, and build a “mosaic brand.”

Blog posts around New Year’s often focus on reflections on the year behind us,  or predictions for the year ahead. We’re going to land somewhere in the middle, and share a few favorite posts from our blog over the last 12 months. Technically, that’s reflective, I suppose — but some of them had predictions, too!

We’ll be sharing more of our thinking in the months ahead, and celebrating some great achievements by our friends and partners.

Stay tuned.. and the very happiest of New Year’s to you and yours.

Sage thoughts from Roger on when “logo drama” is unwarranted (starring corporate titans Starbucks and the Gap)

Our New Year’s video from last year — a labor of love

What happens when great design and great music come together

A favorite identity from the past year — and a project we’re proud to be a part of

Everyone gets a turn with the markers and whiteboard around here

“Adopsters”… the hipsters of social media

Sametz Blackstone 101: so is it an actual “cup of tea”, or?

Director of Design, Joerg, looks back in time… and finds that it flies

A can by any other color would not taste as sweet?

Thanks for coming by today — and join us for more in 2012!

Subtle and spectacular: two words that describe the colors of the Arizona landscape. The daytime palette is dominated by blue skies and red earth, punctuated by the soft green of cacti and desert scrub and the mellow beige, gold, and brown of dry grass.

As evening approaches, the blues transition to lavender and purple; the reds shift to crimson and maroon. The once-saturated colors wash together to produce a gradient of extreme subtlety.

Somehow, Southwest Airlines has managed to capture that palette in their livery. The airline’s palette isn’t subtle or sophisticated, mind you. In fact, until I visited Arizona, I thought of Southwest’s as one of the uglier liveries on the nation’s runways.

But now I understand that it works. They’ve managed to evoke a palette that would be impossible to replicate on aluminum (and, indeed, is impossible to replicate photographically.)

Now, when I see their planes, I’m reminded of, and transported to the transcendent moments of extreme beauty we experienced driving and hiking through the Arizona landscape. Their brand uses color as a reference or reminder of something much more powerful than could ever be designed or distributed.

Southwest (their aircraft and their brand) becomes both the literal and metaphorical connection between customer and place.

There is something romantic about old signs.

Ghost signs, fading away over time.

Signs for businesses — often no longer in existence — that we walk or drive by each day. They were fabricated in the era when signs were hand-lettered, painted on the sides of buildings, and sometimes burnished with gold leaf. They were posted prior to the days of characterless, generic awning signs, or box signs with fluorescent lights illuminating cut vinyl from the rear.

(And clearly also before the days of spell check, and signage regulations!)

These signs have a vernacular aesthetic that has evolved over time to reflect the environmental, cultural, and historical context in which they exist — much like vernacular architecture. Often they are just text with an occasional graphic element; all caps with sans-serif type seems to be the most ubiquitous treatment.

What follows is a sample of signs I see in my daily travels. Some have already been taken down since the photos were snapped, or will soon disappear as the buildings they grace are “rehabbed”. Once in a while, you may see a new sign made to look like a ghost sign… but they are far from standard.

So tell me, where are some of your favorite fading beauties?