If You Can't Lick'em...
by John Langdon
From the Winter 1998 issue of Critique magazine. Reprinted with permission. DCUSA is mentioned in this article.

It's a wonder all graphic designers aren't agoraphobic. In virtually any populated area, just being outside is a visual fright trip. Though we already know the answer, we keep asking the question: Doesn't America care about good taste?
     Visually sensitive people could, of course, pack their bags for Switzerland, where, according to designer Steff Geissbuhler, "everyone cares about design." Or Aspen, Colorado, where local aesthetics codes require that all retail signs conform to the community's elite standards. There, even the pizza joint's sign is a carved, hand-painted piece of wood. Could such a municipal policy work on a national level? Or are there other ways to raise the standards of design in our country?
     These issues are sizeable. If national attitudes toward design are to evolve from benign ignorance to awareness and ultimately to appreciation, we'll need a national voice to make that happen. So what national voices are already in place? We have national corporations, including the media giants, but their avowed focus is the bottom line, not the beautification of America.
     Besides, many of these entities are the worst offenders in the incessant visual assault we know as our cultural landscape. As part of the audience that needs to be educated, they are unlikely to generate that education. We have the government, but most designers think of the government, if they think of it at all, as the Internal Revenue Service—the natural enemy of the self-employed.
     But there is more to the government than the IRS. With only a small investment of public funds, the United States government could easily bring about a greater awareness and appreciation of design. Of course, we don't want Jesse Helms types trying to bully the industry into a corner as they've done with the NEA. But then, we wouldn't be looking for grants—just moral support and a few juicy design projects.
     To judge how the government might perform in the role of benevolent patron, let's look at one little example of state-sponsored design.
     Think small.
     If, among all the catalogs, credit card offers, and general cacophony that come through your mail slot, you should find an occasional letter, you can still see examples of America's most widely distributed contemporary illustration and design. You may have even purchased your own first-run prints at your local post office—reasonably priced at 32 cents each.
     Postage stamps, because of their size, can be easily overlooked by the majority of graphic designers. Posters, at the other end of the scale, are the darlings of the profession. Yet the two differ more in size than in any other attribute. Both are "posted" or "affixed" to another surface. And both have only a few moments in which to be noticed and appreciated, or ignored forever.
     Posters, of course, have room to include some text. But that factor aside, the characteristics of successful stamps and posters are quite similar. They both depend on a dominant visual to attract attention, and both need to impart their messages quickly. There's considerable latitude with posters, but with postage stamps these requirements must be met precisely.
     A stamp design is basically an illustration with a little type. At a minimum, it must contain the initials USA and the numerals of the denomination. Most stamps also contain the name of the person or subject portrayed. Stamp designers generally do a creditable job of getting these elements to cooperate in a pleasing arrangement. The exceptions are rare instances when the illustrator or designer appears not to have planned for the type.
     Despite the fact that most stamps meet these requirements adequately, there are grumblings from the sidelines—not from the nation's lickers and stickers, who buy stamps for their utilitarian value, but from those who neither lick nor stick—the collectors. A brief look back will put the situation in perspective.*

Post-mortem. The traditional stamp design is a classical portrait in an ornate frame. Though the frame became simplified and eventually disappeared, stiff, formal, 19th-century-style depictions of important persons and events continued to dominate stamp design through the 1950s.
     In 1948 a political favor resulted in a stamp honoring the American poultry industry. What soon became known as the "chicken stamp" opened the door for a flock of lobbyists, each squawking for a stamp to honor his or her special interest. Following the creation of a number of ill-advised stamps, the government established the Citizens Stamp Advisory Committee (CSAC) in 1957. This group of prominent figures from diverse walks of life was gathered to relieve Congress of those bothersome lobbyists.
     A few years later, renowned designer and illustrator Stevan Dohanos joined the committee and, along with fellow members of the Society of Illustrators, began to change the look of American stamps. The turmoil over subject matter began to subside, and stamps began to resemble tiny versions of contemporary posters.
     The state of stamps has continued to evolve. As you may have noticed on your trips to the post office, the postal service has become more aggressive in its marketing of stamps. Few of us managed to ignore the gyrations surrounding the Elvis Presley stamp or the "What's up?" documentation of the more insidious Bugs Bunny commemorative. "What's up?" is big-time promotion.
     In the early 1980s the postal service was cut loose from the support of the American taxpayer. Expected thenceforth to be self-sufficient, the service struggled for a number of years, apparently coming late to the marketing of stamps as collectables. Chermayeff & Geismar's Angela Reeves, an expatriate Briton who once worked for the Royal Mail, reports that Great Britain's mail service is "extremely profitable, and actually plows lots of money back into the government." Some of that profit comes from the sale of highly regarded commemorative stamps that are sought after by collectors around the world. April Greiman, who created the stamp commemorating the 75th anniversary of the 19th Amendment, feels, as many do, that "other countries have such gorgeous stamps. By comparison, ours are appallingly dull."
     Stamps are, in essence, a gift certificate. The store gets the money up front, and if the voucher is never redeemed, the profit margin is huge. Making the certificate so desirable that the recipient would rather keep it than spend it is a very clever idea.
     Collect 'em all!
     Once considered the pastime of a quaint little group of hermits, stamp collecting is now seen as the key to a successful postal service. But with stamps being hawked like happy hamburger trinkets, many serious collectors feel that a once-esteemed avocation has been cheapened. Calling the state of stamp design "basically terrible," Philadelphia architect and stamp collector Bill Kriebel resents the postal service's "collect 'em all" approach.
     Clearly, the postal service has targeted John Q. Public—not the Bill Kriebels of the world—with its recent releases. Touted as investments that one day may prove valuable, new issues are introduced with great fanfare. Slick magazine ads play up the "limited" nature of each edition: "They won't be around forever," teases the copy. In the case of the Elvis Presley stamp, Americans were invited to vote on which of several images of The King they would like most to see. With the public thus invested, and Elvis's popularity soaring higher than ever, success was virtually insured. The first printing was five hundred million, setting a record the USPS could easily dance to. Sightings of Elvis stamps are never likely to be rare. Connecticut designer Peter Good observes that stamp design "has become big business, very bureaucratic." As a result, he feels that quality control has suffered. Derry Noyes, an art director with the CSAC, agrees. "There are too many people involved—too many printers and too much variation in the quality of reproduction." In her opinion the number of new stamps is at the root of the problem. While the committee is not hounded by lobbyists, the postmaster general's office still is. And since collectors are interested in variety, there's continual pressure from both the supply and demand sides to create more and more new issues.
     The chicken and the rabbit.
     From the poultry stamp to the Bugs Bunny commemorative, what seems to cause the most unrest is subject matter, not quality or even style. And here is where we approach the epicenter of the great debate. Who should choose the subjects? Should they be determined by the tastes of the public? By collectors? By special-interest groups? By the designers themselves? And if designers were allowed to propose the subjects, how should they justify their recommendations? By market research? By peer review? By force of professional reputation? By sales results after the fact?
     Currently the CSAC seems to be blurring the lines that divide these different approaches, perhaps trying to satisfy all the requirements at once. The results range from well-intended stamps on serious topics to a highly suspicious "wascally wabbit."
     But to appreciate the committee's dilemma, let's look at two stamps, one from each end of the spectrum.
     First, let's take April Greiman's design for the 19th Amendment, a rich and mysterious work of art. It pushed the envelope of stamp design and was hailed as a major step forward by many in the design community. Yet stamp collectors panned it and the buying public passed on it.
     The Elvis stamp, on the other hand, was unremarkable from an artistic point of view. Nevertheless, it sold off the charts. Based solely on the evidence of these two stamps, the view from Accounting would be simple: give the public what it wants rather than what designers want to give it. Yet are these two approaches mutually exclusive? Are designs with artistic aspirations doomed to commercial failure? Are top-selling designs dependent on pandering to the lowest common denominator? The basic question is, can good design sell more stamps?
     The answer to the last question is yes, but with an asterisk. In the world of postage stamps, a design is only good if the customers—the stamp-buying public—like it. By this definition the 19th Amendment stamp was a bad design. Does that mean the CSAC should avoid taking artistic risks and stick to the tried and true? Not at all. The committee should encourage artists to take more risks, not fewer, but either the designers or the committee should test the risky designs before releasing them to the public. Testing is the easiest way to preview the success or failure of a risky design. In effect, it removes the risk. Artistic risks are like home-run swings: we're more likely to strike out, but once in a while-wham! A late-inning game winner.
     Now think big.
     The larger question is this: What should the government's position be—not just on stamp design, but on design in general? Commercial design in a capitalistic culture, like it or not, is driven more by the tastes of the target audience than by art-school theories or annual awards. In the case of official state design, the entire population is the target audience. This is democracy in action. But is democracy what we want?
     In part to prevent the baser instincts of a majority from trampling both the rights of minorities and the greater good of our nation, bodies of elite representatives are supposed to determine what constitutes that greater good. Throughout most of our history, an aesthetic elite has designed our nation's magnificent government buildings and memorials, as well as its currency and postage stamps. Even in the relatively small corner of our culture known as graphic design, it's doubtful that we would prefer a true democracy. What we want—what we've always wanted—is design by an aesthetic elite, but one that's responsive to the audience and not just itself. After all, we are looking for appreciation by our society at large.
     In the UK, reports Angela Reeves, the government has been slow to understand the value of design, despite a commitment to supporting it. Government representatives have complained that contradictory messages often come from the design world, so various bodies within the British design industry—The Council on Industrial Design, The Charter Society of Designers, Design Business Associates, and others—are attempting to unite in order to speak to the government with one voice.
     A similar effort is under way in the United States. Noting that many local art directors' clubs cannot mount an effective campaign alone, The Art Directors Club of Metropolitan Washington (D.C.), seeking to unite these organizations for greater strength and influence, has created the "Design Coalition USA" (www.adcmw.org/dcusa.html). Its mission is "to educate the business community," telling companies that graphic design is "vital to their image, profits, and general business interests" and to "benefit and enhance the image, legal status, and financial well-being of the graphic designer." But rather than do it one client at a time, there may be a more efficient and far-reaching approach. Reeves suggests that, whether it's the US or the UK, "The government should lead by purchasing example." This seems like a feasible plan. On occasion, government agencies contract with design firms just as corporate clients do. But couldn't they do it more often? Couldn't they introduce—with fanfare—the redesign of forms, publications, vehicle graphics, and other examples of design, the way they now do with stamps?
     In many ways, it's a problem of the chicken and the egg. The government isn't likely to spend money on outside design firms until we designers can prove our effectiveness and justify our (ideally hefty) fees. If we can't come up with a "well-designed" stamp that sells, how can we be trusted with a larger project?
     The design industry could demonstrate that design has tangible value by actually improving the effectiveness of government agencies, and not simply treating the government as an art patron or, at the other extreme, as a meal ticket. Design and art directors' annuals could feature a section on effective design for government, and government agencies could issue their own prestigious awards.
     Imagine—designers working with the government. It's a surprising thought, but one with awesome implications. And then, if you can't lick 'em, you can at least bill 'em.

SIDEBARS

Ruffled Feathers A 1948 issue commemorating the centennial of the American poultry industry aroused the envy of special-interest groups. From a design point of view, the elements of the "chicken stamp" were arranged artfully, and the stamp retained the "glorification" look that had been appropriate for presidents, pioneers, and war heroes. A poultry industry representative had pressured a congressman to introduce the idea, and Congress was caught napping. Though the design of the stamp seems silly in its incongruousness, its more significant effect was to open the barn door to all kinds of special-interest groups. "If you can put a chicken on a stamp," they argued, "why not my pet project?" Congress yielded to a number of these requests, and other featherweight topics were treated as if they had great cultural significance. There were stamps for the Boy Scouts, the 4-H Club, Future Farmers of America, and the American Automobile Association, and the 50th anniversary of the trucking industry. Today's Bugs Bunny stamp could be seen as just one more bad decision to follow the chicken across the road.

When Stamps Became Art In the early 1960s, a respected illustrator and designer named Stevan Dohanos joined the Citizens Stamp Advisory Committee. "That's when the look really changed," says stamp designer Howard Koslow. Dohanos, besides creating over 30 stamps himself and collaborating on at least 300, brought in the talents of his fellow members of the Society of Illustrators-Koslow, Bob Peak, and Mark English, to name a few. Stamps soon began to look as if they belonged to the late 20th century. Many resembled tiny versions of posters, which, at about that time, were coming into vogue as collectable art.

Kid Stuff The postal service's marketing efforts are aimed not only at the stamp-buying public, but at its offspring as well. There's an ongoing program to hook children on collecting stamps. New post office stores sell coloring books and a number of other profit-products designed for kids, as well as recent commemorative stamps that include dinosaurs, classic comic characters, movie monsters, and, of course, Bugs Bunny, the mascot of the child-oriented "Stampers" program. (Can we look forward to a Joe Camel commemorative that would reach the same audience?)

Women Suffering? Decidedly less popular than Elvis Presley was the 75th Anniversary of the 19th Amendment, a commemorative stamp created by Los Angeles designer April Greiman. In the words of art director Derry Noyes, it was the "riskiest design the CSAC had ever tried." Greiman recalls that the breaking of the word "progress" sparked some debate among the members of the CSAC, but a few adaptations and the strong support of the women on the committee carried the design through production. The stamp-buying public was not impressed. Although the collage looked great four times up in design magazines, it performed more feebly at finished size.
     The three overlapping images come close to canceling each other out, and very few of the words within the image were easily readable. The stamp suffered a thumbs-down reaction from buyers and collectors, and readers of a philatelic magazine deemed the commemorative "the worst new stamp of the year." When the editors asked Greiman to comment, she asked, "What stamp was most popular?" Told that the Civil War series had garnered that accolade, she replied, "In that case, I'll take it as a compliment."

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