Over 20 years of completing the same project for the same client for the same event provides a yardstick to view the progression of an industry. That’s a long time to maintain a consistent level of performance, for anything.

Fig. 1 — Example of an old school “visual asset” (we just called them watercolors)

We were fortunate to start the Durham Fair poster series with Jim McLaughlin, a senior advertising executive and professional communicator who was in charge of publicity. Jim’s only requirements for the posters were they focus on agricultural heritage, local culture, be of high quality, and avoid featuring the honky-tonk of the midway.

Fig.2 — For quality, nothing beats good ol’ sweat equity. Except maybe for plowing fields — use a tractor.

From the first to the last, the quality of the posters was most important — the content, the artwork, the photography, the reproduction process and the surface on which they were printed. With only a couple exceptions, all of the posters were printed on uncoated, and mostly recycled, papers. The warmth of uncoated surfaces and the sensuousness of ink connecting with fibers, rather than simply sitting on a surface, added to the earthy quality we desired.

Fig. 3 — It was an at-first-sight kinda thing.

The first poster, the Merino sheep, was a Bewick woodcut silkscreened on Mohawk Superfine by Sirocco Printing (no longer in business). The job was created in traditional mechanical form with overlays, markups, etc. When we delivered it, we inquired if they would be able to match our sensitive color palette. With that we were ushered into the production area where Sirocco was producing a limited edition of Josef Albers’ screenprints for Yale, pretty much ending our questions. This marked the beginning of a series, a long-term client relationship and a love affair with the poster medium.

Fig. 4 — Back in the day, folks was “all in” for a challenge (apparently for scoring flea market deals, too).

Early on, long-term relationships extended to printers, photographers, illustrators, writers, paper merchants, typesetters and production people. Most design agencies had their own stable of trusted suppliers and worked with the same team year after year. These consortiums provided a continuum for the client and their projects, the focus always on the quality of the work.

Fig. 5 — Why do it yourself if you can get others to help? Above left, by self. Above right, with others.

The energy and cross-pollination of ideas shared during these projects created a very special culture within the community. Printers recommended clients, writers brought designers to the table, and photographers participated in conceptual meetings. People flourished and great work was produced.

Fig. 6 — Other others (ref. fig. 5). In this case, Dole, Oakes Bourret and Gudelski.

By way of example, during production of the Durham Fair posters Allied and Finlay Printing donated many hours of prepress and press time using the opportunity to explore new techniques and processes. Photographers, including Jody Dole, shot virtually an entire museum to insure ample visual resources. Lee Moody of Mohawk Paper provided skids of top quality substrates. Local artists Terry Oakes Bourret and Aleta Gudelski provided oil paintings and watercolors. Each collaborator valued being connected to good work with the hope of great visibility.

Fig. 7  — Why buy the cow?

In the early ’90s, things seemed to change in the graphic design industry. The Request for Proposal (RFP) insinuated itself between clients and vendors. It soon became clear cost was the primary concern, quality second and relationships third. Twenty-five years ago, in the age of the handshake contract, the contents of a designer’s portfolio was the proposal — a cache of exceptional solutions to showcase talent and build business. Today this seems less important. Relationships tend to live or die by procurement vehicles that keep suppliers at arms length. No emotion. No commitment. No soul.

Fig. 8 — Interestingly, all of the items above were cutting-edge technology at some point.

Yet recent technologies provide an exciting environment for designers to work in. Gone are the days of rubber cement, rubylith, xacto blades, waxers, T-squares and working with your hands. However, I sense there is still an underlying respect for craft. In fact, it has become more common for traditional techniques, such as letterpress printing, and hand-made materials to be combined with high-tech implementation. No matter what, it is still a great business to be in, getting paid to do what we love most – putting marks on paper. Paper for mom to tape on the refrigerator door.

Fig. 9 — Return on investment

A couple of quotes have always stuck with me. From The Godfather: Part II, “And I said to myself, this is the business we have chosen.” And Andy Warhol, “Business art is the step that comes after art. I started as a commercial artist, and I want to finish as a business artist.” Make no mistake, design is and has always been a business venture. And though many things about the practice have changed over the years, it is still about business.

Not sure what impact today’s procurement processes would have had on the Durham Fair Posters. Could 20 years of award-winning design — and the vibrant community of enthusiastic collaborators the project helped cultivate — have even been possible? Something tells me by sheer gumption and ingenuity, still very much alive in our industry today, we would have found a way.

Fig. 10 — Ted Bertz, founder, Bertz Design Group

Founder and creative principal of Bertz Design Group (@bertzdesign) for over 30 years, Ted remains a creative consultant to the firm. Throughout his career, he built a legacy of breakthrough design for many of the country’s leading enterprises. The depth, breadth and quality of Ted’s work established him as one of the nation’s leading graphic designers. His contribution to the design discipline has been recognized nationally and internationally by a host of industry organizations.

January 2012: Rachel Hazell at her two-day Textile Narratives workshop in Hebden Bridge, Yorkshire. Photo: Sarah Mason.

Hebden Bridge, a former mill town, has become an artistic hub. Hazell first visited the area in 2010, to teach at the Arvon Foundation, a British organization that teaches the myriad benefits of creative writing.

Murthly Castle, Perthshire, Scotland, is the family home of Hazell’s friends, the Steuart Fotheringhams, who invited her to teach a bespoke two-day Introduction to Bookbinding workshop.

Beth Nicholls, one of the participants in Hazell’s Hebden Bridge workshop, is the founder of Do What You Love creative retreats. Hazell taught at the first Do What You Love retreat, in Richmond, Yorkshire, last spring.  Nicholls posted a series of “papery goodness” photos taken at Hazell’s workshop on her blog. She writes, “There is something about white linen thread against textured white paper that I just love, don’t you?” The Travelling Bookbinder herself transported the thread, the paper, and many other tools and materials to the workshop via train (a four-hour journey from Edinburgh).

Beth Nicholls took the Textile Narratives workshop and shared many photos on her blog, Do What You Love. Photo: Beth Nicholls.

Fiona Pattison hosted the Hebden Bridge workshop weekend in her converted barn. Pattison recently worked with Hazell on her PR, including the new video (below). Pattison’s company, Happy4PR, helps individual craftspeople to raise their profiles.

One of Hazell’s “star tools” is her Japanese screwpunch, featured prominently in The Travelling Bookbinder’s new video.

Summer 2011: An intimate workshop on a canal boat in London. The participants are all printmakers.

Summer 2010: Hazell taught a pop-up workshop at the Yellow-Lighted Book Festival in Gloucestershire, England.

Hazell is already booked for this June’s Yellow-Lighted Book Festival, held by Hereward Corbett, the proprietor of eponymous bookshops in Tetbury and Nailsworth.

Hazell has been documenting her predisposition to see books in everything for more than two years already. Her shot above (number 855 on her Books In Everything one-photo-per-day-blog) of Venetian glass button sample cards was particularly appealing to her because of the shadows and — of course — the way that the cards resemble pages. Speaking of Venice, the city will be the site of Hazell’s October workshop.

On the eve of her first U.S. workshop, Hazell reaffirms, “I believe that everybody has a book inside them, and I will travel the world to get them out. I am looking forward to workshops that will take me from remote Scottish islands to a Tuscan hillside, and even Japan. I revel in the serendipities of paper-folding and chocolate scoffing [charming British equivalent of scarfing] with like-minded people. I’ve met book lovers and paper-obsessives all over the world — we’re all on the same journey.”

Hazell will be posting news from Napa Valley on her Facebook page.

This magazine isn’t just a periodical, it’s an occasion for eager anticipation when it’s coming and celebration when it appears, in a way that reminds me how a few of us fans used to look forward to issues of Spy magazine. If the shutdown of the revered Gourmet magazine in 2009 accomplished anything, it demonstrated that business as usual in the printed magazine business is a ticket to oblivion. And as The New York Times pointed out, Lucky Peach has shrugged off the conventions of magazine publishing in every way: It’s printed on heavy matte paper and the content is copious — you won’t be finishing this magazine on the train tonight, and you may be staying up late to enjoy the last crumb.

Faux stickers for fruit, “presented by” Brian McMullen in issue #2

Yet the distinctiveness of Lucky Peach doesn’t depend on physical factors, as raucously joyous as the style and production choices may be. The essential ingredient is its editorial stance, which is discernible from the hand-lettered coverlines to the trippy travelogues.

Not surprising, considering it’s a McSweeney’s venture and the creation of chef/restaurateur David Chang, writer Peter Meehan and Zero Point Zero Production (the latter produced Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations … and Bourdain’s contributions are prominent). Chang, it happens, named his restaurant group Momofuku — all four of his restaurants are variations on it — after Momofuku Ando, inventor of instant ramen soup. And it just so happens that momofuku, according to Chan, means “lucky peach.” All nice and tightly blended, right?

Well, not exactly. In point of fact, Lucky Peach displays the culinary acumen and globetrotting settings of Saveur combined with the occasional antic vulgarity of a punk-era zine, say Destroy All Monsters. And it’s brilliantly entertaining, as well as providing an antidote to the obsessive striving and one-upsmanship of contemporary foodie-ism.

Ramen heroes from issue #1 by Mike Houston of Cannonball Press in Brooklyn, N.Y. Reproduced from letterpress prints made on a Vandercook proofing press. Vintage wood and lead type; imagery from hand-carved woodcuts.

What were they thinking? I wonder if the magazine’s founders haven’t been asking themselves that question all along. Meehan writes in issue #2, “After we wrapped up the first issue and I had a minute to stand back and look at the thing, I felt like it was the magazine equivalent of throwing an M-80 into a bowl of ramen and taking a crime scene photo of the results. This was a good thing, at least for me.”

Illustrations by Celeste Byers from issue #2

A very good thing it must have been, as I discovered when I heard about the launch and tried to order a copy. Several reprints later, I got my copy and, yes, devoured it. That first issue was all about ramen, the basis of Chang’s mini-empire and a cause célèbre with well-informed chefs sick of preciousness and pretence. The idea behind the cooking, the musing and the recipes found in Lucky Peach is that good ingredients and careful preparation make for good dining … nothing wrong with foie gras, but not every tasty dish has to bowl diners over with expense, rarity or calorie counts. Um, I take that back about the calorie counts, because within the pages of Lucky Peach you’re going to encounter the likes of the illustrator Gary Panter extolling the virtues of Frito pie and obscure, lurid-pink peanut candies.

Pantheon of lebanon bologna from issue #2

Single issues are a little pricey at $12, but a subscription is an ultra-cool $28. Most significantly, there’s lots of fun to be had, it’s all print, and every page satisfies. I feel like I’m lucky in love with magazines again.

Photos by Parker Biederbeck