The Wide, Wide World of Graphic Design
For the past dozen years, I've been immersed in the world of
graphic design—first as a student, then as a designer, and now as a
design educator. Through each experience navigating this incredible
field I have gained a new perspective—and at one point got a rather
rude awakening.
As a design student, my experience was fairly typical. My
portfolio included the regular stable of work: flashy logos,
posters, magazine covers, self-promotional pieces, packaging, wine
bottles, experimental typography. From concept to execution, I was
given free reign to be boundlessly creative with each assignment,
all the while consciously developing and honing my own "signature"
style.
It was a heady time for me. I found my passion, doing what I
loved to do, while at the same time preparing for a soul-satisfying
career as a graphic designer with limitless latitude to experiment.
Or so I thought!
Then I graduated.
The first job I landed was designing a publication that
presented a detailed school curriculum. Long text columns, bullets
and charts, gray-scale stock photos. Fancy typography and Photoshop
skills weren't called for.
My next job was designing medical templates. Dry, colorless
pages of medical text and flat anatomical figures. Experimentation
was not solicited.
Next I was hired to help design the interface of radiology
software. X-ray images of diseased body parts, endless medical
facts, copious content squeezed into tight spaces. No one cared for
my unique "signature" style.
Was this the career world of graphic design? Where could
I use my imagination and creativity, my talent for color, my love
of avant-garde typography? How could I demonstrate my personal
aesthetic? Why had I spent so much time and money developing skills
that didn't seem to be called for in my chosen profession?
Over time I migrated back to the academic world, but this time
on the teaching side. As a graphic design instructor in the Fine
Arts department of the New York Institute of Technology for the
past eight years, I've had the opportunity to use my creativity and
skills, as well as develop new ones. I get to grow constantly on
the job. Though not the career I originally aimed for, it has
turned out to be a satisfying one.
Part of my role as a design educator is to help students see the
whole spectrum of the design world, not attract them to one slice
of it.
So I have no regrets—but still, my experiences have gotten me
thinking. What's at fault when design students' dreams and
expectations aren't fulfilled in the real world?
Like me, most of my students are the artsy type. They're driven
by an urge to be creative and express themselves. They love beauty,
or at times ugliness—as long as whatever they create makes a
statement, draws attention and evokes a strong response.
I understand my students' hopes and dreams. But I also know that
few of them will be able to make a living based solely on unbridled
creativity and self-expression. Part of my role as a design
educator is to help students see the whole spectrum of the design
world, not attract them to one slice of it with a course-load
that's too heavy on excitement and glamour.
Whatever such work may lack in freedom and intrigue it gains by
giving the designer an additional sense of purpose and the
satisfaction of helping solve important problems that affect us
all.
Looking back now at those initial jobs after graduation, I
realize that I made important contributions to the curriculum
publication and the medical templates and software I helped design.
Teachers and students probably benefited by having a more clear and
usable resource. Doctors must have found the templates and software
easier to use, and who knows how many patients my designs may have
helped.
My disappointment at the time stemmed largely from narrow
expectations. I now look on the design projects of my student
days—the glitzy logos, posters, wine bottles and such—as a tasty,
frothy dessert. What I really needed was the complete nourishment
of a well-balanced meal.