Anatomy of Design

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ANATOMY OF DESIGN

Designing one’s own design monograph—the testament to a life’s work (or

portion thereof)—can be an overwrought self-conscious act. Yet because the

monograph is such personal document, its design arguably should be an

extension of the subject’s sensibility and, therefore, not simply a neutral

vessel but an added expressive statement that both complements and

supplements the retrospective material. Chip Kidd’s eponymous 2006 volume,

optimistically subtitled Book One, is just such a high-intensity production.

Known for pushing the proverbial boundaries of book jacket design—from

purely illustrative to conceptually pictorial and typographical—Kidd probably

could not have designed a book about himself without radically playing with

the verities of design. For Kidd, the book jacket has always been a canvas for

creating illusions either in two-dimensional space or, frequently, using die-cuts

and slip-sheets to simulate three dimensions.

For this monograph he took a few production (and perhaps marketing)

risks, more akin to artist books than commercial trade books. Produced as a

long horizontal (which is not easy to shelve), the paper-over-boards book cover

actually covers only half the length of the pages. The short-cut case leaves the

rest of the pages to flap (so to speak) in the wind. But whether this approach

succeeds or not is almost irrelevant to what Kidd has metaphorically achieved.

One-half of this volume is a conventional book, while the other is a

demonstration of his hubris—as though he is saying to the reader:

I can take

even the most prescriptive media form—the book—and make it novel (not in the

literary sense, but in the “what can be done that has yet to be done” sense).

Yet, in truth, the categories of “book as object” and “book as illusion” are

not entirely novel. Kidd employed various pictorial conceits—for instance, that

date to early-twentieth-century book and poster design, when photo manipulation

was the rage. The book photographed as an object sitting in another book—a

modern adaptation of the trompe l’oeil painting—is a common means of toying

with viewer perception and adding depth to the flat page surface. In this case,

Kidd wittily made the book-within-the-book rather petite, evidenced by the large

thumbs holding open the otherwise demure title page spread, perhaps

suggesting that his collected works are also small in comparison to the history

of book design. But once inside, the scale of the jackets and covers is almost

always full-sized and actually rather crammed together.

The hands (and fingers) holding the book-within-a-book thus form a

visual chestnut—which isn’t to say the approach lacks effect but rather that it

might prompt a déjà vu or two. Nonetheless, it is a clever means of revealing

the human presence, albeit disembodied, in imagery that is object oriented. The

hands also serve as an ersatz frame for the pictorial elements being held,

which optimally draws the viewer into seeing the images as more than mere

pictures but as artifacts as well. Kidd takes the hand-holding motif a step

further in the postcard/invitation announcing publication of his monograph,

where he (or some high-priced hand model with flawless digits) is

photographed holding the title page with him holding the book. Convoluted? It

could be more so if it were done ad infinitum, like a dual mirror effect. Actually,

the picture of the real hand with normal-sized thumb holding the photograph

with its super-sized thumb is the equivalent of graphic design slapstick, and for

some reason this always evokes a smile in the eye.

In addition to these combined cover conceits, Kidd’s monograph takes

another risk—which might be called the kitchen sink design style—in credibly

displaying his work. As noted, the interior is jam-packed with layers of material

that in many ways is counterintuitive to Kidd’s own high degree of elegant

reductionism, but it also challenges the reader’s appreciation. Contrasted to the

simplicity of the title and title page, the cramming of large covers, sketches,

and other visual ephemera convey a kind of scrapbook aesthetic. While the

words and pictures are related, seamless integration is rejected in favor of

oversaturation, and marginal white space is at a premium, as though Kidd is

suggesting there just weren’t enough pages for his swollen oeuvre.

Chip Kidd: Book One

Designer: Chip Kidd

2006 Chip Kidd: Book One, book

ad: Mark Melnick d: Chip Kidd p: Geoff Spear

Known for pushing the proverbial boundaries of book jacket design—from

purely illustrative to conceptually pictorial and typographical—Kidd probably

could not have designed a book about himself without radically playing with

the verities of design.

Are these my hands?

Book-in-a-book

Small cover, big book

Saturated spreads