A long time ago, in a blog post far, far away, I announced an idea for a mix CD, and solicited all of you lovely readers for song ideas. The theme? Death & Taxes. Lovely, yes?

Well, I'm proud to announce to the world the birth of the official, approved, nutrient-rich compact disc for your listening (and viewing) pleasure:

Isn't it beautiful? See more here...

As the saying goes, "Nothing is certain, except death and taxes." I can't say quite what possessed me to make a mix CD out of that saying, but chock it up to free-association and singing in the shower, if you will.

Anyway, I set about designing the CD by drawing from the most visible printed presence of death and taxes in my life: newspapers and government forms. Then, armed with a memory of a beautiful lithograph of The Dance of Death in my grandmother's house, leftover receipts from my sordid shopping life, and anything else I could think of, I set about collaging, manipulating, photocopying, and scanning to my heart's content.

It's hard to say when I was really sure that the design was done. The pressure of a self-given deadline (Christmas, so I could give it as gifts to friends and family) sure helped a lot, but I think that there's a point at which most artists reach where they feel at least halfway satisfied, and perfectionism gives way to pride.

This project was a joy to work on, for quite a few reasons. I found the concept compelling (a given, since it was my idea), the process of choosing songs (and listening to new music in the process) invigorating, and working outside the computer a refreshing change of pace (so nice, since I sit in front of one all day anyway).

And now, my friends, I'd like to share it with you!

For the purposes of ensuring that the RIAA does not set my derriere alight, I will not disclose the actual musical contents of the CD. I will disclose, however, that the contents of the CD are of high quality, from artists who I love, admire, and support by buying their music, attending their concerts, and singing their praises elsewhere.

So, if there are interested parties (perhaps fellow pirates and/or music lovers), I will send them their their very own copy (with a hand-cut block printed cover), for a measly $5, just to cover shipping, since it would be even more illegal if I tried to make money off of this.

To receive your FREE* CD:

1. give me a holler (jmathewes [at] gmail [dot] com)
2. send me $5 via paypal for shipping (see above)
3. give me your highly sensitive personal information (address)

If you complete steps 1-3, you should receive your shiny and perfect CD within exactly one (1) week.

*It's not really free, since you pay for shipping, but you're not paying attention anyway, are you?

For Christmas, my father-in-law gave me this delightful little book, An Essay on Typography, written by Eric Gill. For you non-typophiles, he's the "Gill" in your "Gill Sans." Yep, that lovely slim-lined typeface that you pick when you want to look professional, or maybe Swedish. That's him.

The book starts out with a brief introduction about the history of Mr. Gill's "essay," his life, and his collaboration with other Famous Typographers. What struck me was his voluminous impact on the world of typography, his ability to collaborate with others, and the depth of his thoughts and convictions (as evidenced by the rest of the book).

Among his writing, I found these few gems:

...for nothing can stop small boys from selling one another marbles, and it is that personal dealing which is the root of all trading. Even the small craftsman, in spite of the impossibility of competition with 'big business' and mass-production, cannot be permanently put out of action, if only because the pen-knife is always with us and men will always want to make things to please themselves, tho' only in their spare time.

To be patient is to suffer. By their fruits men know one another, but by their sufferings they are what they are.

The artist makes no claim to serve his fellow men; neverthless he does so--when he is not wholly led astray by the notion that art is self-expression or the expression of emotion.

There are, then, two principles, as there are two worlds. There is the principle of the best possible quality, and the principle of the greatest possible profit. And there is every sort of compromise between the two.

His writing has a sense of urgency and cosmic importance that I find lacking in much of modern writing, but that I know is difficult to keep up on a regular basis. Mr. Gill was an idealist, as many people-full-of-impact are. What is fascinating about him--and what often leads me to find particular artists admirable--is that he remains devoted to his work while still managing to be accessible, articulate, and decent human beings. (See my previous letter to Jasper Johns.)

One of my recent modern-day experiences with admirable and friendly artists includes an e-mail exchange with modern-day typographer, illustrator, artist, and designer Marian Bantjes. I wrote to her one day after being struck by her incredibly amazing work in Print magazine.

I said,

I'm just SO curious, and envious, to be truthful. Your work is as gorgeous as it is intelligent, and I envy that you seem to be able to get paid to do all this gorgeous, intelligent work.

She said, among other things,

How did I get here? Well, perseverence, stupidity, perhaps, and using every available resource I have and hoping in the face of adversity that it would help... Also, just getting over some shyness and connecting with people: not to say, 'Do you have work for me,' but just to say, 'I like what you do,' and send them things I do as gifts. Being a designer, I have a lot in common with designers, and now that i work for/with designers, well ... it all just kindof worked out...

The most important decision I made was to work for love instead of money. That sounds corny, but I was so used to getting all upset over how long things were taking me, what or whether i was getting paid, it @#$%^& up the work as well. As soon as I started just really pouring myself into the work and getting it out there, I think that really came through. The important thing was to just be really happy with the work. And I work all the time. Even when I have no paying work I still make things, find a way to get them printed, and then send them out. I often get paid later when someone says, 'I'd like something like that piece you did...'

I admire her gusto, perseverance, and faith in the quality of her own work. If I could choose to be anybody when I grow up, it would probably be her.

I pause today to briefly reflect on the recent design upgrade I embarked on in December 2006. I had just purchased a license and installation of Movable Type, a blog publishing software that I had been quite impressed with. My goal: to integrate my blog into the existing site design in a comprehensive fashion.

I did not underestimate the amount of work or the number of times I "broke" my test site. I left plenty of room for testing and gave myself the grace for post-design evaluation and tweaking. Websites are, after all, less like paintings--completed, sealed, framed, and nailed to the wall with finality--and more like gardens--which must be pruned, tended, fertilized, and managed with continued attentiveness.

What I did fail to anticipate, however, was the way the problem of integrating my blog would engulf most of my headspace. I realized that I had made something of a mistake by trying to accomplish this redesign while on vacation for a family reunion. Switching gears between designing and socializing proved to require immense mental acrobatics for which I was not prepared.

Here is why: something about the way websites function makes them very difficult to put down when you're in the middle of them. Like a good mystery novel, the most satisfaction comes from the "whodunit"--figuring out all the minutae of making a site work smoothly. A website half-done is both nonfunctional and uninteresting. And with the intensely detail-oriented and organized work that is required, they require long stretches of rapt attention.

And even when brought to completion, websites always offer more work--maintenance and upgrades, compatibility improvements, style tweaks, and, of course, adding new content. Committing to maintain a website is similar to caring for a cat, dog, or even a child--they require attention and resources for as long as they are "live"... but at least you don't have to pay college tuition.

So here I am: committed to my website. It is by no means perfect, and therefore my work is never finished. I am, however, relieved to be out of the obsessive and time-sucking development/testing phase, and into the slow-paced and much more maintenance/improvement phase.

And next time I'll know to be prepared to devote extended intensive hours to development, preferably not while juggling 18 members of an extended family.

Lesson learned.

I came to a resolution the other day: Adobe Lightroom is not for me. I've been using the program for over six months now, enjoying the free beta version with all its powerful organization, tagging, and editing tools.

But something was lacking in the program overall, and I finally came to the decision. I've trashed the application and returned to an Adobe Bridge & Photoshop workflow.

Why? you ask? Here's why:

1. Slow Runnings - I'm using a PowerBook G4, purchased in 2004. This mighty little machine has held up mighty well, over the years, let me tell you. It's powerful and Gets It Done. But Lightroom is a beast. The previews take forever to load, and I spend more time waiting for things to refresh than I do actually perusing my (massive) photo library.
   
   
2. Clunky Tools - I have to confess: I'm a Photoshop gal. I know that program inside and out. Got a damaged picture? I can retouch it. Color adjustment? Done. But Lightroom takes Photoshop's powerful image-editing tools and makes them dumb. For someone who's so familiar with Photoshop, the tools that Lightroom has to offer are mediocre, at best.
   
   
3. Unused Features - After awhile, I noticed that I used very few of the features available to Lightroom, spending most of my time in the "Library" and "Develop" panels. I didn't need the slideshow or the web-gallery functionality; I knew enough to do it myself, and they didn't offer that much ease or control either. Plus, burning a CD, creating a web gallery, and making a slideshow are so easy with Photoshop and Apple's built-in tools. If I really need a quick fix, I can go there.

So there you have it, folks. Lightroom--a fancy program that promises to "do-it-all"--doesn't really do much.

But perhaps I'm being too harsh. There is one thing I'll miss about Lightroom, and that's the cataloguing power that I had. I used it to get myself more organized than ever before, and I now have a foolproof system to tracking everything. Now that the system is in place, though, Lightroom is unnecessary. So thank you, Lightroom, for helping me do my work better. You were a good to me, and I hope other photographers find you as helpful as I did, if for a time.

I love my clients. Many of them treat me well, and I'm good friends with them. Without them, I wouldn't have a job. Yay for clients!

But every now and then you come across a situation that is inherently frustrating. This can happen with "good" and "bad" clients alike. More often than not, the frustration stems from assumptions and miscommunication that happen early on in the design process between clients and their designers. These can be avoided with experience and intelligence, but sometimes in spite of your best efforts, both client and designer can end up together in a pot of boiling hot water.

So, here are three things (based on patterns I've observed with my own practice and that of others) that I wish I could tell all clients everywhere, all over the world, to help things go more smoothly with the design process:

1. Garbage in, garbage out.

This is a truism that works very well in life, but that I've seen happen far too commonly with design. If you don't give clear instruction, or if your instructions are vague and/or require a vast degree of interpretation, you won't get what you want.

It is, of course, a designer's job to listen very carefully, ask good questions, and dig as deep as they can to understand the scope of your project or idea, and to then propose a solution that matches your description of the problem.

This can't be accomplished, however, if there's not enough information, if the information is vague, or if you neglect to mention a critical parameter (i.e., "it has to be in full-color," or "we only have $X for this project," or "this is geared toward the Latino community").

So as a client, the best thing you can do for your designer is bring them alongside you, help them to understand your business, your intentions, and your needs.

Here's are a few resources to get you thinkin': a client survey that establishes guidelines for a logo design, and an article on how projects are priced.

2. Web is not the same as print, and must be treated differently.

One of the biggest sin you as a client can commit as a client is to download an image off the web, a logo from someone's website, or other web clipart graphic and sent it to your designer for use in a piece of printed material.

Asking a print designer to use graphics downloaded off a web page is like asking them to feed the multitudes with 5 loaves and 2 fish... except we're not Jesus. Here is the technical explanation of why you need large, high-resolution files for print:

The images you see on your screen have a measly 72 dots-per-inch (dpi), while the images you see on the paper of a magazine have a whopping 300 dots-per-inch--that's three times as much image information needed to produce something that appears "normal" to the human eye.

What this means is that images that have been prepared for use on a website will not meet requirements necessary to print them as "big" as they look on screen. An image could be as "big" as 7 inches by 10 inches, but if it's only 72 dpi, you're still stuck with something tiny for your brochure. High-resolution images are well worth what it takes to obtain them, so do yourself a favor and chase 'em down (or ask your designer for help) if you need 'em!

Secondly, don't make the assumption that what works for readers and users in your printed materials will work similarly on your website (or vice-versa).

Many studies have been done all over showing how unique the web is as a medium for reading and interacting, as well as how advertising and writing have to be altered in order to hold people's attention.

I highly recommend asking your designer or doing some of your own research to acquaint yourself with this reality before jumping in to a large-scale project. It will help your website and web strategy to be more effective, in addition to creating more synergy between you and your designer(s).

3. Drip-torture editing (and its cousin, "over-the-shoulder" designing) is ineffective and frustrating.

The drip-torture method of interaction is defined as sending ("dripping") a change, random thought, or edit to a proof as you think of it throughout the day.

You may feel that this is the best way for you to communicate immediately with your designer, and that by providing up-to-the-minute information on where your brain is at, that you're helping him or her to understand what you want.

Not so. Requesting 29 different edits at 29 different times during a single day is not only very frustrating for a designer, but highly ineffective. It makes your desires more difficult to keep track of, keeps designers spinning their wheels, and can lead to extra charges on your bill in the end.

"Over-the-shoulder" designing is the in-person equivalent of drip-torture interacting. You stand over the designer's shoulder and ask them to make changes in front of you until you hit on exactly what you want.

Caveat: This method can be good, but usually only in the final stages of editing when the overall design and mission has been established, or in the initial phases when designer and client are brainstorming together.

When it's bad: When the client "over-the-shoulders" the designer mid-way through the process, both parties often get caught up in a never-ending cycle of redesigning, which costs both parties time and money.

What is more effective in communicating with your designer is to do two things: provide and trust them with all your thoughts and information at the outset (see #1 above), and then, during the proofing or feedback process, send your changes, edits, and creative feedback in a complete, comprehensive batch. This helps a designer to see the overall picture of your reaction and direction, therefore helps them to execute your request more quickly, or even make a bold suggestion to head in a different (better) direction!

The end result of effective communication is a better design, a happier designer, and a fuller budget in the end. So please, for the sake of the designer and your pocketbook, avoid the water-torture method of proofing and editing.