“Design fame seems to be based more and more on which stylistic label you are bestowed – suddenly your work is lifted out of its context and plopped down firmly into this or that camp. And when a style is so easily identifiable, it’s certainly easier to rip off. But you can’t duplicate someone’s whole life experience, and that’s where you, the originator of your own funky, quirky style, and your sincerest flatterers part ways. Clones aren’t known for having a wide spectrum of emotions or depth; evolution and growth are ruled out.
I never expected to be some sort of super-hyphenated-ever-qualified-and-categorized designer. But for better or worse, stylistic or other kinds of labeling are inescapable. I wear my ‘CalArts’ badge on my sleeve; I like it there. But I’m not interested in having my ideas stay put.
When my pal Jenn and I recently showed our work to a prominent design headhunter in New York, a pronouncement was handed down on our careers: ‘I really dislike this work. This is not ‘real’ design, it’s just ‘playing around.’ Furthermore, she informed us to get a ‘real’ job in a real studio, now. No time to waste. Assimilate or starve. Coming face-to-face with corporate design America was sobering, but it placed me within a design context and continuum – I can better see my work by knowing what it’s not. And playing around? Does work have to fit some corporate or other mold to be considered seriously? Isn’t it by pushing the edges that what is considered ‘real’ design moves a little bit further along in its history? And why does it have to be called ‘work’ as opposed to ‘play?’ Most of my work isn’t geared toward a corporate giant like Dow Chemical. Nor am I interested in working for Dow Chemical. I can’t. I’m not trained that way, I don’t have that kind of sensibility. But most of all, I don’t like what they do.”
— Gail Swanlund, 1993 (via)
