Ken Garland

THAT
PLACE,
AT
ANY
RATE

That place, at any rate

Ken Garland

That place, at any rate

Observations on street lettering, from corporate logotypes to graffiti

ditions
Lespartisansdumoindreeffort
www.lpdme.org

2004

Illustrations
7

Horrible, horrible ?
25
Improper lettering
28
Design and the Spirit of the Place
32

Illustrations

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

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Horrible, horrible ?

Three years ago I went for an evening jaunt along the Regents Canal
in North London, on a narrow-boat hired by my friends in the Camden
Town Amenity Group. We were a congenial bunch, united in our
concern for the urban environment, our affection for the familiar
surroundings and our enjoyment of liberal supplies of a well chosen
wine.
Then something happened.
On a particularly nondescript part of the canal near Kentish Town
a new vision arose before us: emblazoned on a brick wall beside
a derelict warehouse was a Tag. It said Shades. Just that; no Hands
off Nicaragua, no Pakkys go Home, no Maggie out, just a tag.
An embellished nom-de-plume with no other purpose than its own
existence. I loved it. I loved its impudence, its incongruity, its virtuosity
and its vulgarity.
But everyone else hated it. Their faces wrinkled up like prunes as
they stared at the unwelcome intrusion. They also stared at me in frank
disbelief when I said I loved it. You cant be serious. they snarled, Its
horrible, horrible !. So I took a surreptitious photograph9 of it and shut
up. Then, about a hundred yards further on we came to another vision.
This one said hang on, what did it say ? It might have been Kom or
Rom or even Rome. I loved this one, too, even though I didnt know
what is spelled. To a renewed chorus of snarls I took another, extremely
surreptitious photograph of it and said nothing (they were in a lynching
mood by now, my friends).
What was happening to me ? By all the criteria of lettering and
typography that I normally subscribed to, these creations were
inadequate: being illegible, or almost so; and having no significant
information purpose. In earlier years I had shrunk from the spraycan
throwups on the New York Subway, been enraged by the casual
desecrations of the wall of churches, synagogues, concert halls,

art galleries and you name it; and appaled more than anything else by
the wilful graffiti additions to lovingly rendered legitimate wall murals.
Now, like Saul on the road to Damascus was experiencing a sudden
conversion. Graffiti can be good !
Not all graffiti, of course; my conversion was conditional.
A lot of the kids who take up a spraycan or a giant feltpen only succeed
in demonstrating in the most public fashion that they have no talent for
it, and we have to suffer the evidence of their ineptitude. But if it comes
to that, have you never been confronted with the work of an inept
architect, or poster designer, or sign writer, or shop fitter, or sculptor ?
Ineptitude and virtuosity sit side by side in all creative fields and
we do not, surely, condemn the rare examples of the latter because
of the prevalence of the former, whatever the context ?
Well, you might have thought this a reasonable assumption; but it
is not so. My environmentally conscious companions on the canal trip
are not the only ones who regard all graffiti as inexcusable vandalism,
not to be countenanced under any circumstances. A substantial number,
possibly the majority of those reading this article, may hold to this view.
If so, you are in sturdy company. Certain estate agents who conduct
their business in my part of London (Camden Town) have delivered
themselves of stern statements about the activities of the graffiti
fraternity. Anti-social warped, a menace to the community they
claim, what are the police doing about these lawbreakers ?
But if ever I heard a case of the pot calling the kettle black, this is it,
for these same estate agents plaster their hideous sale boards all over my
neighbourhood with flagrant disregard for byelaws or common decency;
if anyone is an anti-social menace to the community it is more likely
to be an estate agent than a graffiti writer.
Nor are some of our most prestigious architects free of all taint
when it comes to visual abuse. They rarely break byelaws it is true,
but their soulless facades, blunt, bland and bereft of feeling, are an
insult to the community on whom they are imposed; and they are an
open invitation to embellishment. Just up the road at Swiss Cottage are
the Library and Swimming Baths designed by the late Sir Basil Spence.
The ground floor presents a typically blank stretch of stucco several
hundred feet of nothing at all to the citizens of Camden. The smooth
surface proved irresistible to the local graffiti writers. Their efforts range,
in mere competence, from the awful to the totally assured; but they are
all, whether beautiful or ugly, tokens of some sort of humane presence,
evidence that creatures with individual feelings, each with his or her
own style. The smaller scale graffiti, as against the full-colour throwups,

25

26

from The Monotype Recorder 7 (new series). Monotype Corporation,

Redhill 1988

are now done in felt pen rather than spraycan; this switch of instrument
has resulted in a genuinely calligraphic style and one can see clearly
those writers who enjoy the variation between thick and thin strokes.
The comparative delicacy of the felt pen also permits the development
of more elaborate tags.
But he grand set piece still flourishes undiminished. Though
essentially lettering designs, they may now incorporate pictorial
elements as well. Such complex designs take a long time to execute and
need a team one of whom designs the whole and supervises the rest who
specialize in particular parts or effects. Increasingly, local authorities,
schools and even some businesses have commissioned works from
graffiti writers and this allows them to take whatever time they need,
no longer under the pressure of being jumped on by the law or by
an irate property owner. But for some this freedom from harassment
is a turn-off and they claim they perform less well when they havent
got the excitement of engaging in an illegal act to keep the adrenalin
flowing.
Apart from the pleasure good graffiti can give to any lay person
unblinkered by prejudice, they have a special interest for the practising
calligrapher, lettering artist and typographer, since they are letteringbased. Though the models for many letters are School of Mickey
Mouse Weekly or Superman Comics, the wild and often illegible
forms that emerge are very much the product of their time, place and
circumstance. They are about lettering as image; whatever meaning
they have for the viewer is in the way they are done, not what they say.
Outrageous as this may seem to some, they have much in common with
the decorated initials of a mediaeval manuscript like the Duke of Berrys
Grandes Heures or the Book of Kells. They have the same over-the-top
invention, the same mix of delicacy and vulgarity, and most strikingly
of all, the same vitality.
In the corner of one of his New York pieces the graffiti writer whose
Tag is Lee has encapsulated his and his fellows sense of purpose in
these words:
There is only one reason for art: to know that you are alive.

27

Improper lettering
paper given at Lettering forum, University of Oxford, January 1988

I have been asked by the Gulbenkian Craft Initiative to offer you some
opinions on the lettering we see around us in the street. As a graphic
designer I suppose I might be expected to present a selection of good
work by my fellow designers, to regret the many bad examples and to
offer some earnest exhortations to those with the power and the money
to have effect on the appearance of signs on shops, offices and public
buildings.
But I have chosen not to. Rather than postulating any ideal and
indulging in unrealistic propositions intended to transform the urban
scene into a designers paradise by some unspecified magic, I wish
to look, in as detached a way as possible, at the real scene. To do this
I have examined my own neighbourhood, where I both live and work;
and for the most part my examples are drawn from Camden High
Street. London, and the streets nearby.
The strongest lettering to hit my eye as I walk up the main street is
that on estate agents boards10, as they dangle, jostle and compete with
one another for my attention in the most exuberant and unrestrained
fashion over my head. They incorporate those aspects of public lettering
most dear to those who strive in the marketplace: their house styles are
contrived to distinguish one agency from another at a distance of two
hundred paces; their message is simple and stated without frills;
and the scale of the letters is such as to compel attention even from
the most unobservant. They are among the most vivid, unmistakable
tokens of free, unbridled competition.
To me, they are obscene, arrogant, presumptuous and entirely
suited to the social climate of our time.
You may say: if they are indeed obscene, then lets make them neater.
Lets have some order in their appearance and siting. Lets have some
regulations about them, for heavens sake. But this, I suggest misses the
point. In all their profusion and assertiveness, they are only the outward
28

and obvious mark of a rapacious, property-obsessed society. In that

respect they are, it seems to me, honest graphic designs, wrought
by honest hands for honest purposes.
So they are, the horrid things, poised over our heads; and there
they remain, long after the premises have been let or sold, inescapable
monuments to the property deal struck some three, four or six month
ago. Meanwhile, what of the shop fascia lettering they so often appear
to upstage ?
Well, the chain stores in our high street, you may or may not be
relieved to learn, are in no way overawed by the estate agents signs.
Though unable to aspire to the lofty stature achieved by lettering on
edge-of-town hypermarkets, their marks of identity are nevertheless
burgeoning, in three dimensions, from their fascia boards in ever more
impressive fashion, to the extent that one sometimes fears to walk
underneath, in case one of them detaches its vast bulk from the shop
and descends to crush you to death on the pavement.
Less wealthy shopkeepers tobacconists and newsagents, for example
may solve the fascia problem by accepting the aid of the tobacco
companies with the predictable result that the fascia is 75 per cent
tobacco and 25 per cent the rest.
Nor is tobacco the only product to replace the identity of the small
shop: the credit companies are doing a grand job here too, to the effect
that it appears more significant to know that so-and-sos shop welcomes
Visa cards or Access cards than to know who so-and-so is.
Is there any evidence, in the lettering confronting me in my
perambulations, of informality, of casualness, of friendliness ? Oh yes
sort of. There is, for example, the studied informality of Prontaprints
scripty name style, derived from the late Roger Excoffons Mistral
typeface; the neon sprawl of Camdens Friend, a Chinese restaurant;
and the handwriting of Andr Bernards hairstyling salon. But these
are tired, unconvincing substitutes; they have nothing personal about
them and they fool nobody.
(Notice, incidentally, the tobacco-inspired fascia next door to
Prontaprint 75% to Benson & Hedges, 25% to Camden Bazaar
and the three-dimensional burgeoning of the bsm letters next to Andr
Bernard.)
Bouncy logos are rife among the American imports to Camden.
Just up the road, for example, we are treated to the brash banality of
the Holiday Inn logo that is so relentlessly duplicated on prime sites
all over the globe. The power of this sort of corporate identity lettering
is derived, not from the actual design, which is usually flaccid and

uninspired, but from its ubiquity. Yes, theres the trick, isnt it ? Bung
an unchanging version of your name all over the bloody place, using
all manner of persuaders, financial or otherwise, to circumvent local
planning authority objections; shove that same design on every paper
napkin, every menu card, every porters cap, every advertisement and
every promotional device you can think of: and bingo ! that little old bit
of fancy lettering is more important to your marketing success than
the buildings it adorns.
As for the informality referred earlier, its not here; nothing could be
less informal than a logo that is blazoned in such unvarying form in so
many places, in spite of its apparent friendliness.
As it happens, just across the road from the Holiday Inn is a wealth
of informal lettering; not only informal but also, I am afraid, highly
improper. As the only valid visual response to the ghastliness of the
Swiss Cottage Community Centre, designed by the late Basil Spence,
some naughty boys and girls have been at it with their graffiti. Note,
by the way, that spraycans are joined by giant feltpens these days, the
latter preferred for use on smooth, bland surfaces instead of the rough
brickwork for which spraycans are the only suitable tool.
The tags demonstrate mixed ability, to borrow a term descriptive
of the local comprehensive schools from which the lads and lasses
emerge at the end of the afternoon, feltpens up their sleeves and a nice
bit of virgin wall in their minds eye. Many of their creations are clumsy
and messy, but some and more than you might think at first glance,
are full of life and invention. And because, customarily, the perpetrators
only put up their own tag, they become more and more fluent in
execution. This, at its best, is free, informal lettering of a high order.
Most graffiti artists stay close to their own manor. They like to be
surrounded by the evidence of their efforts as they go from home to
school, or work, or wherever they hang out it they have no work.
Thus in Camden we have Rozza, Quill, Fit, Blade and Excel11 & 12.
These artistic as against purely polemical, graffiti, derive from the
New York school. And did those heroes Skeme, Lee, Phase 2, Chico
all the others in Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn and the Bronx, produce
their individual, vigorous letterforms without reference to previous
models ? Of course not. They derived, in their turn, from comic strips
and comic books, and from the untutored but fluent scripts
of fishmongers, greengrocers and fruiterers.
You see, it isnt well-ordered and harmonious arrangements of
lettering that I seek now, in the streets of Camden Town. My town is
part of the disordered, greedy, self-seeking society that is so well served

29

30

by the uncaring governments we have whished upon ourselves.

And I certainly dont want to give them any more opportunity to impose
their kind of order. It could never be mine.
No, I look for the informal, the spontaneous, the unique, the
non-standard, the quirky, the heretical and the improper. Thats where
well find vitality and innovation, not from vast schemes sponsored by
governments, or multi-national companies, or, god forbid, agencies of
the European Union and the United Nations. Personal things, whether
vulgar or tasteful, crude or delicate, useful or trivial; things that tell
you something about the persons who drew, painted, incised or carved
them.
Now I ask you you who love the unplanned, the unexpected,
who want your life and work to be a casual celebration and not
a pre-ordained parade, who would rather be surprised than standardized
who, really, are your brothers and sisters, or, more important, your
sons and daughters: the self-important, pinstriped peddlers of financial
futures and mega-mergers; or the naughty boys and girls with their
giant feltpens and their nervous, irritating, vulgar but truly challenging
attacks on an environment that has so far failed them and us ?

Design and the Spirit of the Place

31

32

invited lecture given at School of Art, University of Michigan,

March 1995

[Shows first slide: Holiday Inn exterior]13 OK, its a Holiday Inn,
but where are we ? Los Angeles ? Frankfurt ? Bombay ? Melbourne ?
Could be any one of them, couldnt it ? And what about this [shows
anonymous subway sign] Ill give you a clue: its a subway sign. I bet
you couldnt tell me whether its in Berlin, or Stockholm, or Boston.
Actually, its in the Moscow Metro, but so what ? See, the whole
thing about Holiday Inns, and Metro signs, and airport signs, and
McDonalds signs, [shows PepsiCola sign]14 and PepsiCola signs
this ones in Bangladesh, by the way, but more of that late the whole
thing is that they are meant to impose on the locality theyre placed in.
They are designed as ubiquitous, constant signals aimed at those who,
it is presumed, are anxious to acquire a product or service that is of
unchanging quality and type.
And why not, indeed. Should not the anxious traveller be given
that assurance in the most immediate fashion: the Sign that Says it All.
What better way to encourage world travel than to employ the easily
comprehensible logotypes of the multinational companies, and the
international sign system now so often seen in airports, railway stations,
metros and yes even in shopping malls ?
All very plausible; and I have to confess Ive found these very
logotypes welcome from time to time, much as I may dislike the look
of the damn things. But there is a heavy price to pay for such occasional
convenience.
Firstly, there is the problem of the very ubiquity of these devices.
When you dont want the service or product they represent which is,
after all, most of the time theyre still there, blaring at you. And what
about those of us who never want they offer ? A favourite topic of mine,
this, that Ive enlarged on under other auspices and no doubt will again.
But more relevant to the subject of my lecture is the effect of these signs
on the Spirit of the Place. In a word, the effect may be, and often is,

catastrophic. Does anyone here seriously doubt that the mere presence
of two large gasoline filling stations straddling the approach to a small,
historic village town in say, New England, replete with gaudy signage,
constitute a visual threat to that fragile environment? Or that the impact
of this [shows McDonalds sign in Kendal]15 graphic protrusion into
the hitherto restrained High Street of a country town in Englands Lake
District is an inevitable affront to its setting ?
Multiply such typical encroachments a thousand, a hundred
thousand, a thousand thousand times, and you are facing the wholesale
dissolution of unique, irreplaceable environments in favour of this massproduced syrupy overlay. The paradox is that much of the homogenous
horror the monotonous livery of the vast hotel chains, for example
serves the very tourists who travel the world in search of the precious
environments they are threatening; and the quest for these disappearing
treasures grows ever more frantic as the tourist hotels spring up to
accommodate them.
Time was, we wouldnt have to be on this quest, you and I and
all the Holiday Inners. Then, the Spirit of the Place was self-evident.
We well, our ancestors, to be more accurate, had only to look around
them: each farm, village, market town and city were unique and
unmistakable. The barns and cattlepens and sheepfolds of the farms
were made by local craftsmen from local materials; [shows sequence
of farm, village, town and city] as were the inns and the manor houses
and the cottages of the villages; as were the parish churches and the
merchants house and the market halls of the town; and as were the
theatres and the mansions and the workshops of the city. Even the great
cathedrals, intended though they may have been by their patrons to
reflect the higher glory with their altarpieces, stained glass and chancel
screens by master craftsmen of international repute [shows rose window
from Chartres and gargoyle], were nonetheless built from local stone
and timber, and were decorated with gargoyles and misericord woodcarvings and all manner of ornamentation that betrayed, or rather
celebrated, their local origin.
Of course, there is still much historical evidence of vernacular art
and craft; there are even some towns that have nurtured it so carefully
one could almost believe it was still vigorous and thriving. Take the
town of Goslar in the Harz Mountains of Saxony, North Germany.
[Shows sequence of carved lettering on medieval houses]16 We cannot
doubt the genuineness of these facades. When I photographed them
in 1989 they were freshly painted and in perfect condition; they looked
pristine. But the sense of being original; still pure; unspoiled(Webster),

they are not entirely pristine. You see, I remember visiting Goslar in
1950. After ten years of wartime and postwar neglect, the facades were
unpainted, the wood splintered and warped, and the plaster cracked
and peeling. So, genuine though the facades are, they have now been
subjected to the sort of dedicated refurbishment and renewal usually
associated with art galleries and museums. They are well worth
preserving, insofar as they retain the original configurations
of the carving and, perhaps, something of the original colouring.
But delightful as the town now appears, there is more than a whiff
of formaldehyde in the Spirit of the place.
Now, it may be that the Swiss city of Lucerne has a rather better
claim to a living tradition. The 17th century painted panels adorning
its famous wooden bridge may smack somewhat of artful preservation
[shows covered bridge and gable paintings]17 but the long-established
custom of painting the walls of its buildings produce images and
decorations that are fresh and vigorous, and are regularly renewed by
artists and craftsmen who are able successors to their fellows of earlier
centuries. [Shows sequence of wall murals] However, I still have that
nagging feeling that its make-believe like an up-market Disney World.
And there was something in Lucerne that gave another, less charming
but perhaps more real picture, and which Ill come back to under
another heading, as it were.
In my own neighbourhood of North London I set about the search
for the vernacular of the here-and-now. Hastening along my Main
Street underneath the threatening, three-dimensional fascia lettering
[shows sequence of these] and the chaotic clusters of realtors For Sale
signs [shows one]18, I turn into a side street and there they are: the
hand-wrought price tickets on the fruit and vegetable stalls of my local
street market [shows price tickets]19; Yes, I know theyre a very modest
contribution; I know theyre taken for granted by both stall-holders
and their patrons; and that theyd probably laugh their heads off if they
learned I was commending their little efforts so earnestly. No matter:
they are expressive, inventive, vigorous and confident. And in their
unpretentious way they tell me much more about the real life of the
street than any of those soulless, chain-store fascias or those rapacious
realtors signs. Nor am I talking only of the time-honoured tradition of
the stall-holders tickets and suchlike, for with the new phenomenon of
inner city freeway flyovers have come the defiant graffiti that transform
their grim substructures into things of beauty. Some of them are
subtle, even delicate [show one such]; others are powerful, [show one]
sometimes offensive. They, and their companion works flanking the

33

34

tracks outside our rail stations, are surely genuine tokens of the New
Spirit of the Place that place, at any rate.
Its all a bit of a struggle though, this hunting for the genuine
among the mass of corporate dross of our cities, isnt it ? What about
more pervasive, less fractured evidence ? OK, here are two pieces of
evidence. The first is one I havent seen myself but offer you through
the courtesy of the heroic photographer Peter Magubane and National
Geographic: in KwaNdebele, South Africa, the women of the Ndebele
nation decorate their houses, and themselves, in a style which is unique,
and breathtaking, and modern modern is the sense that it is changing
and developing all the time [show sequences of courtyard and people].
Although their art, their life style and their very identity has been under
threat, present indications are that all have a good chance of surviving
because they are vigorous and determined and inventive, all of which
you could have divined from their art, could you not ?
The second piece of evidence I have seen and can vouch personally:
it is the glorious and recent explosion of street art in the form of the
decorated cycle-rickshas of Dhaka, capital of Bangladesh. We may well
be seeing the peak of this amazing manifestation, which took off with
a flying start when the country gained its independence in 1972 and
has gone on getting better all the time [show sequence of decorated
rickshas]. This is a popular art form, of course; but it is not untutored
or amateurish. Its exponents are highly skilled and highly thought of.
Dhaka is blessed and transfigured by their achievements. And we
should take two important lessons from them: one, their art is joyfully
spontaneous, unrelated to any profit motive, since no-one (except,
perhaps, the odd visitor like me) is going to select a ricksha on the basis
of its decor; two, it has no financial sponsorship of any kind from the
city or the government. Can it be that any genuine expression of the
Spirit of the Place must be spontaneous and unofficial ? By the way,
I noted earlier that I would be mentioning Bangladesh in relation with
PepsiCola. So here we are: as the result of the intense competition in
the world by Pepsi and Coke to sell their gooey and expensive syrup to
the poorest people in the world, they have swamped the country with
their billboards [show sequence of billboards]. Not only that: they are
now hacking away Bangladeshs precious and rare bits of hill in order
to superimpose their monotonous imagery; their graphics are literally
carving up the country !
My last point is a difficult one but important to me, at any rate
so Ill do my best to make it clearly. Last summer I spent several weeks
in a French village at the foot of the Pyrnes [shows sequence of

views]. A delightful place, though somewhat less prosperous than it

was during its heyday at the turn of the century when it was popular
with the wealthy middle class as a spa. It is dominated by its beautiful
church and its people appear devout. The graveyard contains the most
lovingly wrought stonework in the village, in the form of the elaborate
monuments to the deceased members of its most prominent families
[shows sequence of graveyards monuments]20. You might, at first,
have assumed this to be a community at ease with itself and its
religion, proud of its past and determined to preserve what it can of it:
fundamentally conservative without being overtly political, one way or
the other. The Spirit of the Place is not difficult to discern here:
in Aulus-les-Bains, what you see is what you get. But wait a minute:
what do we have here, in this quiet corner of a quiet village [shows
views of house]?
A little house festooned with symbols of the wartime Resistance
Movement; defiantly festooned, what is more, as though its owner
wished to administer a sharp reminder to his fellow villagers.
Vivre libre ou mourir ! (Let us live in freedom or die ! ) he proclaims
on a freshly painted slogan21, beneath a representation of the French
tricolore emblazoned with the dates 1940 1944 and the symbol of
the Resistance, the Cross of Loraine. What could have happened here
during those terrible years, that required such a trenchant reminder ?
One possible answer is supplied by a sombre bronze plaque fixed to
a stone slab beside the road out of the village. Less noticeable than
the crucifix on the opposite side of the road [shows plaque and crucifix]
it reads as follows22:

35

36

in memoriam
in 194243, during the second world war, 686 jewish men, women
and children were held by the vichy government in aulus-lesbains before being, for the most part, sent to their death in
the nazi extermination camps. remember, you who pass by.
Suddenly, the Spirit of this Place is seen to be darker, more complex
and, most significantly, less isolated than it first appeared. Here is a vivid
lesson for us designers: that we should not go for the simplistic, the easy,
the obvious. Who would have thought there was a direct link between a
remote, peaceful village in the Pyrnes and the deserted killing ground
of Auschwitz-Birkenau with its stark memorial [shows memorial slab on
site of camp crematorium]23 ? No, our job as designers when invoking
the Spirit of the Place is as subtle and intricate as the role of designers

working for multinationals appears to be crude and insensitive.

There are no easy answers. But surely, if we can take the time and
thought to get them right, they are far, far more rewarding ?

This booklet reproduces, with permission of Ken Garland

and his editor, three texts and their illustrations published in:
A word in your eye: opinions, observations and conjectures on design,
from 1960 to present
Departement of Typography & Graphic Communication
The University of Reading
1996
The pdf file was designed by Franois Chastanet, Bordeaux.
The text was output in the typeface Adobe Garamond designed by
Robert Slimbach in 1988, the cover composed in Skia designed by
Matthew Carter in 1994.

37

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/kengarland
/thatplace.zip

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www.lpdme.org

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For example, one can use red sheets for the
covers (sheets 1 and 21), yellow sheets for the
illustration pages (sheets 5 to 13) and white paper
or clear gray recycled paper sheets for the reading
(sheets 2 to 4 and 14 to 20) to improve the quality
of the booklet.

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www.lpdme.org

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