Steven Heller

Collage is an art that defies its roots. Just about every artist and designer (as well as every child and non-artist) has pasted together disparate scraps of things either to express a coded or universal message. László Moholy-Nagy considered it the mechanical art for a mechanical age. It was the radical alternative to conventional art and was so frequently associated in work by Moderns representing Cubism, Constructivism, Dada, Futurism, Social Realism, Surrealism and propaganda of all stripes. It was a tool for fascism, communism, socialism and virtually every ideology with a message to convey.

Over the past five decades, Merrill C. Berman has acquired a vast collection of avant garde, progressive and revolutionary graphic design. He lends an incredible number of objects and original sketches, comps, paste-ups and printed ephemera to museums and galleries throughout the world—but his collection is not just a lending library of rarities. His wellspring of artifacts is open 24/7 by virtue of the numerous printed and digital publications that are issued weekly, and just a click away for those who wish to study and learn from them.

I spent a good portion of last weekend streaming a six-part documentary series about the Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia, and another about Cream’s Disraeli Gears album. This post is not about either, although I recommend them. Rather, this is about hair, and what it meant to have long, flowing, wavy locks back in the 1960s.

Democracy is on trial, but it worked in one respect. People voted without incident. A candidate won. And the razor-thin margins that were predicted did not come to pass. So, you might say that democracy won, this time around.

Piet Zwart (1885–1977) was wired long before the term referred to the digital world or a day at Starbucks. One of the most progressive graphic designers of the 1920s and ’30s, he was among the pioneers of the New Typography, the international movement of advertising and editorial designers and typographers who challenged traditional conventions. He is known for many iconic period works that continue to influence designers today, mainly because they appear so contemporary—in fact, knowingly or not, many follow Zwart’s principles published in his era-defining essay “from old to new typography”:

Al Goldstein, publisher of Screw and assorted other underground newspapers, was branded a misanthropic pornographer. He certainly practiced the porn part, but “misanthropic” was an extreme exaggeration. He was a satirist, and most of his newspapers, many of which I designed, were done with conviction and a generous helping of interventionist motivation.

Cartoon, like radio, is a medium where the artists are invisible “voices.” With cartoons, the reader is forced to create a mental picture of the individual(s) making the work—sometimes it doesn’t matter, but I believe picturing the creator is somehow part of the overall experience. The images of New Yorker cartoonists in photographer Alen MacWeeney’s new book add that missing dimension by revealing the people behind the art, alongside conversational texts about each artist by Michael Maslin (himself a New Yorker cartoonist).

Are you a book lover short on shelf space? isolarii makes tiny books with big words—and they’re perfect for a holiday stocking.

This year has been a mixed bag. On Thanksgiving I usually just reflect comfortably on the past 12 months, since it’s a nostalgic kind of holiday. A time to harvest thoughts—a time to rend, a time to sow. There’s something mystical and mythical about the country’s original inhabitants having a potluck with interloping pilgrims, a short peaceful interlude before the colonizing shit hit the fan.

Randy Balsmeyer of "Beatles '64" talks title design.