Don’t expect theory to determine how things look.
MICHAEL ROCK/DESIGNER AND EDUCATOR / Principal, 2x4, New York
Rules in graphic design exist as guidelines that provide context for evaluating work and serve to help designers avoid problems that interfere with communication. Hopefully, if you’ve spent time reviewing the material in the preceding chapters, you’ll see that most of these so-called rules make pretty good sense.
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It is often said, however, that rules are made to be broken, and this is never truer than in design. No two projects are alike: Every project comes with different requirements; different ideas to be expressed; very specific kinds of content that demand lateral thinking; and often, audiences with very particular needs. Further, a designer’s personal point of view and formal sensibility are valid sources for visualization in their own right. No design approach should ever be considered out of bounds—“Thou shalt not, on pain of death!”—so long as (one might argue) the end result is clear and compelling communication.
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It’s important for designers to evaluate the pros and cons of following a certain rule on a case-by-case basis. If adhering to the rule is creating a problem, test to see what will happen when the rule is broken. Some rules are less flexible than others, and there is likely to be a trade-off when breaking any rule: something will be gained, and something will be lost. The designer must decide whether the sacrifice is acceptable and ultimately be prepared to accept the consequence of the decision. Becoming confident enough in one’s understanding of how the rules of visual language really work takes time; once that happens, a designer can take new liberties in the way he or she approaches visualizing their projects and enjoy the process of experimentation. Some of the greatest innovations in visual communication happen when designers knowingly—and intelligently—throw the rule book away.
Sometimes, the content needs to speak with as little interference as possible. This is true in the case of pure information design—in forms, for example, where the content’s only requirement is to be understood very easily—but might also be true for other project types, as well. Being neutral and having no concept—presenting content very directly and efficiently, refining legibility and hierarchy, and using color and material to craft a refined artifact—is a concept unto itself. This approach can result in a quickly accessible, informative, and functionally user-centric experience, which is not without its appeal.
When the message warrants it, use form willy-nilly, without regard for its meaning. This, in itself, might be interpreted as a message and—on rare occasions—that message is appropriate as part of a design solution. A project concerning Baroque or Victorian aesthetics, for example, might very well benefit from extremely decorative treatments that would otherwise constitute a crime against nature.
Always tailor the message to the audience. For a subculture whose expectations of visual messaging are very specific—a hip-hop website, as opposed to a large-scale, general-public branding campaign—using visual metaphor, idiosyncratic stylistic treatments of type or image, and color that references their shared context will resonate more powerfully than images and color that are designed to speak to the world at large.
The quickest way to draw attention to a particular element is to make it different from everything else around it, and this can be highly effective as a communication strategy. Disharmony among visual elements, whether stylistic, compositional, or chromatic, is also a message unto itself.
By all means, add extra stuff if it helps the message. Intricate, complicated, maze-like arrangements of form, even though somewhat daunting at first, will appeal to specific audiences. Including apparently unrelated forms or images, or creating an overload of form or texture, may add an important subtext that, in the end, helps support the project’s intent.
Okay, there’s no good way to break this rule. An absence of negative space is a disaster and always will be. That said, allowing visual material in particular segments of a project to overwhelm the compositional space—on occasion, in response to other segments in which negative space is used liberally—can be an excellent strategy for introducing dramatic rhythm and helping focus attention on special material.
Presenting a multitude of items for simultaneous consideration gets the information out front quickly, leaving the viewers to decide what is most interesting or important at a particular moment—making them participate in getting the information, rather than handing it to them on a plate. If they have to work for it, they might enjoy it and remember it more easily later.
Symmetry evokes a set of classical, Old World, elitist messages; it can, therefore, be powerfully exploited for formal, historical, and serious material—and as a foil to more dynamic content. Tension between spatial intervals, density and openness, and light and dark becomes critical in maintaining visual activity so that the symmetry becomes elegant, lively, and austere, rather than heavy handed, stiff, and dull.
Proceed with caution. The primary danger here is causing viewers to disengage because it is the illusion of depth and movement that creates wonderment and makes them forget that they’re looking at a designed communication. Static arrangements of material, however, can be very focused and restful, an alternative to dramatic movement and deep spatial illusion, and in that sense can be useful at times. Optically flat arrangements can provide visual punctuation to aggressive presentation, and contrasting moments of focus and introspection. A pronounced lack of spatial experience creates an altogether different feeling in a project and, when it makes sense for the message, is quite appropriate.
Being more or less random—choosing colors whose usual association purposely conflicts with expectation—is a viable method that can achieve some surprising results. After a time, choosing color using familiar methods yields combinations that may be somewhat expected or, worse, completely uninteresting. Purposely selecting color combinations that feel awkward or disharmonious often presents unexpected options that somehow retain chromatic relationships. Additionally, a random color choice might sometimes aid in communication, depending on the nature of the project. Seeming randomness, like other messages, can be valid given the concept the designer intends to convey.
As with all the rules, be careful and considerate when breaking this one—and always for a reason of communication. A firestorm of thousands of hues, of differing values and intensities, may not yield a specific color idea that viewers can commit to memory, but the experience of being overwhelmed by uncontrolled extravagance is surely not easily forgotten.
A tonally quiet, soft presentation in which contrast between light and dark (or temperature and intensity) is minimized can be very effective in garnering attention, helping to separate viewers from surrounding, more active, visual activity. Low-contrast images and typography are perceived as more contemplative and elegant, rather than urgent or aggressive.
As you might guess, the relative accessibility of type greatly depends on the message being conveyed. Making portions of type illegible, overbearing, aggressive, sharp and dangerous, nerve-wracking, or fragile is perfectly acceptable—indeed, preferable—when the job calls for it. There is no excuse for typography that doesn’t viscerally communicate in an appropriate way, even if this means frightening, frustrating, or confusing viewers in service of the right concept.
Complex text, with a great many parts, will be clarified by strong, varied changes in type style. Sometimes, you’ll need many different typefaces working together to create a kind of busy texture that conveys something important. Thinking outside the type box can be difficult, especially if you’re comfortable with a select set of typefaces: So take a deep breath, close your eyes, and click the font list at random.
There are always times when typography needs to shut up and get out of the way—especially when the type accompanies cataloged artwork or is acting in support of images that are carrying the brunt of the communication burden. In such instances, treat the type as quietly and as neutrally as possible. Even so, carefully consider its size, spacing, and stylistic presentation.
The breaking of this rule is more of a practical issue, driven by the content of a given project: If you’re designing a magazine about travel, clearly the images will show what the text describes. Still, repetition of text content by image and vice-versa can be useful for making a point crystal clear. Subtle differences in the same subject or idea, presented verbally and visually, will add depth and richness.
True, finding an image to stick into a layout tends to be quicker; sometimes, however, purposely using banal, almost meaningless or kitsch images from stock sources can be great fun, especially if the project calls for a vernacular approach or conceptually refers to the ubiquity of image content and the influence of day-to-day pop culture. But the real benefit of scavenging is acquiring pieces and parts that can be used to create custom images. Even more intriguing is the possibility of revitalizing the understanding of familiar or time-worn content by creating an unexpected relationship with imagery that has been repurposed or pulled out of its expected context.
Don’t get me wrong: history is a treasure trove for designer and public alike. Books or exhibitions that focus on historical subjects, or invitations to period-themed events, for example, are perfect vehicles for exhuming visual style from the vaults of antiquity. The potential fun here is not so much copying the style outright as sampling portions thereof, adjusting them so they become new again.
Riding the current stylistic trend has occasional benefits. In choosing to do so, a designer may opt to speak directly to an audience whose subcultural zeitgeist makes them likely to bypass visual material that doesn’t appear to speak to them. This is especially true when communicating to adolescents, who identify with very specific visual styles at any given moment and will ignore anything else.
Ambiguity can be a good thing. While clear visual and conceptual relationships are usually favored for the sake of quick, accessible communication, introducing mixed states of being among elements—elements that appear to be in the foreground, as well as in the background, as a simple example—can create an impulse on the part of the viewer to question and investigate more thoroughly. The gap between the concrete idea and the ambiguously presented image that refers to it can provide more complex avenues of interpretation and a rich, engaging experience that yields deeper, more complex understanding.
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