If you look at the history of posts on this site, you’ll notice some gaps in the timeline early on (well, elsewhere too, but the early ones are explainable differently). The thing is, when I launched into this blogging venture I spent an absurd amount of time fiddling with design. And I’m nowhere near done in that regard. But it’s not my fault.

For several years, I was a graphic designer. My father is a graphic designer. My wife is a graphic designer. My brother is a motion graphics artist. There is no escape.

When I think about design in my life, outside of the family bloodlines, I think I have an origin story. It began like this:

The greatest little beginner's design book ever.

Montreal. 1997. I’m working at a bookstore and one day bring home a copy of The Non-Designer’s Design Book, by Robin Williams (no, not the one who’s usually a man trying to be a housekeeper or an android trying to be a man, this one’s different). Later that night, curled up on the orange velveteen sofa, I devour it. In maybe a half hour. It’s straightforward, direct and incredibly empowering. When leave my apartment, walking up the steep hill past the bars, restaurants, cafes and head shops, I realize I’ve acquired a new power. A kind of graphic criticism. I’d always looked at certain things and thought they looked like crap, but now I could say why.

Suddenly, bad signs were everywhere. Born Under A Bad Sign Albert King © by Nesster on flickr

Suddenly I could look at all of these signs: road signs, shop signs, billboards, t-shirts and not only shudder, I could also complain about the use of fonts, contrasts, alignment, proximity and repetition and repetition! My graphic indignation could be righteous. Probably not such a thrill for those at dinner that night, but for me, it was a new lens on the world.