Jessica Helfand: Interview by Cary Murnion.
Baseline: Journal of Parsons School of Design, no.2 (Winter 1997) 15-22.

What is your story? Where did you start out and how did you get to where you are today? Was your career a natural progression, or were there specific circumstances without which you would be in a totally different position today?

I received my B.A. in Graphic Design and Architectural Theory, and later a M.F.A. in Graphic Design, both from Yale University. As an undergraduate, the decision to pursue a special, cross-disciplinary major was a response to--or perhaps I should say a resistance to--being a fine arts major, and because I was and continue to be interested in the theoretical foundation(s) of design as a series of smaller, complex disciplines. Lately I am particularly interested in invoking models from other disciplines--such as architecture, music and film--as ideological templates in the development of interactive projects here in my studio.

Following graduate school, I went to work as an editorial designer for Roger Black here in New York. We called it Roger Black Boot Camp: there were three of us in a 12x15-foot room, furiously designing and re-designing magazines on the Mac. I redesigned 15 magazines in ten months, then left to go to Philadelphia where I was hired as Design Director of the Philadelphia Inquirer Sunday Magazine.

This was an important turning point for me: I was there during the Gulf War, and worked with an extraordinary group of editors and journalists and most of all, photographers. The talent and vision of this team helped to compensate for the cuts in our budget, and forced us to push ourselves, and our work, even further. The paper in general, and the magazine in particular, had a great tradition of running long, in-depth photo essays. Looking back, I think that this tradition, and the editorial judgments that accompanied it, and the luxury of space we had in the magazine to tell these stories, had an enormous impact on the work I would later do in new media. The same fundamental editorial principles apply: the foundations of clear thinking, the structure of a good team with complimentary skills and collaborative ideals, and the designer's efforts to bring a story to life--whether through sequenced still images or now, through the added opportunities brought about by multiple media--lie at the core of my practice today.

It is the general opinion, of you and many other designers, that multi-media is not being used in a way that its form enhances its subject. Rather, that it is being exploited as the new thing to do by every business, big or small, no matter how relevant it is to have, say, another CD-ROM magazine spotlighting "alternative music". First, am I right in saying that this is how you feel, and if so, how would you advise students in ways of avoiding the misuse of multi-media?

You are right to say that it is an exploitative medium. I would add that our fascination with technology, and with the rapid-fire, accelerated exchanges that characterize its role in our lives, has been a cultural force throughout this entire century--from Vorticism to Futurism to Suprematism. Today, that obsession has an economic component: the emphasis on personal interactivity, and on the reciprocity of information retrieval means a more targeted consumer, a more specific market, and virtually cuts out the middleman sector of the economy. Ironically, while the CD-ROM market never really took off, and no one (to my knowledge) has yet to generate revenue from the internet. "Multimedia" (I prefer the term "new" media) is the gold rush of the 1990's. In an environment that grows this fast, and moves this fast, it's really difficult to think, reflect, create and design: the climate simply won't support it. For this reason, I have consciously down-sized my studio to focus on fewer projects and (hopefully) to do them better. I also find it increasingly important to concentrate on theoretical and experimental projects, to teach and to write--to extend this thinking through opportunities other than those brought in by my clients.

So I would say that the best way to avoid "misusing" new media, is to avoid the hyped and hackneyed notion that multimedia is hotter or hipper or better just because it appears on a screen, and to be ruthlessly objective about what it is you're making in the first place. Why three-dimensional buttons? Why buttons at all? Where does this idea come from that an interface has to LOOK like an interface? Designers are better advised to question the questions, than to submit to answers they think conform to some generalized, homogenized level of acceptance. Conformity is the great enemy of innovation. Sadly, nowhere is this more apparent than in the majority of new media design.

What was the project that brought you into the multi-media world from the print world and what were the circumstances that allowed for you to explore this territory?

In 1992 I spent an intensive week learning Adobe Photoshop at the now-defunct Center for Creative Imaging, Kodak's digital think-tank in Camden, Maine. One afternoon, the instructor interrupted us to demonstrate Adobe Premiere: he took an image and literally made it move across the screen. It suddenly occurred to me that this was what I had been trying to do as an editorial designer for several years, and I knew that I had stumbled upon something incredibly powerful: for me, personally as a designer, but also for the industry, for the profession, maybe even for the world at large. This was pretty early in the evolution of new media, and I didn't have anybody to talk to for advice--nobody was really doing much of anything yet. I remember I flew to Boston and spent a day with Wendy Richmond and Paul Souza, who were then at the media lab at WGBH. They were early pioneers in this field, working to bridge the gap between technology and design, between print and broadcast media, between education and entertainment. Their work and point of view was enormously inspiring to me. I applied for a grant from the Pew Foundation: I didn't get it (I was a finalist!) but it forced me to get very clear about what I wanted to do. I then began moonlighting as a CD-ROM designer while keeping my day job. Eventually, it became increasingly difficult to do both jobs, so I left the magazine and started my studio.

I designed the Stephen Jay Gould CD-ROM for Voyager, then did a number of CD-ROM prototypes that never got funded. In the fall of 1994, Roger Black--my previous employer--called and said he wanted to start an interactive division of his business, and offered me a partnership. After a somewhat lengthy series of discussions, I decided I wanted to remain independent, but we agreed to try to work together on some projects. It was at that time that The Discovery Channel called asking for design for a site on the World Wide Web. As I had done some prototyping of web sites, Roger referred this work to me. I worked in my studio with a brilliant, young programmer for four months, prototyping the structure, strategy and design for this site which launched on July 4th, 1995. It was very well received and has remained a popular and well-publicized site on the internet, and was thus something of a turning point for me and for my studio. To come back to your first question, the success of this project had everything to do with the fact that it was led by a terrific team of smart and dedicated editors, and I suspect the fact that it has remained successful is consistent with this fact also.

How important is learning design history in our design education today? How important is it to you?

Nature abhors a vacuum, and so should designers: history is an imperative part of how we work, what we make, and how we continue to grow as designers and as human beings. It infuriates me to see technololgy evangelists suggest that any reference to history is tantamount to a death wish: Wired is a good example of this. I continue to encourage my students to read and do research and allow themselves to be informed by the rich arsenal of material to be found in any good library or museum. Recently, for example, for an assignment in which they were asked to consider the design of avatars--online personalities designed for networked "chat" environments--my students looked at Oskar Schlemmer?s 1928 costume designs for the Triadic Ballet. I suspect that this is a greater and richer source of inspiration than surfing through random websites or looking at CD-ROM.

What have newly graduated design students who have come to you for jobs been lacking, whether it be in their portfolio, presentation, or preparation?

While the skills related to contemporary design practice--and here I am referring in particular to computer skills--can not be overlooked, the basic tenets of design education are, in the end, more valuable than ever. Why would typography be any less important: if anything, it is more so, and a thorough understanding about the form and construction of letterforms, a sense of the appropriateness of typographic selection, a knowledge of kerning and tracking remain important components of any design process. Process itself, the rigorous methodology that underscores the designer's training, must be adapted to suit a different medium, but the concentrated effort that goes into understanding, interpreting and solving a design problem is no less important on the screen than it is in print. Many students seem to feel that they are more marketable if they stress their software aptitude: I am more interested in their thinking, because thinking interactively is the key to designing interactively. I also want to see more drawing--another important aspect of process that, at least in my studio, remains a critical component in the visual evolution of ideas that eventually make their way to the screen. They do not begin there, however, and neither should so many of the portfolios I see. Finally, if students are planning on showing their work electronically, they should take great efforts to streamline the process: send a disk ahead of time, or bring a back-up copy. A prospective employer does not in general take kindly to the idea that viewing your work requires rebooting using fifteen new extensions and forty-two customized fonts that you've deposited in the system folder.

What responsibilities do a multi-media design consultant have in comparison to multi-media designers such as i-O 360 and Voyager? And if these descriptions are wrong can you clarify them?

Because my studio is so small, I only take on two or three projects a year. They have to be very high profile, and I have two important conditions before I will agree to the work.

The first is that I only work with the top people--senior management--those who have the vision and the authority to make what I give them a reality. I learned this early on from Paul Rand--he was my thesis advisor in graduate school--a factor he believed has contributed greatly to his success. I tend to agree with him.

The second is that I only take on a project if I can get involved from the beginning, which means working with the client to shape the material that I will then--and only then--make visually manifest. This is like that joke, "How many designers does it take to crew in a lightbulb?" to which the answer is, "Does it have to be a lightbulb?" Corny, but true: this is what all good designers do, and in an industry as young and uneven as new media, the importance of such questioning can not be underestimated.

The "consulting" part of the practice lies in the way the contracts are structured: I try to work with very small groups (particularly if there is a large project or organization at stake) and to focus on the relationship more than on the project. Projects change, but the relationship must endure, and will flourish if properly cultivated. In some cases, what I design is a blueprint for a larger idea; or it is a written document; or it is a visually detailed, ideologically ambitious exploratory. In any case, the design deliverable is less important than the ideas that support it. In this medium, information flies back and forth in time too quickly for us to get proprietary about our work. It remains to be seen what role, if any, design will play in such accelerated transmittals: we've already seen that design can't be controlled in screen-based communications. To me, what's important is to look at the bigger picture, and to think about design as a language, as a mediator, as an ambassador of ideas. To elevate design in the discourse of communication, and not--never--to let it to be led by the technology that serves us.

If this falls under the rubric of "design consultant", then so be it. But a more provocative notion might be for us to consider ourselves composers, or directors, or choreographers--helping to balance, interpret, and understand communication better. This is, of course, what designers have always done best.

For you the transition from print media to new media was a smooth and natural one, but for many designers it is not. There is a lot of debate among the older generation of "traditional" designers and the younger generation of "digital" designers as to the validity of new media and where its going. Designers (whether they are old or young) who are not involved in new media defend themselves by saying that they are not the ones who have to catch up to the technology, but that technology has to catch up to them. My rebuttal to them is that they are the ones, like yourself, who should be out there pushing that technology to its limits, whether it be through their work, writings, or discussions. They should make the medium work for them, this is when innovations are made. What is your position in this debate?

I don't believe that print is dead or will die any time soon, nor do I think that the tenets of design as they have been taught to us traditionally are without merit in this new world. But it's a highly selective process--I would argue that while the visual manifestation of the work, and its incumbent parameters may change, the process--that is, the rigorous intellectual conceptualization and reflective form-giving--that characterizes GRAPHIC design is as important here, if not more so. The culture is a jumble: anybody with a mac and a modem can call him/herself a designer, or a programmer, or a multimedia producer. The culture breaks down generationally, too: we rely often on younger designers to assist us in the prototyping or simulation of dynamic media, as most older designers lack the software training. But ultimately, the thinking, the idea is always the most important thing, whether you're young or old, working in traditional or new media. Pushing the medium comes from asking questions, from challenging the current models, and in many cases from looking outside design, or the web, to more distant and ultimately more illuminating sources.

I know that you teach in the graduate program at Yale, so I'd like to know what the advantages of such a program are when many people today are advising us that it's better to jump into the "real" world of design as soon as we can, rather than spend another two years theorizing about the real world.

Graduate students always do freelance work, and (to use Yale as an example) in a community like New Haven it has typically been possible for students to work within the University on discipline-specific projects (Yale Symphony Posters would be a good example of this) or on real-world, projects that have a more urban, public profile (Sheila de Bretteville's course in Community Action helps students examine their role in this process.) But what is ultimately most important is the thesis: this year I will be working with five second-year students on the thesis: simply defined as a "proposition supported by an argument," this is a direct inquiry in which the degree candidate completes both a written document and produce an accompanying visual project which may manifest itself in any number of ways: examples might include book design, a series of posters, an installation, an interactive prototype, etc.

To your point, "theorizing" often plays a big part in this. But the thesis, which is what separates undergraduate education from graduate education, is also a chance to do extensive research, to produce a serious annotated bibliography, to design something new, and to make discoveries--theoretical, formal, personal--that collectively inform and extend the meaning of this year-long undertaking. The real value of the thesis experience lies in the confidence and insight gained in the process. These qualities are absolutely invaluable for surviving in the "real world." This, I would argue, is the great strength of graduate education, and undeniably its greatest gift.

By the way, I worked for five years before I returned for my M.F.A., and I still think this is a good model. Graduate school is a great thing, a tremendous opportunity--but you have to be ready for it.

You mentioned that you encourage your students to look outside their field for information and inspiration. Are there any specific people, places or things here in NYC that you think would be particularly helpful in opening
our minds, and you could assign us to check out?

NUMBER ONE: Read the newspaper. The New York Times is a great example of analogue interaction: while not screen-based (though there is a web version, I am talking here about the PAPER itself) it is timely, multifaceted, and loaded with all sorts of potentially inspiring things--not to mention news--every single day. NUMBER TWO: Get out of the subway. Walk. Look. And look again: the texture of this city bespeaks its complex social fabric. Just walk through Chinatown--then Morningside Heights--then Bryant Park. Walking through Soho this morning, I was amazed at how exquisite the texture of the sides of buildings look with layer upon layer of torn posters. There's a whole poster archaeology just sitting there--this incredible natural resource that everyone ignores. And yet, people are sitting all over town right now trying to simulate this sort of thing using Photoshop layers. NUMBER THREE: Though I have less and less time to do this sort of thing myself, go to the theater. Or to see dance--I have a friend who is a Merce Cunningham junkie, who occasionally drags me to performances, and I am always amazed at how choreography informs the design of time-based media. There is a compositional impulse that reflects the considered, rational, formal geometries we try to visualize graphically, but does so in a way that I find I would never discover on my own. The same might be said of museums: I just got back from Amsterdam, where I was completely taken over by the seventeenth-century paintings of Pieter de Hooch that I saw at the Rijksmuseum. Amazingly simple, almost modern in their minimalism--exquisitely crafted paintings that made me thing about using the picture plane in a totally different way on screen.

How do you keep up with the new technology?

My students. My clients. And reading, but in sources other than you might think. I get more from the Times' Monday business section sometimes than I would ever get in MacWeek. If I try too hard to stay on top of the state of new technology (which is never new for very long) I find I don't have time for thinking or for design--a self-defeating prophecy. Which brings me to your next question:

How important is it for designers to know programming languages such as HTML and lingo for Director?

A good model is: as important for the designer who wants to know it. Clearly it is a marketable skill--up there with comping and paste-up, its equivalent of twenty or thirty years ago. A more substantive model might be: programming is to design as engineering is to architecture. In other words, architects understand the principles of engineering enough to talk to engineers and to make sure their buildings don't fall down. This is a useful way to think about programming. Besides, it all keeps changing, so your knowledge quickly becomes obsolete if you are placing too much emphasis on computational skills: better to take a long-term view, I think.

Could you tell us a little about some projects you are working on right now?

I've just been hired to design the web site for Newsweek--a dream project for me. The editors are incredibly smart. They have a fundamental interest in, and handle on, the global communication needs of a wide audience, and their methodology, the editorial process itself, is of enormous value in determining how to address this audience. For example, they publish in something like 165 countries: covers sell differently in different countries, for obvious cultural reasons--so how do you collapse this multicultural functionality into a single, visual statement on a home page? These are, for me at least, enormously challenging questions--graphically, culturally, and intellectually.

I'm also trying to move away from solely interactive projects, to design for screens other than the computer. Recently I collaborated with Peter Girardi, and made a short film for Mixing Messages (the current exhibition at the Cooper-Hewitt) on the future of publishing. Last week I finished designing titles for an independent feature film that's on its way to the Sundance Festival, and in the studio now we're gearing up to do broadcast titles for a new cable station. I'm teaching at Yale this year, as I mentioned, as well as in the graduate program in Interactive Telecommunications (ITP) at NYU, and I've just joined Eye as a contributing editor, writing a quarterly column on media entitled Screen.

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