It’s the end of a long day, but a gratifying one none-the-less. If there ever was an excuse for neglecting one’s blog, this is most definitely it. For the past weeks (maybe even months) I’ve been working on redesigning the Object Adjective website. After many hours, many delays and many other responsibilities, I am very happy to say we have finally launched the new site.

I’ll keep this brief, as I am obligated to go celebrate, but I did feel this monumental (or so it feels) moment could not go without mention.

I am understandably exhausted, as today was the big day. Forgive me if I’ve overlooked anything. We are sure to tighten up any loose ends in the days to come.

If you are interested, I went into some detail about the how and why decisions that went into this redesign, so feel free to continue reading.

Content, moreover getting content, is a constant struggle of the web designer. I think you would be hard pressed to find a designer who would say otherwise. However, getting content isn’t enough. It should be good content, well written, well thought out and friendly to its platform.

Over the years, I’ve learned to take greater liberties in copy writing, along side my web designing. It is not an area I particularly want to get into, but I see it as necessarily married to design itself. I make no claim to be expert in the art of writing, but I have some experience and think I can find my way around.

The inclination to become more liberal in my offerings of copywriting, as part of the design process, stemmed from the idea that words, like design, follow a cadence. The thinking is that these inflections should work in tandem together (i.e. Harmony Good. Dissonance Bad.).

In practice, I don’t sell myself as a copywriter, but rather introduce copywriting into my design. There has been a long standing discussion amongst designers, around the use of Loren Ipsum filler, in place of actual content, during the design phase. The school of thinking behind this, is the minimization of distraction in the design review process. Of course, the notion of inaugurating meaningless text into design, as filler, is problematic. For one, written text ushers in the notion of meaning, whether meaningless or meaningful. In the same sense, design ushers in the same notion, even more so when the design is for interactive websites.

So over the years, I’ve been in the practice of reclaiming this part of design, in the form of the written word. The tempo, language and, for lack of a better word, mood of the written content of a website, has a much to do with design and user experience, as does the subtle gradient or drop shadow used to offset a focal point on a page.

There is a lot of writing on the web at present, skirting around this topic, one way or another, but I haven’t seen anyone take this particular stance. Personally, I think the web would benefit greatly, if more designers would don the attire of the copywriter (at least a visor, now and then).

Years ago, before I ever got into Web design, I was a sign maker. For about 3 years, I studied this craft. At it’s best, the art of sign making is a demonstration of both the purity of information design and subtlety typography. At it’s worst, it’s the loud example of why these two disciplines are so important.

the art of sign making

The art of sign making has changed a lot with the digital era. The romance seems to have been washed away. Digital plotters and laser routers have made things too easy for the sign maker and the craft has suffered. Recently, Jason Santa Maria recapped on a typography walking tour he went on, through the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Sifting through his flickr stream, stirred up in me, the enthusiasm that first lead me to pick up the sign makers tools.

Granted, the reality of the work was not that satisfying at all. I was hard pressed to find, in colleague and client alike, anyone who seemed to recognize the term typographer. Of course, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. It was not that the term escaped this particular industry. It was more like the meaning slipped out the door when no one was looking.

In the midst of all of this that lacked what I can only call character, I did find in my experience, a wonderful thread to the heart of sign making and typography. It came from a 90 year old man who still practiced the art of hand painting letters.

I’m not talking about the pasty, cracked letters you see on bakery windows. I’m talking about the massive lettering you find on the sides of buildings. You can still see traces of this fine craft, on some of our older buildings. Jason provided some stellar examples from his tour.

In case you don’t appreciate the complexity of this kind of typography, let walk through the process. There was no projections or digital tracings or charts to follow. In some case, letters could be as high as a four story building. But often in my own experience, they scaled around twenty feet in height.

The really good sign painters would meticulously measure out the area and calculate a grid for the letters and spaces between. The experts would eyeball it. Don’t believe me? I’ve seen it. And the letters were perfect. It’s a dying art, if not a dead art. No one teaches sign painting anymore and thusly, an important school in typography is lost to us.

Understanding type comes in many different forms. Sign painting is one form, that requires a very unique understanding of type. So thank you Jason, for bringing back some good memories.

It is the pride and honor of every designer to have the opportunity to work on something that is truly profound. Such opportunities, like designing the Jüdisches Museum, Berlin or the Tube Map for London’s Underground, seldom grace the life of a designer. But, the opportunity to design a country, is one that almost never happens.

That is, until Dutch designer Daniel van der Velden was commissioned in 2003, to design money, passports and stamps for the abandoned water fortress off the British coast, proclaimed to be the independent micro-nation of The Principality of Sealand.

As disputed and controversial as this nation status may be, the project to conceive Sealand’s visual identity was not without complexity. Part and parcel to ‘The Sealand Identity Project’ and the uniqueness of this man-made, self-proclaimed nation, was the internet, as global archive.

In a press release in 2003, Van der Velden is quoted as saying:

The consequences of the internet’s daily usage, its universal vastness and its potential to blur the boundaries between the ‘real’ and the ‘fictional’, will be key operators in the design methods employed.nettimes.org

a little history

Before we get into the complexities in designing for this particular identity project, let me give you a little history about the “country.”

During WWII, the United Kingdom decided to establish a number of military bases along the borders of the English territorial waters, to defend against German air raids. They were home to 150-300 personnel, plenty of radar gizmos and a healthy cache of anti-aircraft cannons.

After the war ended, the troops were pulled out and these water fortresses were dismantled. That is, all except for the royal fortress Roughs Tower, which was situated in international waters, of the North Sea.

In 1966, Paddy Roy Bates, a former English major, moved onto the water fortress to establish a pirate radio station. Later that year, formally 1967, Bates proclaimed the base his own state and took the title of Prince. In 1968, following defensive action taken by Sealand, towards approaching British vessels, the British courts found they could not exert any jurisdiction over Roy of Sealand, since it was outside of British national territory, and thus, provided the first formal recognition of the Principality of Sealand.

on Branding a Country

Getting back to the point, the task of branding a country is a rewarding challenge few of us designers could ever hope for. Developing the identity for the Principality of Sealand, with all of it’s absurdities is compelling on an entirely separate level. Though the proclamation of nation status, is no doubt a serious one for Prince Roy of Sealand, I have a hard time regarding this at face value. The nature of this particular nation, seems to make it more akin to great works of conceptual art, than other nations. In this way, the objectives for developing an identity, seem entirely unique.

Lets first take a look at the Principality of Sealand crest.

This is, undoubtedly, an integral part of the overall branding and identity package.

It is the nation-state equivalent to the corporate logo. The historical, seafaring influence in the Sealand crest is apparent. The serpent-lion creatures, flanking the traditional, coat of arms shield, have been long standing symbols of sea vessels. The armor helmet, fisted arrows and Latin slogan, are also common features in this sort of identity.

What sets this crest apart from others, is not it’s subject matter, but in fact the manner in which it has been rendered. Unlike the formal stuffiness or fear inducing qualities we have come to expect from a code of arms, the Sealand crest makes strides in the opposite direction.

In fact, I would go as far as to say, I would be much more likely to expect this guy (pictured left), an illustration for a childrens’ coloring book, to be on the page adjacent to the Sealand crest, than an official document of any kind.

The distinct coloring book quality of the crest, creates an atmosphere that makes a person want to giggle (and maybe even request an official Lord or Lady title, with the Principality of Sealand).

All in all, it kind of makes you feel warm and fuzzy

I couldn’t help but immediately think of Ze Frank’s Red Alert piece, about designing for Homeland Security.

In this same very spirit, Van der Velden has managed to encapsulate the vibrancy and friendly (aside from the occassional anti-aircraft blast) spirit of Sealand. His cynically happy interpretation extended from the national crest, to the official postage stamps and into every facet of Sealander life.

How can you not be a fan. Fine work Mr. Van der Velden. Very fine work. It makes me want to be a citizen. In 2007 Sealand went up for sale. Too bad I missed the boat (or country, as the case may be). This would have been a fine piece to add to the collection.

Being at loss of words lately, has led me down some strange paths of distractions, none of which ended at this blog. I’ve been wanting to get back in the swing of things for while, blogwise, but I’ve just found myself at a complete lack. Of interest? Of energy? I’m not really sure.

Yesterday I started a post and mistakenly obliterated everything I had written (and yes, I should draft my writing in a word program, but I don’t) when I was interrupted and failed to successfully hit ‘⌘ + T’ to open a new tab, and navigated away from my post page. Fortunately, I hadn’t saved anything (it wasn’t going anywhere worth while).

So, instead of starting over, I started mucking around with refining my search results page. They had been left half finished months and months ago.

Anyway, this leads me to my point. While making these refinements, I was testing a few random searches and one these queries happened to be for the term “hair“.

I realize I’m setting myself up to be shrinked, especially given the title of this post, but “hair” was simple and easy to type, and that’s why it came out. The title, it was simply carried over from the previous post (completely different topic, of course) I managed to lose.

Back to what I was saying, I was in all accounts, completely expecting my query for “hair” to return zip. But it didn’t. In fact, it returned 3 posts. Now that’s not a lot by any means, but hair, when have I ever written about hair? I was curious, so I checked. And what do you know, I was writing about hair. More precisely, about pulling my hair out.

I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before, but you might say it’s a sign. Vacation anyone?