Extra Condensed No.3—Q&A with Astrid Stavro
For the third issue of Extra Condensed, we asked four amazing designers and typographers to contribute. Paul Barnes, Simon Esterson and Erik Spiekermann all wrote us wonderful articles, but our final contributor agreed to an interview. And so, over a number of emails, across a number of weeks, we asked the amazing Astrid Stavro questions about her childhood, approach to design and pickles…
There are still a few copies of Extra Condensed No.3 available in our shop, where you can enjoy the Q&A in its original letterpress printed format, but in case you can’t get your hands on a copy, the interview can also be read in full below.
Elizabeth Ellis talks to Astrid Stavro
Since starting my career, I’ve worked in many design studios—the big and the small, the great and the good—and although I’ve worked with some wonderful women, I’ve never worked with a female Creative Director. In fact, at times, I’ve been the only woman in the design team.
So I’ve had to look to the wider industry for female role models, who are both great designers and leaders. Luckily, there are some incredible women marking a mark in a still male dominated industry. And for me, Astrid has always been a source of inspiration and admiration: from starting her own design studios to becoming a partner at Pentagram and onwards, she has always been one to watch.
Plus her work is always spot on. I’ve moved the 10 issues of Elephant she designed with me into at least four different homes, because I can’t part with them. The thoughtful way Astrid uses type and image, and type as image, is always striking—whether it be a big, bold magazine spread or a subtle play with text orientation for an identity, it’s always beautifully executed.
Knowing a little about Astrid’s background and love of print, our first interview in Extra Condensed seemed the perfect opportunity to discuss her inky heritage, approach to design and typography, and pickles.
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Let’s start with the important stuff first: what’s your favourite pickle?
Easy. The one and only Counter Press pickles.
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Moving on to non-food matters… We’ve chosen to surround ourselves with old type, ink and oily machines, whereas you grew up around it – although you didn’t initially pursue a career in design, looking back now do you think those early years inspired or informed your work?
Definitely. I spent my childhood in my father’s printing press and publishing house. I loved everything about it. The smell of ink and paper and the sound of the printing presses. I enjoyed playing with lead type, trying to set sentences in composing sticks. They were my Lego! As time went by, I witnessed the evolution of printing techniques. From hand set lead type, to Linotype and Monotype composition, to offset printing and photocomposition. What was magical was to experience the whole process of book making. Everything happened in the same building, from the editing of books to type setting to printing and binding. The building itself was like a museum. It was one of the biggest printing houses of the Austro-Hungarian empire, founded in 1795. A wonderful labyrinth of crackling hardwood floors, high ceilings and childhood memories. I often say that I am a blue-blooded designer, with ink instead of blood flowing through my veins.
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Type and ink are clearly in your blood, and your work now is often very typographic, do you find yourself drawn back to words and typography as a visual solution rather than images?
I have an innate tendency to use typography. There is so much that can be said and done through typography alone. A picture is worth a thousand words. Likewise, a word is worth a thousand pictures.
“The best typographic solutions are the ones that enhance the content, adding new layers of meaning.”
Astrid Stavro
That balance between type and image is interesting. Words are obviously an important part of your work, but for a word to ‘be worth a thousands pictures’ what does it need to do?
When a word or group of words become the ‘stars of the show’ they work like images. Which word or letter is highlighted —and why— is usually the result of editorial and design decisions. Good designers are great editors. There is no single trick. I work intuitively and have a good typographic eye, a sort of sixth sense that allows me find the ‘aha’ moment in which the result falls into place as if by magic. It’s never a whim. If the solution is firmly based on the content, you can’t really go wrong. The best typographic solutions are the ones that enhance the content, adding new layers of meaning.
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A lot of your typographic work has timeless quality: beautiful serifs with condensed sans serifs and grotesques – how much of this aesthetic was influenced by your childhood and the old type in your father’s press?
The holistic feeling of being in the printing press is what influenced me, not necessarily the aesthetics. It’s a subjective mix of sounds, smells and taste. The press extended beyond books and letters, into furniture such as my father’s Thonet chairs and cars like his wooden Fiat Topolino ‘Giardiniera’. The camera collection included a Hassleblad Rolleiflex, the first Leica III, the Kodak Bantam Special designed by Walter Dorwin Teague and the first digital camera amongst many others. He loved to talk about the Olivetti Lettera 22. My father collected stories: every item in his collection had a story behind it. I inherited his rigour and appreciation for well designed objects. It’s a culture, a way of thinking and living that goes way beyond aesthetics.
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There are some recurring visual themes in your work, particularly the use of those big condensed grotesque typefaces. What is the attraction with these faces in particular? What is it that they do that others can’t?
It’s not about which typeface you use but how you use it that matters. I have always been attracted to condensed grotesque typefaces. In fact, one of the grids in my graduating project at The Royal College (The Art of the Grid notepad series) was based on the grid of the influential Twen magazine, designed by Willy Fleckhaus. His use of Schmalfette Grotesk as the main headline for Twen worked wonderfully and its influence is still visible in many editorial projects today. Grotesque typefaces have a special tone of voice, a unique character, flair and personality. There is a vital essence to their forms. They have soul. There is no fun in Helvetica, for example. Decades of corporate service have sucked the spirit and joy from Helvetica. Pre-dating all of the other sans serif genres, grotesques are unpretentious, humble and human. Few things give me more pleasure than designing a spread where the page is built around a word or a carefully edited headline.
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The idea that these typefaces have soul really resonates with us – we often think big condensed sans are almost imbued with an inbuilt resonance, having long been used in protest graphics, placards, and newspaper headlines. So, finally what feelings do these grotesques evoke for you?
One of the most important underlying aspects of grotesque typefaces is that they were made by hand and used for the most quotidian types of work. In this sense, they evoke a sense of familiarity. Derek Birdsall once told me that when he designs a book he asks the book what book it wants to become. With grotesques, I have a similar feeling. They contain magic and musicality, it’s not about imposing a style but giving them space to breathe. A quote by Maya Angelou comes to mind: “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” I guess this relates to what you mention about the ‘inbuilt resonance’.
