Hypothetically Speaking with Michael Hodgson of PhD Design, LA
My book just landed on your desk. What do you want to see when you open it?
Michael Hodgson: Ideas. Good type. A sense of freedom. Not too much work, but something well presented. I'm not looking for anything that's slickly finished; ideas are what I'm looking for.
I just sat down for a job interview with you at PhD. We've made small talk and it's time to get down to business. What's your first question to me?
MH: Why do you want to work here?
And what kind of answer would you be looking for?
MH: This isn't really answering the question, but we get a lot of people, young designers, whose work might be fine, but they're not a good fit for PhD. It's actually quite hard to find good people when we're looking to hire. Oftentimes their type sensibilities aren't really a match. Again, I think it goes back to the first question. There needs to be a fit. It's flattering for us that people say, "I love your work, and I'd love to work at the studio," but you're not going to work at the studio if your stuff looks like it's something that David Carson did, or Rick Tharpe.
You're a student coming out of school. Where would you want to go if you were heading out right now? Who do you think is setting the bar?
MH: Pentagram, Studio Blue, Sagmeister, John Bielenberg, Stephen Doyle, The Partners in London.
A client whose business you don't necessarily approve of?say, a cigarette maker or a handgun manufacturer?calls and wants you to work on a project. Do you take it?
MH: No. No.
You have the opportunity to work on toilet paper or a bleach brand or something equally banal. How do you go about getting a story out of such products?
MH: If we took them on, we'd have to know what they were open to. It's interesting that you mention toilet paper, because there's a horribly high percentage of toilet paper that's made from virgin pulp. You know, amazingly, in these days of heightened awareness about recycling, most toilet paper is made from virgin pulp. One of the causes I believe in most strongly is the environment. So the first thing I would address with the toilet paper company is how they're making the paper.
You've got to choose one typeface to live with for the rest of your days. What would it be?
MH: Probably Gotham. I may grow to hate it, but that's what I'd pick.
You're back in London. How eager are you to get back to Santa Monica? Wish you could stay?
MH: I'm eager to get back to see my family, and to get on my bike again and go for a ride, and to get back to work. But at the same time, I do love being back in London ; there's a great energy there--and culture. Paul Smith, the fashion designer, is one of my friends, and so I always go to his shop and buy some new clothes, which is pretty much the only time I buy clothes. I go to the theater and good restaurants and just see what's in the shops in general. I see what's on at the design museum and visit old friends, so it's normally a real adrenaline shot from that trip. I get back about once a year.
The phone rings. You're told you're nominated for a Grammy. What's that feel like?
MH: It's great. It's happened three times?a letter arrives that tells you. I think the best time was the most recent, because we do very little music packaging now. The first one I was nominated for was John White, No Brakes, which was, at the time, relatively well known. Next was the Talking Heads, of course. But I'm proudest of Caravano Cubano, which was produced by a friend of mine on a very, very low budget. For it to be nominated (it was actually nominated twice--for the music and the packaging) and to be ten years after our nomination for Talking Heads was great. And I was really happy for Tammy Dotson who worked on it. It's a beautiful package. The nice part was suddenly getting calls from people saying, "Oh, we just saw it. Well done."
It's Monday morning, maybe ten o'clock, and you're just not feeling it. What do you do for inspiration? Do you ever just get out of the studio?
MH: No. You plow on through it. You've got to keep going. Unfortunately in some respects, I don't spend a lot of time designing anymore. I spend more time looking for and developing new business and writing proposals--helping to write proposals rather than designing.
You just wrapped up the workday on, say, a Tuesday. What are you going to do tonight?
MH: I'll try to get home before the kids go to bed, so I can read to them.
It's noon on a Saturday. The sun's out, you've got nothing to do. What are your plans for the afternoon?
MH: Well, if I haven't gone for a bike ride, I'll do that. If I've already been out for a bike ride and the kids are around, I'll do something fun with them.
You come into the office one morning and Clive [Piercy, his partner at PhD] says he's hanging it up to go live on an island somewhere. What do you do?
MH: Probably use it as an opportunity to figure out what the next chapter of my book is going to be.
You're seated on the aisle? Wish you had the window seat?
MH: [laughs] Actually, I swapped places yesterday with a guy who had the window seat. No, I like the aisle more, because, you know, there's a bit more legroom.
Hypothetically, of course, the Beatles happen to be playing at the same time as the Stones. Which show are you going to?
MH: Beatles.
You're in Atlanta , speaking at a design school. Are you having a good time?
MH: Oh, I'm having a great time.
Portfolio Center students share a strong desire to communicate ideas, the willingness to let go of preconceived notions, and the compulsion to learn new ways of thinking. These qualities are fostered by the school’s constant stream of industry bigwigs, who bring their varied and colorful perspectives from all over the country. These creatives, who are always generous with their time and energy, tend to hang out with students, conducting informal workshops and continuing the day’s discussions over dinner. Often, what results are provocative interviews—written, shot, and designed by PC students.
