Portfolio Center design student Ross Shapland had the opportunity to sit down with Ken Carbone of Carbone Smolan after his seminar February 21st. The result was a closer look inside one of the industry greats, a man who is as generous with his time and insights as he is talented.
RS: I’ll start you off with a couple of easy ones. First off, how and why did you get into design as a career?
KC: I think everyone has an inherent ability to be creative from birth. That’s why, as children, we develop these fascinations with drawing. There are some people who, when they find ways to communicate verbally as children, they leave the drawing part behind because there’s a comfort level verbally. There are other people who continue drawing. I was one of those, fortunately, so I’ve been artistically inclined from a very early age. It’s something that’s been non-stop. Even when I played music professionally, which took up a lot of my time, I designed the band’s truck and was hand-painting the type on the truck. I would design all this promotional stuff, the flyers and things. So my roots as an artist go back a very long time.
But I find that to be a designer you don’t actually need that. My partner, Leslie Smolan, started as a musician and came to design very late. I mean, there are people at Portfolio Center who were psychologists yesterday, and now they’re doing design. Design is a discipline that rekindles innate things that you have as a child, and you bring them forward later in life. For me it was there through grade school. I attended a Catholic high school, but I begged my mother to allow me to go to the public school because they had an art program. I had a great teacher in high school who was a working illustrator, and based on that, I thought I was going to be an illustrator. I grew up in a blue-collar environment where money was always in short supply. I knew I wasn’t going to be a fine artist because I wouldn't make any money, so I wanted to be an illustrator.
RS: Who are your biggest design heroes?
KC: I’ve thought a lot about this, so my answer will come quickly. There are four principal people in the history of design that I always identify as influential in one way or another: A.M. Cassandre, Alexey Brodovitch, Armin Hofmann and Paul Rand. Cassandre because of the monumentality of his images and how arresting his posters were; Brodovitch for the sheer vitality of his work in typography and photography and as a master art director; Armin Hofmann for his discipline, structure, and logic in design; and Paul Rand for kind of bringing that all together in a delightful, artful answer for corporate design in America.
RS: Have you had the opportunity to meet any of them?
KC: I’ve met them all spiritually. But my big regret is that I only shook hands with Paul Rand once. Armin Hoffman I did have an opportunity to meet on many occasions, because he was the professor of my professors at the Philadelphia College of Art. My core background is in Swiss training.
RS: I definitely want to talk about your sketchbooks. I can relate a bit in terms of drawing while traveling, and I think it’s interesting and sometimes funny how people around you react. What do you think about the response to your books?
KC: I’m really surprised and humbled by how appealing the presentation and the sketchbooks are to people, how interested they are. I was explaining this to Hank, that people have asked me about publishing them, but I’m just too close to them and I can’t see them objectively. But I also think there’s a voyeuristic quality, peering over someone’s shoulder, seeing their secret thoughts and their life. Hey, I felt it when I first saw that sketchbook of Paul Gaugin in the archives of the Louvre. So I think when people are interested, I have no problem sharing. There is some stuff in the books that I don’t want to share with the public, but, generally speaking, I’m glad people find it interesting. It’s a way for me to have an exchange about learning. People see something in the book and ask about what it is, and then they share something with me, so we have this dialogue—oh! I love that. For example, a guy at PC told me about this experiment at MIT that relates to something he saw in my sketchbook. We wouldn’t have had that exchange if it hadn’t been for the books. I like that as an equalizer in communication and the sharing of learning.
RS: What do you appreciate most when you look back at them?
KC: I have to say that I am really grateful for the life that I’ve lived when I look back over these journals, including the ups and downs. I’m so very fortunate, you know? I’m living a life that's like winning the lotto compared to the other 90% of people living on the planet. I look at the things that design has afforded me, these places I’ve gone to and people I’ve met. I’ve kept a running list in my journal of memorable handshakes, and I look back over time: I’ve shaken hands with Jacque Cousteau, I've met Marcello Mastroianni, I've met Jonas Salk. These are memorable meetings. What a great way to live!
Someone asked about my biggest fear, and I think it is illness. I’m really cranky if I’m not operating at peak performance physically. That’s why exercise has always been a part of my life. When I was 28, I had the worst year of my life. I was working all weird hours, and I was partying hard. I mean, I would work until midnight or 1 AM and then go out and party. I hit bottom big time, and then a friend of mine asked me to come to the gym with her. She was a gymnast, so I started gymnastics—talk about learning a new experience! It was a short career, though, because when I was 31 I hurt my shoulder. But for a while I was able to perform on the rings, pommel horse, all that. It changed my life.
RS: Are there parts of the books that are tough to look back to, like bad memories or things that have happened?
KC: Actually no, it’s funny—it’s easier to talk about the dark times and the times that I’ve had to deal with death and destruction. I showed you the book that I was keeping during 9/11 and half that book was one kind of spilling out of emotions, and that stuff is pretty private. It’s something I’ll give to my kids in twenty years. That was pretty painful. I lived within walking distance of the Twin Towers. But because I've worked out these troubles in the journals, the dark side is easier to talk about—the death of my parents, all those things. There are pages that I go back to that make me really feel good about things. The landscape with the leaf collage I showed everybody in the presentation, which I did the other day, had been marinating in my head for about a year until I found the moment that I wanted to put in the the book. There’s something I enjoy about the combining my work and the work of nature.
RS: When you go back to them, is there enough payoff after the fact compared to how much you enjoy making them?
KC: My biggest fear, going back to that, more than getting ill, is losing my journals. They’re my most valued possessions. I own a wonderful collection of guitars, but I’d rather see my guitars go up in smoke than lose these journals. I actually do revisit them, but I’m not precious about that. My first journal is abysmal visually. But I can go back to it sometime and remember I started this on vacation and remember what I was thinking at that time. That’s the thing—I never forget the experience of putting stuff in the books. It’s the act of putting it down that absolutely nails it to your brain.
RS: I also want to ask about your book, The Virtuoso: Face to Face with 40 Extraordinary Talents. Where did the idea for the book come from and could you talk a little about the process of getting all these big names to get involved?
KC: It was a difficult process. I ran into despair toward the end, because I had a publisher working with me all the way through it, then three months before it was supposed to go to press they backed out. The idea really started with a scrap of paper that I tore out of a magazine and put into my journal. It was probably six months before I developed the idea for the book. I realized that that book is a little bit like a self-portrait. If you want to know what makes me tick, look at those individuals. I aspire to be like them. I’ll never get there, but why not set your goal really high?
It started slowly. I sent out letters to people, but the key was that in the first letter I sent to these people, I included a list of all the others I wanted to put into it so that they could see that this wasn’t just another celebrity book. There would be names they wouldn’t recognize, but they saw Muhammad Ali and Pele, and then they saw Michael Moschen and thought, who the hell is Michael Moschen? And they’d wonder who these other people were. The fact that I mixed it up like that—and there’s about 25% of the book that are marquee names—that wasn't the biggest draw for these legendary talents. Muhammad Ali told me that he wanted to know who these other people were that were going to be in the same book as he was. The other thing is that I dedicated it to the Boys & Girls Clubs of America. I worked here in Atlanta to set that up. I did that because I really feel that there can be and should be a broader range of heroes for children. Sports and music are not the only inspirational drivers. These other people are the Michael Jordan of their profession, whether it be a baker, hat-maker or juggler.
RS: If you wrote the book today, is there anyone else who you’d include?
KC: Good question. There are certain categories where it was so hard to pick, like art—who the heck would you possibly pick, you know? That’s why I picked Dale Chihuly, not that he’s necessarily my favorite artist but he is singular. It’s hard to compare anyone to Chihuly. If there were somebody who would go into a second volume, I would look for more people who were this singular.
The other thing about the book is that I wanted interesting categories and connections, like having Stephen Jay Gould and Tony Hawk in the same book. The publisher, on the other hand, said, “Why don’t you just do a book of all musicians?” Because then it could go directly into the music section of the store. They had a hard time with my concept, and very often the book ended up just on the gift table because they didn’t know where to put it. So I learned a lot about publishing in the process.
RS: Have you thought about doing a second volume?
KC: I think The Virtuoso is so important to me personally that to do another one would diminish its value to me.
RS: How does the book connect to the work you do at CSA?
KC: When I give it out to clients, they understand that there’s a standard we aspire to as an agency. They find it interesting that my view of excellence is very broad and quirky. But it’s not something I go around handing out to every client. The book is also a reminder of how lame I can be at times, like if I’m sloughing off on something, it’s almost like I’m hiding from the book, like it’s looking down on me or something. It is hard. That is why I have such respect for the people I included in the book. It’s so hard to be delivering at that level of peak performance for your whole life, to keep going and going—that is admirable.
RS: I want to ask you about “CSA ‘U.’” Your website says that “Design is an exciting and personally fulfilling profession. It is also a demanding one, which is why we try to provide a rich range of ‘extracurricular’ activities that keep the creative mind performing at peak levels.” How do these activities help the work?
KC: I’ve gone through good and bad times in terms of staff. I think there’s nothing more detrimental than a cranky staff. So we try, whenever possible, to keep a positive sense of community within the office and be supportive. Everyone’s supporting everyone else. You’re a lot better off in terms of avoiding bad apples. Those can definitely spoil the bushel, so we’re very careful about that. We try to engage people in these other activities because it allows them to bring other skills forward. This isn’t on our website, but for a while we were offering yoga. A young woman in our office is pretty good at yoga and she was teaching a course. We have a state champion ballroom dancer in the office, and she offered to teach ballroom dancing classes. [PC grad] Channing is a dancer. I’m trying to get her to break out and offer lessons. It’s a way for people to bring some of their other talents and things they enjoy to the office. It’s hard to do, because we’re really busy but we try.
RS: Do you think that helps the designers feel better about what they do and where they are?
KC: I think it helps with interpersonal relationships. I think it’s important, and I’d like to do more of it. We want to schedule some trips to museums outside of New York too. We try to make it fun and also something you can get more out of it than just fun.
RS: You said a few years ago that since 9/11, you’ve devoted more of your time to things like cultural institutions. How has that changed you?
KC: I’m on the board of an organization whose sole focus is preserving the planet for future generations, and I’ve been part of that for about five years. It’s hard to practice what you preach. I get mad when my kids don’t recycle, but that’s a drop in the bucket. I do like participating in activities and trying to get my children involved in those things. I’m not a wasteful person. I think it’s important to be mindful of those things and to do what you can. I may not be an active participant in the political process, but I support candidates financially because that’s what I can do, within the context of being a busy guy with a family who isn’t going to go to Washington to march for somebody. But I have great respect for the people who do that.
RS: You also said a few years back that there is a “veil of apathy” that affects our society. Has that gone away at all?
KC: No. I think the veil of apathy was lifted for three months from September 2001 to December 2001. After that, forget it. Apathy was back in style. We are the most destructive force on the planet, and it’s going to take something that is so much bigger than us to change our ways. So, while obviously I don’t enjoy seeing things like Katrina or the tsunami, those things are a reminder that we don’t own this planet. We’re so apathetic about tour stewardship of the Earth. How is there any argument that we need better fuel efficiency? I mean, we need it period. Don’t tell me it will happen in 2050; tell me we'll have it in 2015! Don’t get me started. I think the veil of apathy is still there, especially in American culture.
That’s why I’m sometimes a little scared to give this presentation to certain groups because it’s not driven by humor—there’s a lot of serious stuff in there. I’m hard pressed to get up there and be a comedian in front of a bunch of students—I think I have more to offer. But I think we are a society that is going to entertain ourselves to death. I mean, when you think about the other 90% of the planet, they’re not entertaining themselves everyday. They just want to know when they’re going to get the next grain of rice. So I think we’re a little out of touch, and I like things that remind us that we don’t own this place. We have such a dangerous sense of entitlement, and that really worries me. People in Darfur don't have that sense of entitlement, you know, but in Western, modern culture it is true. I see it with my own kids when an iPod breaks. They simply think they're entitled to a new one. It is scary. Apathy and entitlement are things that I’m very concerned about.
RS: How do you combat this sense of entitlement at CSA?
KC: We are very clear with people. For example, let’s say someone comes to me and wants a raise. We acknowledge good performance, and if someone pushes for it and I value them, then I’ll say fine, but you have to up the ante. If I’m giving you this extra money, you have to understand that it’s not free. There’s a price for this. I mean I’m not throwing money off the balcony here. I am going to want something in return, so don’t come to me asking for another day to do this when the deadline was yesterday. During the dot-com era, students were coming out of school asking for salaries that exceed what I’m paying today! That sense of entitlement can get bad, so we try, whenever possible, to reward strong performance, but we’re very mindful that there’s no free lunch.
RS: You’re in a position to work closely with the heads of companies. Does design get the respect it deserves in business?
KC: I think more and more, but I’m not sure it’s going to be fully respected in my lifetime. Maybe in yours. But I still think that for us at CSA, it’s never about the project—it’s about the people. I want to work with people who get it, understand it and celebrate it, and just try to avoid clients who are difficult in that way. The respect? I hate to say it, but it’s somewhat equated to monetary commitments, and I only use that as a measure, not a value. Think about it this way. A corporation will have a $60 million ad budget—what's their design budget? Certain corporations think in those terms, like Nike and Target, but that is a rare view. People challenge me on branding fees sometimes. When I tell them this is going to take a quarter of a million dollars to do a new brand identity, they ask, “How did you get that number?” I say, “Well, I noticed last week in The New York Times that you had a double-page ad. That cost you $250,000 for one day, and I’m giving you something that is going to have a lifespan of ten years. That’s $25,000 a year.” So I think the monetary value placed on design is, unfortunately, the only consistent measure of respect.
RS: What was the transition like coming from an art background into running a business?
KC: It’s all on-the-job training. It’s about trying to develop a clear understanding of opportunities and challenges, and I think I’m pretty good at that now. I feel very comfortable in the business world. Put me in a room full of cranky managers, and I love it because they're an easy target for me. I’m sure there are plenty of books written about it, but sometimes it’s common sense; sometimes it’s just understanding human dynamics. Right now I’m using the word “counsel” a lot because people value the help and want a strong point of view.
Just today, I’m trying to convince a CEO to not spend $70,000 on shopping bags for this conference. It’s going to be that expensive because he wants them air-shipped from China. He doesn’t need 25,000 bags at this conference—he needs 5,000. So my call to him is, “I’m calling you to save you money,” and that’ll get his attention. I said, “First of all, you don’t even have enough room to store 25,000 bags.” I just need to pull him back from the brink. So it’s just knowing how to make an argument. The other day I was in a potentially difficult conversation with a guy who we’re designing brochures for, and he wants the photos to be bigger. I said, “I don’t think they need to be bigger,” and I gave him a good argument. The thing is to understand the human dynamic and convey to them that they don’t have the skills you have, and they can rest knowing that you are trained for this. I rarely use this, but I’m locked and loaded for this phrase--when I’m confronted in a tough situation to look around and say, “You know, I look around this room and it seems to me that I’m the only person in the room that has thirty years of design experience.” I’ve never had to use that, but I’m always prepared. I don’t like to bully people.
This guy the other day, I said to him finally, “Every time someone mentions to you that those photographs in the brochure are too small, I’m going to give you a box of chocolates.” He laughed and it defused the whole situation. He said, “Okay, send me the revised layouts and we’ll look at it tomorrow.” What we did was we sent the layouts with a box of chocolates and a note saying “my final bribe” and got an email back saying to go ahead with those layouts, and it was done. You know, you don’t learn that in a book. We’re dealing with subjective things. He thinks the photographs are good at that size, and I’m thinking they’re not. You can’t prove that he’s wrong, so you have to find ways around the issue. Chocolate is only one way.
For another client, we wanted to use orange as their corporate color, but we knew they would respond negatively to this, so we said, “Your new color is persimmon." I showed them a photo of a persimmon, and I showed them that the color is a very unique; it’s not “orange.” So you have to find new ways to communicate. Methods learned over time. It’s getting people to acknowledge the expertise we bring to them but in a responsible, non-prima-donna fashion. I don’t flail around and pound my fists on the desk. That gets you nowhere. I do it, but in a different way, because I want to command respect, which will get you much further.
RS: I’ll only ask you about one piece of work from CSA and it has to be designing the signage for the Louvre. I don’t know if I could come up with a more intimidating project. How did you get the commission and can you talk a bit about that process?
KC: I think it’s always good to have a project like that in your career, because it makes every other difficult project pale in comparison. It’s like I say to people, fly to Australia once and you’ll never complain about flying to Japan. It was difficult in every dimension, and it really tested my mettle as a person and as a designer. I did the whole project in French, which is not my first language. By the end of the project, I was arguing in French. I had to establish an office in a foreign country, so that was a new experience. How do you deal with contractual issues with a foreign government—the French government on top of that? The project itself was enormously challenging, but with everything else it was crazy. I’d leave New York on an 8:00 PM flight, arrive there at six in the morning, and go right into a meeting because they were already working. So from a physical standpoint, it was very demanding. I kept my clothes over there waiting for the next trip—I was in Paris one week a month for three years. 36 trips. It was demanding in every way. It also taught me a quality that served me well the rest of my career, which was the element of tenacity. To hang on when those guys were practically torturing me through the whole project. It was really difficult because I really had three clients—the French government, the museum and I.M. Pei.—and everyone had to be pleased and that’s hard with a project so complex. I visited the Louvre two years ago and our work is still there! That was twenty years ago!
There were seven competitors total—three American firms, three French firms, and one Dutch firm. The winning factor was that we didn’t go in with a solution; we went in with a process. Yes, we had some renderings of what we thought it could be, but we went in with a process that was very user-focused. We illustrated not how people would be able to navigate their way through the museum but how they should feel after they enjoyed the experience. The point was that the experience should be so enjoyable and supported by our design system, but people almost would be unconscious of it, and that really rang their bells the right way. Strategically, we planned it really well, but we never thought we were going to win it.
RS: I’ll get you out of here on an easy one. How about one piece of advice for the students at PC?
KC: Just always remember and be mindful of the idea that design is only a small part of a much bigger life, and that everything in life goes into design.
—Ross Shapland with Ben Jackson
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.
