Stefan Sagmeister on Beauty as Function
For this episode, we’ve spoken with iconic Austrian-born graphic designer and typographer, Stefan Sagmeister on happiness as related to the importance of beauty as a utility for any properly functioning building, space, or city.
“Of course, it is beautiful, and beautiful work adds the function that not only do we admire it and it gives us joy, but we also tend to take care of it really, really well. So, beautiful buildings tend to be much, much longer lasting than that functionalist crap that we built in the 70s and 80s. So much of [it] was already torn down or dynamited because, ironically, it didn't really function—because nobody wanted to really live in it.”
Listen to Stefan Sagmeister on Design and the City now:
It’s hard to say what he is best known for: his multi-decade, ever-evolving career was first formed as the New York-based Sagmeister Inc. in 1993.Some of his best-known work includes iconic album covers and posters for artists like Lou Reed, The Rolling Stones, David Byrne, the Talking Heads and more—some of which went on to receive Grammy’s, cementing him as an epochal visual artist of our time. But what does this approach to design have to do with cities? Well, everything.
His intimate self-portrait captured in “The Happy Film”, turns himself into a deeply self-reflective design project, exploring questions like—can I redesign my personality to become a better person? Is it possible to train my mind to become happier? By sharing his intimate, personal journey to design happiness, he created something ultimately human and universal. This same concept was seen materialized into the most visited graphic design exhibit in history—The Happy Show.
Or, perhaps he has become more widely known for his advocacy on the power of time off and the year-long sabbatical he takes every seven years. A practice he ultimately credits for breathing new life and perspective into his work. He spends that time not taking any work from clients--including famously turning down designing Barack Obama’s presidential campaign--but experimenting and recalibrating himself as a creative, ultimately leading to some meaningful, introspective applications of design.
In 2012, designer Jessica Walsh joined forces with Sagmesiter, evolving into what is known as Sagmeister & Walsh, until 2019 where the duo applicably split, with Walsh taking on commercial clients under the new name &Walsh, and Sagmeister ceasing to accept commercial work.
Instead he pivoted towards personal pursuits, including using his position as an authority in the field towards a more humble cause. He has transformed his social media handle @stefansagmesiter, into a platform of productive discussions and discourse. He offers to review submissions from his followers and designers of all genus, encouraging creativity with genuine positivity, in space that seems to be the anti-cancel culture.
He joined Martin Barry in a conversation discussing the importance of beauty as utility for any properly functioning building, space or city and how it relates to our happiness.
Martin Barry for reSITE: So, good evening, good afternoon, good morning, everyone. This is Martin Barry from Design and the City from reSITE, and I'm really excited to host today our guest, Stefan Sagmeister, from New York, Stefan, his valuable contributions to creativity in cities. And I think it's going to be an exciting conversation. So Stefan, welcome.
Stefan Sagmeister: Thank you. Thanks for having me; it's a pleasure.
Martin: So, Stefan, I think you might know a bit about what we do, but for our audience out there, if it’s the first time you're listening: This is a podcast about design and the city—how design, creativity, culture, lifestyle, and economy affect our lives and cities. And what reSITE is about is making the city a better place to live. So we talk about that, and we have some actions that we take to make cities better places to live; we call it liveable and loveable cities. And in the context of this conversation, I think it'll also be about happy cities, I think we'll probably get to that in a bit, so I'm just gonna ask a really basic question, Stefan. It's a weird time out there. So, you're living in my hometown, my beloved New York City; I'm talking to you from Prague today. How are you doing? What's going on in New York?
Stefan: I, myself, have to say, I'm doing really well. This whole time for me has been a positive one. And I know it's, sort of, a difficult statement, considering how many people including many, many of my friends see this extremely differently and have had quite a lot of setbacks during this time. In my case, I think mostly because I had set aside our regular pursuit of commercial work already, last year, I was already very much set up with a wonderful office that's above my apartment; basically, there is a spiral staircase that divides it from there. So, I didn't even have much of a change during the couple of months where, you know, we had a severe lockdown in New York City.
And I've basically continued to work on the things that I worked [on] even before COVID happened in March. So for me, strangely, there wasn't a lot of change. But of course, I'm extremely aware, there has been a lot of change for cities, and, you know, also a lot of changes that are happening right now in New York.
Martin: Yeah, and I'm curious how you’ve spent your time. So, it sounds like a lot of time was spent similarly, as [it was] before the pandemic happened, but have you picked up any kind of new hobbies, concerns, good or bad habits (as I probably have)?
Stefan: I think, for me, a big change, as far as my exercise regimen is concerned, is that I started to do an exercise called Supernatural, a VR system that's been designed and invented by two friends of mine, Chris Mill and Aaron Copeland. I've become quite addicted to that. So, this morning, I think, I was on my terrace for an hour with VR goggles on, probably to the amusement of my neighbors who can see onto my terrace. You see a guy, you know, striking invisible balls at a fairly fast pace. That's probably the one habit that changed the most for me in this time—I think I started it maybe two months into it—after I gained, I think like many of us, a serious amount of weight, by just basically spending that much time indoors.
The Happy Film - Trailer from &Walsh on Vimeo.
Martin: Yeah, that resonates with me, my work life has more or less stayed the same; the distance that I've traveled, of course, has reduced drastically. I live like 15 minutes from the office, so the office has been kind of a great respite for me, particularly in the early part of the pandemic, in Europe, when we were really locked down. But the radius of my life is like 15 minutes now; it's not to the airport, and then somewhere around the world, every week. So, that part has been, in some ways, cool; it's kind of a reset, which I think a lot of us [have] experienced.
Something that struck me about your work, and particularly the talk on happiness and creativity, as it relates to that, is the concept of loneliness. That's one thing I was really, kind of, struck by in the early part of this pandemic. And looking back on New York from Europe, seeing Manhattan kind of empty in the last few months, there's this kind of deserted landscape, or urbanscape, that I also saw here in Prague, where I was sort of the only one walking on the street, or the only one in my office for 10 to 12 hours a day, for a couple of weeks. It wasn't unbearable, but it was really intense; I'm a person that, kind of, craves connection, for my work and also for my life; I really crave this kind of interpersonal experience. But it also kind of pushed me to the limits, to find new forms of creativity that helped inspire some work and new relationships, even. So, has that happened to you at all; how is it affecting your happiness, in your work, particularly?
Stefan: Well, I'll go back a little bit further, like last year; in the spring semester, I spent a couple of months in Rome at the American Academy there. And in that time, I had rented a Vespa, and enjoyed that experience so much, or I would say that the event of me having the Vespa completely transformed my experience of that city.
So when I came back to New York, I duplicated that and actually bought the Vespa, which was, in the beginning, not that great of an idea; there's a reason why Vespas are seen everywhere in Rome, and not so much in New York City. You know, Rome has many hills, many winding streets; the driving experience is clearly superior there [to how] it is in New York. But then, of course, with the pandemic happening, and the streets suddenly being empty, and the subways not being a really desirable mode of transportation anymore, the Vespa really served wonders. And it really made it possible to get around the empty city in a very, very enjoyable way.
And I would say, in the meantime, of course, we've entered a completely different phase within this pandemic world, where, I would say, the streets right now are actually very crowded, possibly more alive—that's probably not true for every single street, but for many streets—than they've ever been. [That’s] because of this new strategy of the mayor's office, to allow pretty much every restaurant that is physically able to do it, to take all the parking spots in front of the restaurant and transform them into outside dining possibilities. And I read the number in the New York Times, that this has happened 10,000 times. So, right now you have 10,000 restaurants that do business outside, in New York.
And in my neighborhood—I live between Chelsea and the village—it completely transformed the experience. You know, we went from, at first, an extremely quiet, very barren sort of place, to one that was a little bit open but quite depressing—because, I would say, it's not an official number, but my guess would be, that two-thirds of the stores are still closed—and to one, now, where, at least, starting in the afternoons and then into the evenings, you have this very alive, very joyful kind of experience. So, yeah, I think we've come a long way since March.
Martin: Yeah. I’ve seen, and of course, I've talked to my family and friends in New York about these more lively streetscapes with restaurants. And it, sort of, feels like a market environment now, you have these, kind of, eclectic design styles from each restaurant on the street and everyone's doing something to, you know, enhance the likelihood that you'll stop at the restaurant. So I like it in a way; it adds another layer of chaos to the streets of New York. I find that quite interesting from a design perspective; do you have some comments on this? Or do you like this kind of eclecticism? Or would you like to see something different?
Stefan: Yes, I feel that as we go along, we will see even more iterations of that, because, in the very beginning, I think it was sometimes the same troops going around and building these structures. I've heard from a restaurant owner friend in Brooklyn, [who] basically was offered [to pay] a monthly fee for a troop coming by, building a platform, building these, sort of, flower pot structures around. But now, of course, we see restaurants who want to make this sturdy against the elements. I've definitely seen versions that, you know, allow dining even in serious downpours, because there are tent-like structures over it. And we’ll see more and more iterations.
ou know, sometimes if you go down Hudson Street, you feel like you're somewhere in southern Italy. It's very lively with lots of people on the street, and I would hope that it becomes so incredibly clear to everybody. I haven't heard a bad thing about it; the usage, let's say, of three or four parking spaces is so much more useful for everybody if you can put 40 or 50 diners there. I think it transforms the city; it just has a much more positive impact.
Martin: Yeah, I really like this. The sound of the dining experience on the street, it adds this kind of layer, this fabric on the streetscape. I think mayors, back to Mayor Bloomberg, have been trying to do something like this for almost two decades, but it took the pandemic to force us to think differently about this use of the streets. It also, kind of, limits the sound, right? There's a little bit less traffic, there's more sound absorption now, because there are more people on the sidewalks and the streets. I think that's a big deal. Speaking experiences in the city, you talk quite a lot about Bregenz, Hong Kong, Bali and New York. How have these places and cities influenced you, personally, and your work?
Stefan: So Bregenz, of course, is the small town in Austria where I grew up, and I spent my first 18 years there, I went to high school there. And, you know, it's a small, pretty town, quite cultural. It has a fantastic Museum of Contemporary Art, and it has a fantastic Museum of Local Culture. There is a big music festival there, going on all through the summer. It's on the lake, close to the mountains for skiing; it's an extremely liveable place. But growing up there, I think I always felt the allure of a big city, and then I studied in Vienna. I could have studied much closer, in Innsbruck, but I definitely wanted to be in the big city, and that, of course, in Austria, would be Vienna.
I then found that to be somewhat disappointing, because Vienna, I think in a similar vein to Paris, but on a smaller scale is divided into 23 districts which are basically small towns all by themselves. If you look at Vienna, maybe from a distance, it's really 23 towns that just happen to be close together. So, I didn't really have that, you know, feeling of a big Metropolis that I, by that time, knew what London would be [like,for example]. When I graduated from high school, my brother-in-law took me on a trip to the United States, and I saw New York and felt what a big Metropolis has to offer, so I was always attracted to that.
After studying in New York, I worked for two years in Hong Kong—definitely also a proper metropolis, but if you compare it to New York, [it’s] quite a different animal. And I think city planning-wise, the biggest difference is that Hong Kong really is not a walkable city. You know, the way the streets have been created, there are a couple of smallish neighborhoods where you can walk around. But by and large, if you wanna go from one end of Hong Kong to another, you literally have to go through interconnected malls, that might be connected in the second or third floor. Because the streets don't really allow you, as a pedestrian, to cross, I always felt there was an incredible downside of it.
On the upside, though, because there was a ferry system, probably, most famously the Star Ferry from Hong Kong Island to Kowloon; it allows you to leave the city here and there, and get to the overall view of the city, which I think is incredibly helpful, on a daily, or even weekly, basis. I had always loved—this was also a big Bloomberg plan—that Paris would play a much, much, much bigger role in the traffic system of New York. And some of that has been implemented quite well; I think we are on our way there. Of course, waterfronts play a much, much bigger role, than they've ever played in the history of New York, now. But, I think, there's still a big possibility for improvement there.
Martin: I would agree, and I love cities from the water, probably because I was born in Manhattan, and people don't really think of it as an island, but you're surrounded by water at any given time. So, I'm always looking for cities with waterfronts, or riverfronts, where I can see the prospect. I feel like my creativity is completely expanded when I'm in a city, like New York, where I can see the horizon and I can, kind of, gaze on the water. Being on the water, being on a boat or ferry, is this moment of joy for me. You leave the pier and all of a sudden, you're in a completely different world, yet you're half a kilometer from the shore—I love that experience. And for me, of course, I grew up and was born in the suburbs. So that the town that I grew up in, outside of New York City, was hugely influential on my work. Would you say that any of these cities has been particularly influential on your process and your work?
Stefan: Oh, yes, absolutely. I think, considering I spent my first 18 years in Bregenz, this small town in the western part of Austria close to Switzerland, and then the next five years in Vienna, you could say that most of my formative years were spent in Austria. And, of course, from a city system point of view—how your friendships were developed in a small town; you made friends for the long term, meaning that nobody moved away—people in western Austria, are very rooted. So the same people that you grow up with, at least in that period when I was there, [are those] that you stay with. I did the unusual thing of leaving; most of my classmates are still there. If I look at the friends that my sisters and brothers made, they are the same people that they were friends with 40 to 50 years ago.
In my case, of course, that changed as I moved to Vienna and after that to New York, but I would say, not just from that point of view, but also from a cultural point of view, Vienna had an enormous influence on my thinking about design. Based on probably the most important movement in the 20th century in Vienna, around the 1900s, the Vienna Secession, where you had, as a rule, people like Klimt, Schiele, Kokoschka being involved in all aspects of design. So, there was no difference between doing a painting, or doing a poster, or designing a book, or a piece of fabric, or a chair, for that matter. It was very much a pride of the movement, that you would create, pretty much, in every one of those directions and aspects. And I think that always stayed with me. Of course, there is now quite a division between the art world and the design world, and I think that because of that Viennese influence, I've always been quite comfortable being somewhere in between those worlds.
Martin: It's an important distinction, and it was impacted by where you studied and where you lived. Do you feel that there is—I sense that you feel, maybe—an unnatural separation between the art and design disciplines? Is that what I'm hearing?
Stefan: Well, you know, I'm not one who would cry over this separation; I understand that the systems that these two directions live in right now, are quite different. The way the art market works, you know, is working through galleries in a very sort of world of exclusivity, while the design world tends to work with clients. And there are, for sure, differences there. At the same time, if I look at the world from my personal point of view, if I look at things, I don't really make a differentiation if [something] has been made by an artist or by a designer. It's either good or it’s not good; I make much more of a quality differentiation, then, [instead] of from which world that it actually comes from.
If I look at myself, just as Stefan, let's say, I can go after this talk to the MoMA bookshop, so I go to a place that's cultural—and let's say I go there with a friend, so I'm also having a personal experience—and let's say, I buy a book from the MoMA bookstore, so I'm doing something commercial. And I will do this without giving it a second thought. At that one point, when I stand with my friend at the checkout counter of the MoMA bookstore, I'm involved in all three activities, and I wouldn't give it a second thought at all.
But somehow, when I'm working as a doer, and forced to make these distinctions all the time: Is this a personal piece? Is this a commercial piece? Or is this a cultural or artistic piece? I don't think that I would be a big fighter to erase those distinctions; I would say that in my own personal world, for myself, I don't really care. If it's in the context of interviews, and if people ask me if I see myself as a designer or an artist, I always answer that I see myself as a designer, simply because this is the world where I come from. I studied design, I'm involved in a design company, I work in that context.
Martin: Yes, and it gets to one of the next questions I have, which is related to beauty and design, and I think we can also relate it to art. You say that, “Beauty is a shortcut for our brain to make a decision.” This is something that you and Jessica Walsh worked on for a while. And maybe I would make the statement that art is more about making the world more enjoyable, whereas design is formatted, or done, in a way to make the world a better place. Would you agree with that distinction or do you think that there are deeper consequences of that?
Stefan: I would think that many artists would give you quite a hard time with the definition that they are here to make the world more enjoyable; I think that probably many artists would balk at that definition. A good definition that I've heard, and I think it came actually from Richard Serra, in an interview where he was asked, “What is art good for?” He very quickly said that, “The job of an artist is to create a new, personal world,” and that “We, as an audience, are able to get a glimpse of that personal world, if possible, compare it to ours, and within that comparison, make our own life richer,” which I felt was as good as any definition of art I've heard.
Martin: Okay. So I think some of our listeners might be interested in the split of the firm, between you and Jessica Walsh, last year. And I'm sure you've answered this a million times, so you can answer however you'd like. But it seems like, relative to other creative splits we know about in history, this one was relatively amicable. And it seems like you wanted to move on from your commercial work. Can you talk a little bit about this? For our listeners that may not yet know.
Stefan: Sure, I think that Jessica and I always worked with the best understanding, that we were going to do this for as long as we both [thought] it was an advantage for the two of us. And we had these, sort of, three-year letters of agreement, and we elongated those two times. Then, in the last time, we felt that Jessica actually wanted to enlarge the company, which I wasn't really interested in. But this was not like, you know, that we fought over this, not at all. It was more like a feeling that Jessica wanted it to be bigger, and I actually was going in quite a different direction. I actually felt more comfortable with the company when it was smaller.
And, of course, we are at very different ages, which I think was always a big advantage for Sagmeister and Walsh, because clients got the point of view from two completely different generations. Jessica, now, I think, is 34, if I'm not mistaken; I am 58, so there's quite an age difference there. And, of course, that also means [there’s] quite a difference in our outlook on life. Jessica still wants to create the nest egg, something that's not so important to me, so we both said, “Then, let's split it.” It literally was as simple as that, with very little bad feelings or any of that.
Martin: Yeah, there's a good explanation. I love the idea of this generational difference in the firm; you're able to approach projects from different perspectives. And now it seems that you're able to focus more on creative work, is that right? That's what you want to do now?
Stefan: Well it's really like that; I have the incredible luxury—and I'm aware of what a unique position that is—that I really have the wonderful situation, where I can pursue [only] projects that I'm interested in, and I don't really have to create any more regular commercial projects. Now, I have to underline that I'm still interested very much, from a viewing point of view, in commercial projects.
In many ways, I think that commercial projects are the ones that probably influence the look and feel of our world, much more than many personal projects. You know, the rebranding of Coca Cola probably made a bigger visual impact on how our world looks than somebody's painting hanging in a Chelsea gallery. At the same time, I just feel that I've done enough of these projects; I've spent a lot of my life being really interested [in them]. And I want to concentrate on the stuff that, right now, I find more meaningful. Yeah, I would say that that's a quick explanation.
Martin: Yeah, I think it's a good one. I can understand that; I left my architecture firm about five years ago now. I was 34, I decided I was not going to work on commercial architecture projects anymore, primarily because of similar reasons to what you mentioned. And if I was going to work on commercial projects, I wanted them to be my own, not for clients. So, I appreciate that answer, and I think a lot of our readers, particularly if [they are] working for clients, can also appreciate that.
Well, the idea of happiness has come up a lot. You've talked about it in TED Talks, you talked about it in the Happy film, and you also talked about sadness and confrontation. Maybe I'll just jump right to the idea of confrontation; you talk a lot about it in these formats, and you say that you sort of avoid confrontation, particularly in relationships. I'll ask you to expand on that a little bit. And I don't know if I'm presuming, but some of the work is kind of friendly but confrontational, that you've done. Is your work a way to, kind of, express confrontation in a way that you're not comfortable with in relationships?
Stefan: Yeah. Well, I think that I can completely underline that I'm much more comfortable with creating confrontational work, or even, I don't think that I shy away from confrontation when it comes to meetings with clients. I can hold my ground, or defend a piece of work, or explain why we think that this is the right way to do it, even if that might not be the conventional way to do it. And I think I'm much less willing to do that in a personal relationship; I shy away from that much, more now. Why that is so, I think I might have to go back to cognitive therapy, to really figure this out—why I'm much more willing to live out the more confrontational aspects of my personality in work and not in my private life.
Martin: You once said, "I'm sad, but I'm not sad enough." I think that's the quote I remembered. And again, this was something that resonated with me when my mom died, and also when my father died a few years after that, when I was in my 20s. And I was also kind of wondering why I'm not sad; I mean, these were the two monumental figures in my life, and my way to deal with both of those situations was to, kind of, double down on work and get deeper into my creative process, as an architect, then. Your work is an outlet for you, obviously; do you think it benefits from this kind of struggle with sadness and confrontation?
Stefan: There's a couple of aspects here; one is, you know, the possibility to live with your emotions and express those emotions. Considering that I come from the extreme western part of Austria, very close to Switzerland, where culturally, not showing your emotions in public is quite a widespread phenomena. I think that aspect has something to do with it.
Watch: Stefan Sagmeister's TED Talk "Happiness by Design"
Martin: You once said, "I'm sad, but I'm not sad enough." I think that's the quote I remembered. And again, this was something that resonated with me when my mom died, and also when my father died a few years after that, when I was in my 20s. And I was also kind of wondering why I'm not sad; I mean, these were the two monumental figures in my life, and my way to deal with both of those situations was to, kind of, double down on work and get deeper into my creative process, as an architect, then. Your work is an outlet for you, obviously; do you think it benefits from this kind of struggle with sadness and confrontation?
Stefan: There's a couple of aspects here; one is, you know, the possibility to live with your emotions and express those emotions. Considering that I come from the extreme western part of Austria, very close to Switzerland, where culturally, not showing your emotions in public is quite a widespread phenomena. I think that aspect has something to do with it.
Martin: I was raised Irish Catholic, so it's a very similar mentality.
Stefan: Then I think there was definitely another rule that, specifically, when big disasters happen in my life, I now feel that the sadness can come in waves. It doesn't necessarily kick in right away, but I feel it differently afterwards, anyway. They're complex things, and then the third thing that you mentioned, to bury oneself in work, when personal things don't go well. I've definitely done that extensively in my life, and I think that was okay. I know that many listeners might now think, Oh, he just basically avoided the proper sadness and didn't really live through it properly, and I'm not so sure about that. I feel that overcoming adversity by involving myself in an activity that I ultimately find meaningful is not the worst strategy. So, I don't I don't think that, looking back on those times, I feel that these were mistakes.
Martin: Yeah, I think everyone has their own interpretation of grief and everyone deals with this differently, obviously. And unfortunately, it's one of the things we're not taught in life, [how] to deal with loss. So I found something one of my thesis advisors told me, when I was in graduate school and lost my mother, he said, “Martin, day to day is a process and you're going to deal with this every day a little bit differently; it's different than everybody else.” And it sort of resonated with me, that getting into work and learning new things, or learning new creative outlets, that was my grieving process. And, yeah, I think that's probably what you're saying, that the things you're doing are, then, to deal with whatever kind of disaster has happened, personal or otherwise.
This is a way in which you're building your character, to move forward, and yeah, I think that's a healthy way, and a personal way, to deal with things. On happiness, if we get back towards cities and design, we tend to say the environment in the city impacts the way we feel. How do you feel like people's happiness is impacted by their urban environment, by their cities and city design?
Stefan: Quite seriously, I'd say. In the talk that I've been doing, on beauty, I have an example in there that compares different places within New York. I'm sure that you know that Manhattan has two train stations; one is Grand Central, a fairly glorious, 19th century edifice, and then, you have Penn Station, an underground 1970s situation. And there is an institute called the New England Complex Systems Institute, which measures the well being of spaces by an algorithm that they put on top of Twitter. So, they basically can measure any place within Manhattan, and see which space, which geography, which blocks, emanates more positive than negative tweets, or if there are more negative than positive tweets coming out. Then they produce a geographical map that basically is colored in the red spaces, [which are] more negative, and green spaces [which] are more positive.
And if you look at that map, Penn Station is always red. Grand Central is always green. Of course, for those of you who've been to New York and know those spaces, you can also quickly try that out for yourself; you will feel it. Those two train stations have the exact same function; they are roughly similar in size. I don't know the exact numbers, how many people leave Penn Station versus Grand Central, but they're both two big stations. You can, at any time, day or night, feel the difference in mood in those spaces; I mean, it's palpable.
So, that difference has really been created by the architecture, and you'll see it. I think that you can feel it when you arrive at JFK; most of JFK is just a terrible space. And you can also see people really behaving badly at JFK—it doesn't just have an impact on our mood, but it also changes the way that we behave—you know, people cut lines people are behaving badly. And they don't necessarily, that same group of travelers doesn't, really behave as badly in a much better airport. So I'm convinced that it really plays a role.
Martin: Yeah, there's something like 100 million passengers that travel through Pennsylvania Station [every year]. And when you were mentioning this, I was immediately thinking, Gosh, I really hate Penn Station. I haven't been there in probably a year and a half; it's definitely a red zone for me. What do you think that cities are missing, or need more of, particularly?
Stefan: From my point of view, for sure, beauty. I think that if you look at the development of cities, you know, we've been living in cities, roughly, for about 5000 years. Throughout that history, no matter if you look at, I don't know, the development of Damascus, or if you look at the development of Egyptian places, or for sure, Greek or Roman places, beauty played an incredible role in the development of cities. The one that I know best, because I've spent, twice now, numerous months there, would be Rome. Most of those developments in Rome [are] really fantastic to see, because you can see existing structures from the Roman times, you know, the Pantheon, and so on throughout its development in medieval times, then for sure during the Renaissance, and then specifically Baroque times, all the way to the 70s. Beauty played an enormous role in its development.
The fact that Rome actually created beautiful paths in the 70s is exceptional, because by the 1970s, I think beauty had fallen very much into disregard among architects and city planners. I think that through a complete misinterpretation of modernist ideas, the concept took over that it's really about some sort of economic functionalism, which couldn't have been further away from the giants of modernism. Meaning, neither Mies or for sure, not Loos, or for sure not Gropius really were about economic functionalism. Form, Platonic Form, and beauty played an incredible role in their trajectories. But in the 70s, this idea took hold that all we need to create is stuff that works. And then, somehow, beauty will happen, sort of, all by itself.
And I think this whole idea of “form follows function” is married to that, or at least, some sort of relative of that. Now, “form follows function,” as we all know, came from an architect in Chicago. When you look at his work, at the end of the 18th and beginning of the 19th century, that really was not functionalist work at all, meaning his work was completely covered with ornament. Some of it is still standing and in use right now in Chicago because, of course, it is beautiful, and beautiful work adds the function that not only do we admire it and it gives us joy, but we also tend to take care of it really, really well.
So, beautiful buildings tend to be much, much longer lasting than that functionalist crap that we built in the 70s and 80s. So much of [it] was already torn down or dynamited because, ironically, it didn't really function—because nobody wanted to really live in it.
Martin: Yeah, and there's also this issue of single use for buildings. So, either it's a commercial building, or it's an office, or retail facility, or shopping center. And these buildings, built in the 70s and 80s, didn't necessarily work with the more modern economy. How does technology play into beauty and design in architecture?
Stefan: Well, I think, in many complex ways. You know, on one hand, as we move towards a world where larger and larger things are able to be printed. You've definitely seen printers for buildings; I'm sure many of you are aware of those. And, of course, when it comes to 3D printing, complexity doesn't really come at any extra cost. From a purely economic point of view, it doesn't really matter if you create a complex, multifaceted building or if you create a box, if you 3D print it. So, I think that will have an incredible impact on the forms that we can create, moving forward.
At the same time, if I look at, let's say, the online world, the fact there is that most things that we see online are created by more engineering-based designers, where functionalism, pure functionalism, is still completely king. And directions, like beauty, or joy, or delight, play a much, much smaller role, even though we can see and prove that those things: beauty, delight, and joy, add many, many, many very valuable functions to that functionalism. I would say that, as a rule of thumb, if you're creating things with only function in mind, not only will it be mediocre, but it also [won’t] function as well, [as it would] if you also put beauty in there, into the mix of goals that you want to achieve.
Martin: And is beauty a way for us to, kind of, spark joy in design?
Stefan: Yes, I would say so. I think that, if we go back to that example between the train stations; I think you can feel that there is more possibility for joy in Grand Central than in Penn Station. But that is, sort of, a historic example. If we pick a new one, you look at Calatrava's Oculus—and I know that it went wildly over budget, and there were all sorts of problems. But if you look at it from the point of view of how it's used now—I've been down there on a Sunday morning, now that so few people take public transport; it was, I have to say, fairly empty—but the people that were there, definitely [were in] a very up mood. Joy might be a bit too much, but there was a very good mood among the people that went through there feeling, I would say, uplifted by traversing that space.
It's just a beautiful space, and I know it's controversial, but I definitely feel that. And I would say that for those of us who still have problems with the term “beauty,” I could also change that to “form with intent”. There is form with intent in Calatrava’s station down at Ground Zero, there is form with intent in Grand Central, and you feel that the form of Penn Station, really, there was no form with intent, it just happened that way. Basically, whatever functioned the best—and not necessarily whatever functioned the best for the user, but whatever functioned the best for the people who commissioned it—the low ceiling height, all of those things were implemented there with really no consideration for beauty. Those, ultimately, are spaces [where] we don't want to spend time. And I think that none of us—if we weren’t forced to, by the fact that we have to go to Philadelphia or or Washington—would spend any time in Penn Station unless we absolutely have to.
Martin: Yeah, I completely agree with that. And just to follow up on the Oculus from Calatrava, I understand that kind of fiscal or financial criticism of this project, and the political criticism. At the same time, I don't really empathize with it, because I'm a taxpayer in New York City, and I should be concerned about projects that are so over budget. But can you name another civic building with such pride in New York City, since Grand Central was built? I really can't. And I think New York City deserves such buildings. So I thought, after all this criticism, So be it, he's building this building over three or four subway tunnels; it's complicated and it's grand. So I, sort of, love that building and how it's symbolized the strength of Southern Manhattan.
Stefan: Well, I think that in general, historically, we built buildings of transportation, and part of it was also, very much, civic pride [in creating] spaces that also show us who we are. And I think that this is still the case in a number of countries; if I look at airports that are built in Asia, they are definitely still built with that sort of idea and trajectory in mind. While in this country, we gave these fantastic projects, in many cases, to the lowest bidder, to the people who could value-engineer this down to the lowest square-foot price. And what we created are the spaces that nobody wants to spend time [in], that make us feel and behave terribly, and there is an incredible cost to that.
Well, if you could somehow calculate the cost, our emotional cost, that we are [bearing] as a nation for all the time that we hung out at Chicago O'Hare, or LAX, or JFK—the misery, basically, the aggression that these spaces create among us—I mean, there is a price to pay for that. I think that that price, ultimately, is considerably higher than if we would have built them properly in the first place.
Martin: Yeah, and for the listeners out there who are not from New York, you'd be probably surprised to know that the air in New York City is sometimes worth more than the architecture, or the real estate itself, because air has value that you can lease to people. You can build buildings in that space. So the idea of taking a space as big as the Oculus, or Grand Central, for air and not being able to commercialize it—what I mean by that is having a large atrium or big open space that's not filled with shops or offices—it's very controversial and not often done. And I think of the Rose Reading Room in the New York Public Library; it's another kind of grand space. The ceilings are too high, the light in this room is remarkable, and it's timeless; these kinds of spaces are timeless, because people are inspired to be in the space.
Just quickly, [because] we're running out of time a little bit. I think I could speak all day to you, but I don't want to take too much of your time. How do you feel in these spaces? Can you identify or tell us a secret about where you feel most inspired in New York? Maybe even start at a bigger scale—is it in a grand space, like the Oculus that you talked about, or Grand Central? Or is it in something cozy, like the oyster bar at Grand Central? How do you feel?
Stefan: I would say that, ultimately, the spaces that I like to spend time in have one thing in common, and what they have in common is that they have been designed with a lot of love and care. And that would be true for things like the Highline, that—stylistically, the way the topology has been used and applied, the fact that it's a renovation rather than a new space—couldn't be more different than, let's say, Grand Central. I mean, these things are, from any point of view, completely the opposite. And at the same time, [in] both of them you feel, as a person who uses that space, that you're in good hands; you feel that you are walking along within a space that's been created by somebody who really put a lot of their love and care into it. And I think that love and care is somewhat still feel-able and translates to us, not just into our moods, but also in the way that we behave.
If you look at the High Line—that is now, of course, only open for limited use; you need to reserve a time slot in your app, but I'm sure they're going to go back to regular use soonish—before the pandemic, I used to run on it every morning at seven. And every morning, I see that we have plenty of garbage lying around in the Meatpacking District, and no garbage at all on the Highline.
Now there's a couple of reasons for that; the Highline, of course, is being closed at night; it only opens at seven in the morning. But in general, I've also never seen anybody throw a piece of paper, or really anything, away on the Highline; it makes us behave differently. While in the Meatpacking District, which is a pretty upscale neighborhood now, people have much less of a problem with that sort of behavior, or doing it themselves. There's plenty of other spaces, small and large, around in New York, and what they all have in common is that somebody really thought about it and put a lot of themselves, put a lot of love, put a lot of work into the creation of that space.
Martin: Yeah, I call this “thoughtful urbanism.” Your way of describing it, with love and care, is much, much nicer. But it's this level of thought that goes into designing a space, like James Corner and Liz Diller had in the High Line; I think that's important. We had James at reSITE a few years ago.
Stefan: Then maybe as an add-on, I would say, that I think we, as human beings, really love diversity. What James and Liz did really well on the Highline is, even though you’re basically talking about a park that is 20 blocks long but extremely narrow, they still manage to create an incredible amount of different experiences. Partly, architecturally, through a winding way to different spaces, partly through [different] types of plants: high, low, summer, winter, dense, open. I think lesser people—it would have been much easier—would have basically just made one walkway and planted a bunch of trees along the whole thing; it would have been boring.
And I think the same is true, I also feel that—I'm sure I'm not saying anything new there. But I think we all would acknowledge that—part of what makes New York an exciting city is that it has a grid system. But the grid has been filled throughout hundreds of years now with an incredible amount of diversity: different styles, different directions, different usabilities. That's really what makes it exciting, and it's probably the reason why so many of the planned cities are not really popular, even if they've been planned by a fantastic architect.
Brasilia comes to mind, where the architects were fantastic, but because the same stylistic directions were applied too often and too close together, we don't really feel comfortable in [it]. We really love diversity; there is some, sort of, semi-scientific research going on there. I've recently seen one [study] on Houston Street that made the point of quite drastically comparing a block that had a new, 15-year-old building to a block that had 15 different, kind of, more historic elements, where the storefronts changed. And people behaved differently on the monolithic block than they did on the diverse block.
Watch: Stefan Sagmeister's TED Talk: "Power of Time Off"
Martin: Yeah, in Brazil, the work of Roberto Burle Marx, the landscape designer, really was so powerful because it, kind of, softened the rigidity of modernism with its curvilinear landscapes and curvilinear paving patterns, that are so emblematic of the Brazilian cityscape. It's a good point to diversify through the city. It's one of the reasons why we love New York, or London, or Paris; there's this synergy of the city, but also surprise.
Just one last question; I think it's interesting for a lot of listeners out there, because you've had such a nonlinear career, an exciting, nonlinear career with points of reflection and, sort of, pivot. And now is a time of pivot for a lot of people; I think there are people who spend a lot of time at home and have been able to reflect on their careers—maybe they've lost their jobs. If you're looking back on yourself, and knowing what you know now, how would you advise yourself if you were 20 or 25? What kind of advice would you offer?
Stefan: Well, I'd say that what I didn't know when I was 20, was that this idea of implementing sabbaticals really was possibly the single best design idea I've ever had. The possibility to take a full-year sabbatical every seven years and allow for a new direction to emerge, I think was probably the one strategy that had the biggest impact on the pivot thing that you're mentioning, but also, just to make sure that I'm still doing the things that I feel I should be doing.
I think that's probably happening to nearly all of us; if we are in the machinery of the everyday and things move very, very fast, it's very easy to lose sight of the bigger picture and just concentrate on all of the details, you know, [put out] some fires and move on. It's easily possible that if I wouldn't have implemented that first sabbatical in the year 2000, that I might still be designing CD covers now and wondering why business is so bad. So, I think that these years really allowed for a little bit of introspection, but also for reorientation.
Then, of course, it just turned out that if you have a year to think about something, the results are significantly different than if you have an evening or a weekend to think about something. Which meant that even from a financial point of view, these sabbatical years turned out to be of quite some advantage. You know, if you’re doing different work than other design companies are doing, you're not really part of that, “Let's look at three companies and then go with the cheapest” game anymore, because you're really outside of that system.
So, as you probably know, because you mentioned that you've seen my TED Talks, I've done a talk about this that was viewed extensively. In the meantime, I've met many, many people who came up to me at conferences or such events and say, Oh, they've seen the talk, and they've done sabbatical themselves. And I asked, “So, how was it?” I haven't met a person yet who didn't talk about it with shiny eyes. I've seen people who are rich doing that, I've seen people who were poor doing that, I've seen people at large and small companies, people with families or single people. So, it seems that while there is a big difficulty, and it takes, at least for the first sabbatical, it took me a lot of guts to do it. The second and the third were very easy, but the first one was difficult. It does take all that, but it seems that many, many people from very different walks of life are actually able to create such a thing.
So, if you're in the situation—and I know it's a little bit different; I think that ideally, the decision to do it should come from you—but if you can take the situation now and create a sabbatical-like time for [yourself], I think that [it’s] definitely one of the opportunities that this time offers. And I know that finances still play a significant role there—specifically now that it's much more difficult to move to a country for the sabbatical where things are much cheaper—and it has also become quite a bit more difficult to achieve.
So, I'm sure that there are many challenges ahead in creating that, but I still have a suspicion that something along those lines is still possible. And I can definitely say that, in my case, if I look back on the projects that we created and I see which ones I really felt the worth while creating, the vast majority of the worthwhile ones somehow I came out of thinking that was done in one of the sabbaticals. Really, it completely changed my trajectory.
Martin: That's incredibly inspiring. And one of the questions I was thinking was, Well, what is possible for everyone to do? But as you explained really clearly, it just takes a little bit of initiative to get over, let's say, the hump of taking this time for oneself. That's incredibly inspiring; thank you for explaining that. And I think it's a good place for us to end. I've taken so much of your time, and I'm so thankful for it. So, Stefan Sagmeister, thank you so much for joining us today. We've all learned a lot, I imagine. Do you want to leave us with any final thoughts?
Stefan: Thank you, Martin, I would say final thoughts: Go out and make beauty part of your overall goals.
Martin: That's a beautiful, beautiful way to end. Thank you, Stefan, and stay happy, stay inspiring, and take care of our beloved New York.
Stefan: Pleasure, Martin. Thank you so much.
Martin: Pleasure for me. Thank you. Bye bye.
That was Stefan Sagmiester, iconic graphic designer behind Sagmeister, Inc. and Sagmeister&Walsh.
If you would like your project reviewed on Sagmeister's Instagram, email a square .jpeg or .mov file on white or black background, and include your IG address to StefanSagmeisterIG[at]gmail.com. Please do not send in designs based on the work of another designer.
Design and the City was recorded at the WeWork offices in Prague, with the support of the Czech Ministry of Culture and Nano Energies. This podcast is produced by Alexandra Siebenthal, with support from Martin Barry, Radka Ondrackova, Elizabeth Mills and Elizabeth Novacek, and edited by LittleBig Studio.
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